It's Christmas Eve morning and I'm moving rather slowly today. My feet are resting on the ottoman, with the rest of me propped up in my living room chair. I have found the energy this morning to make some coffee, which I am sipping. The apartment is quiet with the subtle hum of the refrigerator and the light plip of rain hitting the window. Soon the silence will be broken with the sounds of preparations for Christmas Eve.

Over the years there have been many memorable Christmas Eve's. One in particular that I recall would likely be a favourite of my Dad - Wayne G. Daley. How do I know? He recounts it often to holiday visitors (both new and old). This story has been told so often - that it has entered the lexicon of Daley Family stories.

On this particular Christmas Eve, the family was living at 730 Chapman Blvd in Ottawa. Dad and I had determined that we would be going out to Midnight Mass at Resurrection Parish, and then home for some tortiere and some wine. This by far is my favourite part of Christmas. The tree is nice, presents are great, but for me, Christmas is this little midnight tradition.

There was snow on the ground that year. I can't quite remember if it was 1989, 1990 or 91, but it do recall that on Christmas Eve, the weather was much like it is today in 2008 - rain and freezing rain. It looked messy and wet.

As the hour drew near to venture out into the dark wintery night, both Dad and I pulled our winter boots, coats, and gloves. I wasn't sure what to expect outside - and wondered if we should take our umbrella or not. Nonsense - Dad replied we'll be fine. Go on out and I'll be along in a minute.

As I stepped outside onto the front porch the air was thick with moisture - and there was a fogginess that was clearly evident. Suddenly I was facing up, my back to the ground ... and my feet in the air. Woosh! I had discovered that the entire front porch and walkway was covered in ice.

As Dad came out the front door - and saw me on the ground - he wondered what had happened. "Got me to check the pathway first did ya?" I exclaimed. He just laughed. "Absolutely. Icy is it?" "Mmm. just a bit." I got up from the ground, and we slowly made our way to the street where there was more traction.

After mass - and back home again, we enjoyed our tortiere and a sip of white German wine and continued to laugh about our adventure in navigating to and from Church. The bruise finally went disappeared after New Year's Day - but the memory has remained.

Merry Christmas to everyone! - and be safe in your travels over the Holiday Season.

It happened this past week. I got excited about watching a commercial on the Television. It started with a Christmas morning scene with a young boy describing his excitement about riding around on his Big Wheel. The boy, shown in his living room with a Christmas tree in the background, look retro. I agreed with the boys sentiment right off the top. "Stop!", he exclaims. "You can't top the Big Wheel memory..."

Too true.

Sadly, the commercial lost its charm when the car that was associated with the Big Wheel was the Lexus ES350 - or "an old man's car". Not quite the zip that you associate with the Big Wheel. I agree with "Agent00J" on Autospies.