Scrooge?

A week until Christmas. At Thanksgiving, I announced I wasn’t buying any presents. So far, I’ve held to my plan, but like a dripping underground pipe filling the grotto with a wet muck, guilt seeps through my conscience from someplace deep and hidden.

I’ll find the source and duct tape it dry.

No cards either. This year’s gap in communication will not doubt cause a loss of contact with a few people, those who contact me only during Christmas and I suspect only after I send them a card. Last year, the number of cards I send only to receive about 10% in return. Bad investment.

This is not to say I have no intensions of giving gifts. I’m making mine. And what a trial it has been, but I finally reached Paris last night – between visits to the bathroom. Makes me wish for the days of half filled bottles of Elmer's white glue and cherry-stained Popsicle sticks. Anyone need a hotmat?