Kage Baker liked having a quiet Christmas Day. Maybe because we almost never did. We were the travelling Aunties, appearing at odd times from strange places, bearing unusual gifts and tales of wonder.
I blew back into Los Angeles yestreday on my annual trek from Dickens Fair; wrapped last minute presents, gloried in our Christmas tree lights, ate pizza (hey, every family has their own traditions), slept in the glow of all the Christmas lights. In Kimberly’s house, as in mine and Kage’s, the lights stay on all night Christmas Eve – including the many miniature strings festooning my desk. I am especially fond of the miniature nebula lights, draped around – what else? – Kage’s Nebula.
And I am enjoying that quiet Christmas she always hoped for (and seldom got). At least, as quiet as it can be when the brother-in-law is reading funny things off the Internet, and the nephew is assembling enormous model kits and lamenting the overcast skies because he wants to use his new sextant, and my sister is alternating putting bits of dinner in the oven with cuddling cats on the couch.
And me? I am napping, reading, nibbling, and realizing my unpacked luggage is now buried in bows and wrapping paper. But I neither mind nor care. It’s a soft grey day, it’s Christmas and everyone I love is somewhere safe and warm. (I checked wherever possible.) Festivities are happening everywhere.
I sincerely hope all of you are as well, Dear Readers, and I wish you all a Happy Christmas: from London, from the road, from the edge of Griffith park and the edge of reality and all the other edges where I dwell. There will be more stories in days to come, and ruminations on all the weird ideas that occur to me as I dash hither and yon.
But for today – it’s quiet time. Cuddle your loved ones close, Dear Readers, and give thanks that the winter has spun on its painted pole and we are once again falling into the light.