I keep getting asked what I want for Christmas. Usually my eyes get glassy and little bubbles appear at the corners of my mouth while I babble, "Um...well...I don't know."
Later I may think of something boring, like a Starbucks card, (okay it really isn't boring to me, since that is where I lose myself in the early 1800's and there is nothing boring about that), or socks, or a new pillow case; things no one really wants to buy as a gift. How can I tell my mother that what I really want is a cutlass?
When I sit in Starbucks, I can hear the song of the steel leaving the scabbard, see the glint of the candle reflected on the blade, feel the weight of it. Perhaps the Starbucks card is enough.