At what point does the addition of "Eve"s become ridiculous? I fear we are already perilously close.
Tonight: Christmas with Jim’s parents. Tomorrow, circa 5 a.m.: embarkation on the 16-hour drive to my parents’ house in California. Drive, driver, drive. My sit-bones hurt already. But at the end of the drive are parents and siblings and uncles and possibly grandparents, and oodles of good cheer and tasty food and overlavish piles of presents, and perhaps even a spritz or two of holiday-scented anti-fart spray. And for all the dreadful marketing palaver that goes along with the season (the Hallmark commercials aren’t even bringing a tear to my crusty old eye this year, how cynical is that?!), there is something still special and magical about the house when all the lights are extinguished except for the bulbs on the tree, the expectant quiet of midnight on Christmas Eve, the breathless rushing and shouting and squealing over stockings that rouses us about an hour earlier on Christmas morning than anyone over 16 would really like.
The joy of Christmas, for a long time now for me, has been in giving and not receiving. And with Fisher and Rhys soaking up all the warmth and love our entire unruly family can offer, the holiday has taken on a new specialness over the last few years. How lucky I feel to be able to experience Christmas with them, seeing all its wonder through their eyes and being caught up in their infectious excitement.
Hey, sorry about all this glurge. Here, read this column by Mark Morford: "XMas Cards from Famous People." Hee hee.
Merry Christmas, y’all, and to all a good night. *yawn* See you on the flipside.