Wednesday, January 14, 2015

On Christmas Eve our caroling around the piano was more raucous and wild than any other in the midwest region. Most of us were scarcely even paying attention to the pitch, we were just happy enough singing together. The beer bottles mingled with the hot chocolate on the tabletop; the conversations blended together, rowdy and laughing; the old blue-veined hands held the young rosy ones; the gingerbread house collapsed but none of us cared. At 1 AM, gathered around and hushed by the familiarity of A Christmas Story, we felt protected.


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