To You and Yours

In anticipation of the annual R-F Nativity, Vince Guaraldi's Christmas tracks are playing as I type. I love his trickling tunes. The arrival of a table here at The Y B House yesterday brought glad tidings of great joy. No more lap-topping on my lap. Merry indeed. We're a week in, and feeling a bit more settled, another snowstorm under our belt as of this record. I made a friend of the school boy/ski bum across-the-street-neighbor of ours. The Boy From Maine and I have said a few hearty hello's as we've both scooted off in the morning. He's from Maine, therefore he's mine. Plain and simple. He and his roommates play midnight football, never missing a day, or a play, even with the sheet of ice that covers 2200 east. We'll be minus an M this week. She'll be missed. We promise not to sleep in her bed (It's the comfiest. By far.) In the words of Annie, "I think I'm gonna like it here." As M studied a few nights ago, I put together a wreath with the few odds and ends that I had. We needed a little Christmas. Tonight I set out a centerpiece on our newly-delivered table. With our frosted windowpanes, red teapot in constant use and Christmas DVDs on repeat, we're happy here in our little house.