I don't think I know how to do this. I've never written a holiday letter before. The ones I receive often list the accomplishments of the sending family's offspring. I can't think of any of my offspring's accomplishments. Um. Lana's getting pretty good at viola. Now I have to think of one for Larissa. She's really busy finishing up this whole business of being 7. That's pretty demanding. She's doing well at it. Both girls performed in their school's winter assembly, the highlight of which was when a third-grader fainted.
What else? What about me? I'm a loser, same as usual. I got a great rejection from Ladybug magazine a few days ago. But so what? It's the only children's story I've written, so I don't have anything else to send them. And I don't know where else to send the story. My other work is mostly being ignored, not even worthy of officially being rejected.
Our cats are quite fat now.
We went to France this summer. That was awesome. It was hot in the towns. Rainy in the mountains. People everywhere spoke French. And English. The home cooking was the best food. In some ways it didn't matter that it was France. It was just so beautiful to be in such a quaint remote little mountain village anywhere. I guess that's always true. If something is pleasureable, it doesn't matter what country you're in when you experience it.
Our pool is quite green and murky and cold. Looks good with raindrops.
I wrote 35000 words for nano. All rubbish. I think. I'll look back at it again in early '06.
My parents are fine.
Haven't heard from my sister.
And that's all, folks.
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