Recessive Genes

With the election behind us and the economy sucking all the energy out of the news, I woke up the morning after Thanksgiving with an uncontrollable urge to DECORATE. The recessive Martha Stewart gene was ascendant and nothing I did drove it back where it belonged.

I dragged down a dozen large plastic tubs of Christmas decorations, put them in order in the garage, drove up to the storage unit and fetched the tree. We went green years ago with an artifical tree and have never regretted it.


No longer do I tramp through parking lots shaking trees to see if even a single needle stayed on. No longer do I harbor fantasies about cutting down a tree in the woods, since I learned years ago that perfect trees do not grow in the woods. They grow in tree farms. No longer do I worry about how to get fresh sap off of the top of the car, my hands, my jacket, or out of my hair.

After much fussing, I got the big tree up in the great room, a smaller tabletop tree up in the office and two other indoor trees ready for decorating. Nothing was safe. Not even the cat.


Every tabletop was a target, even the double dresser in the bedroom. I hung stockings from the chimney with care, including the one my beloved grandmother knitted for me for my first Christmas. Terry and the cat both have stockings, which of course will be filled by Santa on Christmas Eve.

I don't know what got into me, but I was done with my shopping before Black Friday. I did peek into Cyber Monday and bought a couple of things on excellent sales -- with free shipping, of course. And I dropped my cards in the mail a week later.

For the first time, I can sit back and enjoy the season and the reason for the season. It's a good thing I don't bake. With the recessive gene, I would have baked a houseful of cookies that we don't eat!!

And now, recessive gene, go back where you came from and do NOT return until next year!