(Last Wednesday, 50-mph winds at Detroit-Wayne County kept me in the clouds for Christmas Eve. Perhaps there should be an ode here about dwelling among the heavenly hosts on the night the Christ Child was born? Or, more appropriately, an ode to Missy, who fetched me at MSP at midnight, in temps below zero, the night before hosting 15 family members for an all-day party. Salut, sister.)
I leave Minneapolis with a couple new scarves, several Backstreet Bridge victories, baby drool on my sweater, and an appreciation for Billy Wilder's version of Sabrina.
And what does Boston promise these last 2 days of December? Well, the cats will greet with great cries of pissiness. I will pour all efforts into mailing Christmas letters with a 2008 postmark. The stock market may very well earn a most sincere middle finger.
And I should, really, compose the annual reflection on my dating life...if nothing else, to secure against an inevitable emotional meltdown.
(Must admit. Some good moments among the thorns. But is it more fun to moon, Sabrina-like, over the thorns? Stay posted.)
In the meantime....Monday. Still in Minneapolis. Lunch is sandwiches with my Grandma, Martha. And there is 1 more day with the most tasty Henry.
(Yes. We both survived this mutual death grip.)
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