We're Game

"Riley asked us if anyone was getting you games for Christmas," Emily told me, "but since we already had the bike helmet, I said no."

"I did look at a lot of games for you before that, though," my brother added. "So either way, you would have had some new games."

We were talking at the table after enjoying the delicious Christmas feast that Bill had prepared, having earlier played a couple of fun rounds of Cascadia, one of the games that Riley got me for Christmas. And while there wasn't time later in the evening to break out my other new game, Hardback, we made plans to play the very next day.

Which we did. Today we wiled away three hours just scratching the surface of that rather complex deck-building/word game, while others came and went and napped and woke. Right near the end of the game, the sun broke through the pervasive overcast skies of the last few days, and we all blinked at the reminder that there was indeed a world elsewhere.

Let it All Go

Sometime this afternoon it occurred to me that I actually have a job and I may have to do some work before I return to it next Tuesday. So preoccupied have I been with holiday travel and celebration that I have not thought about school once since I walked out the door a week ago.

Now that's a break.

Pop Pop Pop

Days of indulgent eating finally caught up with me last night when my brother offered me a cookie and I realized I literally could not eat it without hurling. Unfortunately, my condition did not improve overnight, and this morning it felt as if every single thing I had eaten in the last three days was still in there, which it probably was based on my recollection of recent restroom activity. 

Generally, I don't even get a little indigestion, so I wasn't sure how to address the nausea, cramping, and headache, and the light of the screen hurt my eyes when I tried to do some research. I was a sorry sack of, well, you-know-what, until I finally barfed and then took an even more extreme measure to get my digestion flowing again. 

Tonight I'm feeling slightly recovered and have high hopes I'll be feeling fine and ready for some holiday moderation tomorrow.

So True

 Stocking gifts from my sister-in-law:

On to the Next Thing!

We needed to make a quick Target run today, and boy was it depressing. 

The place was a mess: the holiday wrapping and decoration department ransacked, empty refrigerators where once there was egg nog, cookie dough, and peppermint mocha, and a traffic jam of carts full of items to be reshelved.

No one was making any effort to remedy the disarray. Instead all available employees seemed to be making room for the storage and organization push that follows the winter holidays, as well as preparing the Valentines Day displays. On Christmas Eve, Christmas was already over.

Until next October.

Team Player

I try to be go-along-get-along, but there are some times where it’s really hard. “You’re father and I never had to wait for a table when we went with the silver-hairs,” Heidi’s mom told us as we were trying to figure out how best to avoid the Friday night fish-fry crowd.

“What’s time was that?” Heidi asked.

“Three, three-thirty,” her mom replied.

“That’s a little too early for me,” I blurted out. “I don’t think I’ll be ready for dinner then.”

“Well I don’t want to wait in line for forty-five minutes,” Heidi’s brother said, which was fair, and we ended up pushing the fish fry to tonight.

Which has unfortunately turned into another story of inflexibility and compromise, but I’ll set it aside and get ready for my early-bird special.

Just Plain Old

“I never really went in for antiques,” Heidi’s mom told us tonight at dinner. We were making plans for tomorrow, and Heidi and I were telling her about a local craft store that had an antique place connected to it.

“I’m not really interested in true antiques or even furniture,” I explained. “To be honest, at this point, I just love seeing stuff from my childhood.”

“I don’t think of that as antique at all,” Louise shrugged.

I raised my 61-year-old eyebrows at my 77-year-old mother-in-law. “Can we agree on vintage?”