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 The holiday season, wound up tight as a catch in the calf, is winding down now, long enough for the survivors to tally the blessings and nurse the wounded.

So, here’s a toast to my blessings, and the blessings each of us carries if we’ll just take time to check:

Here’s to the lone diner taking her holiday gruel at a downtown eatery, daydreaming of a time when she had family who made it a point to stay in touch and keep on touching…

Here’s to the memory of my father’s large, cool hand on my small brow, checking to see if I would survive another childhood illness under tons of blankets & gummy aspirin, so long ago in Tuscaloosa…

Here’s to the prisoner who’ll get to see family visitors for a few precious moments, and to the prisoner who’ll see only vertical shadows on the nearby wall…

Here’s to all our never-to-be Southern dreams of an icy white blanket of snow covering the sidewalks and making puppies dance on Christmas morn…

Here’s to the toothless old man in line at Fife’s Cafeteria, who asks for three servings of hot mashed potatoes and nothing more…

Here’s to my mother, who taught me to mind the lonely, care for the isolated, cherish the tiny human moments I might otherwise miss…

Here’s to the large vacant lot across the street from our house when I was budding, where I made so many wonderful memories, and where friends were more plentiful and loyal than they’ve ever been since…

Here’s to a handful of people in my life, who, despite widely varying interests and personalities, have never forgotten to stand by me in times of good and times of bad…

Here’s to the land of Alabama, where my fortunes have been made and unmade and made again, and where my roots are so deep that, should you try to move me, I’d crack at the base and wander lost forever…

Here’s to my wife, for whom marriage to me has been a true sacrifice, and who is loyal and true and more cuddly than the Teddy Bear I’ve owned since I was one year old…

Here’s to my wish that you might share a dream with me, a dream of a day when all of us can look with newborn eyes at one another and relish our differences, celebrate our idiosyncrasies, chuckle at our vanities, forget for a time about words, and concentrate instead on the terrible longing each of us has to hold and be held with tenderness and acceptance.

Drink deep this toast. Cherish the good. Detour past the bad

 Weekly Podcast: REDCLAYDIARY