Rendered in The Kings James Version. The height of modern presumption can be found in the regular efforts expended trying to improve on it. Or else it's Donald Trump's running for President. Really, what do they think they're doing? Question applies to either.

It's Christmas! The marvelous, uplifting story of hope that makes our lives more worth living. Burl Ives was right.

Christmas Day dawned bright and early. Doesn't every day? Okay, perhaps not bright. June is usually up an hour before the dawn anyway. The kids? A sign of their growing maturity, what gets them up now on Christmas is not visions of sugar plums, not even adult ones, but the smell of frying meats.

And usually the first thing they want now is a hair of the dog. The fragrance of steel-dry champagne tempered with orange juice (not too much!) wafting up the stairs rouses my kids on Christmas morning. Well, noon-ish anyway.

I, thoroughly defanged and in so many ways otherwise vascectamized, started the day in church. When we get old and no longer have anything to be contrite about, we drift back to the Church. Although they probably wouldn't even let me in if they knew who I was. I'm only there to get warm in a manner of speaking.

June who converted to Catholicism so that we might attend church as a family stays home. I give everybody what they want, but it takes me awhile. My mother always said, in dealing With me, it's always been important to be sincere. And farsighted.

When it comes to Christmas breakfast the family has been in a rut for, oh, probably 20 years. Eggs Benedict, hash browns, asparagus, mimosas. At first they wouldn't eat an egg poached, so I had to scramble a couple. Then no hollandaise. And asparagus? Yuck! Now Tracey refuses the adulterative taint of orange juice.

A problem with that meal is that you can make it or you can eat it. I feel like kitchen staff. I usually wind up eating Christmas brunch alone. This year we broke out. Pancakes, sausage and bacon. Oh, and mimosas. No sense in disregarding tradition altogether. Not any different though. I still finished up alone.

I used to just fob the whole dinner off on June, but now I get roped into that, too. If nothing else for the heavy lifting, like the turkey, and for a couple of side dishes that only I eat anyway (e.g., creamed onions). I guess soon enough they'll be horning in on that stuff, too.

In between, we're just like any other family. The kids go off to hurt each other's feelings and play video games, and June and I take a nap. I get up a little sooner than she and take Sarah's min pin for a run. I run; he never even breaks into a trot. Dutch would never run. In fact, he'd get mad at you if you did. But Reilly, Derrick and Sarah left before Christmas this time, so I ran with JJ. He never has to break into a trot either. No leash with JJ though.

I ate so much at dinner that my whole abdominal cavity, if it can still fairly be called that, aches. Yet, every time I go through the kitchen I have to stop and pick at some leftover or the other. And we still haven't done desert yet.

Not sure I'll make it to the late night turkey sandwich on a roll. Christmas is not for the faint of heart.

Hope the day was just as good to you and your family. Good night. And Merry Christmas to all.