The eves are better than the days themselves. The holidays are full of mandatory things, and mandatory things are only sometimes pleasant. They often boil down to a meal and a conversation and an ending, and that’s about it. It’s grown even more stilted now, as the family has grown unstable and we’re pulled in many different directions. We’ll never again have a real Thanksgiving, with everyone there. Perhaps we never did, but it feels less complete, now that the house is sold, and that little private world is gone.

But the night before a holiday is a lovely time; a quiet anticipation. I let myself not worry about the things I have to do, and just relax into the ritual of a day off; not just a day off, though, but a day set aside, a day that cannot be productive. On an ordinary day off I might be writing new things, or doing laundry, or tabbing a tournament. But a holiday is set aside for boredom, yes, but also for rest.

And the night before; it’s a good night to curl up and watch a movie (which I did. Troy. it was bad. I didn’t care). or read a book. or just sit on the sunporch and watch the fog roll in again. Last year I went to the Marconi club and drank my aunt under the table. These things all work all right, and we’re better for them.