Personal

Merry Christmas!

No Comments

As of noon today, I settled into the second half of my annual end-of-year vacation. Hard to believe that eight days have elapsed already — I haven’t gotten a ton done off my to-do list, but in fairness, I’ve been fairly heavily preoccupied with fire drills from several different sources (lookin’ at you, Priority Health and NAHQ conference calls) and party planning, so I haven’t had much chance to just sit, plan and execute. The little time I’ve had, has been significantly interrupted by the cats. Seriously. I literally cannot work from home anymore — the feline overlords want to lay on me or on my keyboard and no amount of gentle redirection proves effective, and locking them out of my office merely engenders scratching and loud meowing that persists for hours.

Christmas this year has been a mixed bag. I know I’ve been harping on it these last few years — and earlier this month — but I look at Christmas a bit differently than I used to. It feels more like an obligation game: Show up places, give people things, receive things, fight crowds, etc. Having snow on the ground helps, but not a lot. Religiously, the Advent/Christmas season has grown so trite that it seems hollow, a point I attribute mostly to the astonishingly and consistently poor homiletics among the Catholic clergy.

But it hasn’t been bad, all things considered. Did the maternal-family thing on the 17th. My soon-to-be-former boss took his direct reports for dinner at Gravity last Tuesday evening. Roni took me to dinner as part of newly joining the GLCL board of directors. My mom did her usual Christmas Eve thing last night (my extra “drunk Santa” gifts with messaged labels went over well). Today has been fairly quiet — I edited episode 299 of Vice Lounge Online and now have been plotting next week’s intended achievements with one hand (literally) while the other hand attends to one of the cats.

And sitting here, in my home office, writing this post, it occurs to me that I have a lot of “Christmas cheer” to share. I’m grateful for a lot of things — having a decent career, relatively little family drama, a solid circle of friends, lack of serious material want — that I often take for granted.

Because I just edited a podcast episode, VLO makes for a great top-of-mind case in point. Over the years that Tony and I have been podcasting, we’ve had the privilege of meeting some wonderful folks from all across the Anglosphere. The cast of characters waxes and wanes, but the fact that I could make a solo trek to VIMFP in Las Vegas in October and run into probably 20 or more people I knew, or that we could get a dozen people to our five-year podcast event in Louisville in April, speaks volumes. I have “people” — friends of the show — that I know well enough that I could reach out if I ever visited their home communities. Southeast England? Manitoba? North-central Texas? Atlanta? Las Vegas? Northern California? Pennsylvania? Check, check, check, check, check, check, check. And then some. #Amazing

I’m immensely grateful for my friends, my health, my stability. I know that others don’t have what I have, but I’m keeping those folks in my thoughts. I know some friends and acquaintances are working through challenges as different as raising an infant, navigating a divorce, changing gender identities and recovering from cancer. These people need our holiday well-wishes!

So to all of you out there, I wish you a very merry Christmas.

Personal

A “Merry Christmas” Reflection

No Comments

Today is the day that enchants the minds of children and provokes a curious admixture of joy, sorrow, angst and consumerism for adults. Yes, today is Christmas. May yours be merry.

Some thoughts:

