Christmas

Sako set up a game of jigsawsudoku.com on her laptop, and settled Mom down in the kitchen with it. The day is lost; Mom has self-discipline, but there is only so much the human spirit can do in the face of overwhelming compulsion and addiction.

"Four," Mom chanted, while I sat beside her and ate dried apples. "Four, four, four, four, four. Four. Six. Six, six, six, six, six--"

She plays Sudoku as though it is a monologue. Sako and I tried hard not to laugh.

"At least it's good," Sako said. "You learn how to use the mouse." Her laptop has a touchpad, which is a new experience for Mom.

"Mouth," Mom said.

"Mouse."

"Mouth."

"Mouse, Mom. Mouse."

"Mouse," Mom said obligingly. "I am using both. Mouth and mouse. Mouth mouse mouth mouse." And then a few seconds later, "Seven. Seven, seven, seven, seven, seven...."

Sako and I headed into the living room and lounged around. The Guy wheeled past us, attracted into the kitchen by the soliloquy of numbers, and then attracted back out by the sound of Sako and I chatting. "Your mom is so happy," he reported.

"Three," chanted the kitchen. "Three, three, three, three, three...."

It is snowing, a rare gift in Seattle. A white Christmas. It's not sticking yet, but I continue to hope. Our flight might be delayed tomorrow, but it's worth it today.