It is 11:18 pm and my house is finally clean, de-Christmassed, and organized for the major brain-and barn-storming that the rest of this month requires. Just as I reenter the apartment after toting the last bag of pine needles-laden trash down to the curb, a certain permakitten strides casual-Friday out of her hiding place and leaps into my arms. Man, we are so Grace Gardens.