Himmlisch

Sunday night, I drove downtown to MTV (Mark Twain Village) for a special treat--the chapel's choral and orchestral presentation of The Messiah. Now, you need to understand something about my growing-up years. Every Christmas season, starting in about, oh, August, my mother played Handel's Messiah nonstop on the record player. I left for school in the early morning with "Every valley shall be exalted" blaring from our speakers, and arrived home late afternoon to the strains of "I know that my Redeemer liveth" wafting from the living room. In fact, I probably ended up memorizing every word without even trying, thanks to my mom. And you know what? You might think, as a result, I'd hate that particular piece of music, but you'd be wrong. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it. So much so that I now inflict the same Messianic marathon upon my own children, only I start a tiny bit later, around November. Trust me, this is the essence of Christmas. Sunday night? Himmlisch...*

*Heavenly