The Postscript: Christmas at the greenhouse

It is the tender cusp of Christmas.

It is that time when emotions run close to the overfill point, when sentimentality and anger and depression and euphoria mix freely together, with not enough space between them to tell the difference from one moment to the next.

I am visiting my parents — and of course this does not help.

My parents are doing well (thank you for asking). They are in their 80s now, still living in their dream cabin in the woods and, although I know they are growing older, the signs are so incremental and their attitude is so upbeat, it is easy to deny the passage of...