It started around midnight at the end of a long day of home, the day the house became a home, nothing religious about it. From the northwest, pushing the front of the house head on. Ringing the damn bell again and again. The tree, already dead but faking it good, is strung with mirrored squares, hung with seashells, bracelets, earrings, driftwood, a gypsy tree topped by a tin angel. Pure pagan.
Three days of great meals and good company. Nella Cucina at Guy and Mel's house in, strangely, Independence, complete with indoor waterfall, sunken bar and '70s porn atmosphere. Traditional, or what has become a tradition, cioppino at Pam's and stories. Yesterday, what remains of family, bloody marys, poached salmon, secret sauce, turkey and the new stuffing king named Ben.
Thank you all.