'twas the night before Christmas

Over long years of life, we've lived many places and known many wonderful people. One who's especially in mind this morning was Mary Virginia, MVR, in Apalachicola, for whom Christmas was at its most seasonal and exciting when you came out of Christmas Eve "midnight mass" into the chill, foggy damp. Best when shivery chill as you headed to friends' homes for the after-church Christmas Eve parties.

Trinity Church rectory is right next door to the church, and we hosted grand parties like that once or twice, Christmas Eve 1984 and 1985, until realizing that we were cutting into longstanding Apalachicola tradition of parties at certain people's homes. Julia always, and I think Wesley and Ann's. 

MVR died nearly two years ago in her mid-nineties and I assisted with her funeral, maybe preached the homily. After retiring as a senior officer at the bank, she took on parish treasurer and worked it tenaciously for years to come. She was a dear friend, and from her I learned many things, including kindness, and a generosity that she described as close but not tight or stingy, and patience and when to mind my own business, and to love that flavor of Christmas Eve best of all. Anyway, today's morning bodes well for its evening: nearly perfect, still, light fog lying over StAndrewsBay, 57°F. Perfect might be 47° but I'll take it for now and we'll see what 2019's XMAS Eve nightfall brings besides Santa Claus who, I learned from beloved kids during Children's Time at church last Sunday morning, manages to do all he does, every home worldwide in one evening and down every chimney, because he's magic. Believing is easy when we're in love with our wonderful stories. All of them.

Another adult Christmas Eve I remember was our first of eight in Pennsylvania, Navy years. Christmas Eve 1976 was bitter cold and banked snow, keeping in the ruts while driving to church, the only car on the road, slipping, sliding this way and that, slow and careful to stay out of the ditch. That once, I went first to a nearby Anglo-Catholic high church service to partake of the incense and bells, then back home to get the family and go to MCP, our beloved newly adopted parish that a few years later packed me off to seminary at Gettysburg and, innocently ignorant of many things about me, expected us to stay there forever. We hosted a few Christmas Eve after church parties those eight years also, before moving home to Florida after my ordination as priest. 

Father Time does his work though, and driving after dark is a no-no for the advanced elderly, so we no longer do the eggnog and fruitcake parties after church. But remembering all of that holy history is just as much fun as being there. And, adding a bit of wishful thinking's imagination, can be even more fun than it was in its Time.

Happy Christmas to all including the squirrel in that picture, perched high and watchful on the scaffolding. He's waiting for me to go back inside so he can come rummage around on 7H porch.

T+