End of year happenings can excite as much as they can depress. Luckily the bleakness passed over my street—and it’d be great if that black cloud spared everyone I know, actually—it unloaded somewhere close, because I chatted with a few people drenched in hurt city. For many people the silly season catalyzes feelings on both extremes. I guess the downtime of holidays forces reflection, the sort most people don’t allow for normally. And maybe the year wasn’t all they wanted, or expected. The Wife said once that attendance at AA meetings swells in the last two weeks of December, through the first week of the new year. I believe her.

As a child this week of December was my favorite time—period. Making my case with the faux Santa in the Mall. Begging for the impossible gift from my parents. Calls to distant relatives, praying they didn’t send another ugly sweater. Oh, the buildup. Then, when I could take it no longer, I stormed down the steps at seven a.m. and found a mound of presents beneath the tree. Beautiful.

Now that I’m older and own cats who paw shiny flashing things, the season assumes a new dimension.

Happy Holidays!