I no longer buy the facts of the trek-to-Bethlehem story.

Seriously. How could any governmental agency in those days keep records to show that Joseph’s hometown was Bethlhem. And why would he have to load a very pregnant Mary on a donkey to accompany him? Bethlehem was certainly not her hometown and I doubt that women needed to be counted anyway.

So, the facts may be wrong, but the legend and the lessons are much truer than facts.

On Christmas morning, I drove the dogs across town to run in a field they love. On the way, I saw so many homeless people huddled under tarps or in tents. The largest group was under the noisy interstate overpass, trying to stay dry.

I thought it would be disrespectful to take pictures, so I downloaded this one.

I never give cash to needy people. I bought a bunch of coffee-kiosk-gift cards early in December. By Christmas day, they were all gone and I never had enough for the groups I saw that morning. I felt a little bit like an obnoxious Lady Bountiful handing them out anyway.

There are no easy answers to this disgraceful situation. I often think, “There but by the grace of God and a good divorce lawyer go I.”

And here I sit at 1880 with three unoccupied bedrooms. I know inviting homeless people to share my home is not the answer, but still, I feel guilty.

Where are wisemen bringing gifts?

Mother’s closest companion growing up was her “sister” Frances.

Due to a unique generational arrangement, Frances, who was a couple of years younger than Mother, was actually her aunt. I always called her Aunt Frances.

Mother had many wonderful memories of the fun and mischief the two of them got up to playing together as little girls. It was The Depression, so they didn’t have much, but they had a very rich childhood. They used to “pretend,” which they called “play-like,” which was pronounced “plike.”

“Let’s plike the porch swing is a train and we’re going on a trip.”

This little tea set that they shared was a very special possession. It sits in my dining room today.

I don’t actually believe things happen quite like this, but Mother did; so I “plike” Frances ran to meet Mother early in the morning on Christmas Eve.

Today is Kate’s birthday. We have a long tradition of attending The Nutcracker at the Opera House to celebrate. Then, after a long hiatus, she treated me to a performance in 2016,

I think the year after that may have been in Oregon with birthday cake from Konditorei and a drive up to Timberline Lodge through a snow storm for Christmas dinner. Meg was along for one Timberline dinner, if I recall.

One year, it was just Elizabeth and me on Christmas Eve for cracked crab in front of the fire, after which we drove through the highly-touted-Keizer-lighted-neighborhood extravaganza. I believe I dropped her off on Christmas for a flight to a tropical clime and I stopped back by Kay and John’s on the way home for salmon dinner.

Then, in 2018, Kate and I met up in Ashland. Too much fun. We walked through town and bought birthday presents; went to a Cabaret show; had brunch and Christmas Eve dinner at the Ashland Springs Hotel. And here I am serving up birthday trifle in my hotel room.

2020 is unique among all the celebrations. Maybe we shouldn’t even refer to it as a celebration — but let’s do! We have been sending lots of sussies with help from Amazon and UPS. And now we are writing back and forth about what we’ll be cooking up for our dinners for just one or two. We have high hopes, warm hearths, and grateful hearts. Not one of us has ever been cold or hungry.

Be merry and bright.

Sunrise at 1880 on the Winter Solstice. That’s as far south as it gets. For perspective, the hummingbird feeder is due east. Time to start heading back!