We just got back from the sweetest late nite neighborhood walk with the hound.
Ours isn't usually the neighborhood for late nite walks, being kind of sketchy and Colfax-proximate. But it's a gloriously bright pink glowing night tonite, with the overcast sky and six sparkly, twinkling, untouched inches of snow on the ground. We took Badgin off the leash -- yeah! I know! -- and he left broad, cheerful tracks in the snow, while he looked back regularly to see, You still there? Is this okay?
It was totally okay - nary a car, nor man, nor beast to be seen. The snow twinkled, and the sky glowed, and the pounch scampered. My nose froze.
It was a damn cold night.
It was especially cold earlier, when we were caroling amidst blowing snow and dropping temps. But at every occupied home, the residents opened their doors, and gathered their children to hear us, and clapped, wishing us well, when we had finished our songs. One fellow applauded us and then played us a carol on his steel drum set! (No, seriously. It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.)
I love that crew - my dad, and my dear friends, and the rest of this group of singers, and sons of singers, and friends of singers, and folks of good cheer. Thank goodness we maintain a holiday caroling tradition. What would my Christmas season be without it? "I just love singing with other people," said my beloved L tonite.
Me too.
A lovely black man is president, and a glee club has its own hit tv show.
It's possible that I'm asleep, these are such sweet and funny dreams come true.
Last night I dreamt that a friend and I were dancing on a bar, and as regards our hosts I was thinking, "Well, they really must have expected that this was going to happen when they invited us...", and not regretting a thing.
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