Christmas went well for me.
I enjoyed it mostly — and this may sound schmaltzy, but it’s true — because of the little, quieter things. Christmas Eve spent reading good books as I petted the dog curled up beside me. Christmas morning spent with my parents only, eating cake donuts and leisurely opening our presents. Little things.
Perhaps my favorite gift was an axe, given to me by a member of my Monday group. It’s an ornate thing, intricately carved, and comparatively small; about the size of a hatchet. I hung it on one wall of my bedroom, where it looks like it was made to fit the space.
I also was honored by the gift of a copy of Watchmen, one of the most revered comics ever, from Saalon. I read the whole thing through this morning — I’ve felt ill off and on all week, so I stayed home this morning — and was amazed.
Unfortunately, while I think Watchmen is an incredible book, I have a lot of problems with it. I won’t write a review of it now, because to quote C.S. Lewis, “I think we must get it firmly fixed in our minds that the very occasions on which we should most like to write a slashing review are precisely those on which we had much better hold our tongues.” Ergo silebo.