Christmas Rediscovery Of That Old Adage About Home Is Where The Heart Is, Especially During a Covid Lockdown

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Photos by Suzanne Currie

A LOT OF US HAVE BY CIRCUMSTANCE DEVELOPED A GREATER APPRECIATION OF HOME SWEET HOME IN THIS ERA OF PANDEMIC AND ITS OFF-SHOOT SITUATIONS

A PREAMBLE TO TODAY’S POST

BY TED CURRIE

     I am a short distance traveller. When I was living with my parents, Merle and Ed, I was entitled as their child, to travel short distances for Sunday outings, which my father especially enjoyed, and in later years, in the coldest months of the year, they would take to the open road, Highway 76 to be specific, and head off to Florida, where I spent numerous Christmas seasons lounging in decorated beach patios in Daytona Beach, my second home in those years. I’ve been to England, and met the Sheriff of Nottingham, as well as having visited the famed Sherwood Forest,, the hangout of the legendary Robin Hood. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy all those jaunts here and there, in good company, but when Suzanne and I got married, and enjoyed a honeymoon at the family cottage on Lake Rosseau at Windermere, and then a trip to Virginia Beach a short while later, we both laughed at our modest marriage celebrations, but agreed there were more important things in life to consider; that we believed then, and now, that came to make our limited traveling suit our interests better, and increased substantially our true appreciation of our home, albeit a rather humble little ranch bungalow, we long ago called “Birch Hollow,” even before we had opened our antique shop with the same name.

     We have always enjoyed travel as part of our business, and we are very proud of the fact, that since we began our antique enterprise, back in about 1985, we have purposely stuck to a limit of 100 miles to gather our shop inventory. In fact, while we set this limit, we have very seldom ever maxed out this mileage. In fact, today, we have pared it down to fifty miles successfully, and on most weeks, we fail to hit thirty miles, yet still meeting our objectives of filling the store shelves with antiques and collectables.

     Pretty boring, wouldn’t you say? You’d be surprised to know how many adventures and life changing finds we can make inside a fifty mile radius, so don’t feel sorry that the Curries aren’t living life to the fullest. When the Covid lockdowns commenced, we may have been a most ideally suited family, to cope with the stresses of self imposed isolation, and to feel truly safe and entertained working from home or at the shop, just minus customers and guests. We didn’t have any problem finding things to do hear, or for the boys, where they were happiest working away the days being separated from friends and colleagues. Suzanne is a knitter and sewer and we just happen to have  a large stockpile of wool, fabric remnants, and working sewing machines; I’ve got several thousand books to peruse, and many, many stamp books, and this keyboard to keep my from dining of boredom. We have a lot of interesting old stuff to companion our sojourns, and there is always classic music playing on the radio; lulling both of us into a peaceful respite despite our ongoing projects. We are most comfortable in our wee abode, at Birch Hollow, and with a well stocked pantry, and Suzanne loving the opportunity to work her wizardry in the kitchen, it has been a very tiny hardship for us to be ordered to maintain a lockdown situation. The boys would rather work from the store, even when it is closed to the public, because they like the large amount of room to play their music, and work at their assorted restorations; Andrew with guitar repairs and Rob with his work cleaning his vintage vinyl collections, and doing some daytime recording in his studio.

          We know a lot of folks can’t stand being isolated at home during these pandemic lockdowns. We understand their point of view, and feelings of claustrophobia, But we have had the opportunity to talk with many of our customers and close friends, who have also found a new and somewhat exciting relationship with home base; as if it has been rediscovered from an old family ideal, that was thought antiquated and very much uncool in the contemporary sense of having an exciting existence, no matter what the circumstance. Covid restrictions have forced many of us to re-evaluate a lot of things in life that we thought were secure, and non negotiable. We have come to understand a little more clearly, how the periods of the First and Second World Wars, and the Great Depression, took away many assumed and preferred liberties; and implanted tremendous life altering hardship. Our parents and grandparents talked to us about these hardships, but to little avail; as we blew the warnings off, believing that all that bad, and intrusive stuff couldn’t happen to us today. But it did anyway, and we have found out that we can cope with disaster, and assume hardship as a harsh fact of real life and times.

