a quiet Christmas
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
Toronto, 2002.12.25
Ah, Xmas. Today was a quiet one, the most quiet I can remember. No trips to distant family haunts (or remote resorts!), no big dinners. With Ken and the missus in Vancouver, me without a Sig-O, the 'rents long split, and far fewer elders around these days - it wound up being me, my mum, and my aunt. It was good.
I got a book on Leonardo DaVinci, a framed bit of birch-bark art, a calendar about dogsh*t (yes; from the Vancouverites), a certificate for the bookstore which I put towards a fine bit of political adventurism by Bill Maher; a box for my photos; and a pair of gloves. For the first time, I gave a gift of my own photos, framed.