  • When I was a kid, Christmas was a time of magic. Part of the magic was a two-fold sense of expectancy — the secular acts of gift-giving, feasting and school vacations, on one hand, and the progression of Advent on the other. Now, I look forward to my annual two-week vacation, but the religious aspect feels disconnected. Partly, I think, because of my church-hopping over the last several years, and partly because most of the expressions I see of authentically Catholic Advent/Christmas observance feel increasingly trite. The depth is missing. The sense of spiritual challenge is gone. Many years ago, my friend Mitch observed that one of our priests only really had five homilies, the contents of which changed like a paint-by-numbers game. Advent/Christmas feels a lot like that, now: Pick a generic theme as your base color and paint over last year’s season. We’re depriving ourselves of something important, I think, and it doesn’t feel like it’s a one-priest or one-parish thing.
  • With temperatures fluctuating between the mid-50s and mid-60s over the last few days, it hardly feels like Christmas. Apparently this is West Michigan’s 12th “green” Christmas since 1905; usually, we have at least an inch or two of snow cover. So the fact that I could sit outside on the front porch on the 23rd or 26th, in shorts and a T-shirt, to enjoy a cigar — well, that situation is a wee bit out of the ordinary. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
  • Gift-giving, for me, is a stressor. There’s the embarrassment of forgetting, the awkwardness of one-way exchanges, the frustration of thinking of just the right gift, etc. But it is what it is, I suppose.
  • Recent holiday events have been pleasant. We did Christmas Eve with my mom. Among other things, I got cat toys, and Murphy even played with one at some length: A bird that, when batted, makes a chirping sound. I heard chips all night. #YayFun. And last Saturday, we visited my grandmother for the maternal-family party. Got to meet baby Emma for the first time.
  • Speaking of my mom’s party, three things of note transpired. First, Katie showed up, which was nice. Second, there was a serious discussion about a family trip four years from now — a three-week summer trek by rented RV to Alaska. And third, my brother trumped in the annual game of “rearrange mom’s ‘Merry Christmas’ blocks” … xmas
  • I welcomed Tony back last Sunday for a podcasting session. That was nice. And in the last few weeks, I’ve had dinner with Abbi — she just got back from three weeks in northern India and brought me back a lovely hand-woven cashmere scarf — and cigars with my old college friends Matt and John. I haven’t seen John in many years, so it was an especially joyful experience to re-connect with him.
  • I’m in the middle of a two-week vacation. Lots of stuff to accomplish, but progress is already solid. I’m remembering, however, the biggest reason I wanted an office for Caffeinated Press: Cats. Specifically, that Murphy either wants to sleep on me, or walk around the house yelling loudly to get my attention. I’ve never seen a cat as quite as co-dependent as he is. Fiona, his sister, hasn’t moved from her pillow in the sun over the last four hours. Murphy, however, has been a very loud, very fuzzy shadow all day long. Makes it hard to work in peace.
  • I’m keeping friends who’ve had relationship damage over the last year in my thoughts as they experience the holidays in a less happy light.

Merry Christmas and happy Hannukah, and may you have a safe/happy/healthy/profitable new year.

Personal

A "Merry Christmas" Reflection

No Comments

Today is the day that enchants the minds of children and provokes a curious admixture of joy, sorrow, angst and consumerism for adults. Yes, today is Christmas. May yours be merry.
Some thoughts:

  • When I was a kid, Christmas was a time of magic. Part of the magic was a two-fold sense of expectancy — the secular acts of gift-giving, feasting and school vacations, on one hand, and the progression of Advent on the other. Now, I look forward to my annual two-week vacation, but the religious aspect feels disconnected. Partly, I think, because of my church-hopping over the last several years, and partly because most of the expressions I see of authentically Catholic Advent/Christmas observance feel increasingly trite. The depth is missing. The sense of spiritual challenge is gone. Many years ago, my friend Mitch observed that one of our priests only really had five homilies, the contents of which changed like a paint-by-numbers game. Advent/Christmas feels a lot like that, now: Pick a generic theme as your base color and paint over last year’s season. We’re depriving ourselves of something important, I think, and it doesn’t feel like it’s a one-priest or one-parish thing.
  • With temperatures fluctuating between the mid-50s and mid-60s over the last few days, it hardly feels like Christmas. Apparently this is West Michigan’s 12th “green” Christmas since 1905; usually, we have at least an inch or two of snow cover. So the fact that I could sit outside on the front porch on the 23rd or 26th, in shorts and a T-shirt, to enjoy a cigar — well, that situation is a wee bit out of the ordinary. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
  • Gift-giving, for me, is a stressor. There’s the embarrassment of forgetting, the awkwardness of one-way exchanges, the frustration of thinking of just the right gift, etc. But it is what it is, I suppose.
  • Recent holiday events have been pleasant. We did Christmas Eve with my mom. Among other things, I got cat toys, and Murphy even played with one at some length: A bird that, when batted, makes a chirping sound. I heard chips all night. #YayFun. And last Saturday, we visited my grandmother for the maternal-family party. Got to meet baby Emma for the first time.
  • Speaking of my mom’s party, three things of note transpired. First, Katie showed up, which was nice. Second, there was a serious discussion about a family trip four years from now — a three-week summer trek by rented RV to Alaska. And third, my brother trumped in the annual game of “rearrange mom’s ‘Merry Christmas’ blocks” … xmas
  • I welcomed Tony back last Sunday for a podcasting session. That was nice. And in the last few weeks, I’ve had dinner with Abbi — she just got back from three weeks in northern India and brought me back a lovely hand-woven cashmere scarf — and cigars with my old college friends Matt and John. I haven’t seen John in many years, so it was an especially joyful experience to re-connect with him.
  • I’m in the middle of a two-week vacation. Lots of stuff to accomplish, but progress is already solid. I’m remembering, however, the biggest reason I wanted an office for Caffeinated Press: Cats. Specifically, that Murphy either wants to sleep on me, or walk around the house yelling loudly to get my attention. I’ve never seen a cat as quite as co-dependent as he is. Fiona, his sister, hasn’t moved from her pillow in the sun over the last four hours. Murphy, however, has been a very loud, very fuzzy shadow all day long. Makes it hard to work in peace.
  • I’m keeping friends who’ve had relationship damage over the last year in my thoughts as they experience the holidays in a less happy light.

