We’re having a quiet Christmas this year.

My not-so-well husband and I will stay at home on Christmas Day.  (He has said it is okay to mention him here, sometimes.)

We have been invited out but, last year, it was so difficult . . . (I won’t say everything – there is a certain amount of respect for his privacy that I adhere to).

This year, we have no decorations up – my husband has been a hoarder and we are still working through all that and – literally – there is nowhere to put the tree, the space where it used to go being taken up now by . . . new furniture to make things easier for him.

I have some tete-a-tete daffodil bulbs on the window-sill in the front room in the place where I have put the odd small ornament in years gone by.

And a blue hyacinth bulb starting to grow in a hyacinth vase.

I’d rather have those than Christmas paraphernalia.

In the back garden is the frog-house (yes, you can get them) that my sister got for me for my last birthday, and a broken large terracotta pot buried partly in, for another.

They come over sometimes from next door where they have taken up residence in Godwin’s shallow water-tray.  I haven’t said anything to her, but they will die if they can’t get deep, or sheltered, if we have a hard winter.

I have the two pot-ponds buried deep – those I was going to have on top of the ground before I discovered there were still frogs.

I have sent out all my Christmas cards.

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