That is not how it is, Bob.
Christmas, the top of the year, the winter, is dangerous, dark, terrible.
This is why, with desperate fear just the outside of the door, we
make merry in the face of freezing death, the winter cull primal,
in our bones. We know. We KNOW. If we do not find shelter,
if we do not find family, where the fire burns hot in the hall and
the songs of good cheer sing out, if we do not find this, we will perish.