A kiss before dying (where "dying" is sleep and the "kiss" is a blog entry).

I miss late night Christmas phone calls. The race to be the first to wish someone an especially happy day. Wanting the day to begin as early as possible. And to last forever. I miss late night lots of things. I am always up late these days. But the rest must slumber while I toil or blink or tick away the minutes with fevered thinking. They have clocks to punch.

I miss the thrill of being remembered. And sweetly. I miss the gestures that left me enraptured, unable to speak, spilling over with emotion and gratitude. I miss the feeling of a warm, special day. When the moments are so vivid, you don't have to remind yourself to take note of them. They stick. Effortlessly.

Sensorily, the holidays are a carnival for me. I plan to steal a few hugs if I can manage it. Tender sentiment of any sort would make me swell up inside like a big Christmas balloon. It's a short list -- the things that only come once a year. Overdoing it is in order.