Merry Christmas and happy Hannukah, and may you have a safe/happy/healthy/profitable new year.

Personal, Politics & Culture, Religion

Blessings, Old and New

No Comments

Today is Christmas. Ho3.
Once upon a yesteryear, the last six weeks of the calendar marked a magical period of fun, family and festivity. The season kicked off with the trek up the hill to my grandparents’ house on Thanksgiving Day. We’d enjoy a feast that would put any Edwardian glutton to shame –assembling in the White Dining Room, a twice-a-year event, with non-casual attire and rare delicacies stretching as far as the eye could see — then cap it off with the thrill of defeat known as the “Lions’ game.” Heaven help us when it was Detroit v. Green Bay; battle lines formed ’round the TV, with the Michigan Delegation duly singing Nearer My God to Thee as the defense sunk beneath the waves while the Indiana Delegation surged with a wild-eyed ferocity that would make Mel Gibson look as sedate as Ben Stein.
Then, we’d embark upon that Great Interregnum known as Advent, when the spiritual side of Christmas received its due accord. The ancient Christian fathers knew what they were doing when they introduced seasonality into the liturgical calendar; moreso, when they pushed the cycle of readings to three years on Sundays and two years on weekdays. Advent became a period both familiar and yet ever new; in my youth, at a Franciscan parish, by the time a new three-year Gospel cycle began we’d have new friars and thus new perspectives on that year’s narrative.
Times change. My parents divorced, my grandfather died, everyone’s moved to different domiciles, schedules swapped as in-laws proliferated, food lines slimmed down from “extravagant fare on china with silver” to “grab a paper plate for appetizers,” sweaters and ties gave way to pajama pants … and I’m in my mid-30s living with a pair of cats. Over the last few years, the holiday season has crumbled a bit. It became a duty to buy gifts. It became rote to do the same things at church. It felt odd that “family” occurred twice per year, in the Snowy Season.
The last few years haven’t been especially merry. Acedia set in, I suppose. Christmas became just one more thing to plan around, like a doctor’s appointment or annual performance review.  One more thing to spend money on. One more reason to sit down with family you see almost never and pretend like things are a happy, healthy whole. Indeed, my favorite part of the last six weeks of the year is the anticipation over my annual two-week vacation, a time spent not on others but rather myself.
Yet. Yet. Yet. It’s tempting to catch yourself judging today by the impossible standard of yesterday. It’s the fate of mankind — graced, as we are, by mortality; cursed, however, by relentless novelty — to never step in the same stream twice. The things that used to excite us eventually lose their wonder. The things we used to tire of, now bring delight. The challenge of Christmas, then, is to resist treating the holiday like a repeat, but instead to find new meaning every single time, even when there’s no lodestar to compare against.
This year, I kicked off the holiday season with Thanksgiving with my mom and brother. Then I had a second feast with friends at Brittany and Steve’s. We’ve had snow consistently in December, and little things — a gift here, a card there, a party with friends somewhere else — made a huge difference. We had a fun party at my grandmother’s condo last Saturday, and last night at my mom’s was great — especially chucking indoor snowballs at my young nephew. Today I’m drinking coffee with Bailey’s, writing, while the cats sit peacefully on their pillows. I think tonight I’ll make a fire and watch the Doctor Who special.
Christmas isn’t about gifts, or decorations, or cookies or anything else. More than anything, it’s a state of mind that says two things simultaneously. First, in that ancient Christian tradition, we are invited to reflect on the miracle of life and the saving power of innocence in the face of worldly adversity. Second, we are called to impose our own meaning on the world around us, to choose to find reasons for joy … or not. Our call.
Choose wisely. For myself, this year, I choose to enjoy the blessings of Christmas, and I pray that you do, too.

