We're spending New Year's Eve at Bill and Kate's house along with Sarah's oldest niece and nephew. This is not a bad thing by any means, but it is not the redwoods frolic we had planned with our friends Katie and Ben. Here's how the past 24 hours have gone down:

4 p.m. Friday. Wave a cheerful goodbye to the electricians who installed three sets of overhead lights in our bedrooms and landing. Bask in the glow of energy-efficient bulbs. Notice rain.

5-10 p.m. Hang out, eat, drink and play games with Fuego and Personal Jesus. Notice intensity of rain.

10 p.m. Go to bed, enjoying lights and furnace as well as patter of rain on roof.

4 a.m. Awaken to dogs' nervous panting because of sustained heavy rain and wind.

5 a.m. Let dogs out to pee, take philosphical approach when electricity goes out.

5 a.m. - 9 a.m. Sleep despite shaking dog providing Vibra-bed effect. Awaken occasionally to sound of neighborhood trees toppling.

9 a.m. Wander neighborhood during break in rain, assess damage. Massive tree blocking far end of street, three trees blocking access to canyon road right above us, bottom of canyon road blocked by flooding. Lines down everywhere, and many, many trees. Make note to take out at least one suspect pine next summer. Consider building ark, wonder where to get quantities of gopher wood (gopher barky barky!).

10 a.m. Find way out of canyon, go have breakfast with Kath.

Noon. Back home. Message from Redwoods Katie confirms they too are washed out, powerless, heatless, waterless. Feel relieved. Read paper, play with dogs.

2 p.m. Start thinking about where to spend evening if power doesn't come back. Go down to basement to get sparkling wine. Notice dampness and occasional small waterfalls in garage. Spend next hour rescuing wine bottles, throwing out moldy and mildewy stored crap, bail 7 gallons out of stored aquarium, take tent upstairs to dry out.

3 p.m. Read, nap. Cheer power truck that pulls up. Feel abandoned when it departs with no change. Relish sounds of chain saws in neighborhood, though they mostly belong to neighbor who has a tree on his roof.

5 p.m. Pack up dogs, depart. Oddly, navigation is even worse as city has now cordoned off most streets into and out of the canyon on account of dangling trees. Notice that an entire oak tree is resting on major power line feeding canyon. Escape canyon after variety of wrong turns and blind guesses, exiting two miles south of normal road.

We're ordering pizza now. More rain expected tonight and through the next few days. Happy New Year!

Nearly seven years ago, when I moved out here, bed real estate was very clear. Sarah got half, Otis got half, and I was welcome anywhere I could squeeze in. Our nighttime skirmishes for legroom only lasted a few months because Sarah moved back in with her parents for three years and Otis went with her and I never stayed over there except once, on 9/11, when we were all just really freaked out about, well, everything.

Then we moved in together, and Otis moved over to her side of the bed, tucked behind her knees. She tended to migrate eastward and take her half out of the middle, but I could unfurl my legs and it worked out. Then we started shaving Otis a few times a year to keep him tidy. Sometimes in winter. In a house that, even with a new furnace (I never knew I could love a major appliance so much), we still keep fairly cool. Which, coupled with the fleecy bedspread, may be why Otis has restaked his claim on the left side. I generally am the last one into the sack, and surveying the terrain on recent nights it has become clear that he's content to only take a quarter of the bed, but it will be smack in the middle of what I selfishly assume to be my half. If I can cleave myself in half and work those parts in diagonally around him, all will be well.

I've tried climbing over him and throwing my legs across him, but he puts his chin on my knee and settles in for the night. Sometimes I scoop him up and deposit him between us. If I'm smart, I point his legs toward Sarah so she, not I, will yell at him a few hours later when he has a good stretch and smacks a paw upside the back of one of our heads. Sometimes I just snap my fingers and point and he hops off, but usually it involves tossing a resentful look over his shoulder and Sarah telling me I'm mean. When I wake up each morning, he's sitting beside the bed, staring at me expectantly. The minute I get up, he's in my spot, head on my pillow, being spooned by his mistress as repayment for a night of exile.

Just think what it would be like if we actually spoiled the dogs...

I'd love to post more, but I'm busy being knee-deep in sloth, sleeping til all hours and generally not getting out of my slippers much. It's fantastic. I could do with another week of this.

Sarah's back at work for the first time since Thursday, meaning I get a semi-quiet week of lounging with the hounds and our electricians, who are coming Thursday to put in overhead lighting in the bedrooms and landing. We've passed the time with movies (Brokeback Mountain, Harry Potter, various Netflix) and attending Christmas parties. These include the Christmas morning open house in which Bill and Kate invite the Jewish neighbors over for ham and last night's white elephant/potluck/Apples to Apples fest with Sarah's Episco friends. We avoided getting the butt-firming cream in the gift exchange, but I did stage a come-from-behind victory in Apples to Apples, which has been out for several years but is surging in popularity among Crawfords this year. Our plans to abscond with the hosts' golden retriever puppy were foiled, but otherwise it was a pretty good night. I had a last ceremonial bourbon ball and scoop of ice cream, but my body has been screaming out lately for vegetation and lean meat. Time to start the new year's austerity a few days early.

Merry Christmas. I'm suitably stuffed from Smithfield ham, cookies, lasagna and festive beverages. Here's hoping you are too.

Once again we made Christmas dinner for the women and children's shelter in Berkeley and served it tonight. Know what's a bummer? Seeing some of the same faces as last year. They liked the pork loin and mashed potatoes, though.

Then we came home and had long-distance gift opening with mom, who rhapsodized over the robe and slippers we got her. She sent me a vacuum-pump wine saver. Coming from a fundamentalist Christian who can get loopy just smelling a can of light beer, it may as well be heroin, syringes and some rubber tubing.