ROCKING AROUND
The surface of the desk is strewn, STREWN I TELL YOU, with the detritus of Christmas: cards, postcards, envelopes, pens, lists, address books, newsletters, photo pages, school photos, a stapler. There is a small stack, slowly growing, of sealed and addressed cards. There are no less than 3 address books. Underneath it all somewhere are the final shopping lists of gifts yet to be bought: a niece, a nephew, my husband, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, my own. The mailing date for cards overseas is the 16th, I’ve been told, and I still have a package to mail after those final gifts are...