I have a few Christmas Eve traditions. For starters, I go to Christmas Eve Mass with my father. For the past several years, my fella has joined us although he isn't Catholic. He loves when I'm happy and I'm probably most happy at Christmas... plus, I really, really, really enjoy that there is incense in the Church during Christmas. Everything looks beautiful and with the incense, everything smells great too.
On Christmas Eve night, my fella asked if we could sleep on the sofa so that we could fall asleep watching the tree and be ready to catch Santa. We've been trying to establish our own *Family* traditions. In a world where folks expect us to have kids, not everyone treats us like the family even though we are. When my fella decided that we should sleep on the sofa, I thought it was a great idea. We have a large L-shaped sofa that is incredibly comfortable and it's cool downstairs. Yeah, did I mention that it's been in the mid to high 70s. We went to bed with our heads touching and our bodies extending toward either end. I listened to Neil Gaiman’s reading of “A Christmas Carol” before my eyes grew heavy and I fell asleep.My fella hit the pillow and was out. So much for catching Jolly Ol' Saint Nick!
The next morning when we woke up on the sofa, my fella whispered, "Santa peeped in but saw that we were content and happy, and that we didn't need anything so he went on to other houses." I think my little black heart just grew three times larger.
|My fella said Clive couldn't see so he had to sit on his head to watch the Hallmark movie|