There were ten of us at Marie-paule’s place: her daughter Lydia, Luc, Baziel, Lore, Florian, Frans, Els, Willem … et moi.

Different ages, personalities, life experiences.  All stirred together to make a delicious, thick soup.  Yummy!

Frans brought a microphone and speaker.  Many of us took turns with mic in hand, giving ‘er as the next song came on.  Often we didn’t know the words, or we didn’t get the tune right.  But what was important was singing! Frans and I performed a passionate duet of Andrea Bocelli’s Time To Say Goodbye, with our noses nearly touching. One thing for sure – we were loud!

Then there was the dancing, largely instigated by Marie-paule. She kept hauling people out of their seats to wiggle with her. There wasn’t much space in the living room, what with the coffee table loaded with treats, but our bodies found a way. Hips gyrated, hands ended up above heads, and smiles abounded.

Two gentlemen, who shall remain anonymous, had a reputation of “not dancing” but that perception soon floated away. They moved and grooved.

Eventually I was pooped, and I said no to Lydia and Marie-paule’s efforts to get me aloft. That felt strange. One of my hearts wanted to keep boogieing but the physical one told me to rest. I need to listen when the body speaks.

After an inspired main course of various meats, cheeses and veggies, we returned to the living room to open presents. Wrapping paper flew and eyes opened wide. Lydia gave me a tie with a cello on it! Perfect Bruceness. With hopes of getting the Windsor knot just right, I put it on. The mirror, however, revealed an amateur effort. Not to be defeated, my fingers tried again … and this time they remembered the triangular symmetry. Voilà. I’m pretty sure I looked a lot like George Clooney all dressed up.

I had a goal for the evening: that I would recite Twas The Night Before Christmas to the gathered human beings. As the microphone songs continued, I fretted that there might not be an opportunity for poetry. But now the presents were opened, the admirers were admiring, and a quiet settled over us.

Do it, Bruce! bubbled up inside.

I stood up at the end of the room.

“I would like to recite a Christmas poem.” And I did.

***

Now here I am on Christmas Day. My body is sagging. Going for a walk is in the realm of “pie in the sky”. The shaking and shimmying of last night is with me still. So be it.

I’m happy