Christmas morning dawns with a cool 35° and clear blue skies. A weak sun spreads its light through the bare limbs of the pecan tree with streaks of orange and blue. The coffee pot wheezes and gurgles as it draws out the goodness of the ground coffee beans and puts it into a glass pot. Kippur da budgie clicks and burbles as she flits around her cage. Happy mutts take turns chasing each other through the house. And I, on day five of a new effort to rise above my infirmities, sit down to chronicle the day. And to muse.
Christmas is very much like any other day to me, though this one my niece will prepare a special Christmas dinner. I don’t know what she is preparing, but packages of meat have appeared in the ‘fridge, and miscellaneous packages of other ingredients are scattered throughout the kitchen. Maybe in honor, I’ll make blueberry waffles for breakfast … assuming I have some blueberries.
So does the new me give himself a day off on the treadmill? I only walked on it once the last five days, so I am inclined to say “No Mercy!” and drive myself like a cur to walk on it. Saturday and Sunday I will allow myself to simply moulder. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it.
So the rota goes … one day follows another, and I write.
Good morning, and if you are so inclined, Merry Christmas!