1th

our roof.

Before the stockings could be hung, however, we had to make the pilgrimage to the Church for the Christmas Eve confessions. Oh, how cold, creaky and ominous that cavernous church was. How insignificant the couple of candles were as they strove to pierce the darkness. How slowly the line seemed to move as we made our way to recite the list of transgressions Mom claimed each one had committed. What a relief as the slide closed over the confessional grate, and we were now free to head home to bed to coax elusive sleep.

Oh, why couldn't we get tired? Why was sleep so reluctant to overcome us? Listen! Was that a frost creak in the attic or the landing of his big, red sleigh