This was the first Christmas I was away from my family. Even made it back home from the Army the year I was active. Depressing. You don't really realize what family is until it's way over there. Hug yours if they're right there.
Was on a plane all day to celebrate my capitalist gift-giving day. Woke up in Eugene, Oregon, to discover that Santa does not hit hotels. Bounced around between Portland and San Fran all day, and then settled in Medford, Oregon for the night. Planes were full, and not empty, like you'd think, like you'd expect. But nary a difficult passenger. You know, it was a unique way to spend the holiday... not the old sit-in-front-of-the-ball-game-and-try-to-resist-tryptophan-poisoning-because-all-your-out-of-town-friends-will-only-be-there-for-two-more-days thing. One more thing I guess I get to say I've done. St. Peter says to me, "You ever spend Christmas in a 17x50 foot flying sewer pipe?" "Yes, sir, I have," I say back. "Fantastic," he says, "come on in."
So merry Christmas to all, then.