eve of the eve.

this is what 6 a.m. looks like over here.
in my jammies,
i couldn't quite appreciate it as much as if i'd been suitably seasonally attired.
but, c'mon.
with the classic rockwell new england three bay window jauns?
magical wizardly old hottness.
so good.
we're off to the weak worldly realm of watery diaperbabies.
that's a lot of houses to pay visits at.
that's a half a day of driving.
two and a half days of families.
two and a half days of traffic.
two and a half days of sh!t-smelling miserable congested urban doo-doo.
sixty or so hours.
that's a lot of awakeness.
too much, really.
so sleep will play a crucial role in the making-or-breaking tolerances here.
after all,
there's no bad times when you're sleeping.
what better way to help time along it's breakneck pacing,
than a couple extra zzzzs?
i'm sayin',
eight solid snoozy hours a day?
bam-a-lama, kids,
now i'm down to just thirty-six hours.
no sweat.
we've got a car loaded up with treats for everybody.
we've got a pizza date with my kids and our peoples.
we've got warm beds, hot food, and blood relations waiting.
it sure sounds like holiday time to me.

stockings are stuffed, ninjas.

the bows, bangles, and baubles of an expert wrapping job are finished.

the last minute considerations are well-appointed,

jim is house sitting for us,

we traded treats with our up-here folks,

including some hot old mooks from our educationally-minded friend, casey,

and we're ready to journey down the tubes.

the long journey begins in a moment.

the hardest part is leaving all this old busted hottness behind.

especially just to go to connecticut.

the floors are filed with fiberglass now,

the tree is trimmed and limned with lights,

there's a specific warmth that radiates from spots like this one.

this place,

this moment,

this woodsly goodness.

i'll miss it while i'm gone,

but i'll love it that much more when i return.

i'm giving the rest of the peace, goodwill, and holiday cheer over to

the secret universal plan.

it's outta my hands now.

sorry, connecticut,

but a whole north wind wassail of warrior poetry,

and blazing, raging, savage, stormswept,

berserker barbarian battle-beastliness is tobogganing your way.

prodigal son, mutha 'uckas;

never quiet, never soft.....