     This Christmas season I hope you can enjoy the ambience of the place you call home. The healing place. It is most likely the return of Covid cases, in bigger numbers, with variants, is going to keep us closer to home once again; and this time, once again, we Curries are going to enjoy what we can of a difficult circumstance, and feel grateful we have this sanctuary, and modestly appointed as it is; and it is to be hoped, that you too will find solace and comfort in the place you too, have come to call Home Sweet Home.

HEAR THE OLD OAK TREE - THE SOUNDS AND SUBTLE WONDERS OF CHRISTMAS ABOUND

THE OLD LEAVES RUSTLE IN THE WIND - I REALIZE HOW MUCH I WOULD MISS ITS GENTLE WHOSH...IF ONE MORNING, I FOUND IT GONE

     IN THE MIST OF SPARKLING ICE CRYSTALS, FAR INTO THE FROZEN DISTANCE, THERE IS THE UNMISTAKABLE, NOSTALGIC SOUND, OF CHILDREN SCREAMING....LAUGHING, AT PLAY. UNDOUBTEDLY FROM THE EXCITEMENT, THOSE NEW SHINY SLEDS STIR, IN THE WHIPPING RACE DOWN THE ICE-COVERED HILLSIDES, OF OUR OLD TOWN NEIGHBORHOOD. SOMEONE NEARBY HAS A BACK YARD RINK, BECAUSE I NOW HEAR THE CLINK AND CUT OF SILVER BLADES, GNASHING AGAINST THE CRYSTAL ICE.

    THERE ARE THE USUAL SOUNDS OF SNOW SHOVELS BEING UTILIZED, TO WIDEN DRIVEWAYS, IN PREPARATION FOR GUESTS COMING FOR DINNER. I HEAR THE ECHO OF ICE SHIFTING FAR OUT ON MUSKOKA BAY, AND THERE ARE SNOWMOBILES RACING ALONG A NEARBY TRAIL; THE CARESS OF A LIGHT WINTER WIND, SHAKING THESE DRY, BROWN OAK LEAVES, STILL CLINGING TO THE BOUGHS, ON THE VENERABLE TREE THAT WELCOMES US TO THE PATH INTO THE BOG. I HAVE STOOD OUT AT THE END OF OUR LANE, ON MANY CHRISTMAS DAYS, LIKE THIS, AS A SORT OF SEASONAL RITUAL, AND I REALIZED THIS AFTERNOON, JUST HOW THOSE VIGILS HAVE BEEN INFLUENCED, AND ENHANCED BY THE MUSICAL RUSTLE OF THE DRY LEAVES, ADHERED NOW TO THE ICE AND SNOW COVERED BOUGHS. AS THE SONG REFERENCES THE "MURMUR OF THE COTTONWOOD TREES," I AM SO PLEASANTLY REGALED BY THE SING-SONG OF THE OLD OAK TREE, THAT I SEE EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE....THE SAME BEAUTIFUL TREE, THAT FOR THE PAST TWENTY-FIVE YEARS, HAS PLEASANTLY GREETED US EACH MORNING, AND WELCOMED US BACK TO BIRCH HOLLOW, WHEN OUR DAY HAS GROWN WEARISOME. IT HAS WATCHED OUR BOYS GROW, AND IT WAS THE ICONIC TREE, SUZANNE AND I STOOD UNDER, A FEW YEARS AGO, WHILE WE TALKED WITH NEIGHBORS ABOUT FIGHTING FOR THE BOG'S CONSERVATION; NEEDING TO BE RESCUED FROM THE TOWN'S INTENT TO SELL IT. IT'S THE TREE I STOPPED TO LOOK AT, THE DAY MY MOTHER DIED, WHILE I STOOD AT THE CAR, AWAITING THE REST OF THE FAMILY TO TRUNDLE DOWN FROM THE HOUSE, FOR OUR UNFORTUNATE TRIP TO THE PINES, IN BRACEBRIDGE, TO CONSOLE MY FATHER. THE NIGHT MY FATHER PASSED AWAY, I LEANED UP AGAINST THE BACK OF THE VAN, AND JUST STARED OUT AT THE CLEAR WINTER SKY, WITH THIS GIANT, FANNING OAK, WHISPERING TO ME ABOUT LIFE AND ETERNITY; AND I FELT BETTER IN ITS PRESENCE, BUT I HAVE KNOW IDEA WHY.

