We are well, and everything is well and all manner of things are well. It may or may not be obvious to either of my readers, but the posts of the last two days were written before we ever left the Left Coast, which probably explains the strange absence of any comment on the untimely death of Mr. James Brown.
Reunions are mostly about dining in my extended family, what we are eating and where, and whither shall we dine after. It tends to be a rather pleasant experience but also a rather tedious read, so perhaps the reader will thank me that I omit the telling of that particular element of the tale, important as it is to the main. Shopping on Christmas Eve ended up being less remarkable than in years past, which is I know a dissapointment to some among you, selah.
Church services consisted of the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and it was well worth the doing – there’s nothing like High Church for marking an occasion, just mind the thurifer you’re swinging there lass for if you should hit a congregant on the noggin with that thing it’ll be not just a birth we’re celebrating but the entire cycle of life.
The pastor sermonized on the dangers of Division and Doubt, which leads me to believe that the schismatic elements we notice out west have not escaped the attention of the laity surrounding this, Our Nation’s Capital while also leaving your correspondent wishing we could all just give it a rest for a bit, for God’s sake. We also saw the distaff side of a family that had been like my own second family when I was a nobbut, all but their son, my erstewhile best friend who has turned away from them
Dinner last night had two interesting observations for me: First, the elephant may indeed be in the room and yet no one will talk about it. Whether out of delicacy, or because the scar is still too fresh or because there really isn’t anything to say, I don’t know. Second, it’s interesting to see your youngest child, who being youngest often feels compelled to “play up” to the level of the oldest ones, when she’s in the presence of her younger cousins. I don’t know the last time I saw the Kat – our 12-year old – running around like a wild Arapaho and playing hide and seek in her stockings while shrieking like, well, a 12-year, old but it was fun to see.
Moving now from the personal to the political, I see that indeed the world has turned upside down:
Fair enough, and when January comes I pledge to restrain drinking, and we’ll see who lasts the longest (my prediction: It’ll be a tie).
Right you are, and my overcoat keeps me cool – don’t ask me how, it’s a mystery.
Finally there’s this from the Department of Grim Statistics Bureau (otherwise known as teh AP), and an answer to the question of those who wonder how many of those newspaper articles you read over the Christmas holidays have in fact, like my previous two blog posts, been in the can awaiting a propitious moment:
Which is the way the headline read the first time I saw the article today, but then other people noticed too and now it’s been changed to something about The Daily Toll of Awful Violence Over There, or some such. File that one under “true but stupid,” because as a meaningful statistical measure it makes about as much sense as pointing out that in another 36 years or so at this rate we’ll surpass the carnage on our national highway system for any given year, or that more 20 times more soldiers fell breaking out of Normandy during the summer of 1944 than were killed at Pearl Harbor.
Maybe it’s only the human temptation to find a new way to twist the plot line on what has become a drearily predictable story, but the problem I’ve got with such ham-handed equivalencies is they tend to obsure the embedded truth that seven families are about to receive some terrible news this Christmas, which is a sobering thought indeed during this, our season of counted blessings.
To better days.