St Stephen's Day

I have often shared details about how I pray or how I think about things, so I think it's appropriate for me to share how I spent my Christmas:

My eyes began to well up with tears as I looked around the table last night. Here, gathered in my grandmother's kitchen, I scanned those around me to see my mother, my aunts and uncles, and a few cousins who had all gathered together to spend the holiday together. There were others around, of course - kids playing in the living room, other relatives chatting merrily in the family room recounting events of the past, but here in the kitchen, here in the heart of my grandma's house, I felt tears in my eyes as I saw all those gathered around me...

and I had to blink back the tears induced by the foul and malodorous gases my uncles seemed to draw forth from the very depths of hell to share with the rest of the family. I mean, I'm all for the Christmas spirits, but PLEASE - the federal government would do well to monitor the gas emissions of my three uncles as I suspect they contribute more to the degradation of the ozone layer, the nation's consumption of air freshener, and the purchasing of scented candles than any other triumverate. I honestly believe that the headache I am feeling right now is less a consequence of drinking (I had nothing to drink last night) and directly attributed to the lack of oxygen I suffered while playing board games in the kitchen. The stench was so bad at times that my aunt Cheryl conjectured that her nasal passages were on the verge of rupture, the lights began to flicker as the odious gases corroded electrical wiring, and I fear that my hair loss has now been accelerated exponentially.

If that's not holiday cheer, I don't know what is.

I can give a shot-out to my godfather Jack Duns and my aunt Nancy for their gift of Dunkin Donuts gift certificates. I *love* DD's coffee and, if my memory serves me correctly, I believe there is a Dunkin Donuts not far from my new community. My dad is telling me as I write this that Jack and I have something very profound in common: neither of us drinks lite beer. I hate lite beer and have found it more prudent to bring my own beer to my house (my father doesn't buy anything special for me either, Jack) rather than suffer quafting lite brews.

For some, this post will seem a radical departure from my more introspective musings. If, however, you traverse the broad-scope of my blogging, you'll find this post more in line with the "old days" of my blog and, though perhaps a little obnoxious, I'd like to think that I'm simply staking out my stake in the Hagan family's pantheon of strange characters. Besides, I have a feeling that the work I do and report on this semester as a Clinical Pastoral Education intern will give rise to many more serious posts, so I might as well get my silliness out now!