With most of my folks in the county, my Christmas break has never been one marked by travel – just a day on the town – and a week to myself devoted to catching up with what I want to do.  I believe just enough  that I am fiercely protective of my time to be dismayed by the realization of how much of it is beyond my control.  My low-pulse and blood-pressure belie weeks of frustration that climax neatly before our allotted breaks.  I’ve found a much better indicator to be the amount of paper stacked on my desk and the length between e-mail responses.  Case in point: my desk has a two-month old copy of the New York Review of Books and a month-old e-mail to finish.

Inevitably, all the papers, magazines, and e-mails are taken care of – shredded, preferably – leaving me with the prospect of thinking back on another year gone and looking forward to another year ahead: Read the rest of this entry »