Some Christmas days seem to resemble zoos at feeding time, but ours was about as peaceful as it could get. From the lightness of our morning buttermilk pancakes to the crystal clear sounds of Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols an aura of calm descended over the house. David spruced up our computer and introduced me to Flickr and U-Tube. He also dragged the expresso machine out and brewed us up a lovely cuppa in the late afternoon. As I write this the ham is in the oven and aromas of roasting Weir's apples, along with sweet potatos and cranberries, are floating up the stairs to the study.
Along with the Queen and the Pope we yearn for peace out there. We cling to the hope that "somehow, some way, some day" the hate that seems to well so strong in the killing fields of Darfur and Iraq, and Afganistan can be melted. Miracles may not be possible but it would be a start if a few more folks could accept differences without feeling the need to crush them.
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