Has a nice ring, doesn't it? No nasty surprises (yet). We haven't invaded any more countries. No one's gotten indicted (but either a) pledges that when all the truth is known, they'll be exonerated, or b) issues a 'nolo contendere' plea, promising not to do in the future that which they don't admit to having done in the past, for which they paid a big honkin' fine). Most people who want to be employed, still are; most people who want to quit working, still can.
In our home, we had French Toast, coffee, and bacon. The French Toast was via a recipe that involved simmering a lot of orange juice with sugar and cinnamon, then putting some whipped cream on the FT along with some sugar and broiling it so that it caramelized, after which the OJ et al was ladled on top. A bit more work than anticipated, but still quite good.
A quiet jazz CD is playing (George Winston plays The Music of the Doors). The table is awash in newspaper segments (and the New York Times hasn't even been unbundled yet). The daughter (alas, hacking and sneezing), is downstairs, where our New Years Eve moment occurred (she insisted on staying awake, and for the golden moment she taped string to a beach ball, attached a '2006' note to it, and let it fall); the wife is at church, along with my mother. And I'm here, being a little mellow, sturdily ignoring thoughts of resolutions and plans. Well, mostly ignoring.
Welcome to the new year, folks.
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