For those who understand what I'm talking about, the news is that I got my yellow helmet. I'm now a full-fledged non-probationary firefighter on the rescue squad. If that doesn't mean anything to you, I'll issue a long-winded explanation at some point later on.

Passing my squad's certification tests has been a long and arduous process, and so the sense of relief has been palpable at almost every waking moment since I completed the final checkout. What's amusing is that since I became "third" on the heavy rescue squad, I haven't made it to a single incident. On every car accident, every fire alarm, every call, our unit has been put in service for lack of need. I apparently exert some sort of safety-inducing influence over the population of my response area while I'm on duty. I don't want to wish anyone harm, but I'm starting to climb some walls and fondle the "jaws of life" with a look of longing.

Susan and I drove down to central Virginia to spend Christmas with my family. Usually we split Christmas day between my folks and Susan's mom in suburban DC, but this year we scheduled separate holidays. This gave us the chance to chill out for a bit with my mom, sister, brother-in-law, and the cutest nephew on earth. We also got our first look at the nearby section of forest that was involved in the recent fire. I was surprised to see that in most places, the full-grown trees are still standing, but the ground cover has been scoured down to bare earth. It will be fascinating to watch that environment regenerate over the coming years.

Since I was a kid, my family has had a tendency to give one major Christmas present along with an assortment of small goodies. There's seldom much point in guessing what the big gift will be. Two years ago I got a large framed Mexican poster detailing first aid for burn victims, including a rather strange drawing of a man in flames. Last year was a chain saw. My sister said she'd purchased this year's present on a whim while surfing e-bay, and everyone agreed that 1) it was very exciting and 2) I would never, in a zillion years, be able to guess what it was. It turned out to be an inflatable kayak, a form of aquatic transportation that I did not formerly know existed. We unfolded it on the living room floor, and it was indeed fully kayak-sized and shaped. Because mom doesn't own a foot pump and we didn't feel like hyperventilating on Christmas morning, we didn't blow it up. What sucks is that I'll have to wait for several months and about 40 degrees air temperature before I try it out on the Potomac.

I always feel a certain uneasiness on Christmas, as it tends to awaken and encourage a grossly materialistic side of me that I believe is best kept suppressed. It's sickening to feel a little let down after all the presents are opened, in the midst of all your riches, because people didn't give you exactly what you wanted. We'd all vowed that this holiday would be a significantly more moderate than previous years, as the quality of our gifts was fast outstripping our economic positions (I think the inflatable kayak might run counter to our agreement, but at least it was purchased on e-bay). I had some concerns that the day would feel unsatisfying to the horrible troll of consumerism that lurks in my soul.

But little things go a long way to appeasing the acquisitive beast. Sometimes it's the surprises that mean more than the things you thought you wanted. In my case, I was totally excited by a "Vache qui Rit" mug that Susan gave me. The "laughing cow" cheese, in its little foil-wrapped triangles that do not require refrigeration, occupies a place close to my heart. In rural Senegal it was the closest thing I could get to real cheese, and over the course of three years I probably consumed my own weight in it -- smeared (or occasionally crumbled, when it was particularly old) on bread, and smooshed into crappy little excuses for pasta sauces. It is marvelous stuff. Its ability to confer fat to my emaciated frame, in a roughly cheese-like texture with vaguely cheesy flavor, may have saved my life. I believe the Vache qui Rit should receive some sort of international prize for being the food that most successfully negotiates the rift between hardiness and edibility.