A *Gasp* Shamefully Cursory Update from Caged Bird, Who is Occupied with Scribblings of a Different Nature at the Moment.

Alright, I'll tell y'all right now that this is probably just going to be a cursory update. I was talking to a friend of mine who works down at my favorite local coffee shop (and who, incidentally, makes terrific chai tea lattes) and I felt kind of guilty for neglecting you, my seven loyal followers. And so, to apprise you of my happenings as of late:

Christmas was spent in Willow Grove, PA, with my Dad's sister Jen, her husband Michel, their daughters Bonnie (who will turn three in March) and Azarin (who is four), Uncles Jonathan and David, David's girlfriend (also named Jen), Michel's parents, Grandpa Bernard, and of course my mom, Michelle. (Jen and Jen? Michel and Michelle? Family gatherings can be confusing.) This year being year 2 of our Willow Grove Christmas tradition, I felt more like a Bernard than last year -- I think I've been around for so many years now altogether that they've finally resigned themselves to the idea of never getting rid of me (ha ha.) Perhaps next year I'll even bake cookies for the annual Cookie Contest, although I'm sure Grandpa B. will beat my pants off. Oh, btw: Bonnie and Azarin (photo credit not mine; Jen's or Michel's):

New Year's Eve we had a quiet little Family Game Night at the house. We think it has become a monthly thing, which should serve well to keep me sane this coming semester. Time with my unconventional collection of loved ones reminds me to breathe and keep my feet planted when I feel like screaming like a madwoman and running the hell away. (Hence the reason I do not watch Survivor at home, though I could these days. Dinner and Survivor Night has become a tradition, like Olive Garden birthdays are now a tradition.)

The only other thing I have to report is that I have indeed been writing, though the writing I've been doing is part of a larger project that I am choosing not to reveal in its entirety until later, partially because it may take me a very long time to finish it. But I can give you a teaser:
(Spoiler alert, teaser coming.)

For all this bounty, Mr. Massey charged only a single, shiny quarter. I would beg to be the one to hand it over, practically falling over myself in my eagerness. I would close my fist over it and warm it with the heat of my hand before passing it on to Mr. Massey, dropping it reverently into his palm. He would exclaim over that quarter as if it were a solid diamond, holding it up and twisting it this way and that to admire it in the light before dropping it into the cash register and closing the drawer with a gratifying clang. The feeling I got when Mr. Massey beamed at me and accepted my payment was akin to how a saint at the pearly gates must feel when she’s smiled upon by God. I didn’t realize he was allowing himself to be drastically shortchanged, that the candy in the sack was worth much more than a single quarter. In my mind I was bestowing upon him a gift, a shiny treasure as a token of my appreciation for the pleasure I got from the candy. The fact that he always treated it as such made him a wonderful man indeed.

See? Proof. I'm writing.

And now, ladies and gents, since I have assuaged my conscience with this cursory update, I shall continue writing  this other thing. Love ya, knuckleheads. :)