Well, obviously, it's Monday, not Sunday. I have carried a little too much on my load lately and as often as I thought about blogging yesterday, it never happened. The only time I really got my camera out this week was to snap a few moments from when we cut down our Christmas tree. I've always preferred real trees but have this nagging voice of guilt that seems to come along with putting one in my home- like I took the life of something so innocent. (Excuse me while my tree-hugger persona comes out here.) Growing up, my mom would buy trees from lots, or a Christmas tree farm where you pick the one you want and they chop it down for you. And then the year before photography school, when I had my own house, a friend helped me chop down a Charlie Brown tree on his land.
This year, after over an hour of fumbling through the snow, we found him (it's a boy this time.) And we just stood there- "we" meaning my boyfriend, my dog, and myself. I got my camera out to snap a shot of him in his element and then looked at Chad with expectancy that he'd begin to start sawing. Instead he reached what looked like a serrated butter knife toward me and said it was all me.
He's perfect. The tree I mean. And once he was adorned with lights and a few trinkets, the feelings of guilt slipped a little further to the back of my mind. Plus I can now say that I cut down my first tree!
