If today was Christmas eve and tomorrow was Christmas day
All I would need is my little sweet rider
Just to pass the time away, to pass the time away
–Robert Johnson, “Hellhound on My Trail”
Mrs. Wigglebottom and I went to the park, even though it was raining. I was tired, am tired, and she was wound up. About halfway into the walk, when I started feeling the rain seeping through my coat, I knew it was raining too hard for us to keep walking, but by then, going forward or turning around was the same difference.
It’s hard when you’re cold and wet and tired to be glad to be at the park. And I’ll admit, I was shuffling along, eyes downcast, being snippy with the dog, who was trying to catch up on who all had been to the park since last week.
But then we came over the hill and there was my favorite stretch of road, fully puddled. And as we walked through the shallow water, the trees seemed to stretch down beneath us towards another sky in another world mirrored below us. For a moment, it felt like all that was keeping us from falling into that vast sky below was that we were standing on the feet of two folks on a walk in that world, who, when I looked down at them, were looking back at me just as curious.
I spent last night first in a room surprisingly full of people who spoke a little Russian at Chris and Amanda’s party (you can read an awesome rundown of it here) and then I headed off to the Queen’s house and had dinner with Miss J, the Divine Ms. B., the Queen, her lover, Miss J’s lover, and their mom and dad.
The Butcher is bummed that we’re alone for Christmas. But I have to say, I’m kind of glad. It’s so easy to get caught up in all the shit you’re supposed to do just because everyone expects it of you.
But if there’s one thing I like about that Jesus guy, it’s that he never got caught up in the shit people expected of him. You’ve got to appreciate a guy who rarely did what he was supposed to do. A radical in the good sense of the word.
Anyway, I’m going to go sit on the couch and work on my afghan and, with my little sweet Mrs. Wigglebottom, pass the time away. I hope y’all are safe and warm and dry and well.
Aunt B., you lovely creature, have a wonderful Christmas.
Get a hold of “Christmas With The Kranks”. It is a wretched waste of an hour and a half of your life, but at least brings up the issue of not “doing what is expected” for Christmas.
The password is: ogluer.
Seasons Greetings, Auntie.
Have a good Christmas, lover.
Merry Christmas Auntie!!! And your little dog too.
Have a wonderful Christmas with the Butcher and Mrs. Wigglebottom! It’s been a blessing to have found you this year. Let’s get together when I get back in town!
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