I cannot help but marvel that the older I get the less holidays seem to affect me. I remember a time when there was a sense of wonderment and a thrill of the convening clan but now holidays roll over me like water over a duck's back. They come and go so fast. This Thanksgiving was no exception; it was absolute crap, save a singularly wonderful evening with friends. It is unfortunate that I forgot a large part of it. Lesson 1: no matter how much fun it is do not get into theologial discussion over the biblical precedence of hell with your father while drinking bourbon before your friends arrive. Admittdly, he was as bummed over a terrible holiday and I suspect we were seeking to connect on a familiar level. My singular hope in the holidays is that I am a conveyance of the festivities for my neice. While schedules, food prep, sleeping arrangements are a constant in my mind, I continually try to force myself to stop and make sure that I am a bearer of good will and holiday mysticism for Angel. I may grow tired of the semantics but it would be a pitty on my life if I let my attitude deprive her of her sense of wonderment. I am not there yet, but I am learning; and that is no bad thing. Bon Hiver!