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I spent seven hours of Christmas-Eve-Eve-day (today) trying to find our lost suitcase in Logan Airport.
I hadn’t been waiting long when three men appeared–not Magi on camels, but young men in silly red hats who carried a trumpet, a trombone, and a big golden French horn. They sat down on folding chairs, rustled sheet music, and started to play, rather softly, “Joy to the World.” They gave it an oompah bass line that was somehow funny and touching at the same time. |
The music transformed the way I experienced all the people around me–and the airport was packed with holiday travelers. I saw them as people who wanted to be with their families.
I remembered my brother Mark’s great delight in driving children around to see Christmas lights. I remembered my mother’s pride in her Yorkshire pudding.
Looking for my suitcase today meant I had to bother a whole bunch of busy, tired people. Every one of them treated me with kindness and concern.
Some of the time one of us said “Merry Christmas” to the other and some of the time one we didn’t, and some people say “Happy holidays”
instead, and it amazes me that people who think of themselves as Christian can get angry about “Happy holidays” or because you can’t see baby Jesus in the White House crèche.
Anyway, I didn’t find my suitcase (drat!) but I did find the spirit of Christmas in the kind and caring way people were treating each other, all over that crowded airport.
And also, of course, in the oompah backbeat to “Silent Night.”