I write this from Virginia. Two days ago, Dec. 24 at 2:10 a.m. our antique clock radio went BRE-E-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEM, I rolled over, flipped a switch (for some reason I am reminded of a movie in which a character, each morning, destroys an alarm clock as it goes off), and began my day. By 3:20 I was seated in the back of an airport limo (lifestyles of the rich and famous?) and by 6:20 was rolling down a runway on my way to Washington.

Since then I've been to a Christmas recital and candlelight service, played Trivial Pursuit and Mille Bourne, eaten a big delicious Christmas meal with a big crowd (here in son Jeremy and his wife Jess's townhouse), opened presents, slept in twice, had cappuchinos (new from a fancy-schmancy whiz bang device) twice...

(December 28, 10:00 p.m.) I never finished the above post since I was messing about with a laptop, trying to figure out how to make things appear on the screen, finding it excruciating. Now, returned to the comfort of an Earlier Technology (in this case, Ben's computer) once again I am rolling.

I have just been summoned for Apple Pie and Vanilla Ice Cream (don't ask why I'm in to caps today: chalk it up to the holidays?) in Ben's kitchen. This whole week has been one great big Pig Out, in fact, one I will Pay For, after I return Home.

I could go on and tell you about our celebrating our 34th wedding anniversary on Dec. 26 at the Palomar Hotel in downtown DC (a gift) and how we walked around downtown and took a boo at the White House, then went to the Ellipse where there's the National Christmas Tree and some Park Service guys were forklifting mammoth stumps into a fire pit, with a sign about the Yule Log--but I won't.

Anyhow, the apple pie beckons...