Reflections on Raina’s rose.

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Our first tree.

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We have a Christmas tree.  It’s our first ever.  And it makes me feel both really grown-up and terribly young, at the same time.

Our tree is nothing fancy, really.  We bought it second-hand and seeing its nearly barren branches, with our single strand of lights wrapped just three times around, it reminds me of my parents.  But not as they are now.  This tree doesn’t compare to theirs, theirs being laden with multitudes of delicate ornaments collected over the last three decades, showered with tinsel and aglow with thousands of blinking flashing lights.  No, this tree reminds me of my parents before they became parents, a version of which I only know through photos.

Photos from one of their first Christmases, with their first tree, maybe right after they married.  They were young, with thick hair and unlined faces.  And their tree was modest.  Sparsely decorated but you could see it was still put together with care and love.

To start, we only had a few ornaments, the nicest of which were given to us as gifts (like our little doggie above, that my sister-in-law Tania gave us when Jeans was just an idea).  And at first, I felt a bit shy about our tree.  It didn’t look very fancy and I certainly didn’t have a preconceived vision for it.  There was no colour palette or theme.  It was, in a word, modest.

But thinking back to those faded photos and seeing that young newlywed couple, crouched down in front of their tiny tree, smiling for the camera, it reminded me that everyone has to start somewhere.  Even my parents, with all their current successes and accomplishments, had a humble beginning.

And so, now.  This is ours.

Mr. Snowman’s favourite time of year.

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Mr. Snowman is retired.

He lives indoors full-time, where he can enjoy the rest of his days in relative peace with central heating and air.  No more snowy days for Mr. Snowman.

And yet, when the snowy days do arrive and the festive season spreads its sparkle, he really does begin to shine.

One year later.

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One year ago today, we slid an unfamiliar key into a worn-out lock and opened the door to our first house.

We celebrated the occasion with dinner and a friendly game of Mexican Train with our good friends, Frank and Rich.

Frank helped us with buying the key (the most expensive key we’ve ever owned) while Rich helped us turn our weary old house into a home.

Thank you thank you thank you and Happy 1st House-iversary.

The way has been shown. Now… go?

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OK brace yourselves.  I’ve been slacking off and now, in an attempt to catch up, I’m gonna bombard this blog with photos of the last, oh, ten days.

Yikes.  This is how this little project of mine gets real personal.  One can get a hint of how I was, say, back in my university days.  I slowly start falling falling falling behind and if there’s no one to hold me accountable, I’ll end up skipping out and playing cards for the rest o’ the semester.

Unfortunately I can’t bail as easily on this one.  I made a pretty public proclamation with a freakin’ countdown and everything so, yeah.  Still got a ways to go.

See you lots more.  Soon.

Oh and yeah, those are the stairs that we’ve been meaning to paint for a year now.  So don’t feel bad — you’re not the only one that’s been neglected.

 

Blackness at the end of the tunnel.

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Staring at the walls.

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Pretending not to see it.

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Lunch with Nonno.

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Clear skies and naked trees.

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