Not really. They're generally quiet, unassuming people, except for my BIL's habit of pushing people's buttons to see how long it takes for them to either explode or find his buttons. I guess I'm not too much fun, because I like being noncommittal when face-to-face. Unless it can lead to something I'll regret the next day, and will tarnish somebody else's reputation.
So, anyway. Snow is falling outside. The darkness of midnight is nibbled away by tiny ice fractals in a flurry of winter.
Holiday season having plopped itself down in Mom's kitchen, I've been doing a very little bit of baking and a larger bit of wishful thinking about having a working kitchen of my own -- one in which my refrigerator actually refrigerates, the freezer freezes, the stove heats up (as does the oven), and the sink is in the same room with all the other fixtures and appliances... and it will be a kitchen in which the cats will have no interest, and dishes and floors and countertops will wash themselves, and never a spider or mosquito or any other pest shall enter. In other words, a fairy tale kitchen. A Miracle.
But, hey, this is the season of miracles, right? So, shouldn't I go out and spend all my Christmas gift money (all two dollars, thus far) on lottery tickets, in anticipation of the new kitchen (and maybe a whole house to attach it to)? The odds improve, when there's religion involved, right?
I am so very much going to get in trouble for that, aren't I? Don't worry, I'm not betting on a miracle, and, honestly, I'm not going on a tear against faith in this holy season.
I have a lot of friends who live in deep faith, and I admire them, even when I tease them about their reliance upon the bearded guy who lives upstairs and keeps an eye on them all the time (should they consider a restraining order?). Faith -- trust in a higher power -- is a gift few actually have, fewer keep, and fewer still find answers to their most important questions in it.
But the truth is, I'm not dependent upon faith to bring me answers. I am not asking for God or Jesus to bring me a new stove and washing machine. I'm not even asking for an hour free of all pain and frustration. I don't really ask for anything. I gets what I gets when it comes my way. And, I guess, when I thinks about it in the wee hours, what I gets is not entirely horrible. I gots me a family who all actually help me keep from getting crazier -- I think that's miracle enough, don't you?
Still, if I'm still too preoccupied to come back and blog again before next week ends, I want to wish everybody a very merry Christmas, with all the joy of the season. What's more, may you discover that you are loved more than you allowed yourself to believe. May it sneak up on you, like those snowflakes, lighting on your sleeve unheard, unnoticed, until you suddenly find yourself a virtual snowman in a blizzard.