It's been a productive break.  I cleaned out and organized our one car garage.  Miracle of miracles, we are now able to park one car in our one car garage.  Damn thing is detached from the house, but it's satisfying to see the garage fulfilling its purpose.  I have also made progress in the basement, having tidied one corner of it to make a small play area for my baby girl.  I bought her a wooden train set for Christmas and set it up in the reclaimed space.  She enjoys the heretofore prohibited descent down the dusky staircase into the glum gray basement.  We wear slippers to insulate our feet from the unnatural chill of the subterranean floor.  While playing "TAINSET" (she's not so strong on her R sounds yet, they must come later in language development) a few days ago, I noticed my guitar case sandwiched between a decommissioned range hood and my wife's neatly boxed wedding dress (preserved for posterity), all stacked like Jenga blocks on an old dresser.  I carefully dislodged the guitar meat from the domestic sandwich and took it out of its case for the first time in over a year.  I sat down to play it.  I ended up playing for about 10 or 15 minutes, which was long enough to remind me why I stopped playing the guitar years ago.  It was nice to sit down and strum a bit.  I should play more often and stop worrying about my skill level.  I'll leave the songwriting to the professionals.

We had a nice Christmas.  It was about as perfect as it could be in my opinion.  I gave good gifts and received nice things in return.  I spent quality time with my matrimonially acquired family.  It was one of the better Christmases on record.

One more week of freedom!  I will not squander it!

My loving wife's birthday is coming up in two weeks.  She's at work now, and we miss her.  Sundays aren't the same without her.  I love her company, her everything, and I love the fact that she sacrifices her Sundays to put in a few extra hours at work to cover for a sick colleague.  It's only temporary, we hope!  

We had a fun family birthday party for the December birthdays at my mother-in-law's house yesterday.  My wife and child, both December babies, received a carload of gifts that have taken over our house.  With the addition of the Christmas tree to the living room, it seems as if there is nowhere to turn in this shoebox home of ours.  We're cramped, but we love it, for now.  For the first time in years, I managed to escape injury when installing the 7.5 foot tall artificial tree in the living room.  I usually end up abraded, punctured, or lacerated by one or more of the unruly branches of the blue-green beast that I unbox and drag up from the basement every December for the holidays.  Injuries tend to be a major player in my holiday celebrations.  I sustained a wonderful gouge on the dorsal surface of my wrist from an uncooperative car seat before packing ourselves up for our Richmond trip.  It's looking better now, mostly closed and scabbed over after ten days of cycling through healing, cracking in the winter air, and healing again, before reopening due to the occupational hazards of writing on whiteboards and correcting papers, and healing again.   It should leave a nice little scar when all is written, frozen, and done.