Where Is Christmas?

I have lots of thots tonight. For one thing I notice that in every My Thots that I email out lately, there seems to be one error that I don’t catch, no matter how many times I read it. Then, the moment it is gone, that little flaw pops up and glows like Rudolph’s nose. I guess that is just the way it is going to be.

I remember doing community theatre long ago and thinking how funny it was that we called each other, “father, or maid number one, or whatever our character was.” Once more I find myself referring to people under those funny assumed names that come along when the need to connect steps over boundaries that would normally separate us. Only now it is “G in Texas, or Bob in England, or Tundra Chile on Facebook.” People I’d like to know better.

Also I just watched one of the most beautiful films that I have ever seen. It is from India and called Jodhaa Akbar.

And last but not least is a conversation I had with Lennon today while we were baking oatmeal raison cookies.

“Gramma, where is Christmas?”

“What do you think Christmas is?”

“Christmas is not presents Gramma. It is love.”

“How do you know that?”

“Daddy says so.”

“What do you think love is?”

“I know all about love! It’s hugs and kisses!”

“So where do you think Christmas is?”

“At the North Pole!”

“Why do you think it’s at the North Pole?”

“I want to go there!”

“What would you do there?”

“About fifty miles an hour.”