It must be some time around Christmas. All the relatives and even some who arent, are here. Some of these kids are so young they havent even seen Star Wars yet. Under normal circumstances Id be annoyed. But the blue light is filling the windows, so different from the deathly blue of the television, with the gathering thunder of a gentle morning. The christmas tree is lit up like a used car lot, but with love in its myriad mirrors. Who are we? We are many, we are messy, we are loud, and this morning, for once, I dont mind. I dont mind cruising through hyperspace. I dont mind the streaking of the stars outside the window. I dont mind the smell of wet chihuahua, the chain-o-lakes left on the marble plains by reckless washing of the childlike hands, so many hands, of god. Halfasleep and all awake, I go over by the tree to get something or to put something down. We share a smile, you and I. Cholula, you, in your finest flannel pjs, worn and frumpy; yes you truly are, in the midst of all that growing noise, glowing after all.