Normal

It is both disappointing and a relief to reach an end to the anticipation and the preparation. While I always wish that Christmas could go on longer, I no longer believe that I have the stamina to carry on at that level of frenzy.

I am eagerly planning some boring nights at home to restore the year's equilibrium.

Joyful

He stood on the street corner, waiting for the lights to change. He was bundled from head to toe, muffled and mittened and buttoned and hatted, a forty-year-old toddler on his own in the city.

He was looking up at the buildings and grinning with sheer happiness. His spontaneous joy was contagious.

Muted

Last night I dreamed that I was abducted by men who cut out my tongue.

And I was crying, not because of the blood or the pain, but because I knew that even if I survived the abduction, I would never again be able to tell you that I loved you.

That broke my heart more than the fear of dying.

Poison and prejudice

The street was filled with evening strollers, scarves wound around our necks to fight the nighttime chill. Hand in hand, we came upon a food cart, its dark-skinned vendor laboring diligently over his trays of lamb kabobs and roasted meats. The smell was heavenly and we turned our heads to follow its sweetness, smiling as we passed.

From behind us, a voice announced: "That's how the Arabs poison us, you know. The bastards are trying to poison Americans with the food from their carts." The man was boozy - pompous and swaggering. He felt he owned New York.

I smiled weakly at the vendor who must have heard, feeling shame for my whiteness and trying somehow, silently, to apologize for the association.

Morning

Ice planet

We crept home in rows of taillights, hunched over the steering wheel, slipping sideways on highway ramps and hypersensitive to those around us.

Through the blinding white, in our SUVs we trudged like Tauntons towards home.

Magazine-perfect

In last night's darkness, the air was so cold it sucked the moisture from our skin so quickly we could feel it go.

We stamped our feet and watched the steam evaporate from our hands when we took off our gloves. Around us, frosty trees leaned against fences and walls. The lot attendant looked as us, secure in the layers of his special insulated suit.

I had intended to look at each and every tree; finding the perfect one might mean the difference in having a magazine-perfect holiday instead of an average one. This year I am the hostess and I have visions of perfectly cooked dinners and beautifully wrapped presents underneath that perfect tree. Everyone would dress in rich, beautiful clothes and admire how well I had done my role.

But he has forgotten his hat, and the subzero winds are burning his eyes. He is miserable, and suddenly my perfect tree and magazine Christmas don't seem to matter as much. I pick the second tree I see, and within minutes we are back in my creaky car. Heat blasting, heading back towards home and a holiday that may not be magazine-perfect; it may be lumpy or burnt or disorganized. But it will be filled with the people I love, and I will be happy.