This was, perhaps, the most fun I have had at the Christmas party yet. 60 folks on the nose, give or take a toddler, over four and a half hours, packing the house and back yard, snuggling up to the fire, downing chili and wassail by the gallon.
The dogs didn't move all day Sunday. At least Max only threw up once.
Now I remember what I was forgetting to do the entire evening. Take pictures. I did at least remember to eat this year, as I noticed halfway through the first beer that I was already in deliberate enunciation mode and figured I'd better get some food in my stomach before I fell over talking to the ex's wife.
People brought lovely gifts of food and wine and beer, Jesus god do we have beer left over; if you need beer any time in the next six months save yourself the eight bucks and just stop by to grab half a dozen bottles out of the cooler. My dad contributed 30 cans of Coors Light, bless his good intentions; I told The Boy he is welcome to use the fascist beer for BB gun target practice. Shake 'em up and the blow up right purty when you plug 'em.
It was, ultimately, our Christmas gift to ourselves as much as to the 60 friends and relatives who showed up, a gathering of interesting and friendly folk who created a wonderful puff of goodwill and love on a cold winter's night in midtown Tucson, meeting and greeting and being happy to see each other and spend a few quality hours sharing food, booze, and conversation.
All the rest is just icing.