Yesterday I was surprisingly productive, despite the holiday haze. Though nobody answered the phone at the appliance store, I managed to go to my (virtual) yoga class and muscle my way through my editing stack. I sat at the dining-room table and worked on the comic books I'm drawing for my nephews, and at dusk Tom and I ambled through the neighborhood to check out the Christmas lights. Tom made turkey hash for dinner, while I wrestled with Red Phone setup (current state of affairs: WiFi works; cell service does not). And then we ate our meal while watching Footlight Parade (1934), a wacky Busby Berkeley musical starring, of all people, a tap-dancing James Cagney, who behaves exactly like a gangster even when he's not playing a gangster.

I've got no particular plans for today, other than to solve the Red Phone problem, draw some more comics, simmer a vat of turkey stock, and finish reading David Copperfield. I'm hoping we'll get our Christmas tree soon, but the timing for that is up to our man with the pickup truck.

Next weekend I'll be on the clock again, leading a sonnet-based writing retreat with last summer's Frost Place participants, so I don't mind moseying through this weekend. Plus, it's a treat to have Tom home for four solid days. I do like him.