Fidelity? Free Internet?
Ooh! My rosemary triffid is large enough to tope into a Christmas tree shape! I could do that.
A significant part of NC economy runs on the Christmas tree industry. Families have been able to keep their farmland by switching from low income crops to trees. The land was cleared anyway, and if not planted with firs would definitely be developed for either housing or business "parks". At least tree farms provide habitat for some indiginous wildlife and are less hurtful to the eye than clearcut slopes. The landowners make a living, and most cities provide after-holiday pickup. Ours chips the trees and offers the chips as free mulch for landscaping. So we always go the cut-tree route.
We have holes drilled in two strategic spots beside the corner where the tree stands. We insert cup hooks in the holes and cross-tie the tree to prevent a curious cat from tipping it, should he decide to try to climb it. Planning ahead seems to have circumvented the climbing urge. Though several of our cats liked to lie beneath the tree and look up at the lights through the branches. They seemed to enjoy it so much that once when I was watering the tree, I turned over on my back so I could look up through the tree. Pretty!
Cars: a '60s vintage Renault Dauphine named Daphne, the Mercury Comet I drove to school, we dated and eloped in, bought from my dad and took to Dix and Belvoir and then shipped to Germany, drove over cobbled city streets, tank trails and the Autobahn, brought both our kids home from the hospital, and never had a name beyond "girl." We picked up a '62 VW Beetle while in Germany, named Hesper for wreck of the Hesperus, but she trundled me and the kids from the grocery to the library to the market to the commissary to the PX to the kiddie nursery, and home again safely. We replaced her muffler and sold her to someone else in the unit when we left. We wound up shipping the Comet home and drove it for years more, picking up a Karman Ghia and selling it again, and a Jeep Wagoneer, neither of which we bonded with enough to name. We found a VW Beetle on the dealer's lot, new, with a 39 Ford hood, and traded the Jeep for it. DH and I both drove it for years, named it the Green Hornet. StE got the VW when he got his lisence, and dinked around with the engine.
The Comet got traded for a Datsun 510 wagon, "The Box," which went to StY when he got his lisence. He was in it when it died in an accident, it protected him as its last act. The in-laws gave us their Plymouth Volare, Vinnie, which we drove for a while and then traded in on a pair of trucks, Nissan for StE and Toyota for StY. Later we also got their '92 Bonneville, named Esme, which was like driving a sofa. DH drove it, I drove my '84 200SX, Buffy, until I had to give up shifting because of my stupid knee. Now I have the '95 Camry LE, Camryn, and DH has his black '97 Grand Prix GT, which he probably refers to in his head as "Vader", though he hasn't admitted it out loud. There's also the '97 Dakota XT, called, originally, Dakota.
More than anyone wanted to know, I'm sure.
Anne, I'm vibing for fast power-return to you. Aimee, I'm so sorry about the asshat dealership issues. Cass, your adventures with insomnia continue to mimic some of mine. Suzi, that photo didn't do you justice, but it did capture part of your gorgiosity. With added glitter!
Everybody else, here, hugs, chocolate, coffee, shooooz, glitter and other items of endearment-exchange.