On Christmas day, I had openend up all my presents and had no doubt received the most prized gift of all those exchanged. It was a moment that my whole family knew about, and had done a good job at keeping it a surprise for the several weeks beforehand. I was given a large box, one I could easily juggle with one hand. Naturally, when I opened it, it was your standard issue cardboard box filled with packaging peanuts.

I love packaging peanuts. I tossed them around, throwing them up in the air in glee, but my fun was suddenly obstructed when I jammed my finger against a small wooden object that was maliciously stuck into my soft fuzzy funballs oozing with joy. I shake my hand, letting the throbbing subside, then pull out this wooden case so it doesn't hurt my poor fingers again. Yet as I'm tossing it aside, it jingles. Hey! There's probably a shiny metal object in there, too! Maybe a piece of tinfoil, but it sounded too solid and heavy to be that. Some loose change, perhaps. Or nuts and bolts! I love nuts and bolts.

Nope. I open the box, and see an unfamiliar pair of car keys.

The entire day, I was looking for reasons to take my V6 2002 Dodge Intrepid RT for a drive. "Need to take an envelope ten yards down the street to the mailbox? I'll drive!" As the afternoon came to a close, I looked outside. The air was just as clean and clear as it was the day before, and instead of tackling with my camera software to get it working, I figured I would just fill up the rest of the memory card. I also wanted to try out the tripod that I salvaged from the unregarded musty corner of the hallway closet. I call to my cousins, asking them if they'd like to make a run down to the beach.

"Let's make a trip down to the pier! I'll drive!"

Unfortunately, I caught them at the tail end of Seabiscuit, and they suffer from the opposite of attention deficit disorder. It's impossible to get them away from a movie once it's started. Heck, if they took up watching grass grow, a nuclear war wouldn't in the least break their concentration. Yet my uncle gets up. He's the true artist in the family, a celebrity in his town of San Clemente. Just run a google search for "Rick Delanty", and you'll see a wide assortment of his watercolors. He's really got the knack.

The conditions just get better and better as I continue driving towards the beach. He can see it, too. My anticipation grows as I veer into a rare parking spot at mach 3, braking just two centimeters short of the parking meter. I dash two blocks onto the beach, unlatching the various parts of the tripod while running. I plant it down right at the foot of the water, and began snapping. My uncle was also immersed in the scenery, and started jogging down the stretch of sand, disappearing into the blue distance.

After five minutes, I turn around and see a variety of other photographers behind me. One of them, I noticed, was using me as a subject matter. It was probably a good capture for him, because I was hunched over the tripod at knee-high deployment, sitting in six inches of ocean water. I really wanted to get a good shot. More and more people with fancy pants cameras arrived. But I take an individual pride in being there first.

Thus, I share. God's Christmas present to me: 2004.

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A gigantic thanks to *KillerPerfection for nominating this for Daily Deviation. But if there's also something worth mentioning, it would be *KillerPerfection's amount of time put into dropping comments on not only this, but also other pieces of mine. So to give credit where credit is due, I request people go check her out and give her some appreciation for being an exhemplary source of feedback.