     WE OFTEN DISREGARD THESE SMALL DETAILS OF LIFE AND TIMES, EXCEPT WHEN WE FINALLY FEEL THE NECESSITY, IN OUR IMMEDIATE EMOTIONAL STATE, TO PAUSE, AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THESE LONGSTANDING, BUT MOST OFTEN IGNORED, CHARACTERISTICS OF THE PLACE IN WHICH WE LIVE. IN THIS TOWN, SO FULL OF INTERESTING NOOKS AND CRANNIES, AND BEAUTIFUL WOODLANDS LIKE THE ONE HERE ABOVE THE BOG, WE OFTEN FORGET HOW TRULY SIGNIFICANT THEY ALL ARE.....WHEN CONTEMPLATED QUIETLY, THOUGHTFULLY, BEYOND THE BACKGROUND BLUR WE SEE OF THEM, IN THE WHIR PAST, OF A SPEEDING AUTOMOBILE. LAST EVENING AND AGAIN THIS MORNING, AS THIS TREE MURMURED SO SOFTLY IN MY PRESENCE, JOYFUL CHURCH CHOIRS COULD BE HEARD AS A FAINT ECHOE IN THE MINUS TWENTY AIR; THE BELLS RESOUNDING OVER THE FROZEN LANDSCAPE; THE SWEET REFRAIN OF "MERRY CHRISTMAS," THE FESTIVE WELCOME AT MY NEIGHBOR'S FRONT DOOR. THERE'S A THE DISTANT SOUND OF A TRAIN HORN, AND THE VIBRATING RUMBLE OF THE IRON HORSE, OVER THOSE SPARKING RIBBON RAILS...CUTTING THROUGH THE FRIGID AIR MAKING IT SEEM, THAT AT ANY MOMENT, THE HEADLIGHT WOULD SOON BEND AND BEAM THROUGH THE TREES IN THE DISTANCE, AND LIKE THE POLAR EXPRESS, WIND RIGHT ALONG THIS ROADWAY AND STOP FOR FOR ME.

     WE GENERALLY DON'T TAKE MUCH TIME TO "PONDER," AS A MEANS OF REFLECTING AND ANTICIPATING LIFE EVENTS, IN THESE DAYS OF TECHNOLOGICAL STIMULATION. METHINKS IT IS A DIEING ART; THAT OF STOPPING CASUALLY, TO REFLECT IN THAT GLORIOUS, TIME-HONORED PONDERING, SO FULLY RIPE OF CHILDHOOD FANTASY; A TIME WHEN WE SAW MYTHICAL CREATURES EMERGING THROUGH THE MOONLIGHT, AND THEN AMBLING DOWN THE FOREST PATHS TO PLACES UNKNOWN. THOSE PRECIOUS DAYS WHEN THE "FANTASTIC" WAS ORDINARY FARE, AND WE KEPT WHAT WE SAW TO OURSELVES, FOR FEAR THAT A REALIST MIGHT DASH OUR EXPECTATIONS.....OF MAGIC LEFT TO COME. DAYS WHEN IT WAS A PERFECT RESPITE JUST TO PASS THE HOURS, BRINGING ALL THOSE ENCHANTMENTS TO ONE PLACE, FOR INTIMATE ENTERPRISE. SOME WOULD CALL THEM WILD FICTIONS, AND THE FOLLY OF AN OVER-ACTIVE IMAGINATION. YET STANDING BY THE OLD, RUSTLING OAK, AT THIS TIME OF LIFE, I FIND MYSELF A CHILD AGAIN, TRYING TO IMAGINE ALL THAT THIS TREE AND ITS NATURE, ARE TRYING TO TELL ME.....WHAT I MIGHT EXPECT IN THE FUTURE. WHAT ETERNITY MUST LOOK LIKE, IF ONE DAY I WAS SO PRIVILEGED TO EXPERIENCE IT? IF ANY TREE COULD BE CONSIDERED SAGE, AND WISE, IT IS THIS ONE AT THE END OF MY DRIVE....THAT OVERSEES EVERYTHING WE DO IN THIS HOLLOW-SIDE NEIGHBORHOOD....WITH ITS RESIDENT DEER AND GREY RABBITS, WILEY FOXES, AND DANCING SQUIRRELS; BLUE JAYS AND CHICKADEES, CHIPMUNKS AND SKUNKS, INTERACTING WITHIN THE WOODLANDS, WHILE WE PASS ALONG THIS LANEWAY, ON OUR MERRY WAY.....IN OUR PARALLEL PROGRESSIONS OF A WORKING DAY. A CRANKY YOUNG SQUIRREL WAS CHATTERING AT ME A WHILE AGO, WHEN I APPARENTLY IMPEDED ITS PROGRESS TO THE BIRD FEEDER ON OUR VERANDAH. SO HALFWAY DOWN THE TRUNK, POINTING TO THE GROUND, THE SQUIRREL AWKWARDLY RAISED ITS HEAD, TO WARN ME AWAY FROM MY SOUJOURN, OR ELSE. BUT I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE IF IT WAS A WARNING OR A BOISTEROUS GREETING, BUT I FINALLY MOVED TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE VEHICLE, AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY, AND THE SQUIRREL AMBLED ACROSS THE ROAD, AND UP THE HILLSIDE TO HAVE HIS DINNER.

