Usually, we have a houseful of boys around the first of the year - the only time of year the testosterone outweighs the estrogen of 2 girl children, 2 girl cats, 2 girl mice and ME, the biggest girl of all. Usually, Phil's hunting boys all descend and we are overtaken with festivities and people who start drinking before I even wake up.  We over eat, and over drink and it is one of the times of the year that I truly don't mind cleaning us the same mess over and over again. And then they go out and set up the deluxe camp and us girls move out for the night where we are only visitors.

This year, just one boy came.  Bill, the most long-visiting boy of all.  It seems quiet.  It seems odd. And while last night in camp, they made sweet and sour, and cobbler, and there was a table of 20 people eating dinner, it wasn't OUR people. 



We had a lovely Christmas, and I got some lovely gifts, but there were no green beans, and no coffee, and worst of all, although I am certainly greatful for the SOAP Tony sent me, it is not the present I live for.  All year.  I despair to think I will wait another 365 days for my next sausage...