Once upon a time there was a little girl growing up in a small country town in Wisconsin. She had a dad and a mom and a big brother.
On Christmas Eve they would leave milk and cookies out for Santa Claus, and then Dad would pack the kids and the dog into the car and they would go for a ride to buy ice cream cones. Yes, somewhere in chilly Wisconsin was a small town where you could buy an ice cream cone on Christmas Eve.
When they all got home, Mom was waiting upstairs, and downstairs Santa had come and eaten the cookies and drunk the milk and left presents for everyone under the Christmas tree. They spent the rest of the night unwrapping the presents and having a great time as a family.
Meanwhile, some 1,000 miles away, a little boy was growing up in a small town in New Jersey. He had a dad and a mom and a big brother and a little brother.
On Christmas Eve Mom would bake magic bars and cookies, and they’d gather around the living room while Dad read from the book of Luke by candlelight. (The boy always thought Quirinius was a funny name.)
After that they’d eat the goodies and go to bed, knowing that sometime in the night Santa would fill their stockings with more goodies and leave presents under the Christmas tree.
Somehow, 40 years or so later, the little girl and the little boy found each other over the miles and lived happily ever after together in a little blue house in the country with sweet but somewhat insane dogs and cats.
And here we are at another Christmas, wishing you love and peace and a pretty darn terrific new year to come.
