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Christmas…  lovely, glorious, beautiful, sacred Christmas.

It began with the usual flourish…  of eager tiptoes hastening down the staircase, wrapping paper being torn asunder, and the joyful cheers of happy children.

Their eyes twinkled with the beauty of the ribbons and paper, it seemed that none of them wished to dash the pristine magnificence of the tree and the many packages which crowded around the trunk. The stillness was only for a moment’s peace before they plunged into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.

My beloved oversaw the festivities while I snapped a few photos and stoked the fire…

Gaelynn’s eyes roved over everything, as though she wished to impress every aspect of the gifts before partaking, and opened each of her gifts before delving into their particulars.

Israel savored each gift, removing it from its box after tearing away the gaudy wrapping, and then exploring it to his satisfaction before moving on to the next.

Sophia was the reveler, celebrating with each exclamation of joy or surprise that came from her siblings. As always, all was spectacle for her.

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A day spent in relative leisure, culminated in an outing to church for Christmas Eve services.

Instead of the customary “Sunday-best” wardrobe for such an occasion, we bundled the children in their warm woolen pajamas with coats, scarves, and gloves.

Considering the lateness of the hour, as well as our plans to adjourn from the preceding to drive about the town viewing the many Yuletide startlements upon eave and shutter, we thought this to be practical as well as more comfortable for the children. It occurred to me that someone might make a deprecatory remark or, at the very least, raised a perturbed eyebrow… but I dismissed it as being overly finicky.

Imagine my surprise when I was accosted by a number of the parents of our congregation, each praising such a prudent approach and remarking that they might take such a course of action for future reference.

The evening service was lovely, flickering candles and garlands green created a delightful ambience combined with the ethereal singing of the great hymns of the Faith and Carols of the Season.

Afterward, we departed the sanctuary in embrace and handshake… echoes of “Merry Christmas” flowed out of the warmth of the entrance hall and into the cold Winter night.

O, we shall miss these dear ones something fierce.

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Last night the kids and I made two batches of Snowball Cookies as gifts for their teachers.

It has been a tradition in Matthew’s family to have them on the table during the holidays for generations. His beloved “Nanny” Ferguson was the official cookie maker before passing the recipe on to Matthew’s mother, Linda.

First, I made one batch that was the generic, everyday melt-away, and to the next batch I added chocolate. I then dusted the chocolate snowballs in cocoa and powdered sugar and “Reindeer Poo” was born.

I asked Gaelynn if we should call them “Dirty Snowballs,” but she definitely preferred the former.

Who knows, perhaps next year we shall make lemon essence “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snowballs.”

Where to begin?

I have been keeping an online journal for the better part of the last six years…  I started it on a bitter cold and gray day in February of 2003, from our upstairs apartment deep in the heart of Downtown Norman (Oklahoma). It began as an attempt to connect…  both to others as well as myself, for I had hoped to draw out much of what often lay dormant behind the still veneer of my countenance.

My journal has ebbed and flowed in great yawning stanzas of silence and noise. I have closed access to it in both literal and figurative means, I have been both vulnerable and guarded…  sometimes within the same sentence. Which brings me to now…

My current domain has suffered some manner of technical malfunction and, in the interim, I have decided to start an alternative means of meta-narrative. A secondary creative outlet to pursue, in the event of any further or ongoing hiatus interruptus.

This endeavor will be more personable than personal, but hopefully still allow others to connect. Between my beloved and I, the stated purpose of this domain is to focus more upon the domestic and/or prosaic aspects of our lives.

Now we are six…  that is, we are six in number. Matthew, Candace, Gaelynn, Israel, Sophia, and little Liam are the members of Prospero House.

LORD willing, I think we shall be six for now and forever.