Yule

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 A quiet Christmas. I've been sick with covid since the late on the 15th, R. was too but is better. J. has avoided it, praise goddess, and D. just came home today, me fully masked. I feel fine now, but the virus seems pretty complacent to hang in my bloodstream. We are supposed to fly to Albuquerque on Wednesday to see my inlaws, but I'm doubtful I will be able to go.

The olden dog, who sent us to the emergency vet last weekend (me sick as hell with the virus, but masked and worried) and who has apparently some kind of a mass on his liver, is home and seems his normal self. He is 16.5 years old and has terrible arthritis and dementia, but is beloved by the cats and J. and seems determined to live for another 16.5 years.

Today is blustery and cold and my walk left me pink and wet and numb. It is three PM and already getting dark. We exchanged gifts in the dim light of the Christmas tree, the boys retreated upstairs to their rooms, and I'm back in my office working on the back panel of a sweater and R. reading in the living room. But my boy is home, we haven't had to travel anywhere, and he starts college again in January, fresh start, new year, all banged up with hope and terror.

I only cough a little, haven't had a fever in almost a week, and am tired of being sick. But were are here, on this side of the last 10 years, moving towards whatever the future is.

And if you'd like to hear some beautiful choir music, here is my choir, In Medio, and our first professional recording. Merry Christmas from the edge of the continent, loves.



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