Happy Sighs

For someone who tends to be pretty darn cynical when it comes to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it is kind of hard for me to say this straight: my holiday was pretty fucking wonderful.

I mean, like Hallmark great. Like happy faces, all over the living rooms of both houses, on both days, great. Like eager golden retriever and ridiculously cute kitten great. Glowing smiles. Loving touches. One tearful moment that made all the smiles all the more worthwhile. Talking and remembering and holding and eating and introducing.

Being happy can be tricky for me. I worry that it might end. It might. But right now I just want to be happy.

We were virtually traffic-free on the journeys up and back from parts north of here. The time was pleasantly filled with episodes of This American Life, David Sedaris, and a generous helping of road-trip rambling about family, philosophy, and religion. On the eve we played pool, ate escarole and stuffed shells and cannoli (it was a very Italian Holiday) and then my parents headed off to midnight mass while C and I retreated to the hotel. The next day we added my brother and his girlfriend to the mix, who both looked stunning and happy. We did our own immediate family thing in the front room of my uncle’s home (after hastily wrapping gifts in the guest room) then dined on lasagna and antipasto and some sort of roast and asparagus and so many cookies and desserts. And everything was extremely… comfortable. Things felt just right. Like goldilocks.

I know, I know. It’s so sweet it’s cloying. I’ll find something to be bitter about soon, I promise. Until then: I wish everyone an end to their year that is filled with delight and wonder and peace. You all deserve it.