Just finished shoveling the powdery precipitation. For all of you Currier and Ives junkies, enjoy!
At Sixty-five and change, I tend to miss the glorious Yule beauties in expectation of greater, wetter and more back-challenging avalanches, but I must admit to this Christmas Day's wonder. sunlight and bracing blizzard bite on what passes for my nose.
Christ is smiling on Chicago, in spite of its secularist silliness and sanguine savageries.
As I completed my shoveling, I was greeted by my fireman neighbor and his puppy, "Mass at Sacred Heart (8:30 with Father Gallager)?"
"Went last night. Couldn't sleep. We had a family get-together with my Mom at Victorian Village in Homer Glen, so I popped in at St. Christina's on the way home." I replied.
My granddaughter ( 10 months old and all eyes and thighs) gave a detailed exhibition of all of her baby-ticks, vocal ranges and snuggles to my most appreciative mother and the baby's Great-Nana. No other gifts required. My kids burned up Snap Chat and their app numbers recording Christmas 2017. I had to go give thanks to God, before my native sloth kicked in.
Cold, the fireman retorted
Bracing, said I. I had been waiting for someone to offer that observation in order to quote the great Charles Laughton from the movie adaptation of O Henry's "The Cop and the Anthem (1:29)"
Small Christmas gifts like that do more for me than a gift certificate for a full body massage from Salma Hayek, or a guest solo in CSO's Messiah.
This day is about hope, renewal and love. I was gifted all three of the above and only a fireman showed up on my lot this morning. I can't wait until a cop and a Streets and San worker stop by - collect from all three!
Blessed.
