I like it when things work out, and they worked out yesterday. My daughter and her family came in from Houston. They bunked in at a friend’s ranch just down the road and came over to see me. Literally. We saw each other. No one hugged anyone except once when each of the grandchildren got a hug from Grandpa. The rest of the time we avoided each other like the plague, and there’s a fourteenth century saying that’s back in vogue, and wore our masks, even when outside.

I cooked lunch under the car port in the face of a strong breeze from the southeast. We ate my home baked cookies, which everyone seemed to enjoy, and opened Christmas presents. When those festivities finished, they went home for a nap, and we met up again that evening to see the Christmas lights. They drove in from the east side of town, and my son and I walked in from the west. We hovered around the perimeter because the crowds were too big and there were too many barefaced people. We all wore our masks, even the kids. The kids also got some hot chocolate, ran around as kids do, then we all went home for the evening. Lighted out, as it were.

Today we’ll see each other for breakfast, and it too will be outside, even thought it’s 37. I guess that’s the benefit of taking your kids winter camping. It seems normal. The lunch, however, went off with temps in the mid-70s and that’s what I meant about things working out. We got to see each other in pleasant weather, and no one went inside. It was all sun. On a sad note, the daughter also got to spend some time alone with her departed mother; but it was nice weather, and she must have had beach memories because she said she’s going to bring back vials of sand and sea water to leave at the grave. That’s a good idea because her mother was an ocean girl and she would have appreciated the thought.

Merry Christmas.