We have come home for Xmas, to Boulder, Colorado, to be specific. It is awfully cold here. We left Buenos Aires Sunday evening in a temperature of 88 F. We arrived Monday late morning in Denver to a temperature of 42 F. Tuesday morning we awoke for the Xmas shopping spree to a temperature of EIGHTEEN F. Just for contrast, we’ll be heading to Hawaii on New Years Day.
Last night, my only nephew (my only sister’s son) came to visit with his wife and their two children, age 5 and 3, or around there somewhere. I had not seen Chris in maybe 20 years, but as he pushes 40, he looked pretty much like he did in his late teens, last time I saw him. Some guys have all the luck. And speaking of luck, he definitely won the marriage lottery with Alaina. Their kids are Gerber jar beautiful.
Jackson, their son, was told by his grandmother, my sister, to be sure I told him the story of The White Hand. I have been scaring the bejesus out of little kids with that story for about forty years, and last night was Jackson’s turn. After the plates were taken away, the wine and beer bottles emptied, it was time for the story-teller to do his thing.
This is what happened:
Not exactly a Xmas story, but then, it’s not Xmas yet. On Xmas Eve I tell the story of the mutilated corpse that turned into a vampire and then ran for President of the United States — and won!