Twas the night before Christmas

Quite night. Family tradition of oyster stew, salted ham biscuits, and egg nog with whiskey every Christmas eve. Bob, a family friend without family came to join us along with my aunt Stephanie. Alas, my brother though had to work even on this night, though I will see him tomorrow.

Writing on life and change Annie Dillard once wrote, "Your very cells have been replaced, and so have most of your feelings -- except two, two that connect back as far as you can remember. One is the chilling sensation of lowering one foot into a hot bath. The other, which can and does occur at any time, never fails to occur when you lower one foot into a hot bath, and when you feel the chill spread inside your shoulders, shoot down your arms and rise to your lips, and when you remember having felt this sensation from always, from when your mother lifted you down toward the bath and you curled up your legs: it is the dizzying overreal sensation of noticing that you are here. You feel life wipe your face like a big brush."

Standing in the heat of the woodstove while the snow freezes over outside in the moonlight on Christmas eve this passage comes to me. There is truly nothing like a good fire. For me its like she said, stepping away and letting the warmth fade is the sensation of noticing that you are here. A feeling constant, distant, from always.