I haven’t been home for the holidays in years. And that’s actually been a really good thing.
There’s something about being somewhere different that I love. I miss California, and the t-shirt weather Christmas mornings, but it was awesomely fun to be somewhere that’s actually cold and dark for the holidays. The spouse-unit grumbled constantly about the rain and the grey, and I typically laughed at him while getting myself as wet as possible. (Of course, I’m probably going to be eating my words, now that we live in the Bay Area and not in my beloved L.A.)
For three years now, we’ve spent the holidays in Copenhagen, Denmark. It’s a beautiful city, full of cobblestone streets and artful graffiti. I have to admit that the people are not the openly friendliest I’ve ever met, but I give them a pass for doing the best they can with such little sunlight. They are universally more cheerful in the long days of summer. :-)
We spend a lot of time just making a mess of my father-in-law’s house. It’s large and cozy with a heavy-duty wood stove that the spouse-unit feeds so often, you’d think we were lost in the Sierras. We helped unload the new firewood, an unusually arduous task since the wood guys couldn’t take it to the backyard because the ground was too wet for their mini-forklift machine to move the half-ton pallet. Ah, the joys of endless rain. The girls had a blast moving firewood and playing with the wheelbarrows, so it was good times all around.