Personal

Christmas Vacation!

No Comments

Today is day No. 2 of a 16-day excursion into vacationing excellence.
The time-off period started well enough. Yesterday I started the day with coffee with Abbi then a family Christmas party (held at the Cathedral of St. Dorothy the Matriarch), then a trip to the mall for a bit of shopping and then food-court dinner and a movie — Anchorman 2, which was hilarious — with Liz and Brian, Julie, Nichole, and Lianne. Today features a bit of housekeeping — cleaning, podcast production, grocery shopping, last-minute gift-buying — to settle me for the week.
Then … nothing.
Well, not nothing. I have quite a bit planned. It’s better to say that apart from another Christmas party on Tuesday, and a possible planning visit with Tony on Jan 2/3/4, that I’m not leaving the house. Instead, I’ll remain cocooned at home, with the feline overlords, performing sundry tasks:

  • Polishing the novel
  • Reviewing 2013’s achievements and planning 2014’s goals
  • A buttload of cardio
  • Soliciting contract writing work

I’m looking forward to it.
The last few years, Christmas hasn’t been much about the holiday; instead, it’s about the time off to hunker down and re-center myself.  A period of end-of-year renewal, as it were.
And I’m way past ready to get to work.

Personal

I’m Dreaming of a Sterile Christmas

No Comments

I struggled a bit with figuring out what single adjective best encapsulates this year’s holiday season. I settled on sterile.

Here’s why:

  • Until yesterday, this winter has been unseasonably warm. Like temperatures in the 40s/50s, with total seasonal snow accumulation of less than an eighth of an inch. Dry Christmases are as lame as dry wedding receptions.
  • I didn’t put up decorations or send cards, and I haven’t really listened to much Christmas music. Shopping for gifts has brought no joy.
  • Things are a bit morose at work — no one seems to be in a holiday mood given transitions within the hospital. No potlucks, no decorations, no white-elephant gifts.
  • Family gatherings seem contrived, even superficial. Pleasant, to be sure, but … transactional.
  • I have been extremely inactive in church events this season.

So this year, Christmas is just another day on the calendar. Just like Thanksgiving was. Just like New Years’ Day will be.

It didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time, the holiday season was magic. In fact, the entire fourth quarter marked my favorite time of the year. Kickoff coincided with my birthday in mid-September, continued with helping my grandparents reap their harvest and burn their leaves in October, and hit an autumnal high point with Halloween and its associated trick-or-treating (as a kid) or costume parties (as an adult). Then — as the cold set in — we prepared for Thanksgiving. Until my early 20s, we assembled for a lavish feast at my grandparents’ house; this long-awaited afternoon of food and football opened the door to the Christmas season.

With the arrival of Advent, the spiritual side received nourishment with the various preparations for the Christmas season. When Christmas itself came, the feast arrived with cold, snow, gifts, parties, choirs and Masses; the entire family convened at my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve, then we went to Midnight Mass, then my parents and brother and I did our own thing on Christmas morning. The period between Christmas and New Years’ Eve allowed for a bit of quiet recovery before an evening of revelry on the 31st.

Then, after a drying-out brunch on the morning of Jan. 1, it was all over but the fond memories.

So what went wrong? Probably a few things. First among them, I no longer welcome birthdays. Followed by substantial changes over the last few years to my circle of friends that has put Halloween parties off the table. Then the lack of a seasonal harvest. Oh, and don’t forget the fracturing of Thanksgiving into small, casual affairs. And something similar with Christmas. And over the last few years, I’ve been less attentive to my religious duties than I should be.

All of this is potentially correctible, of course. But do I give a damn? Not so much. The magic of the holiday season, this year and last, wasn’t the holidays — it was the extended vacation I scheduled to take care of things around the house and otherwise unwind and plan for the coming year.

Theologians talk of acedia — a sense of spiritual and emotional deadness marked by burnout bordering on apathy. I think the term fits. Since Medieval Christendom, acedia has been viewed as a sin, mostly because those poor souls afflicted by it suffer the double whammy of torpor and a profound lack of motivation to do anything about it.

