Shalom, Y’all

Greetings from River Hills, where Christmas is always white – and so is every other day. Sitting before the nine-foot tree, surrounded by a teeming population of Old World holiday figurines with the cable music tuned to the Christmas channel*, I have never felt more Caucasian. Which is saying something.

I wasn’t sure we’d be here, especially today. Having finally shaken a persistent throat-and-ear condition, I was hit Sunday with a sudden case of either meningitis or Asian flu. (Hate to leave you hanging, but my self-diagnosis remains inconclusive.) Flushed, achy, and fearful of infecting others, I reluctantly cancelled dinner with my stepmother and sister, then went to bed, expecting to postpone the trip.

However, I awoke in full remission – a Festivus miracle! – so we hit the road yesterday morning. A gusty forecast turned us off our favored route through the mountains, but traffic was surprisingly light on the dreaded 95 and 85 – just a minor backup in North Carolina – and the iPod was packed with This American Life. We got here in time for dinner.

Sadly, we missed the party at the house next door, which had been under constant construction since the Iglfolks moved here, two and a half years ago. It’s a humble place: only 10,000 square feet, with a dance floor and a video arcade. The home theater has a 102-inch** screen, stadium seating, and floor lighting so litigious guests don’t trip as they navigate the various levels. But the showstopper is overhead: a galaxy of pinpoint lights twinkling across a vast, inky “sky.”

Over here at the Iglhaus, we have to content ourselves with simpler pleasures - like the sunrise that woke us this morning just as it hit the lake.


* Cheesy, yes, but far preferable to a backdrop of Fox “news.”
** Those extra two inches make all the difference, don’t you find?