Duck, Cough, Goose

Yes, folks, I’m okay. Picked up the traditional holiday cold (it’s not Xmas until I start coughing!) and couldn’t seem to shake it off for entirely too long, but I’m back. Working through a whole heap of messages—please resend anything urgent—and chasing deadlines and so on.

Such fun. Anyway, it occurs to me that I haven’t said anything to anybody about my holiday yet. Seeing as I’ve been flat on my back since. -G- It was something of a fowl-heavy trip, between the usual Peking duck (one of those things you just can’t get here at home, and a lovely excuse to visit the only part of Philadelphia in which I’ve ever felt welcome, even when I don’t get a chance to see particular friends there) and the geese I finally managed to get through airport security. No avian flu, fortunately. I kept waiting for a down pillow to explode or something, to finish out the pattern, but had to settle for a chance glimpse of one of my favorite sorts of raptors, a Harris Hawk, on New Year’s Day.

But I think the standout event of the whole holiday season—not counting unwrapping and attendant girly squee!—had to be the discovery, while playing a dice game with family, that I’ve officially become a “real” author in everyone’s eyes at some point when I wasn’t looking. Mind, I’ve been “my {insert relationship} the writer” for years, but it’s now so much a part of my identity that they can joke about it.

At which realization, you really could have knocked me over with a feather! Except that the “rhino virus” beat you to it. -VBG-

Hope you all had a lovely holiday, and that your 2008 has so far exceeded expectations!

-pxj