I know some of you have been celebrating already, and others are nearly there. Those of us who procrastinate still have a couple days to rub elbows with our confederates at the marts and malls before we collapse, at last, in a steaming heap of holiday goo. Or not, if this is the year we finally decide we've had enough, and no one is getting anything but our best wishes, if that. Those of you who already had all the shopping out of the way in August . . . well, you're despicable.
Unfortunately, it's almost a sure bet there will be at least one storm, somewhere, that keeps a few of you from arriving at your intended destinations on time. This is normal, and shouldn't be taken as an indication of bad mojo. We're thinking of you, and hope you get out of that airport lobby before you're forced to consume another one of those plastic cheeseburgers.
All you guys and gals out there spending the weekend in the bunk of your idling diesel rig: we're thinking of you, too. It's a good life, mostly, but I know it gets kind of quiet sometimes. And remember, if you aren't sure if you want to pull the red knob or the yellow knob, it means you're way overdue for a nap. Same thing if you can't decide which way to slide the tandems after you pull away from the scale.
If you're reading this on a computer in a public library and too often sleep in your shoes, we remember you. Every day one more person wakes up and asks why this is happening; maybe one day soon there will be enough to keep it from ever happening again.
If you're wearing body armor and have a rifle between your knees, our thoughts are with you most of all. Just do whatever you have to do to get through this day, and by this time next year things will be different. Nothing lasts forever.
The truly fortunate among you have a little girl or boy—or a matched set, even—through whom you can relive the bright moments of seasons long past. In this way, we never become too cynical to hope, or too old to dream.
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