We’re on our way to see Lemony Snicket with the nephews.
Hard flecks of snow bounce off the windshield. The sky is low, swollen, and gray. The frozen landscape streams past us at seventy-five miles an hour.
We all listen to one of Peyton’s Black Dragon Mix CDs — this one, Volume III — containing works by artists from Guns & Roses to Queen. Everyone in the car — from nine year-old Walter to forty-two year-old Clyde, knows all the lyrics.
Instead of carols, we drive down the road belting out the “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
I love Christmas with Clyde’s family.
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