One Who Wanders (abiona) wrote,
One Who Wanders
abiona

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the light in the witch's fingers

Christmas was pleasantly drama free this year. My father contracted some sort of head cold, which made him sound exceedingly funny, and which had the unexpected but positive side effect of directing his temper towards other targets. In addition, it seemed to prevent him from imbibing alcohol, which made his company much more tolerable than usual. My hoity-toity aunt and uncle were remarkably well behaved and not as overbearingly pompous as they tend to be. The worst that happened was how I artfully dumped the knife butter side down in my lap while in their presence, but for one reason or another (probably all relating to a lack of sleep), this moment seemed funny.

The candlelight ceremony from eleven to just after midnight on Christmas Eve/Morning was a little on the trippy side, for I had hit the forty hour mark, and my eyes were beginning to glaze over. I gamely held onto both balance and my candle, all the while feeling that the minister looked especially eerie, with the small flame raised above his head and his gray robe billowing about him. I believe the reason we are compelled to stand during certain parts of the worship process is because otherwise everyone would fall asleep. Despite the uncomfortably straight pews (why does every religious institution insist on such painful seating? Possibly for the same purpose), the thought of snoozing off was certainly very tempting ... but I managed to rise for each hymn and even squeaked out a few notes. After all, my former voice coach was leading the congregation and I had to show my support ... and also demonstrate that I hadn't forgotten everything in the years since I left his tutelage!

Here is one of the exceptionally rotund squirrels who frequent my parents' property.
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