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.
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.
There’s tea steeping in the kitchen (a rooibus that L chose), and it’s actually cold outside.
We switch to Polish carols and dream of snow.