     AROUND OUR COMMUNITY THIS CHRISTMAS DAY, 2013, THERE ARE A MYRIAD OF ACTIVITIES GOING ON, THAT ARE SMALL IN NATURE AND PURPOSE, BUT INTERESTING, AND SOCIALLY HARMONIOUS WITH THE SEASON. AS YOU WILL SEE FROM THE PHOTOGRAPH, PUBLISHED ABOVE, FRED SHULZ WAS OUT EARLIER TO CAPTURE ONE OF THESE MOMENTS OF SPIRITUAL REKINDLING, IN THE SACRED EMBRACE, OF CHRISTMASES PAST;  AMONGST THE FAITHFUL CONGREGATION, IN THE PIONEER CHURCH OF THE HOLY MANGER, IN BARKWAY. ACROSS MUSKOKA THIS CHRISTMAS, THESE OLD CHURCHES, SOFTLY ILLUMINATED AGAINST THE SNOWY MANTLE, WERE RE-VISITED BY FRIENDS AND FAMILY, SOME WHO CAN LAY CLAIM AS KIN OF THE ORIGINAL CHURCH FOUNDERS, AND ORIGINAL CONGREGATION, FROM THE EARLIEST SETTLEMENT DAYS OF THE DISTRICT. WHAT AN ENDEARING SOLITUDE, TO COME UPON ONE OF THESE REANIMATED CHURCH BUILDINGS, AND HEAR THE SWEET CAROLS OF THE SEASON, RESONATING SENTIMENTALLY OVER THE FROZEN EXPANSE OF ROLLING, BORDERED PASTURES AND HILLSIDES, AS IF HISTORY HAS JUST THEN, FOR THE WELFARE OF A WEARY SOUL, COMMENCED ITS HAUNTING REVIVAL OF HOPE AND GOOD CHEER.....RENEWED IN A GLOW OF WINTER'S PASSION....THE SUN HAD JUST THAT MOMENT, BROKEN THROUGH THE VEIL OF SNOWFLURRIES, SPIRALLING DOWN UPON THE EARTH LIKE AN AGITATED SNOW GLOBE; AND THE VOYEUR COULD SEE CLEARLY ONCE AGAIN. TO WITNESS THE TINY MARVELS OF THIS INTRIGUING PLACE ON EARTH.....SO RICHLY SPICED WITH THE UNEXPECTED PLEASURES OF NATURAL CURIOSITIES, THRUST AGAINST THE ARCHITECTURAL HERITAGE OF ANOTHER ERA....ANOTHER SOCIAL INTERCOURSE THAT IS LONG GONE, EXCEPT FOR THESE REMNANTS OF OLD BUILDINGS, LOG BARNS AND RAIL FENCES SNAKING DOWN ONE HILLSIDE, AND BEING LOST TO VIEW, OVER THE TOP OF ANOTHER. THE SOLITUDE. THE WAY THE WINTER MANIFESTS OVER POND AND CREEK, SUCH THAT LIGHT AND SHADOW FORM THE ONLY VISIBLE CONTOURS.

