Review: Christmas

Christmas this year was nearly flawless.

I won't get into an itemized list of loot—I'm at least five years older than finding that awesome—but I will say that the gifts for all of us were very well-received by their intended targets; that I procured a couple books, one of which I had never heard of but which had great promise; and that I have now added to my day that great modern ritual that is delay-brewed coffee. The biggest gift news, of course, is that I am typing this blog entry from the keyboard of Wednesday, King of the Acer, the new Aspire laptop that has joined my little family of inanimate objects I talk to like roommates. (Tenbones, the Vaio who had been my previous literary companion, is now retired and living out his dotage in continued service to Tyler and country.) So, everybody please try to make the young'n feel welcome, and be glad for old Tenbones, now consigned to being the computer full of music and movies and the occasional CD.

More than presents, however, this year really was about family. I've heard it said that Christmas really is better for adults than for kids, and while I miss some of the magic it held as a child, I have to agree. As an adult, I can be enchanted by the lengths to which NORAD went with their Santa tracker; I can appreciate the joy of others unwrapping their presents as much as myself; I can enjoy the little things like a drink with my dad or the joy of waking up to the smell of breakfast casserole. This year drove it home in occasionally painful, but almost always exultant ways. The only bad part about it is that Santa left us for another year, and I was forced to come back south and tackle all the mundanity again.

But soon, I tell myself, it will be New Year's. Soon there will be celebration. And every morning, or at least the mornings on which supplies do not run low, there will be fresh-brewed cups of dark coffee, ready for me to drink.

One last time, before I let this part of the holiday slip by: Merry Christmas, everybody.