It's not her fault she married a neanderthal. Every woman deserves an evening out. So we put on our Sunday clothes, a little dinner and a little Irving Berlin. A little culture never killed anybody.
A huge pipe organ rose out of the stage floor and a gentleman started playing carols. The little theatre on the square was a time machine and we were suddenly celebrating Christmas in 1950-something. Even this heathen/Grinch/Scrooge was feeling right Christmasy. I'd managed to put the news of the day out of my head until the carol of choice was "Away In A Manger." I felt my chest start to ache and tears well up in my eyes. I thought I'd gone and "taken a turn" until I realized I'd surpressed the day's heartache as long as I could.
The picture that song puts in your brain is not just one of a manger and cattle lowing....it's a picture of a children's choir in white robes holding candles. A gaggle of scraped knees, ponytails and cowlicks become little windows into heaven, everything beautiful, everything angelic...perfect innocence. I sat there in that theatre, suddenly wanting to cry, and whispered to myself "we're a long way from a manger."
It wasn't just that children died yesterday. Innocence died. And not just for children that watched their friends and teachers get gunned down. Each instance of horror eats away a little part of us old folks,too. The part that believes that people are basically good and that there's someone staying by OUR cradle "til morning is nigh."
I've said it a zillion times - if there is a heaven and if I get there, I've got questions.........