     WE MUSKOKANS PASS ALL THIS BY ALMOST DAILY, WITHOUT PAYING MUCH ATTENTION. SCHOOL KIDS, HEADS DOWN, TRUNDLE BY THE WOODLANDS ABOVE THE BOG, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, WITH NARY A SIDE GLANCE PAST THE PHONE IN THEIR HANDS; WHERE ONCE UPON A TIME, THOSE MITTS WERE ROLLING SNOWBALLS, TO TOSS AT THEIR CONTEMPORARIES. THE MOST ATTENTION THE WOODLANDS IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD GET, THESE DAYS FROM PASSING YOUTH, IS AS A REFUSE AREA FOR THE CARROTS, APPLES AND BANANAS DISCARDED FROM LUNCH BAGS, SO PARENTS WON'T FIND OUT THE TRUTH ABOUT THOSE HEALTHY LUNCHES TUCKED AWAY NEATLY IN BACKPACKS EACH MORNING. HARRIED ADULTS SELDOM HAVE MUCH TIME TO NOTICE THE WILDLIFE IN THE FOREST, OR THE INTERESTING WAY THE ICE AND SNOW HAVE BEEN SCULPTED OVER THE CEDARS, BECAUSE THEY ARE DRIVING TOO FAST TO NOTICE ANYTHING MORE THAN WHAT THE HEADLIGHTS REVEAL THIRTY FEET AHEAD. ON MORNINGS WHEN THE SPARKLING SUNLIGHT DAZZLES THROUGH THE SNOW-LADEN LIMBS, AND SPARKLES THROUGH THE PRISM CRYSTALS OF NEWLY FALLEN SNOW, THOSE HEADING TO WORK, CELL PHONES TO THEIR EARS, HAVE LITTLE TIME TO SPARE FOR PICTURESQUE SCENES OF JUST ANOTHER WINTER....SENT TO BURDEN US WITH HARDSHIP. HOW SAD IT IS THAT SO MUCH WONDROUS PLEASURE, FREE OF CHARGE, IS IGNORED AND BYPASSED BECAUSE WE HAVE LOST THE PASSION FOR THE NATURE AROUND US. HOW MANY OF MY NEIGHBORS HAVE ENJOYED THE WINDSWEPT WHISPERS, OF RUSTLING OAK LEAVES, OR HAVE GIVEN ANY THOUGHT WHATSOEVER, TO THE CURIOUS HABITS OF LOCAL WILDLIFE, THAT BY THEIR ACTIONS, SHOW US IN MANY WAYS, HOW LONG AND SEVERE THE WINTER WILL BE; HOW COLD OR WARM, AND HOW MUCH SNOW WE SHOULD EXPECT. IT USED TO BE, IN EARLIER DAYS, WHEN MUCH COULD BE LEARNED BY THE PREPARATIONS OF OUR CREATURE FRIENDS, ABOUT WHAT MOTHER NATURE HAD IN STORE. IF I WAS TO APPROACH THE YOUNGSTERS, WHO PASS THIS WAY EACH DAY, AND POINT OUT SOME OF THESE PECULIARITIES OF NATURE, UNDOUBTEDLY I WOULD BE BRUSHED-OFF AND THEN SCOLDED BY AGITATED PARENTS, THINKING ME A POTENTIAL MOLESTER. YET WE ARE BUNDLED TOGETHER AGAINST THIS DYNAMIC MUSKOKA LOWLAND, WHERE SO FEW CARE TO SET ONE FOOT, TO INVESTIGATE ITS INTERIOR. MY BOYS WERE SONS OF NATURE, AND NEVER FOUND IT ANY IMPOSITION TO BE IN THE CARING COMPANY OF GUARDIAN TREES AND THE CREATURE INHABITANTS.

