There are plenty of things to dislike about how our culture celebrates the Christmas season. More than once I’ve been called a scrooge for mentioning them.
But whatever its flaws, the season tends to draw people home and that seems to me to be a very good thing.
When I was a child everyone in the extended family gathered at my Grandparents’ house on Christmas morning for feasting and exchanging gifts. No one had to travel very far to get there.
But these days it’s rare for a family to all live in the same community. At least it’s rare among families I know. Most families are now scattered about, and many of us have to travel long distances to come “home.” We tend to do that on holidays.
Our children are now grown and gone on to lives elsewhere. But at some point over the holidays they’ll both be home again. We’re looking forward to that.
Whenever I go in their pasture, the pigs insist on pressing their wet and usually dirty snouts on my legs. A friend of mine calls this “pig kisses.”
A routine garden-variety pig kiss.
When I take them their breakfast, the pigs start drooling when they see me coming. I mean, they don’t just drool. They DROOL–emitting what seems like bucketfuls of their foamy pig spit. It’s a pity I haven’t been able to capture this salivary spectacle in a photograph yet. I’m sure you are all disappointed.
So once a week Cherie washes my work bibs–that being the maximum period she allows me to wear them between washings. Yesterday morning when I put them on, they were crisp and clean and as I headed out for chores.
But alas they weren’t to remain unspoiled very long. When I entered the pigs’ pasture one of them came up to me and began rubbing her head up and down my pants leg, liberally soaking it with pig slobber. It was a particularly sloppy pig kiss.
Here she is afterwards, mocking me.
“What happened to your pants?” Hehehehe
An occupational hazard I suppose.