Seems like there’s always a good reason to go home this time of year, although sometimes it’s not to celebrate. That’s okay. Just gathering together with the people who gave you life and share your blood is a kinda powerful observance on its own.
Everything was irrefutably caked in snow.
I took nephew Pat to the ski mountain, and we spent the day lost in winding tree trails.
I got a sturdy pair of kitchen sheers, for snipping the shit out of chives and such.
I smelled salted caramel.
I ate toasted pecans.
I watched the dog eat scraps of shiny paper.
Now won’t it be grand when all this holiday crap is over??