It's Christmas morning. Everyone is still asleep, but me. Britten's A Ceremony of Carols is playing on the radio, and our cat, Smokie, is sitting near the window, observing the brown and gray world outside. No white Christmas this year, alas.

But I am savoring the memory of last night: Christmas Eve, 2008. As far as I'm concerned, it was the best we've ever had with our children, except perhaps, when they were tiny and still believed in Santa Claus. These days, they're so mature and pleasant. And, shockingly, they seem to enjoy being with us -- within reason -- as we saw last night.

I had to work at the Post-Gazette yesterday. It was actually sort of nice -- a much smaller staff than usual, in a newsroom that seemed quite empty. The day before, we'd gathered there to mourn the death of our beloved colleague Joe Fahy, but on this afternoon -- for a few hours, anyway -- most people seemed determined to be in a lighthearted, it's-Christmas-Eve mood, joking, eating Christmas cookies and peppermint bark (awesome) and the booziest rum cake that Joyce Mendelsohn had brought in from a bakery in Mt. Lebanon. David Shribman, our editor, went around shaking hands and thanking each of us for our work this year, which was nice. We can only hope that we'll be here next year to do it all over again. I'm confident we will be.

But my true reward came last evening, when our family went into Squirrel Hill to The Silk Elephant, an upscale Asian restaurant where Leslie works a few evenings a week as a hostess. After her shift ended, we all sat down for a terrific dinner (Did I say the food there is terrific?)

Over Pad Thai and other fragrant, spicy dishes, we went around the table and talked about what made us happy. The children were so interesting and sensitive and... kind!

Leslie seemed especially adorable and beautiful last night, wrapped in an exquisite red silk Pashmina scarf her best friend, Hannah Hall, gave her. She is proud of the restaurant, I think, and her place there, of the people she's met, and then she made this observation: "I think it's really helped me with my shyness."

That surprised me. I never really observed that Leslie was shy, because she's HARDLY shy at home.

"Why would I be shy at home?!" She said to me indignantly. "It's HOME!"

And then: "I am happy that I have a loving family," my almost-17 year old son observed somberly, giving us a meaningful look.

Hah! You could have knocked me over with a feather. Who knew that this kid, who spends most of his time shouting into his headset while playing video games with his buddies, would ever harbor such a thought?

Annie said she liked school and was happy to have made "new friends" this year, both from camp and from school. She also made the observation that Leslie is the most talented of all of us. I, in turn, observed that she, Annie, is so sensitive and gentle and adored -- not a small gift. I also said I was grateful to see that Steve has such leadership qualities... and is a nurturer, too.

"He'll be a teacher," his father observed.

"No," Steve responded, back in his teenage-boy-knucklehead mode.

"I want to make lots of money. I want to drive a really expensive car. I want to try for colleges like USC."

We all sputtered and guffawed at that. It will be interesting, though, to see what Steve does do with his life. I'm confident that he has good values and ultimately will do what's right for him -- while taking some tumbles along the way.

We also, somehow, got into a debate over the value of having a family dinner every night. I never make dinner for the kids -- when they were young, our babysitter, Diane, did it. She's long gone, though, and over the years, they've learned to make it themselves (Steve makes the precise dish of pasta with Prego meatball sauce each and every night. He wants nothing else). Leslie likes doing it for herself, while Annie wishes for more connection around a family table each night.

"And better food!" she added. "There's never anything good to eat in our house!"

Oh, cry me a river, Annie.

Still, since Gary and I don't get home until 6:30 or 7 most nights, we've let it slide over the years. Sigh.

I told her I could try to make dinner more frequently -- and that she and Leslie should cook together, too.

Amazingly, they seem to have forgiven me for this failure on my part. Indeed, last night, all seemed forgiven.

It's startling, actually: here are these three people who I've lived with all these years, who were darling as children, somewhat trying as adolescents and now, have grown into the most delightful young adults. I guess I always knew it would happen, and now it has happened.

Later, Leslie, Annie and I went to the midnight Christmas Eve service at Calvary Episcopal Church. They had wanted to go -- I think they're at the age where they're hunting for more meaning in our Christmas rituals, and, certainly, they found it at Calvary.

The service was transcendent: full of candelight, 15th C. carols, trumpets, processions, a robust, invigorating sermon from the Rev. Harold Lewis, and a diverse congregation, an eclectic mix of old money types in Brooks Brothers and mink plus funkier looking folks -- young people, gay people, blacks, Asians, even two rabbis (from Rodef Shalom and Tree of Life -- Rev. Lewis introduced them from the pulpit, to applause).

People seemed rapt, almost overcome with wonder at the beauty of this old, elegant church -- with the most glorious music, from Bach to Rachmaninoff to Gounod.

Of course, there was that slightly startling moment when the older gentleman standing in the pew in front of us reached over to the woman next to him - resplendent in diamonds and mink -- and grabbed her... um... backside while she rubbed his shoulder in a disconcertingly intimate way, while my two daughters rolled their eyes.

!!!

For all the divisions in the Pittsburgh Episcopal diocese, Calvary has remained a beacon of tolerance, while respecting tradition and beauty and old hymns -- and most wonderfully, the girls loved it. I took them to church when they were young but they hated it, so we stopped. Now they seem to want it again, especially Leslie, who seems drawn to faith.

Then, this morning, I picked up our newspaper. On the cover was the most exquisite reproduction of a 19th C. snowscape, "Old Saw Mill," by the Western Pennsylvania artist, Alfred S. Wall. Patricia Lowry wrote a lovely story about it -- noting that sentimental though it may seem at first glance, "this is a painting about conquering the great divide of the Allegheny Mountains."

Moreover:

"The luminous, late afternoon light comes from the northwest, casting lengthening shadows on the snow under a darkening sky..."

Exactly.

This Christmas day painting on the front of the Post-Gazette has become something of a tradition, apparently. Every year, for the past three years, the publisher and editor go to a local museum, look at the paintings, talk to a curator and select one to be put on our newspaper's front on Christmas Day.

I can't imagine anyone at Gannett or the Tribune Company doing that

Then (ego alert) what was especially nice was that they put my story about a miracle mom and her miracle baby on page one. I feel so honored that this story, about this wonderful, beautiful mother -- a small bowel transplant recipient whose own childhood was so full of pain -- is featured under that lovely painting. How lucky and blessed I am.

Indeed, what a gift 2008 has been. Getting my energy and health back, and covering that amazing election, and having such great kids.

What a Christmas!