Mom's in the kitchen fixing a holiday feast and Sky's curled up by the sofa and I'm snuggled up next to a roaring fireplace drinking steaming hot coffee. It's cozy, simplistic, and I like it. Last night Mom, Dad, Ams and I had our Christmas Eve dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse (8 oz sirloin with potatoes, a side salad, and Samuel Adams Winter Lager), and the evening culminated opening presents while drinking Great Lakes Christmas Ale. Mom went rather overboard this year (as she does every year), and I'm pretty pumped to have a George Forman, a coffee maker, and a microwave for my kitchen back home, amid other things (like a world map from 1941 to hang on my wall).
Dad got both of us LCD lanterns for emergency lighting.
"It's only for emergencies," he told me.
I told him that was fine, I already have lanterns for daily use.
I love spending time with Mom and Dad, I know it sounds cliche, but I really do have great parents, and I'm far more blessed by that than I'll ever know. Throw Ams into the mix, and you've got a good recipe for a good time. Our Christmas Eve last night was characterized by laughter and witty banter, by warmth and love and kinship. I value those things, and I value such moments. Christmas does indeed tend to be a hard time for me (it wasn't always the case, but as it is the case, so it is), and I'm thankful that this Christmas been marked by joy and thankfulness for all that I have and not in envy and jealousy over that which I don't.
My ambitions for the rest of this day:
(a) feast on Mom's Christmas lunch
(b) reorganize my tiny kitchen for the kitchenware
(c) finish Citizen Soldiers by Stephen E. Ambrose, and
(d) write a few pages in The Procyon Strain: Book Two
Dad just came in from playing outside with Sky.
"Do you know your tire's flat?" he asks.
I'm not surprised, but I didn't know.
So add (e) inspect and replace right front tire.
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