They call it the red-eye for a reason, and although I’m expecting to sleep through most of the ride, I’m not prepared to wake up every half hour. The bus was supposed to be half-full, being 12:30 on a Friday morning, but when I arrive at the station, the line stretches across the hallway, dashing my hopes of a window seat. The guy beside me watches movies on his laptop, while the old man across the aisle works on an assortment of papers with the only light in the bus on. He sits alone, away from the window, a big fuck you to anyone who may want a seat. It’s his light that keeps me up.

The greyhound is supposed to stand for speed, named after the fastest breed of dog used in dog racing, but for me it stands for freedom. The cost is a stranger sitting next to you, a couple hours of leg cramps, and a little over a hundred dollars.

The layover is an hour and a half. As I sit in the terminal, I think of how close my parents are. I haven’t seen them since Christmas, and even though they’re an 45 minute drive away, I won’t be seeing them this time around.

This bus brings me to her.

Here I am, in a cabin in the middle of the woods, 160 km away for two short days and a night in Tremblent. Today, we drove the winding roads lined with pine trees and settled in. By tomorrow morning, the 10 beds and mattresses are going to be filled with 16 people, all-round exhausted, cramming in as much sleep as they can before the hills open.

In between, Aaron finds a Bubbles action figure that looks just like Karen. Phil is dealt a royal flush, which we’ll probably never see again in our lives, during the second game of poker. For this, we drink, and I’m asked to make a print of the photo for everyone present to sign.

I’m not here to ski, or snowboard, or party, I’m just here to observe. Nick gave me the use of his lenses, including a 200mm prime L, but it was the 15mm fish-eye Sigma that I grew to love. How strange it is to be recording my memories with someone else’s glass.

This weekend it feels like I’m running. I’m looking for something, but I don’t know what it is or where to find it.

Aaron and Karen’s annual New Years party was a fun time in a relaxing sense, much lower-key than last year, with fewer people and casual clothes. I don’t believe there was anyone who felt out-of-place, which meant that one could easily move from group to group without any feelings of intrusion. So that I didn’t have to worry about catching a bus home early, they lent me the use of their SUV for me to drive home.

I’m especially pleased with this set of photos. I think I was able to show the mood appropriately, without over-exposing the flash too much. My two favourite are with Sarah in her scarf and with Aaron handing the lowball to Rob. The former because of the pure chance that worked out in capturing the moment along with the wonderful texture of her scarf, and the latter because of how strong the two sets of hands look, like a firm handshake without touching.

I’m finally in my own house again. Going to Toronto means I give up the comfort of my kitty, my computer, and my enveloping duvet for a few days of authentic Chinese food, real Chinese kung fu movies, silkworm sheets, and a few moments of family dysfunction every now and then.

Time at home left me drained. Turns out that I had an extra party to go to, and this year, I pulled myself up to go boxing day shopping. It was killer on five hours of sleep, but definitely worth it, my best score of clothes in years. Mom was running around every spare moment, preparing food for over 40 people for the New Years Party, while dad practiced his karaoke between runs for groceries. There were two nights that I sat by myself and enjoyed the new projector, and it was the most relaxing time I had during my stay.

As nice as it is to get away, I’m glad this only comes around once a year.

Stepping back to the 25th, I awoke to the sounds of ebullient whispers coming from downstairs as I lie in Julia’s bed, which she’d carefully made for me. I checked my watch, noticed that it was 6:40 a.m., and remembered that Shirley put her foot down about not opening any presents until seven. The kids were already up, of course, their internal alarm clocks set to spring in anticipation, even after we stayed up late the night before, playing wrestling games until the threat of Santa not coming put them to bed.

Instead, Santa went all out this year, from Nintendo DS, to mp3 players, to boxes on boxes of clothes, to DDR dance pads, to portable DVD players, to games for every system. He also left me a mini remote-control Mercedes SLK, and I’d normally say that he shouldn’t have so he could spend more on the kids, but he also left Braden and Bill a mini Hummer and mini Mustang GT respectively, so I had to accept the gift in order to race them.

Just being there was enough of a gift. As the kids ran around, unable to decide what to play with first, I started to consider staying so I could spend the day, but the responsibility of prior engagements and time with the parents kept me in check. We had a big greasy breakfast of bacon and eggs, but John was there to pick me up for the four hour drive home before the turkey dinner.

Next year, I decided.