Boxing Day.

Just like the day after the wedding, today was a quiet day. I got up/woke up at nine. Before I threw back the covers and stood up, I thought, waffles. Because there were still people in the house who might find waffles to be a fitting and restorative breakfast, the day after Christmas. I made the Waffle of Insane Greatness (shared with me by my oldest and best friend), including letting the batter rest, and made with both butter and buttermilk, and they were everything a waffle should be--possibly even more.

Then, time passed. Things happened. Rests were taken. The internet was surfed.

Then we went to have a late pizza lunch before taking Abbey and Michael to the airport. The day was beautiful and bitter cold, so, over hot melted cheese, we had to talk about that, and movies, and television, and my youngest son's impending move across America.

Thus filled with cheese, we drove to the airport. They would be going home, where their little dog and cat awaited them, and their lives and their work. Still, I really hated to see them go.

This morning, my son asked my daughter, So are you going to help Mom take the tree down? and I said, Don't be ridiculous. It's not February yet. That's how I feel about this whole last several weeks--the wedding preparations, the day itself, Christmas, getting all the GD grading done and the relief associated with all that, the baking in the new oven, the shopping...the wedding flowers--white roses and stocks and hydrangeas--have just about had it. We have spent so much wonderful time together in every possible festive configuration. We have unwrapped all the presents. And still, I hate to see it go.

The night is cold, very cold.  My daughter made it home safely. We took Bruiser on a shorter than usual walk, out of consideration for his paws. I turned the lights on the tree for what is--however long it lasts--one of a finite number of times. We still have some holiday left in us.