Closing credits

Everyone in the house has been ill. We’ve missed church two Sundays. We did go to a special Christmas service in the middle of the week (it seemed, briefly, that we were OK).

My fever broke last night. I’m still coughing. Please excuse the less-than-effusive presentation of this year’s credits list.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I thank:

Karin;

Jasper and Ziva;

Samuel, Daniel, and Abel;

other relations;

Samuel’s teachers and bus driver;

Daniel’s teachers (the Numberblocks);

our church;

our neighbors;

our librarians;

my reading group;

the Psmiths, for their book reviews (see their latest);

fontsmiths, for their fonts;

poets, for their poems;

Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, and Harriet Beecher Stowe, for domestic fiction;

Sue Townsend, for her “Adrian Mole” books (see, also, the “secret diary” of fourteen-year-old Margaret Thatcher …

… a work of hilarity, not charity);

the Ecuadorian national soccer team – especially, Moisés Caicedo, Pervis Estupiñán (whose year was actually rather poor), Alan Franco, Hernán Galíndez, Piero Hincapié, Willian Pacho, and Enner Valencia;

the Criterion Channel, especially for the Chinese crime dramas Black Coal, Thin Ice (now unavailable) (Harbin) and Only the River Flows (rural Jiangxi);

the Fox Corporation (!) for Tubi – especially, for Crime Stories, Da Vinci’s Inquest, From Hell (now unavailable), Lake Mungo, Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry (esp. cartoons with Droopy), and, way back in February, the Super Bowl;

just about every streaming service, for Peppa Pig;

Goodwill Industries, for books and stretchpants;

Jarritos, especially for Mineragua;

and

Taco Bell, for soft tacos with potatoes, lettuce, cheese, spicy sauce, and supplemental guacamole.

Another holiday at home

Merry Christmas. How plentiful the children’s recaudo was! (I raked in plenty, too.) During the unwrapping, a stomach bug struck Samuel, so I remained with him while Karin took Daniel and Abel to her mother’s. Thus, Samuel and I re-enacted our Thanksgiving.

Then I got sick. Dry cough; chills.

COVID test: negative.

Please excuse the brevity of this post.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Oh, yes, I want to note Abel’s delight in barnyard books, e.g. Duck on a Bike …

… and in babies.

We gave him a pack of wooden barnyard animals, as well as a baby doll.

Luke 2:8–12 (NIV):

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

I’ve never heard it remarked how natural the story of Jesus’s birth must seem to the youngest listeners. Of course the hero is a baby; of course he first appears among the sheep.

Self-care checklist

Things I didn’t have time for yesterday, due to parenthood:

• the “All Ten” puzzle
• the NYT “Connections” puzzle
• the (NYT) Athletic “Connections: Sports Edition” puzzle

(I don’t “Wordle.”)

• showering
• reading
• posting

Once the children had started dropping off to sleep, I drafted a tedious account of the night’s culinary failure. But I couldn’t bring myself to post it. Even my banality has limits.

I slept well for a change. I awakened with time to spare, and now I’m posting first thing this morning. Or, rather, sixth thing. The routine must be maintained, or the ship goes to pieces.

That’s not true.

About those Internet puzzles. When you solve one, you want to solve another. Then another. Then you start looking around for other puzzles. It could go on indefinitely. When the urge is very strong, I give myself the equivalent of a cold shower: I take the “Agatha Christie Novels” quiz. And if that doesn’t cure me, I do a crossword. That usually tires me out.

Well, I must stop now. We just opened a bill for $888, for an emergency-room procedure that took 20 seconds and, due to insurance, should have cost $0. I must make a call.

Q.E.P.D.

Samuel’s winter holiday has begun. He doesn’t sleep in; he gets out of bed, puts the hall light on, and chatters to himself until I go out to him. I do gain 30–60 minutes of sleep because I needn’t take him to the bus. I’d say this improves my well-being; on closer inspection, however, I may actually feel worse.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Ecuadorians who died yesterday:

(a) Rodrigo Borja. The first politician I supported. I was seven when he became president.

(b) Mario Pineida. Decent fullback for Barcelona. Shot in broad daylight, outside a butcher’s shop. Partner murdered, too.

Housebound

It’s only mid-December. Already, more snow has fallen than in an entire “average” winter. Or so I was told in church, and I believe it.

Nearly-four-year-old Daniel has cabin fever. He suggested we go strolling around the block. I explained that it was very cold (single digits, Fahrenheit). He suggested we wear clothes. I explained that I wouldn’t be able to push Abel’s stroller through the deep snow. Daniel didn’t know what to say to that.

It’s now been well over a month since I last took the children to the library, which, in fair weather, can be walked to in less than ten minutes. Two days ago, I went without the children; the clerks just smirked at me. Ah, well, let them enjoy the quiet a little longer. I realize my sons are notorious hellions. Abel, of course, is well-received; but now that he walks, who knows what havoc he might cause.

“Housebound” is a misleading title – I do leave the house. I’ve taken Samuel to his bus stop and attended church services and reading-group meetings. And last week, our family piled into the car and braved narrow, unplowed streets to watch Samuel sing in his school’s winter concert. (This was one of the songs.)

I had intended to try Kafka’s Castle again during this confinement; instead, I find myself caught up in a balmier book, Owen Wister’s Virginian.