     I WORRY ABOUT THE MIND-SET DISTANCING OF PEOPLE TODAY, ESPECIALLY YOUNG MUSKOKANS, FROM THE NURTURING REALITIES OF NATURE AND RURAL LIFE. I BECOME CONCERNED WHEN OUR TOWNSFOLK MISS THE SIGNIFICANCE OF ALL THE SMALL HERITAGE, SOCIAL AND CULTURAL ACTIVITIES GOING ON, THROUGHOUT THE TOWN, AT THIS TIME OF THE YEAR.....AND I FEAR THEIR IGNORANCE, WHEN THEY INDIGNANTLY CLAIM, WITHOUT A THIN SHRED OF RESERVATION, THAT THERE IS NOTHING GOING ON, OR ANYTHING TO DO.....IN THE HOME DISTRICT. THEY HAVE BEEN RAISED BY ELECTRONIC TECHNOLOGIES, AND TO THEM, ANYTHING LESS THAN RAZOR'S EDGE-EXCITING, IS OF LITTLE CONSEQUENCE. THEY DON'T BELIEVE THEY COULD BE STIMULATED BY A CHURCH SERVICE IN A PIONEER CHURCH. THEY WOULDN'T FEEL A SMIDGEON OF EMOTION, HEARING CAROLERS REJOICING THE SEASON, OR SENSE ANY INKLING OF TRANQUILITY, CATCHING THE ECHOE OF A CHURCH BELL SOMEWHERE OFF IN THE DISTANCE; AND HAVE NO DESIRE TO GRAB-UP ONE OF THOSE FLYING CARPETS, TO CHALLENGE AN ICY HILLSIDE WITH TODAY'S WILDLY ENTHUSIASTIC SLEDDERS. THEY PREFER INSTEAD, TO STAND AT THE EDGE OF THIS WINTER CARNIVAL, AND TEXT OR TWEET THEIR MATES VIA THE NEBULOUS CHANNELS THROUGH CYBERSPACE. IF I WAS TO ASK THEM, AT THAT MOMENT, IF THEY COULD HEAR THE TINKLING OF A TINY CATARACT, FLOWING SOMEWHERE BENEATH THE ICE AT THEIR FEET, THEY'D UNDOUBTEDLY THINK ME MAD FOR ASKING SUCH A FOOLISH, TIME-DEMANDING QUESTION. YES, I AM OLD FASHIONED THIS WAY. SO MUCH SO, I WORRY ABOUT THE ROLE THEY WILL SOON ASSUME BY SENIORITY, AS THE EVENTUAL NEW STEWARDS OF THIS LAND, AND ALL THE RECREATIONAL TRADITION AND HISTORY I WITNESS DAILY; THE NATURE I SO ADORE, THAT MIGHT SOON BE PAVED OVER WITH A MORE DESIRABLE LAND USE....HULKING, SKY-DOMINATING COMMUNICATION TOWERS, THAT ARE MADE TO LOOK LIKE TREES....BUT NOT REALLY. WHAT ARE WE TO EXPECT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS, WHO FIND ALL THAT AMAZES ME TODAY, IRRELEVANT AND JUST THE DULL, CUMBERSOME, INTRUSIVENESS OF NATURE?

     I SUPPOSE ONE BLEAK DAY, SOMEONE WITH A CHAINSAW AND A CONTAINER OF CAS, AND INTENT, BY MISGUIDED MUNICIPAL AUTHORITY, WILL COME TO HACK DOWN THIS ANCIENT OAK, THAT INSPIRES ME EACH DAY; AND FEEL THE TOWN BEST SERVED BY A STUMP INSTEAD. I CAN ONLY DEFEND IT FOR SO LONG. I'M GETTING TOO OLD TO CHAIN MYSELF TO TREES; BECAUSE FOR ONE THING, I KEEP FORGETTING WHERE I PUT THE KEY TO THE LOCK. SO I CAN ONLY REPRESENT IT IN THE POETRY OF BEST INTENTIONS; A LANGUAGE THE YOUNGER GENERATION CAN'T INTERPRET. AND CONTINUE TO BOAST OF ITS MAGIC, FOR AS LONG AS I CAN, TO GIVE IT A REVERENCE ABOVE ITS GOLDEN LEAVES, AND CALMING MURMUR, IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF NATURE TO KEEP US RELEVANT TO EVERYTHING ELSE.

     WHAT I EXPERIENCED THIS CHRISTMAS, WAS A VIBRANT, CHARMING, ENGAGING LITTLE TOWN, FULL OF TANTALIZING SIGHTS AND SOUNDS, OF COUNTRY LIFE AND TIMES. IT WAS THE AURA OF A MERRY CHRISTMAS, AND IT WAS AS USUAL, THE PLACE I WANTED TO BE. I HOPE YOU HAVE ALL HAD AN ENJOYABLE CHRISTMAS DAY. I AM SO GLAD YOU DROPPED BY FOR A VISIT. IF YOU'RE FEELING A LITTLE CHILLY, PULL A LITTLE CLOSER TO THE HEARTH.....THERE'S PLENTY OF ROOM.