When i checked my stats for this week 206 people had come by on Monday, yes two hundred and six.
That's the good news. The bad is news is that on Tuesday it was 20. What happened? If you know tell me. If I am going to get fifteen minutes of fame I would like to know.
The other bit of bad news is that despite all the traffic no one, not one of you, sent in your own Christmas story to share.
Come on people. I need you to make this work. Dig down and find it. We all have them. Christmas eve, Christmas morning, the day after, Advent, Hannukah, whatever stands out.
I'll do one more to keep the ball rolling.
Yuletide Story 2...
... It weas the evening of the big day, when all the gifts had been opened and the dinner cooked and served. There is something unique about Christmas evening. All the energy of the last month simply vanishes and leaves in its wake a boredom I remember from childhood. How could it not with all that intensity built up for so long and focused on such a narrow slice of time.
In my boredom I remember something going on at church. Not a church event, though. In our Brooklyn neighborhood there are many single seniors who most years would have their holiday dinner at the local senior center. But this year they were unable to provide. At a clergy meeting the month before, when we found out, my rabbinical buddy says his people would love to cook (what else is there to do for a Jew on Christmas Day?) but had no place big enough to serve. I said we had the kithcen and dining room but not enough people to serve.
Peanut Butter and Chocloate collide.
So I go over that evening to say hello and thanks. The kitchen is full of the remnants of ham (actually smoked turkey rolls) and other foods. Guests are nibbling desserts and drinking coffee while someone is playing carols on the piano. Indeed, not only is it a member of the synagogue who is playing the carols lustily, the most vigorous singing is from the other members.
I chuckle with amusement and my rabbical buddy says under his breath, shrugging, "We love Christas Carols; they're great. But tell me when we else we can sing them?"
O. Henry could not have written a better story.