Today is the secular anniversary of my parents' birth. They were exactly eight years apart in age. My husband was eight years older than I, but we didn't have identical birthdays. There are eight years between the birth of my first child and my last child. My cousin, born to the aunt who raised me, is eight years younger than I am. I wonder what it means. If anything.

It seems that December has decided to be December after all. This morning it looked like it might turn out to be a pretty nice day, but soon the storm clouds rolled in. It's been cold and drippy all day. And will be for the weekend.

At least it isn't snow. Ok-ok, I know some people love the snow, and winter sports, and love to get all bundled up and get red noses and chilled fingers and toes. Not me.

Our hot summers are equally disagreeable to me. If I had my druthers, I'druther have Spring and Fall. Only. But then, maybe the new life, the rebirth of the earth wouldn't be so dramatic without the death of winter. OK, so that leaves summer. Let's just leave it. But then, on the other hand, the beauty of the fall glory would be diminished without the heat and almost violent green of everything in the summer. Did I just talk myself into four seasons?

Ah, well, Happy Holidays to everyone.