A Christmas Story

sitting at my keyboard, atop the kitchen table, in the dimly lit room, i lift the steaming cup to my lips. across the room, the mini-twinkle lights of the tree provide the only source of light, glowing the room as only Christmas lights can do. and the stockings sit at attention, surely stuffed with good things to be had and thanks to be felt.

i love Christmas. don't you?

it's early, and the sun is just making its way up, when i decided to steal lincoln from his crib, giving mommy an uninterrupted couple of hours rest before the day really began. but i couldn't keep him to myself very long. i think grandparents have this extra special sense, maybe a 7th sense, that alerts them to the nearby awake and cuddly infant. and sure enough, only moments after setting into the rocker, whispering to lincoln the itinerary for the big day, pap swooped down from upstairs, like one of those great big owls that seem to fly without uttering a sound. he swooped down, asked for lincoln, and returned to his nest with his grandson.

so, i poured myself a cup of coffee, and though i usually take it black, spontaneously decided to add a bit of flavored vanilla creamer to celebrate in the quiet room. with love, and regret, and thanks, and peace, and hope, and peace [and yes, they typically play out in that particular order] i sat down at my keyboard, atop the kitchen table, in the dimly lit room, and i lifted the steaming cup to my lips.

merry.Christmas.

professional[Christmas]iPhonetography by gabriel.ryan.