There was in this household, as in countless others, a great time of celebration and relaxation during this last week, but just a few minutes ago everybody left. The Bradleys drove on to a different part of Wisconsin and Kate went back to work for a day. I am left with an empty, big, quiet apartment that is scattered with traces of feasting, giving, receiving, and a little bit of everything.
Pine needles litter our white carpet.
An air mattress leans up against the study closet waiting to be deflated.
The fridge is stuffed with ham, leftover Chinese, desserts, and champagne. It is so full that the Jones Soda Kate and I put in each other’s stockings can’t be slid in anywhere.
Boxes line the wall at the top of the stairs. They are waiting for me to take them downstairs to the recycling bin.
Pieces of our new grill lay inside, still unassembled, while most of the virgin grill stands at the ready on our freezing deck.
The tree has been stripped bare of its underlying fruit, but it still glows this morning.
Bags of unwrapped trinkets still aren’t put in their rightful places; a corner of the kitchen, on a hanger, or in a drawer.
This is a house crying out to be cleaned, but all I can do right now is sit down and think about how it got this way and be thankful for the reasons, and the Reason.
Merry Christmas.
There was in this household, as in countless others, a great time of celebration and relaxation during this last week, but just a few minutes ago everybody left. The Bradleys drove on to a different part of 
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