You'd love to think that even though your friends come from different periods of your life, they'd all mesh together if you got them in the same room.
After the perfect morning/afternoon, I took a little nap and then joined my friend Robin for the midnight showing of The Hobbit. To be honest, the way the movie has been filmed left my motion-sickness-prone stomach a little queasy, and I found myself thinking that the whole thing could have been sculpted a little finer. But any time spent with Robin is quality time.
As I dropped into bed at four a.m., I thought, I will spend Friday sleeping. Chilling. Recuperating.
Marcus is singing at his paying gig, Holy Trinity Church tonight. The Messiah. It's in San Pedro, which is a goodly forty-five minutes from my house. I had thought about going to hear it, then decided that trying to get to San Pedro on a Friday night might be madness. It would be okay if I didn't go. Marcus would be okay if I missed it.
And then I woke up to the news in Connecticut. Twenty children dead, shot. Typing those words takes my breath away. Twenty young lives that will never realize their dreams. Twenty families that will never have a Christmas of pure joy again. The gifts that were bought for those kids, the plans for the next two weeks to visit Santa and sing in the church or school program, the future that will never be...
Every year, I put out the pictures of Marcus with Santa. These are two of my favorites.
I like this one because Marcus is only three and is wearing one of those ugly Christmas sweaters that isn't ugly because three-year olds can get away with that kind of fashion.
This one is my absolute favorite because it's an action shot. Marcus, at five, is going over his list with Santa. They are deep in discussion. I love that. You'll notice the very bedraggled Simba, too. He was Marcus' constant companion.
Tonight, I'm going to go see my son and try not to hug him too tightly.
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