I wanted to say something about Christmas. My Christmas. But though the thoughts flow easily and abundantly I can’t allow them to stay for all to read and they are rubbed out again and again. Here I go. There are no tragic anniversaries to recall. There are not seven mouths to feed and no money. It is not the month the sky falls in. It is only the common old childish sibling troubles that bubble and double four fold on the one day of the year that all expect goodwill and cheer, and get little. We three middle aged siblings let each other go four Christmases ago. Rather those other two separated from this one. Those other two still do it together; Christmas, and I know not how it fares. Possibly well without the third to mix it. There is some small sadness left for the loss of naive hope and childish notions, but mostly there is relief. Relief and joy in adult friendships that hold a great capacity for surprise. My friends, I hope that I never think I know you so well that you are unable to surprise me, for that would be our downfall.
Thank you for a lovely Christmas day and all the rest.