It is Sunday. We find ourselves at Cantrick H.Q. putting a number of year-end matters in order to be able to continue our international journey tomorrow.
The evening brings a celebration of “Our” Merry Little Christmas. Santa has once again found me. For thirty-six years no matter where our travels take us we commit an evening to just us. Our traditions take over. After opening a few gifts, dinner ensues. I, the pyromaniac can never find enough candles. This year oysters/crab/artichokes and a special bottle find their way to our table. We talk gratitude. We talk the year’s successes and we talk of its losses. We talk about our new year ahead.
As I shut down the lights at the evening’s end, I walk past our satirical self-portrait above the fireplace. I can only giggle.