I have noticed a full moon in the sky three times this week. The air is thin, and without trees to clutter our view we can see it suspended above the city, a gold medallion in the night sky. Seven years ago I told my in-laws on a visit to Denver that the city looked like it was built up on top of nuclear waste. "The mountains are spectacular, but they're hanging back on the sidelines," I told them. But now that this is my city I'm slowly discovering that Denver has its moments.
I opened my eyes about ten o'clock this morning because my almost-two year old decided to sit on my head. The remains of Christmas morning were littered across the rug and I could smell my sister's chocolate cake baking. That's a nice way to wake up; to the scent of someone else working magic in the kitchen. As it turns out the cake is suffering from the strain of altitude and doesn't exactly look all that great, but that's hardly the point.
This morning my dear friends from England called to wish us a Happy Christmas. They teased me about still being in my bathrobe at noon, especially when I'm soon expecting a houseful of guests for Christmas dinner. "That's what Christmas is all about," I told them. I didn't mean the undirected lounge time, although that's important too. It's the view from the couch. It is a perfect, sunny day outside. The rolls are almost finished rising. The scoot bike that makes a fire-engine wail needs to go downstairs. Now! My five year old is passed out in a chair, hugging her pillow pet. I think we're going to shake a tail feather in a Wii dance contest tonight. We were watching Elf earlier and my seven year old said, "This feels like Christmas." I agreed.