Land of the Living

Actually, P-town is remarkably quiet. I'm assuming. I actually wouldn't know since all I've seen is my apartment, my office, and the pub. Note to self: must get out more.

This post is to report that I survived Christmas despite the disheartening fact that this year the Christmas tree was in the southeast corner of the front room instead of in the middle of the large paneless window on the west wall, which essentially sets it in the middle of the room. Somehow it seemed less grand this way. My mother argued that it was for the sake of the view, but I've yet to acknowledge that as a legitimate arguement.

This year's Christmas was branded as "the last Christmas we'll all be together as a family (insert sob here)." Next year Stephen will be "on the mission" and during the two years he's absent Lauren will most likely get married. Huzzah. This meant we had to double duty, hosting dinners and watching Christmas specials Dad taped in 1987. It was actually kind of fun. And a note on the 1987 Christmas specials: Garfield's Christmas and Claymation Christmas. We never realized how funny they were until this year when in the opening song for Garfield Lauren shrieked (L has two volumes: loud and louder), "What did he just say?" Rewinding the tape gave us the number one quote of the holiday: "Things. Stuff. Gadgets. Toys. Greed. Avarice. A lot." The Claymation Christmas is equally as funny and as we were sitting five to a couch, Lauren decided to see if it had ever come out on video. It had and at 10:00 that night L and I buzzed down to SLC to snatch up Border's last DVD copy. We were all excited until we realized that half the charm is the fuzzy lines cutting over the picture.

Christmas Eve dawned with all shopping done and everyone sitting around wondering what to do. We cooked. And then around 7:00 my dad turned on his holiday favorite, It's A Wonderful Life. More quotable gems. My brother's favorite: "If you'll point me in the right direction, Mother, I'm going to go do some passionate necking." If you don't remember that, watch it again. I'll join you. The evening ended with my mother giving us our annual pajama pants. I think at one point in time she wrapped them. Now she shoves them in a bag, which she has our father bring out, who then hands the bag to Maryn, who dumps it on the ground and we each try to figure out which pair belongs to which kid. Last year I had to convince Seth that the pair he was holding was mine--it was pink.

And Christmas morning. Not much to say except I was woken up at 7:18 a.m. by my 14-year-old brother standing in my doorway saying, "Luke, I am your father."

Happy New Year, everyone. Although I'm sure to post something before then.