I plan to blog on the fly today, streaming consciousness while chopping garlic. No editing. No worries. Here's the first walk-by thought at the all-you-can-eat buffet of Christmas.
Christmas Eve morning finds me unprepared, up in the air, down on my knees, exhausted and exhilarated. It is dark outside. I hear the steady thrum of a farmer's rain.
Eleven kids and grandkids will be around the table tonight for our traditional Christmas Eve pasta supper. I walk from bedroom to kitchen, turning on lights as I go.
As a young girl, I loved to braid pine needles, skate on the sidewalk, and play jacks and pick-up sticks. There was a mysterious trick with the pick-up sticks that fascinated me. If you piled six of those sharp sticks together on a hard, flat surface and carefully added one drop of water, the broken-looking pile of disparate sticks would rearrange itself into a star.