Nothing Says Welcome Like a Hubcap
For many years, I lived in rural sections of Wilbraham on acres and acres of land. Every December, I'd cut branches of white pine, hemlock, blue spruce, yew, holly, mountain laurel, and whatever else I could get my hands on that was green. I'd make wreaths and swags and kissing balls. I'd festoon the bay windows and doorways with garlands. I'd twine roping around the front doors, railings and banisters. I was a regular Martha Stewart around the holidays.
Since moving to downtown Springfield, I've had less time and less access to evergreenery. Yet I've usually still managed to scrounge stuff, like the times I came upon the downed pine tree, or the abandoned Christmas tree lot with its pile of leftover branches, or the giveaway last year at Walmart. This year, however, I had no such luck. I had a tree, but that was about it.
Well, I also had some oversized glass balls that I'd been stockpiling, but had never used. Amir, always a good sport, agreed to put them up for me on the porch. I gave him instructions to hang them at different heights, and left the rest to him. I think he did a pretty good job.
I snipped enough off my scraggly backyard pine tree and pathetic little holly bush to make one swag over the kitchen door. No way I could stretch the stuff into a pair of wreaths for the double doors, though. I was feeling very frustrated, but then I thought, why not just let yourself go with the urban flow? The essence of a wreath is its circular form, and circular forms you've got aplenty. Even two that match. I knew I was collecting those hubcaps for something.