We had an okay Christmas Day. The 'ex' was down with the prodigal son for dinner. We had the usual turkey with stuffing, prepared under strict supervision, by me. I supplied the yam, table potato and turnip mashes. The supervisor made steamed broccoli and cranberry sauce from unprocessed cranberries and sea buckthorn. No canned sauces with steamed broccoli at her table.
I just so happened to be reading The Sociological Imagination, by C. Write Mills. Mills tells me the sociological imagination is active where biography intersects history so I shares it with the prodigal. While he's pondering that with approval, I tell him; Mills says he has no idea what that imagination would sound like where biography and history bisect each other. The prodigal . . . ooooh's. So do I. Then I tell him I figure they bisect at masturbating fetus's, when a person first handles the Law. After initial squirming the prodigal produces some giggles.
The 'ex' had some complaints she didn't mind sharing with me; the usual 'when this happens this is how much I don't like it'. When I told her when that happens, say this ' . . . '; she burst out guffawing. I hope she remembers.
Lingering the sweetest in memory from that no ho hum hum drum; the taste of our supervisors cranberry sauce.
Happy Birthday Rob.
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