Writer of fiction, poetry, etc - based in Vancouver BC
It’s Christmas Day, and I slept horribly last night. Kept waking up for a few seconds, but never long enough to fix whatever was the problem. Discomfort; too cold or two cold; blankets falling off. Something. I’ll never know now.
The day has been good, though. Had a coffee and went through my stocking. Then we all went and visited Grandma—she lives in a care home a few blocks away. It was a good visit; she was laughing.
Then cinnamon buns, and opening gifts. Then a few hours of normal day. Then I went down to read and fell into a doze. Now I feel more out of it than I want to. Managed to do some reading, then I’ll have a quick shower I think and then I’m up to make Christmas dinner. Opening a bottle of white Bordeaux as well, one I bought at the 2016 release, in 2019 when the world was different.
I’ll probably write more later. Or, I would like to.
It has not been a terribly eventful day, but sometimes that is nice.
Later: made a wonderful dinner of chicken, kale and potato salad, and stuffing. Followed by a skillet cake. Provided that bottle of wine and then grandpa provided a bottle of Crown Royal, courtesy of Germain and merry Christmas to her, that was poured with dessert. All the food from meal kits, but so what? I still made it. Felt good. Tasted good. We sat around and watched Trading Places until close to midnight.
We redeemed the state of the holiday for us. Last year had been miserable. If the day had been less busy, I would have had time to go into detail about what I mean. Maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a normal day again, God willing.
Heard from Matvey: he would be honoured to be named in my chronicles of visiting Montreal. So I’ll finish that soon. I had been going to finish it tonight, but it’s too late and I’m too tired. Pray that I sleep better tonight, and, if I remember to do so, I will post this tomorrow.
Lots of mentions of tomorrow. Should be kept busy. Pleasant busy.