An excursion to Florida, with tropical breezes turning slowly to cold rain during the long drive back. John K. in a Santa Claus hat. Bette making delicious soup in the house in the woods. Beth laughing in Bruce and Ryn's kitchen, putting on her Tallulah accent. New faces on the periphery, people with high-tech jobs. A new kitten in my house. Rigid schedules failing, giving way to spontaneity. Scary for a person like me, even for a few days. Christmas doesn't carry the meaning, something else does. I feel the planet turning, banking, skidding across space, but I stay on my feet. Waking up is like riding a bicycle; you keep remembering how to do it even if you haven't for a long time.
