The holidays ring differently when you’re nearing your 60s, and everyone is sick but you, and you’re doing your best to hold down the fort. This is my 57th Christmas morning, from a toddler barely understanding what’s happening to today with a wife and family. Life comes at you real fast.

Sitting alone while everyone else is resting from the stomach flu, I wonder how many Christmas mornings I have left? 30? That looks weird when I write it down. 20 would be great, but who knows? Maybe it will only be 10. Maybe this was my last Christmas. That’s the adventure, right?

It’s dreary outside, but that’s all we got. I’m hoping for a good tomorrow, a good day after that, and as many good days as I can muster in a row.

It’s nice to have a little hope on Christmas.