A light bulb has gone out. I raised a genius.
Timidly, I asked my boss for permission. He said yes. “As long as you give back your stories, I don’t care if you write from Saturn,” he said. On December 9, I packed up my sleigh and set off like Santa for Christmas.
I won’t bore you with my minute-by-minute actions over the next 27 days, but it was a joy. I discovered a charming little toy store in Muncie. I loved seeing the brilliant Andre as the grumpy, sneering Scrooge.
As we did as kids decades ago, my twin and I blew out the candles on our shared birthday cake.
I had dinner with my cousin Julie and her friend Doug at the 219 year old Golden Lamb Inn in Lebanon, Ohio. This inn opened in 1803 and has hosted 12 presidents, as well as Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, and Annie Oakley, among others.
Then I drove 300 miles to my twin sister’s house on the shores of Lake Erie in Ashtabula, Ohio, and worked remotely for the next 10 days. In the evening, we would wrap presents and carry her fresh Christmas tree.
On December 23, I drove 65 miles west to my brother Bob’s house in Shaker Heights, a suburb of Cleveland, for Christmas. My son Matt came from Los Angeles. On Christmas Eve, we went to church, then sipped eggnog around the tree until we heard Rodolphe prancing on the roof.