Last night, after a family party that involved eating, of course, but also my nieces and nephews singing, signing along to music, and playing the piano, an impromptu and unrehearsed piano duet of a Norman Dello Joio piece with my aunt, my mom and dad playing a much-rehearsed and note-perfect duet, talking, laughing, playing with the baby, and hanging out afterward with afore-mentioned auntie and her son, my beloved cousin, I definitely felt like getting horizontal, because before all that festivity, there were the following activities: breakfast with singing son, his lovely wife, and soccer coach son (omelets made with the best eggs ever, from Chad's dad, panettone toast, and roasted fingerling potatoes), a tiny expedition to Target, cookie decorating, church to hear singing son render a sublime performance of "O Holy Night," home again to slice oranges and disgorge pomegranate seeds from their fruits, and the trip to my aunt's.
So I read the Times, with special attention to the Arts section because the critics all laid out their yearly faves. And I read part of 2007 Best and Worst issue of People, because it's an important issue, and knowing the best and worst is critical. I think we can all agree on that.
The last of the baking is occurring as we speak, or write, or whatever. This afternoon, running son and soccer coach son will help me deliver the plates. And then, tonight, while the kids are with their dad or their in-laws or elsewhere, I will wrap presents and hopefully watch a Christmas movie, and in general chill out with the historian. We had breakfast with his daughter and her partner this morning. The dogs are quiet, but they're definitely waiting for their trip to the dog park--Bruiser was quite dismayed when the historian elected to take a bike ride before the dog park, but all good things in turn. It's a good day, and a good life I have. I hope you all, whoever and wherever you are, are feeling something like that, too.