We sit in the living room, K writing Christmas cards, L drawing on them. I alternate between reading student journals and whatever book my eye falls on — skimming books of my past and those I still haven’t made it to (Berger, Weil, Schleiermacher, Smart), all within reach of my chair.

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The tree is done; the mess cleaned up. It sits glowing in the corner. Were there a fireplace in the living room, it would probably be snapping and crackling now.

Shawn Colvin’s Holiday Songs and Lullabies finishes, setting the mood.

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There’s tea steeping in the kitchen (a rooibus that L chose), and it’s actually cold outside.

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We switch to Polish carols and dream of snow.