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12/24/2006: "Xmasness"

A gentle, quiet evening has descended on the neighborhood and I, the sole remaining occupant of 120 Linden this Christmas Eve, have settled in for a wintry night, curled up in the living room with a bottle of wine and Chestnut's iPod.

Chestnut phoned me a few hours ago from his folks' place to report that his half-blind great aunt had unwrapped the PSP Chestnut had bought for his cousin and he was presently gathering up the courage to swipe it from the jaws of her Dachsund. Tumble is spending Christmas Eve with his sister watching the Nutcracker Suite on PBS and texting me repeated requests to end his life. I'm going to head up to Erie tomorrow morning and visit with my adoptive parents, bringing along braised wild duck which Carly in her infinite kindness made for me to take after my third attempt at a casserole was hurled feeble and smoldering into the garbage disposal.

As is the case every year, one of our neighbor's luminaria across the street has caught fire, sending a gentle flicker of light through our picture window. It's a drowsy, wonderful evening, the kind that puts worries in suspension and plans on hold, one that makes you want to close your laptop and stare out the window at the street alive in its emptiness.