The simple joys of the past, of family and security and that happiness that comes from being secure in one’s person and station, have taken flight. In their place are a sense of self-reliance and mission related to big goals that take big effort to execute. Yet the risk of walking your own path instead of conforming to the path set by family, friends and co-workers is that your only corrective comes from within. With acedia, there’s no corrective from within. Cue the vicious infinite regress.

Part of it, too, might be the lack of seasonality in the annual calendar. When I was a kid, we had the subtext of micro-farming to break up the year. Whether it derived from the different ways we took care of the horses in summer versus winter, or the cycle of planting, nurturing and harvesting from a large garden and from fruit trees, we had no choice but to respect that different times of the year had a different focus and therefore different associated joys and laments. Without that connection to the earth, and with the Catholic liturgical year subdued the further from the Church you fall, the calendar really is just one damn thing after another with no need to plan ahead or to enjoy the immediacy of now.

Maybe next year will be better. More meaningful. More seasonal. Less sterile.

Personal

I'm Dreaming of a Sterile Christmas

No Comments

I struggled a bit with figuring out what single adjective best encapsulates this year’s holiday season. I settled on sterile.
Here’s why:

  • Until yesterday, this winter has been unseasonably warm. Like temperatures in the 40s/50s, with total seasonal snow accumulation of less than an eighth of an inch. Dry Christmases are as lame as dry wedding receptions.
  • I didn’t put up decorations or send cards, and I haven’t really listened to much Christmas music. Shopping for gifts has brought no joy.
  • Things are a bit morose at work — no one seems to be in a holiday mood given transitions within the hospital. No potlucks, no decorations, no white-elephant gifts.
  • Family gatherings seem contrived, even superficial. Pleasant, to be sure, but … transactional.
  • I have been extremely inactive in church events this season.

So this year, Christmas is just another day on the calendar. Just like Thanksgiving was. Just like New Years’ Day will be.
It didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time, the holiday season was magic. In fact, the entire fourth quarter marked my favorite time of the year. Kickoff coincided with my birthday in mid-September, continued with helping my grandparents reap their harvest and burn their leaves in October, and hit an autumnal high point with Halloween and its associated trick-or-treating (as a kid) or costume parties (as an adult). Then — as the cold set in — we prepared for Thanksgiving. Until my early 20s, we assembled for a lavish feast at my grandparents’ house; this long-awaited afternoon of food and football opened the door to the Christmas season.
With the arrival of Advent, the spiritual side received nourishment with the various preparations for the Christmas season. When Christmas itself came, the feast arrived with cold, snow, gifts, parties, choirs and Masses; the entire family convened at my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve, then we went to Midnight Mass, then my parents and brother and I did our own thing on Christmas morning. The period between Christmas and New Years’ Eve allowed for a bit of quiet recovery before an evening of revelry on the 31st.
Then, after a drying-out brunch on the morning of Jan. 1, it was all over but the fond memories.
So what went wrong? Probably a few things. First among them, I no longer welcome birthdays. Followed by substantial changes over the last few years to my circle of friends that has put Halloween parties off the table. Then the lack of a seasonal harvest. Oh, and don’t forget the fracturing of Thanksgiving into small, casual affairs. And something similar with Christmas. And over the last few years, I’ve been less attentive to my religious duties than I should be.
All of this is potentially correctible, of course. But do I give a damn? Not so much. The magic of the holiday season, this year and last, wasn’t the holidays — it was the extended vacation I scheduled to take care of things around the house and otherwise unwind and plan for the coming year.
Theologians talk of acedia — a sense of spiritual and emotional deadness marked by burnout bordering on apathy. I think the term fits. Since Medieval Christendom, acedia has been viewed as a sin, mostly because those poor souls afflicted by it suffer the double whammy of torpor and a profound lack of motivation to do anything about it.
The simple joys of the past, of family and security and that happiness that comes from being secure in one’s person and station, have taken flight. In their place are a sense of self-reliance and mission related to big goals that take big effort to execute. Yet the risk of walking your own path instead of conforming to the path set by family, friends and co-workers is that your only corrective comes from within. With acedia, there’s no corrective from within. Cue the vicious infinite regress.
Part of it, too, might be the lack of seasonality in the annual calendar. When I was a kid, we had the subtext of micro-farming to break up the year. Whether it derived from the different ways we took care of the horses in summer versus winter, or the cycle of planting, nurturing and harvesting from a large garden and from fruit trees, we had no choice but to respect that different times of the year had a different focus and therefore different associated joys and laments. Without that connection to the earth, and with the Catholic liturgical year subdued the further from the Church you fall, the calendar really is just one damn thing after another with no need to plan ahead or to enjoy the immediacy of now.
Maybe next year will be better. More meaningful. More seasonal. Less sterile.

