 Christmas Day |
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Early Christmas Morning
Note to self: A merry Christmas listening to the live version of "Raining in Baltimore" first thing in the morning does not make. Feeling kind of aimless and listless this morning, cleaning out the bathroom cabinet when I should be getting ready for mass. There's things I remember, there's things I forget. I miss you. I guess that I should. Three thousand five hundred miles away. What would you change if you could? I guess mass and lunch with the family should be nice.
Elizabeth sent me this quote in my Christmas card, and it made my eyes fill with tears. And "Katie's Theme" from Stealing Home is now playing. It makes me think of my older brother. And how all we need is love. Late Christmas Evening It turned out to be a nice day. Mass at eleven. The cantor / organ combo was enough to make me want to heave, but somehow, through a Christmas Miracle, I held it together (almost). My older brother started singing loudly off-key on purpose and I basically snorted while trying to hold in my laughter. Damn my parents for always making us sit on the front row. The lunch that Mom prepared was amazing. Roast and shrimp stew and rice and broccoli casserole and cornbread dressing and rolls and every yummy thing in the world including heavenly hash cake for dessert. I got the Seabiscuit DVD from my little brother and I felt guilty for only giving him an LSU pen. The parents gave me money, a warm-up suit (always with the promoting the exercise, my parents), a purple sweater for the big game, a book about wise women or something, a tire gauge, a dog pillow, and a Brian Andreas print that I oohed and aahed over in Destin. I love it, and I've hung it in my bathroom already.  My brother and sister and I went to see Cold Mountain in keeping with our Christmas movie tradition. They were hesitant at first because the last Jude Law / Anthony Minghella collaboration I forced them to see on Christmas made us all want to kill ourselves, but we went anyway. It was okay, but my enjoyment was hindered greatly by sitting with our necks craned as if at an air show on the second row and the two-year-old behind us who started wailing at the most crucial moment of the film. My sister turned around and requested in a forceful whisper that they run not walk out of the theater, and they did. It was kind of awesome. Overall, I think I would have appreciated the epic beauty of the film more had I not been driven blind by the blurriness of our proximity of the screen, but I'm not sure it merits all of this hoopla and it most certainly does not deserve to be winning any best picture awards over Return of the King. By the way, if it does not win best picture at the Oscars this year, I am never watching the show again. That is how strongly I feel about it. Tonight Mom and Dad and I watched Seabiscuit. Mom loved Tom the Trainer, Dad loved Tick Tock the reporter, and I loved the whole damn thing all over again. Zuko is now crying in his bed and I wish Tom the Trainer would come over and lay hands on him and mystically calm him like he did the wild horses. Merry Christmas.
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