My old house is going through much needed repairs and quite a mess, as workers move in and out and the already polluted air is extra laden with cement particles. Not the easiest living for anybody, and more so for a writer who expects peace and comfort all the time. Yes, I’m making excuses for my awful behavior to get away with all and sundry transgressions during this time!

A friend of mine sent me a forward today, purely in jest I think, which got me thinking. It went like this, ‘When someone asks, ‘Where is your festive spirit?’ … Is it wrong to point to the liquor cabinet?’

I felt sad, that the true meaning of the festival he was talking about had been lost but decided today, to talk to all of us, about the contents of that liquor cabinet:

At the age of seventy-five my father was a computer wizard. In fact I remember so well dad teaching me the basics of the machine and its technology. He was a man who never slipped into a mode of ‘so much and no farther.’ He always wanted to experiment and try out new things and never ceased to have a boyish wonder for anything different.

Real beauty, is not what you see outside, but real beauty is inside as this story related by a lady shows:

‘Our house was directly across Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man, yet his voice was pleasant as he said, “Good evening. I’ve come to see if you’ve a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there’s no bus ‘til morning.”

Somewhere in my youth, I was called to play the flute at a grand function. To my surprise the desired music did not come from the pipe. The sounds that came out were shrill and sharp wails. I looked closer at the beautiful flute and discovered it had developed a fine crack.

Outwardly it still looked fine but could no longer produce good music.