The Christmas tree is finally down. Well, not down, but bare. It didn’t take me long to get the 500,000 ornaments and foofoo stuff off of it, but it took me an eternity to get the three strands of lights off.

That was a dangerous job. I have the scratched up arthritic hands as proof. What’s strange is that I don’t remember getting poked by the branches when I went around and around the tree to put on the 300 lights. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. There were three strands. Too bad I didn’t know they were the kind that would twinkle.

Last night I started gathering up all the Christmas regalia that I’d put up all over the house. Yes, I’m one of those people who loves Christmas and wants to be reminded of it even when I flush.

My thought was to get everything in one spot, or room, so I loaded the kitchen table with a bunch of the stuff. I didn’t know I had so much until I looked at the table and decided it could have been a Hobby Lobby display. Then some of the fake poinsettias meowed.

It took me awhile to locate my gray kitty in the midst of all the stuff. It got easier tonight because she’d rubbed and loved those poinsettias so much that they ended up on the floor.

That distracted me so I sat down and watched TV for a minute.

It was the impeachment hearing.

A minute was enough.

Then I looked at my once beautifully dressed Christmas tree in red ornaments of all shapes and sizes. Red flowers. Strings of red trim with one shiny green ball as a symbol of old times.

That once beautiful Christmas tree is gone.

Now it’s a scrawny, prickly, plastic tree.

It has gaping holes and bare branches

It’s sad.

It’s eerie.

It makes me feel uneasy.

Or, maybe it’s what’s going on in our country that makes me feel this way.