For the children in our family, this night was the beginning of Christmas with the first presents.
For the adults, it was the beginning of a period of peace after a hectic shopping season, a festive meal prepared by my mother-in-law (an excellent cook), the long drive home on snowy highways, the preparations for the next morning before turning into bed.
Now it is strangely silent, the children long grown up and living in distant places.
“Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl.
“But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart… filled it, too, with melody that would last forever.”
~Bess Streeter Aldrich (1881-1954), one of Nebraska’s most widely read and enjoyed authors
80° and Clear
PS: It is 10:30 on Christmas Eve 2015, and quite by accident I have awakened from a nap in time for a rebroadcast of a 30-minute recording of a reading of Frederick Forsyth’s short story, “The Shepherd,” by Al Maitland.
I posted this recording once before, in 2012, and add it here for anyone who is checking in tonight and wants a delightful treat.
The year is 1957. An RAF pilot is heading home from Germany for Christmas. Fog sets in, and all radio communication is lost.