In the post-plague era, it feels like some of the old traditions have fallen away. In fact, since 2019, I’ve only been home on Christmas Day two out of the last four years – either avoiding the illness of others or not wanting to spread my own across the state. 

I made it home for 2023, though. Still not feeling at the top of my game, but at least I can’t blame this one on the Great Plague. So we muddle through, enjoy some rare true down time, worrying that what the cats are up to in my absence, hoping that the dog doesn’t demolish my childhood home, and hitting most of the usual high points – even if doing it with less vim and vigor than I’d like.

It’s always good to be home, sleeping in my old room, and at least for a few hours not finding myself completely tied to day-to-day normal. That will start again soon with the drive back out of the mountains towards the shore. 

For the moment, though, I’ll soak it in – all the more aware of how fragile and fleeting can be these days.

To those of you reading along, I wish each and every one a very happy Christmas. I hope you got exactly what you wanted.