My memories hang upon my tree

The Christmas tree stands in the far corner of my living room, rising silently above the round tree skirt my mother quilted for me. We placed the crystal ornaments one by one on the tree, moving them close to the white and blue lights, to allow the lights to shine through them as much as possible.

She's home.

I got my car back this morning. I doubt that many people would rejoice over the return of a six-year-old underpowered purple Sundance…but it's my car, and I've actually rather missed having her around. I always thought people were joking when they said that their cars developed character as they aged; now that I own an aging car, I understand.