I think the moon was full yesterday, but it still is big and bright, and straight up overhead, and there’s a massive halo around it in the middle of the night. I still remember that this is portentous in terms of weather, but I can’t remember what it portends, and I’m not going to look it up.

In fact, on the day of the Orion post, we were in Prettytown constructing a makeshift greywater line from her fifthwheel out to the sewer of the RV park, and it was not a project that either of us had any business completing on our own, and it turned out great.

Today we were back there taking care of other things and the young man said the thing about the Drummer.

Both times, we stopped at the non-Bezos natural grocery store, among other places, and both times I bought a whole, fresh, organic chicken carcass, among other things. The plan is to cook the first one tomorrow in the new Christmas pressure cooker pot that we’ve already made chili verde in, already made spaghetti and meatballs in, will make cheesecake in; it’s a crazy device that does all kinds of mad useful things and there’s a panini press too which makes amazing sandwiches in between.

We didn’t even bother eating in the big town because we’re eating too well at home to care about that. I’m almost a cook now, of a shady sort.

I got thyme too, because when we finally uncovered the box that had the spices in it, that was the one that was missing most keenly.

There was a late gift package waiting over there that had aperitif in it.

Tomorrow we will use that to ring out the most battered year so far and drink toasts to baby jesus 2021, year of the dragon, year of St. Luke the Obscure, following the star as if we are three wise men bearing gifts for a new black child born of a teenage virgin, smelling of placenta and the fresh scent of hay.

And Joseph will speak: No, it’s not mine. I’ve been cucked by the Lord and I’m fine with it. You can put the myrrh over there, amen.