A week from today we’ll be knee-deep in Christmas Eve (believers and non, alike; weather believes in you whether or not you believe in it. Did you see what I did there?). Your time is short and your attention span grows even shorter, what with chestnuts roasting and five golden rings and all.
Thought about resurrecting the Pause of Mr. Claus, but if you’re a cat-lover, you’re spelling it paws and that’s not necessarily the one that refreshes. Someone one assured me not that long ago that ‘we are all pilots, learning to fly. Because we crash doesn’t mean we’re no longer pilots; it just means sometimes the ground wins.’
Trying to be holly and jolly because those around me are, I think I agree with that notion even if I see myself less as a pilot and more as a pilgrim.