family

Traveling home from a Hawaiian vacation and heading back into reality. Somewhat reluctantly, truth be told.

My grandfather's name was Poppy. Actually it was Ferdinand, and Fred to his friends, but it was Grandpops to the kids. And I, the youngest of four grandkids, couldn't figure out how to say that when I was small, I guess. So to me, he was Poppy. 

So it's the fourth day of Christmas. We ran the Bay Area traffic gauntlet, visited friends and family, and landed back home in time to have two full days of loafing around the house. Probably the last thing I should do, full of Christmas food as I am, but, my, did it feel good.

Last Monday, I went to a movie with a friend. Having sort of skipped dinner, I did something uncharacteristic and actually bought food (or the closest approximation thereof) at the theater. My hotdog came with a medium drink. When the clerk hoisted the beverage onto the counter, the resounding thump was followed by a beat of total silence, before my friend and I burst out laughing. The receptical before me was a 44 ounce trough. I would only be exagerating slightly if I said I could fit my cat Weasley in that cup. And Weasley? Not small.

So our days were merry and bright. I hope yours were too. Santa made his appearance, and tracked some boot prints all over the hearth. The cat added wrapping paper to his list of favorite things, along with the big water bowl under the tree which is dangling with a multitude of cat toys. My seven-year-old has been a pretty good boy this year, but seemed to get the idea that volunteering to do the dishes Christmas Eve might sweeten the pot just a little.