For daughter Kate, Ruth and me, this is being an oddly delightful Christmas. Ruth and I are spending it with Kate in Kate's new house in, oddly enough, Corpus Christi, Texas. For Ruth and me, the house itself is a most peculiar experience, 2600 square feet, four bedrooms, three baths, located in a bit of recently constructed, self-consciously up-scale American suburbia. The only way to get to shopping, a restaurant, or Barnes and Nobles (the only bookstore we've heard of so far) is to drive. The contrast with with the 70 square meter apartment where Ruth and I live and Kate grew up, located a 20-minute walk from Yokohama Station, in a neighborhood where shopping options include the traditional shoping street butcher, veg market and fishmonger, battling out with two new convenience store―and dining options include an Italian wine and antipasto bar and Korean barbecue, as well as Japanese noodle shops (and that's just the neighborhood; if we walk down to the station, the options explode exponentially―is extreme. Still, we are glad to be here. It's far too much house for Kate to be in by herself, waiting to start her new assignment as a Navy flight instructor and waiting for son-in-law Pat, a Marine Corps fighterbomber pilot, one of the fellows whose planes you see on the news just before or after another piece of Fallujah goes up in smoke, to get home from Iraq. Possibly March. Could be much longer. The house is a big, too-empty place, filled only slightly by the two cats, Ugly and Edmund, and Shelby, the eight-month old Great Dane. My presents from Kate have been especially touching. Two defining conflicts between us during her growing up were, first, my trying to get her to read the C.S. Forrester Hornblower series (books I first read in my teens) and, second, my too-frequent offers to make banana pancakes for breakfast. She still hasn't read the former and had frequently rejected the latter. So I was touched this Christmas to receive a full set of the Hornblower DVDs (really well done, in fact; as good a translation of books to made-for-TV film as I have ever seen) and a personally assembled pancake maker's kit, with a fancy cast iron French griddle, a snazzy large-bladed spatula, a selection of exotic pancake syrups, and a red apron embroidered with the words "Pancake Chef." Serendipitously, one of Ruth's and my gifts to Kate was a set of four prints, one for each of the four mythical beasts associated with the cardinal points in traditional Chinese cosmology (E: Green Dragon, W: White Tiger, S: Red Phoenix, N: Black Totoise-Snake). We bought them at a gallery in Taipei in 1977, not quite a year after Kate was born. Add the peculiar fact that the only previous time I was in Corpus Christi, I was still an infant and my father a Navy enlisted man near the end of WWII. Family legend has it that my first word was "popcorn," picked up from popcorn vendors on the beach. For us it's been a season of circles quietly closing and cycles beginning anew. Then came the news―the tsunami in Southeast Asia.... It's an odd mix of feelings this holiday season. John McCreery John McCreery The Word Works, Ltd "Creating Symbols is Our Business" Tel 81-45-314-9324 Fax 81-45-316-4409 email mccreery@xxxxxxx ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html