There will — WILL — be Christmas on planet pooks this year.
I woke up yesterday morning and had an odd restless feeling. I did the stuff I always do, even felt like taking a nap like I always do, this time decided to go back to bed and give into it –
And lo and behold, a star shining in the east and three wise men appeared before me and said:
“Get your ass up out of that bed, it’s a week ’til Christmas, you’ve work to do, missy.”
So I’ve pretty much been cleaning, rearranging, clearing out, doing stuff.
Listening to sports talk on the radio or Christmas music or audiobooks to keep my brain from revolting. Rebelling. Whatever.
Christmas is on.
Now I just need to find a place to put a tree.
And speaking of voices from on high –
At Christ’s birth the angels sang, “Peace on earth.”
The did not sing, “Merry Christmas.”
Peace.
, by Mary Ann Shaffer
, by Marion Chesney
, by Marion Chesney
, by Ariana Franklin
by Margiad Evans
by Jo Beverley
by Jo Beverley
by Jo Beverley
This reminds me of something my father-in-law used to say during mass when we would get to the part where we wish everyone “Peace be with you.”
He’d say, “Peace on you.
Ah, I love that! I’ve noticed that members of our congregation of all ages will flash the peace sign at people who are too far away to greet.
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I thought the angels sang, “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.”