This clever bit of Photoshopping, swiped from elsewhere online, is in honor of the ancient, ailing, much-loved, deaf and now-deceased companion of friends who inadvertently stepped in front of a jeep on the family farm yesterday and thereby was propelled instantly to glory. What a thing to happen on Christmas Eve.
But that led to conversation during soup in the parish hall last evening after a lovely Christmas Eve Eucharist about whether or not dogs have souls. Some thought not; others, why not? I'm in the latter category. All God's critters, ya know.
This was the first Christmas Eve in two years that we've not been treated to snow, ice and frigid winds. It was wonderful --- as was the service, and the food afterwards. More church this morning, then somehow I've got to turn out an apple salad and corn pudding before dinner at 1. I probably should be making the salad now.
Here's a good way to start the day: Rufus Wainwright's lovely version of "Minuit, Chretien," a 19th century French poem that became, in French, "Cantique de Noel" and in English, with considerable liberty taken regarding words, "O Holy Night." You'll probably have to listen to a commercial first.