I poured myself out of bed this morning, the kind of awakening where you don't feel like you really slept, only idled, like a car waiting in the grocery store parking lot, the passenger running in to pick up a few much-needed supplies. This was a boozy sleep; the Chargers having won an improbable victory, during the course of which a bottle of leftover Prosecco was downed, after which more was consumed. (I'm a fan of a different sort, that's for sure, but hey, there was cold pizza and Nacho Cheesier! Doritos).
It occurred to me as I made the coffee that for all intents and purposes the Holiday Season was over. We will be breaking down the tree, putting glass balls in their fragile box-cocoons for another year, wrapping up plastic garlands. Lucas will, of course be sad; one can only wonder what Zoe will think of it, although now when you ask her what a duck says, she goes "Qwah! Qwah!", which might be a window to a mind deeper than we expect. There is accompanying melancholy, not so much for the end of parties, presents, and waaaaay too much food and drink, but at watching another milepost speed by, another year gone, and don't they seem to go by a bit faster every time? The leisurely winding route becomes an autobahn of sorts.
So. More surfing, more reading, more writing, more connecting with new people and reconnecting with those left behind, more playing, more thinking, more exercise, more rest, more music, more cooking (Indian, because I've never, and Spanish, because I've gotten rusty), more everything.
