Happy Christmas to all...

Outside it's raining. Inside there's a fire in the fireplace, and the cat is drowsing on her very own hearthrug. I'm listening to a favorite album -



- so long a favorite that I bought it first on LP, then tape, then CD. Now I can pull it out of the air.

Earlier tonight we had a light dinner at Gainsbourg, in Greenwood - dark, spacious, a gas fire on one wall, old trunks used as tables in front of comfortable couches, good food, interesting cocktails, absinthe if you dare. Since it is named for the Serge Gainsbourg, there's a cocktail called a Jane Birkin, as well as a Brigitte Bardot. Not forgetting the old reliables - Kir Royale (my favorite) and French 75.

It's going to be the dinner-and-a-movie (or two or three) Christmas. After Gainsbourg, we went back to I & Z's house, and watched "Holiday Inn," a movie I'd never seen. Although it's famous for introducing "White Christmas" to the world, it should be equally famous for Fred Astaire's July 4 dance among exploding fireworks.

Tomorrow Ian is cooking dinner - and he has a lineup of film noir classics we MUST see. Since the rain is forecast to go on for at least the weekend, this all sounds perfectly reasonable.

Before I go to sleep, I'll listen one more time to Alan Maitland reading "The Shepherd," courtesy of the CBC program, "As It Happens." If you haven't heard the program, it's worth checking out (NPR carries it.) "The Shepherd," which runs every Christmas Eve, is a lovely ghost story.

Five days to Christmas Eve...

The tree survived, the wind abated, and this morning the sun is shining. From the deck the view looks like this picture, except that there are even fewer clouds.

I should be out walking, for the Vitamin D and the exercise and easing a gimpy back. Physical therapist's advice is to walk on even ground, but if you try that in this neighborhood, you'd be confined to the two blocks in front of the building. So I plod uphill & down, assuming it will all even out eventually!

Time to finish and mail the last of the holiday letters. As much as I enjoy staying in touch with people, the logistics of note-writing, folding, stuffing & mailing feel much more of a chore than the actual writing of the letter. That's hard (but rewarding) work, especially if one aspires to stay out of the "awful Christmas letter" category.

"Santacon" hit Seattle yesterday - hundreds of people dressed as Santa or his helpers, gathering at 12:30 p.m. at the Fremont Troll, then spreading out to walk, ride or bar-hop for the rest of the day. A giggling group got on a bus I was riding, and everyone smiled as they trooped by to take over the entire back section.

My favorite was the young woman dressed as Santa - in a short red dress, black tights and boots, a short furry jacket, and a long white stick-on beard and mustache.

Holidays

Outside the wind is blowing like crazy, and I'm watching the one remaining maple tree below the building lash back and forth. For years I've expected it to go down someday, but hope its roots are still strong enough to survive winds and saturated ground.

Earlier this week a large evergreen planted close to a neighboring building simply fell over, its roots no longer able to hang on. The tree came to rest against power lines and stopped, remaining in place until it was cut down, a day or two later.

It's Christmas, almost. This year we're still without a plan for the 25th, although something will emerge soon. L & D are going to the Methow for a much needed break. Those of us remaining here have kicked around various ideas - including a movie and Chinese food.

Here's a wreath for any season, courtesy of the Viena (sic) Bistro in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) Romania.


And here are pictures full of sunshine, from the Playa de la Concha in San Sebastian, where this sculpture by Eduardo Chillida "combs the wind."