I am sitting by the fire with my dog, sipping whiskey, and life is good. The log in the fireplace is the product of a factory, but it burns well. I’m sitting cross-legged, and my foot is going to sleep, but it supports the laptop well. The dog would rather I give her skritchins than use my hands to type, and one way she expresses her preference is by typing for me; I am currently using half my fingers to deflect the dog, while the others fill in for their distracted brethren. The whiskey is an inoffensive blend, as you might expect from Canada, but it goes down nicely.
I would not give up any of those qualifiers (except perhaps the foot gong to sleep); it is the details like that which make the moment real.
