The Christmas Spirit

I survey the scene of my home from my white plush robe and armchair: the berry lights are lit, the tree decorated, the presents wrapped under the tree. The carpet is vacuumed, the plants are water, the dishes left undone (but I'm not too worried about them). The Winter Songs album is playing with the latest rendition of Frosty the Snowman. I am ready.

And waiting.

On a train travelling through the depths of the London streets, which have just received a dusty of snow, is my brother and his girlfriend. They are headed my direction, my brother just off a transatlantic flight. I can't bring myself to do anything but wait in anticipation. The excitement almost tangible that I don't know how to react to daily life it seems. The last time I was this nervous/excited/dazed was my first wedding day in April: I woke up before the sunrise and needed to laugh to relieve the tension.

But now, now, I cradle the laptop as a distraction device, write to you, and think, well, this is part of the Christmas Spirit isn't: waiting for your loved ones to arrive through whatever the weather, the kitchen a little dirty, and your home warm and open. Sigh.