“Dehhhh-k the hawls with —” Thalia fluffs a flurry of fabricated flakes. “clip-clops of holly!”
Nią ponders the carpet’s isle-of-misfit-decor.
“Well… It might not be Saks Fifth Avenue window dressing…” Calliope works to balance a faux fur Santa hat on a picture frame, “but it’s ours… Every piece infused with a memory.”
A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.
-Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home