Christmas morning is a pretty nasty piece of work this year. It's overcast, drizzly, and chilly for these parts.

To compensate, Charlie's first words this morning were "We wish you a Merry Christmas!" Granted, they might well be his first words on January 6, April 10 and July 22, but they sit well today.

I was sitting here in the dark at about 6 this morning when I heard a low drone. Only occasionally do we hear an airplane or a jet here, so I wondered who was flying so early on Christmas day.

No one. That's Jason snoring on the couch.

I have, I think, managed to contract whatever upper respiratory illness is going around. But the party was Saturday, and our Christmas dinner proper was last night, and there are fixin's for ham sandwiches in the house, little buddies. I'm signing out of the kitchen for a day or two.

UPDATE: Maybe just one more thing.

The day after the food holidays, my mother would always cook a pot of plainly-seasoned (salt, pepper, garlic, olive oil) pinto beans to eat with cornbread. I think I'll do that now. Lyman won't care for them, but I will and my brother will.