December 20

The little fir tree in the kitchen looks beautiful today with a showing of old glass ornaments and a string of lights. I wish I had an old fashioned box of tinsel. It doesn't have the aroma of a balsam, but it looks like it's smiling and lifting its branches to the sky.

My eyes had grown accustomed to the brilliance of "pre-lit" trees, with hundreds of lights, perfectly spaced. These trees are like the studio recordings that pass for real music these days. Artificially tweaked and tuned to perfection—no humble human voice, no matter how strong or true, can duplicate the sound. All they do is ruin our ear for real music—the kind human beings make in time of joy, or sorrow, or just for the fun of it.

In the grocery store today a warbling voice rang out "are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening..." It was an "older" lady who, to be honest, sounded a bit like Tiny Tim. I don't understand why so many ladies of a certain age have a tremolo, or why it kicks in when they're in the grocery store, singing in the check out lane. My ear picked up a smaller voice, steady and in tune, joining in on "a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight..." A little girl was singing along. I couldn't resist joining in on "walking in a winter wonderland..." The lady next to me, who a moment earlier was rolling her eyes, said "maybe we should all sing..." We should. With our imperfect voices raise a joyful song of Christmas.


We should never let allow perfection to get in the way of seeing beauty.