11:26 p.m. - December 25, 2003
A very nice Christmas by the end of a long day, a game of Scrabble by the fireplace and calls to grandma to wind down, commenting behind motherís back about politically-charged word choices (queer, womyn) and having her catch us just like the days at dinner when the only opportunity for private intra-sibling discourse was done by speaking into the milk glass raised to oneís lips, only to have my parents know what was said. It shouldnít be called lip-reading; itís more like mind reading. [editorís note: I won the game.]
Promised grandma I will visit in January for a weekend. How many of you have a grandmother who thinks the world of you, tells you how proud she is that youíre done with poetry foolishness (because it doesnít pay) and now write textbooks, and says I must give her two free copies, one for her night stand and the other for her coffee table? I love her and will make January happen.
A nice Christmas, yes, but please, go home. Stimuli and worry overload.
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