Christmas morning in the upper seventies is a strange thing. Even in the Deep South, it is not supposed to feel like this. Shorts and bare feet on December 25 already put the day in a different headspace.

Last night we stayed up late packing stockings and getting things ready for the morning. When I was putting things into Thomas’ stocking, I noticed he had already put something in mine. That is new. He is at that age now where the gig is up. Santa is not a real being, at least not in the literal sense, but he still wants to believe because it is fun, and because the attention around it is kind of wonderful. Seeing that he had thought about me was quietly meaningful.

This morning we all sat down and opened our stockings together. Mine was a really good pile of things that made me feel seen. Blue cheese stuffed olives, little shelf stable bags of olives that look a lot like Trader Joe’s “just a handful of olives,” but from Walmart, and I am genuinely curious how they compare. A book about watches and the stories behind them. A really nice wooden bedside bowl. Most of it was food, which honestly felt perfect.

Even so, there is always this low level feeling in the background of Christmas for me. The sense of not doing enough, or not getting the right things, or somehow missing something. Christmas has always been complicated. Growing up with both Jehovah’s Witness and Catholic influences will do that. I know a lot of it is internal, but it still shows up.

After stockings we made a little breakfast, played UNO, and lounged around. The best thing about Christmas now is that there is no agenda. Ever since my parents passed away, the day itself has been ours. No driving, no rushing, no required plans. Just meals, gifts, movies, books, music, and being together. I have grown very attached to that.

For lunch I made what turned into a very serious sandwich. A kind of grilled cheese turkey melt, but with a slab of leftover cornbread dressing cut into a rectangle and browned in the pan next to the bread. It was heavy and very good, and it absolutely required a nap afterward. I do not usually sleep after eating, but today it felt right.

We tried to watch a movie, Eight Bit Christmas, which is fun and nostalgic. I think that was right around when I fell asleep.

Later I made a cocktail with gin and those blue cheese stuffed olives and took it out to the front porch. At five o’clock I waited for the church bells. I love listening to them, especially on Christmas. They usually ring longer, but today they only played two songs and lasted about five minutes. Still, it was nice to sit outside in shorts and barefoot and listen.

After dinner I took Maverick out for a walk to get moving again. We had already walked earlier, and even then it was in the upper seventies, which is still hard to wrap my head around.

In a few days we will be in New York, which is going to feel very different. For now, though, I am here, full of olives and cornbread dressing, and grateful for a quiet, unhurried Christmas