Merry Christmas!
The "Arctic cold" of the past week is gone, and the mercury now sits a few degrees above the freezing point of water. The snow is as heavy as damp towels fresh out of the washing machine and on their way to the dryer. In a gentle, mocking rain, I shoveled the driveway alone, the quiet solitude that is one of the few boons of shoveling snow obliterated by our neighbors across the street and their use of what is seemingly the world's loudest snowblower.

It was a misery until a chance glance across the way brought eye contact with my neighbor, or rather, since I didn't recognize the gentleman, my neighbors' guest (and presumed relative). I gave the stranger a thumbs up, my universal signal for "Howdy," "I mean you no harm," and, in this particular case, a sarcastic "Are we having fun yet?" I gave absolutely no indication of a request for help of assistance, honest and truly. But the man was seized by the Christmas Spirit. Unbidden, he crossed the lane and bore into the crusty wall of plow-compacted snow with the world's loudest snowblower. And, with all apologies to John Henry, I protested not a wit, glad to vicariously harness the machine's power. I said, "Thank you, I sure do appreciate it."

He replied, "Merry Christmas! The spirit of giving and blah blah blah." He actually said, "blah blah blah." He pushed the snowblower (English doesn't seem to have a specific verb for this activity; perhaps "to snowblow," past tense "snowblew"?) and I shoveled and together we (most he) made short work of the last little, but difficult bit of the driveway. I thank him again, he again wished me a merry Christmas, we shook hands, and he disappeared back across the street and I tidied up the jolly havoc wreaked by the snowblower. Now that, my friends, is Christmas.

Merry Christmas! Joy to the world, the Lord is come.