Ordinarily, the house would have been filled, in that final week of the year, with the collective sounds, motions and expressions of joy, musings, reflection, revelation, aspiration. Not to be this/last year. At least not beyond the merry bustle of our nuclear family. As for our theatre family, however, we managed to make those sounds, motions and expressions separately, together. There was less gingerbread, and no one spilled anything on the rug in a clumsy fit of gorgeous laughter. Connection, I’d say we achieved though, itself a gift.