I slept in my childhood room last night. My parents remodeled it into their “computer room” after I moved out, so I slept on a futon. But the pre-sunrise light fell in the familiar way through the window and woke me up.
I haven’t ventured out since, though the thermometer has risen to 6 degrees Fahrenheit. The cold is radiating off the window here in the dining room, but the sun shines brightly on the snow and the sky is a pale clear blue.
My mother aka The Boss is baking cheesecakes, so the smell wafts through the house. My bachelor brother (who arrived last night) and my father are watching The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, so there’s old-fashioned movie music and John Wayne calling James Stewart “pilgrim.”
This it the relaxing, somewhat boring Christmas Eve of my childhood, waiting for evening festivities.