The other day, it was nearly the anniversary of the birth of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and while it isn’t that day yet for me, for those reading this column now, it is.
By the magic of anticipation and literary telepathy, I suppose I’m getting a little Christmas experience now, as I write. At least I hope that’s what that burning sensation is.
So Happy Holidays, and you’re welcome for your present. I think 2011 is supposed to be the white Christmas of which we (and Bing Crosby) dreamt; I hope this gift came wrapped for it. Otherwise the wet snow is probably making my words runtogetheronthepage.