I was on the front porch when you drove by and I waved, thinking I love Christmas but the season is a trial for us Christians who must trudge down aisles of flashy gift items as “Here Comes Santa Claus” drizzles down upon us from ceiling speakers and we struggle to keep the nativity in our mind, a difficult thing, thanks to Charles Dickens.

I was on the front porch when you drove by and I waved having been chased all week by small joys, like the wonderful singing of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” at church Sunday, the happiness at 7:30 a.m. of little children in a school bus on Davie Avenue, the euphoria of a baby given his milk bottle in the waiting room of my ophthalmologist, and lunch with a friend, a brother by another mother, as we reminisced about growing up on a farm.

I was sitting on the front porch when you drove by and I waved, thinking about a woman I got to know as we both waited to be called for our medical procedures. She turned to me and said “My father likes your stories --- you look something like him.” Quite an opening for a woman who appears to be close to my age. Then she said “I got a funny story for you.”