The fireplace is going crackle, crackle, crackle, and when I look into it, I amuse myself by thinking up ways to describe the flames.

They leap. They dance. The flicker. They flare. They lick the logs. They lull me into my mood for today’s column.

Lazy.

It is so nice and warm in here. No doubt, those pretty flames are consuming the oxygen that my brain needs to function. Being oxygen-deprived, I have a perfect excuse to be ineffectual. I am, today, as useless as an ornament on a tree. One that doesn’t light up or flicker or pulse or feed starving children or bake bread or remove calluses or alleviate any of the world’s financial woes.

That’s me (it would be “I,” if I had the strength to be grammatically correct, which I don’t.)

I am a holiday ornament, on vacation from being meaningful, relevant, insightful, inspiring, or thought provoking on this lovely, lyrical, lollygagging, languorous day.

I did do something purposeful, though.

I made tea. Vanilla tea with lots of chemical sweeteners and a dear little tag that hangs over the side of the cup like a flag, waving, “Hey, there. Open a novel, wrap an afghan around your knees, snuggle on the sofa, hug your ferret, and drink me.