Mom made us pancakes. He likes mine better.

It was my birthday and we went to the Naam with T and B, and then played Settlers of Catan until N and C showed up. Being a visitor in Vancouver... is wierd... and good.

Christmas Eve is the usual Chinese dinner at CC's with the neighbours. Everyone asks how Victoria is. I drove Daniel out to his family in Cloverdale late that night. Still traffic on Highway One. Passing places I used to live, in Burnaby and Coquitlam. The dark, clear night and a mix CD made by my Uncle. I sat with Daniel's family around their Christmas tree for a while, until our yawns outnumbered our words, and then I headed back home. Knowing these roads so well, feeling on top of this city that is now no longer but will always be home.

Christmas Day. Gifts that make me feel guilty for getting them, even though they are really rather modest. No gift from Daniel. We both stuck to the Christmas Presents are Meaningless rule. In the afternoon I'm out on the streets, desparately running my old favourite roads, as if they'll move or change before I can return in February. Dinner is exactly the same as last year, and the years before that. Grampa and Granny are so old and well, so happy, it seems, with us as their family. Indulge. Not the food, the words. Indulge Grampa with a little something cheeky, or flattering, and oh how he will laugh and pretend to be proper.

Another day passes with more visiting and before we can digest all of the potatoes we're on a wild ride across the Strait.

The first morning home I go straight to the ocean. I can run here too, and make these twisted avenues familiar, and the nights are so quiet, Daniel's warm body and I cling to his long curved back. It's ok that I'm not working yet. It's ok. I have love, and that's more than half of what I wanted out of life.