We appear to have an overcast day, now that it approaches eleven, but nothing that looks like rain. For now. The house is still quiet, I'm the only one up, no thought to go by Starbucks this morning as the Sunday Times is more than I want to handle and a cup of coffee, well, it can wait. Two baby oranges, two slices of toast, a glass of orange juice for breakfast, the day ahead, the trip to Seattle ahead, the party ahead. My, my. On a Sunday too. Makes me sleepy just thinking about it.

Later. Monday morning, actually. A three hour drive, just over 180 miles, arrived to find in party in full tilt around three. The traditional exchange of gifts (we say Christmas ornaments, but anything small and Christmasy), the group singing of carols, the absolutely enormous spread of food: the afternoon and evening went well and now I've had a reasonably good night's sleep getting to bed at ten and up now at eight.

You're pretty predictable with this sleep thing. At least you write about it a lot.

I'm finding not everybody, when they get to be my age, does. Sleep, aches, pains, meds, rats scratching in the walls. And voices. We mustn't forget the voices. I'm hoping sleep is one of those bullets I'm allowed to miss. For however long, the sleep remains reasonably regular and reliable. Here in Seattle.