Christmas morning...

Nearly 5:30 as I type... and I woke up early because Savannah was barking... Mickey was howling at a stray cat out in the yard. And lucky me... not one stray cat out there this morning, but two. Just what we need on Christmas morning, or any other morning. I am determined not to be feeding any more stray cats.

We went driving around looking at Christmas lights last night... we took Savannah with us, just as we did the night before. Savannah is getting to love the car, and gets into it quickly and easily now. I wonder if she thinks that every car-ride will end up at the dog park. We've been taking her there as often as possible, and she does love it. Especially the pool... she's getting very brave about walking into the shallow ends of that swimming pool and it's only a matter of time before she'll be swimming from one end of the pool to the other.

The house has seemed too quiet and too empty since our young friend Corey went home the other day. She was here for three days and we had an early Christmas with her. So hard to believe that I've known that child since she was in the second grade... and she's not a child anymore, but a very special 24-yr-old whose sense of playfulness and wonder is still as sharp and as contagious as ever.

I realized the other day that I never did put out my dad's Nativity set this year. I usually take that set out of the storage closet first, before the other Christmas boxes, but it just made me sad this year to think about that Nativity so I left it in the closet, planning to set up the pieces after everything else was done.  I went in there to get that Nativity at least twice, and each time, I just looked at the manger sitting up on the closet shelf next to the box with the figures of the people and the animals, and I just couldn't get myself to take it out of that closet and set it up in the living room.

In my mind's eye, I can see my dad taking that Nativity out of the storage box in our old house when I was a kid... he would set up the manger, my mother would set out each individual piece... and my dad would let me play with the sheep until the Nativity display was done... and then I'd set out the sheep around the manger, most of them next to the shepherd and just one or two inside the manger itself. And from then until Christmas I would play with those little sheep, taking them from underneath the tree and bringing them into the living room and the kitchen, and then up to my playroom on the third floor of that big old house we had.

And here I am today, in my own big old house in the middle of these Texas country hills. Instead of a playroom on the third floor, I have a library up there filled with books. My dad would have loved this century-old house. He wouldn't have complained about the night-time wildlife that's all around this property every night. I can hear him now: "They're more afraid of you than you are of them... just leave them alone and stay out of their way."

Nearly six o'clock now... I imagine that thousands upon thousands of kids are waking up right this minute and running down the stairs to see what Santa has left for them by the Christmas tree. Every child should believe in the magic of Santa. Then as you grow up, you come to realize that if you want that same sense of Christmas magic, then you've got to be Santa yourself and make Christmas special for other people, not just yourself.

This time of the year always makes me sad. Too many people aren't here anymore to enjoy Christmas, either because they have passed away or because they choose to stay away.

My dad would not be pleased to know that his Nativity set is still up on that shelf in the storage closet. I think I'm going to take the set out later on today and bring it up to the third-floor library. I will set it up there and leave it on display all year long. The library is my favorite room in this house, and if my dad were still alive, I know he'd be up there sitting in my grandfather's chair and looking through one book after the other, and he'd be saying "Look at this, Larrie... come here and just look at this book..."

I miss hearing my father's voice. I miss my aunts and uncles who have passed away, and I miss my grandparents whose courage to leave Italy and cross the Atlantic gave everyone in our family the life we have today.

I have a very good life in a very old and beautiful house whose quirks sometimes (most of the time) test my patience. But I still miss my dad's voice. I miss my dad.

Merry Christmas.