The Simple Turns Sublime

What I savor the most

about those last couple of weeks

is how the simple

turns sublime.

.

Time to throw the ball with the dogs

and savor the yard that was home

to bee stings, scraped knees,

and water gun fights in equal parts.

.

Time to sit back and read

beside the fireplace many a cat would lay

while sipping champagne poured from a neck

freshly sabered.

.

That tradition was short lived.

A combination of the risk of the bottle exploding,

broken glass scattered across the ground

(if not in your bubbly),

and sliced fingers on a razor-sharp neck

put that lunacy to bed.

.

Still, I proved I could do it

and had many attempts that didn’t end in such a state.

That “tradition” may have only survived a single season.

But others are going strong:

.

My dad and I make sausage soufflé Christmas morning.

The pets each get a stocking along with the sons.

There’s always plenty of sushi

and beneath each plate *gasp*

another lottery ticket?!

.

There’s something sublime about a few days

where the family converges from across the country

to share the same ciabatta loaves from South Street Under

and rhubarb pie from Mom’s Apple Pie Company.

.

Presents don’t mean as much anymore.

To be fair, I’m asking for jeans and a rice cooker this year.

Nowadays, it’s the quiet and good food

that I look forward to.