|December 24. Sunbathing. Honestly.|
|December 27, building dams. Barefoot.|
We watched the relatives disappear down the road, then we crawled back into our beds that felt too big and too quiet...But they thought about us, too. Missing them. And they missed us.
~ Cynthia Rylant, The Relatives Came
It was a Christmas week beyond compare: the temperatures were in the high sixties almost every day, the moon was full, coaxing some of us out at late hours after others were asleep, to walk and talk and make sense of the world. No one got sick - not even a sniffle - which if you know our record is downright miraculous. My brother-in-law ran outside for a walk every time it rained, because he loves it so much, and I made the best turkey I've ever had and got to share it with the women who raised it, which was such a pleasure. My mom had a birthday with lunch out and a surprise bell concert and streamers and margaritas, and we quietly met for coffee every morning in the kitchen before the others awoke. There was so much to treasure, the gifts were superfluous (and lovely, of course). We have entered the new year tired and chock full.