December 26, 2025

St Stephan’s Day. 

Christmas Eve I was full of a rare kind of spirit. I wouldn’t drink tea without choosing the cup carefully, wanting the memory of some particular person from the vessel I chose. Everything was sweet and bristling with dimension. It was like moving inside a memory. Charpentier in the never-quite-fully-lit interior of St. George’s. Eight hours of driving dilutes merry feelings somewhat, but did not push them wholly away. Met little David for the first time since he was a sleeping lump in his mother’s arms, a good-natured, curious child. Holiday gathering at my sister's.  One tries to take everything meant as a blessing as a blessing received. 

The second year in which I received no Christmas gifts. What do I need? Nothing, but as Lear says, “Reason not the need.”  Something wholly unexpected and gratuitous would be nice. Did bring home a piece of shimmering silver damask that my mother had, that L thinks was a gift from her first love, perished in a tornado, and two small plates from grandmother H, painted with bluebirds.