Personal

“I’m Dreaming … Of a Lukewarm Christmas!”

No Comments

Two separate conversations, three identical conclusions: The 2011 holiday season doesn’t really feel like anything worth celebrating. I think it, my mom thinks it, Jess thinks it. This year, the holidays seem more trouble than they’re worth.

Perhaps the unseasonably mild weather contributes; without snow and bitter cold, it feels like late spring. Not like Christmas.

Perhaps the lack of a defined routine matters. In the past, the holiday season inaugurated with a giant feast at my grandparents’ house on Thanksgiving, then progressed through the solemnity of Advent, and culminated with a two-fer of a huge family get-together on Christmas Eve night at my grandparents, then Christmas morning at home.  With my grandfather enjoying his eternal reward and the other holidays skipping around a bit (or fixed but with fewer people), there’s not a lot of joy in it anymore.

Perhaps its a sense of impatience: with myself, with the world. It’s like I can hear the clock ticking but can’t do anything about it.

Perhaps it’s an overall frustration with a whole bunch of things right now. Mostly work-related. Plus the brakes on my truck are shot, which means driving is risky.

I don’t know.

I did have some fun. Dinner and cigars in Lansing with Tony and Jen was nice. The office potluck before Thanksgiving afforded the opportunity to try a new jambalaya recipe on the unsuspecting masses. My mom’s Thanksgiving meal was lovely, as was Christmas eve, and the weekend before Christmas offered a great opportunity to spend time with the family at my grandmother’s condo. I went to the 10 a.m. Mass of Christmas Day at the Cathedral of St. Andrew; the service was beautiful and I even got a bit emotional during the singing.

And the new year should be fun — a huge dinner and open bar at a hotel in Livonia to ring in the new year with Tony and Jen. Looking forward to that.

And this week, I’m off from the hospital. Yay. And I’m actually being astonishingly productive. (Said, as laundry is cycling and dishes are drying and my email is caught-up and my task list is refreshed … while I blog.)

But still. In terms of holiday seasons, this one doesn’t rank high on the memorableness chart.

Personal

"I'm Dreaming … Of a Lukewarm Christmas!"

No Comments

Two separate conversations, three identical conclusions: The 2011 holiday season doesn’t really feel like anything worth celebrating. I think it, my mom thinks it, Jess thinks it. This year, the holidays seem more trouble than they’re worth.
Perhaps the unseasonably mild weather contributes; without snow and bitter cold, it feels like late spring. Not like Christmas.
Perhaps the lack of a defined routine matters. In the past, the holiday season inaugurated with a giant feast at my grandparents’ house on Thanksgiving, then progressed through the solemnity of Advent, and culminated with a two-fer of a huge family get-together on Christmas Eve night at my grandparents, then Christmas morning at home.  With my grandfather enjoying his eternal reward and the other holidays skipping around a bit (or fixed but with fewer people), there’s not a lot of joy in it anymore.
Perhaps its a sense of impatience: with myself, with the world. It’s like I can hear the clock ticking but can’t do anything about it.
Perhaps it’s an overall frustration with a whole bunch of things right now. Mostly work-related. Plus the brakes on my truck are shot, which means driving is risky.
I don’t know.
I did have some fun. Dinner and cigars in Lansing with Tony and Jen was nice. The office potluck before Thanksgiving afforded the opportunity to try a new jambalaya recipe on the unsuspecting masses. My mom’s Thanksgiving meal was lovely, as was Christmas eve, and the weekend before Christmas offered a great opportunity to spend time with the family at my grandmother’s condo. I went to the 10 a.m. Mass of Christmas Day at the Cathedral of St. Andrew; the service was beautiful and I even got a bit emotional during the singing.
And the new year should be fun — a huge dinner and open bar at a hotel in Livonia to ring in the new year with Tony and Jen. Looking forward to that.
And this week, I’m off from the hospital. Yay. And I’m actually being astonishingly productive. (Said, as laundry is cycling and dishes are drying and my email is caught-up and my task list is refreshed … while I blog.)
But still. In terms of holiday seasons, this one doesn’t rank high on the memorableness chart.