Notesin still

摘要

I sit on wooden stairs leading down to our kitchen where my mother-in-law steals a glimpse of the turkey, its stuffing tumbling into juices running clear. We are in that mid-day holiday lull after giftgiving, clean-up and chocolate overload. We chit-chat about nothing. My husband lies on the floor in front of the loaded Christmas tree, and I gaze at an enormous paper snowflake my son made in preschool. It refuses to face outwards. My husband rises, pokes the charred logs to make room for another, then thumbs through the stereo iPod shuffle to Celtic Christmas.