And we’re back.

I did not expect to be incommunicado for so long. I was visiting my family for the holidays, a hectic trip that featured weddings, infants, and presents galore.

My parents live in a vast, dog-infested fortress, where a new wing is under construction and the FOX News channel blasts its propaganda and misinformation into every room. The combination of these elements made sleep close to impossible and my nerves twang with tension, but it was a good trip. My mother made lots of delicious food (of which she continually implied I was not eating enough, even though I am currently bigger than an igloo), and lovely presents were distributed all around. From my parents, I received a guitar for my birthday, and for Christmas, a lovely set of enamel pots and a new Palm device. From Rob, I got the best gift of all: a song he wrote just for me. In middle of a room with my parents, grandfather, brothers, sisters-in-law, and nephews, I burst into tears when I unwrapped the CD and saw what it was. It did not seem as if anyone noticed this display of emotion, but then again, with the frantic gift-opening, there was wrapping paper flying everywhere, as if Santa’s sleigh had been sucked into a helicopter rotor (watch it live on FOX News!).

With all of that, the drive back, and today’s marathon closet purge (I had to fit the new gifts into my apartment somehow!), I am plumb tuckered out. I have not yet responded to the many well-wishers in my comment box, nor mailed a single holiday card, nor returned any phone call I have received in the past week, nor done an ounce of the work that is due by year’s end . . . but for the rest of today, I am just going to relax.