It's Christmas morning, and I'm all settled in at Mom and Dad's in New Jersey, accompanied by holiday music on the radio and the warmth of the Christmas tree, against a setting of snow from blizzard that hit last weekend.
This is from my parents' tree two years ago.
Andy's on his way up from Miami, to be met at the airport by my sister and brother-in-law. When they get here, we'll have the Christmas strada that my father prepared yesterday. Soon, my nieces and nephew and sister will be joining us. We'll open gifts and enjoy the Honey Baked Ham that I ordered.
There are gifts under the tree, and like a kid, I can't wait to see what's there for me. (Andy already gave me his present -- a gorgeous Cole Haan messenger bag that I had fawned over a couple of months ago.)
Cole Haan aside (it really was so wonderful of him to give it to me), the best present of the season was one that I received last Sunday, in the form of a phone call.
"Do you know who this is?," inquired the woman's voice associated with the phone number I did not know.
"No, who is this?"
After a pause, she said, "It's Liz."
Wait. It's not Liz from work, because her number wouldn't have appeared on the screen. It wasn't "Auntie Liz," my uncle's wife (technically my aunt, but we're very close in age, so it seems funny). Liz?
Wait, no way!
It was Liz B., a dear friend from my 20s, someone with whom I had not spoken for about 15 years (or so we figured out during the call.)
Liz and I met through a mutual friend. We were part of a small group that danced our way through every Saturday night at Rumsellers, a long gone bar in New Jersey. She was more than a bar friend, mind you. We shared a lot and had a wonderful friendship.
But as things happen, we lost track of each other. I moved to Boston, she married. I moved to Florida and she took off for Texas. She found me on LinkedIn in October and sent me a note. I responded, but never heard back.
And then her call.
It was wonderful catching each other up with our lives and reminiscing. (I only need to hear the first couple of bars of Laura Branigan's "Gloria" and I'm transported back to Rumsellers in the 80s; Liz and I had our own choreography for that particular song.)
That call was the best Christmas present I could receive this year.
For anyone reading this, I hope your holiday is just as happy.
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