Sunday, December 24, 2006
and so this is xmas, part 1
It's three o'clock in the morning. I have just ceased my day's toils and I am finally having a chance to sit down and relax with the single malt I gave myself to celebrate the holiday. It's quite smooth, something from the Lowlands, and not quite as smoky or peaty as some of Highlands or Islays I have recently sampled.
The shopping was miraculously finished before the shops closed, a minor miracle in itself. As for the holiday projects. . . well, they're coming along nicely, thank you very much. The Wife is inside, wide awake half-buzzed on vodka and sewing the fabric I have just finished cutting. She's making retro-looking aprons for the ladies in the family. She's doing a fabulous job. They look fucking great. I'm very impressed.
As for The Boy, well he has been sound asleep for hours with vision of sugar plums dancing in his head. This afternoon we finally braved the traffic and the crowds and made the dreaded yet required trip to The Mall so that he could see Santa. The overpriced photograph of him looking starstruck up at the overweight bearded old hippie as he sat in Santa's lap was worth every second of the hour plus wait in line.
The air is damp and very cold, yet not freezing. The rain pours steadily down, its irregular rhythms beat above me on the corrugated plastic roofing of the patio. It is soothing, and is appropriate for the season.
For me, the day began with a funeral.
One of my students died on Tuesday. Yes my dear reader, that does really suck. It is a reminder of the perils of loving, caring for, and working with medically fragile kids with severe and profound disabilities. So merry fucking Christmas.
Last weekend he was admitted to the local pediatric ICU with a nasty case of pneumonia. The pneumonia won.
Tomorrow afternoon, or more accurately, later today, I'm picking up another student from the nursing home facility where he lives to bring him to our home to celebrate Christmas. He's only eight years old. His family has sadly abandoned and forgotten him this holiday season.
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The shopping was miraculously finished before the shops closed, a minor miracle in itself. As for the holiday projects. . . well, they're coming along nicely, thank you very much. The Wife is inside, wide awake half-buzzed on vodka and sewing the fabric I have just finished cutting. She's making retro-looking aprons for the ladies in the family. She's doing a fabulous job. They look fucking great. I'm very impressed.
As for The Boy, well he has been sound asleep for hours with vision of sugar plums dancing in his head. This afternoon we finally braved the traffic and the crowds and made the dreaded yet required trip to The Mall so that he could see Santa. The overpriced photograph of him looking starstruck up at the overweight bearded old hippie as he sat in Santa's lap was worth every second of the hour plus wait in line.
The air is damp and very cold, yet not freezing. The rain pours steadily down, its irregular rhythms beat above me on the corrugated plastic roofing of the patio. It is soothing, and is appropriate for the season.
For me, the day began with a funeral.
One of my students died on Tuesday. Yes my dear reader, that does really suck. It is a reminder of the perils of loving, caring for, and working with medically fragile kids with severe and profound disabilities. So merry fucking Christmas.
Last weekend he was admitted to the local pediatric ICU with a nasty case of pneumonia. The pneumonia won.
Tomorrow afternoon, or more accurately, later today, I'm picking up another student from the nursing home facility where he lives to bring him to our home to celebrate Christmas. He's only eight years old. His family has sadly abandoned and forgotten him this holiday season.
Have yourself a merry merry Christmas
Have yourself a good time
But remember the kids who got nothin'
While you're drinkin' down your wine
- Ray Davies
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