on earth peace, and good will

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy....

It was a strange feeling to wake up on the 25th of December away from the small island where I spent my childhood--this is only the third time I've spent Christmas elsewhere. I'm writing now from the attic of a century-old Victorian house in San Francisco; through the window of the next room, where my sisters are sitting, you can see the ocean and the lights atop the bridge, the Presidio rolling down to the rocks, and the domes of the Russian Orthodox cathedral. I've missed the familiar rituals of the holiday at home--the midnight Christmas Eve service at Grace especially keenly--but we've had a good Californian interlude: I met my newest cousin for the first time, picked lemons from the grandfather's tree in Sonoma, made the usual pilgrimage to City Lights Books. And this Christmas morning I got to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge; in the afternoon, possessed by god knows what strange impulse, I stripped off my boots and socks and waded barefoot in the Pacific. Wondrous gifts both.

Merry Christmas, everybody.