I'll be home for Christmas if the icicles on my birdhouse thaw.

From Alfred’s journal

The cold came down hard Tuesday night and by morning the birdhouse had a row of teeth across the opening, four icicles hanging where I go in and out. I spent the better part of the day on the fence rail looking at my own front door and waiting on the sun to do the work. Switch came by with half a walnut and asked if I'd be home for Christmas, which is the sort of thing he says when he wants company and not an answer. I'll be home for Christmas if the icicles on my birdhouse thaw, I told him, and he took that for a yes. For years I thought a promise was a thing you kept by wanting to keep it hard enough. The sun came out around three, and I did get in, and that proved nothing about the next cold night.