If you are a plane buff, I commend both the CBC links and Forsyth’s work to your attention.
(For those who may be unfamiliar with the story: young pilot is flying home for Christmas and suffers a total electrical failure over the north Atlantic. He has virtually no instruments, fog has set in, and if he bails out, he’ll probably freeze to death in the ocean. At the last possible moment, he’s led to a safe landing at an old RAF base by a Mosquito. And then the story goes in some unexpected directions from there.)
There was another time I remember when my best beloved uncle came in one Christmas Eve just a little, you’ll pardon the expression, fried to the eyes. He fell into the Christmas tree, toppled it over, busted the decorations, and set fire to the drapes. We used candles in those days. Uncle Rob pulled himself up out of the mess, scraped some tinsel off one ear, and brushed some powdered glass from the smashed ornaments off his coat. He glared mistrustfully around him.
“God damn Santa Claus,” he said, and staggered off to bed, summarily dismissing Christmas for all time.
–Robert Ruark, The Old Man and the Boy
Merry Christmas to all of you. Traveling mercies to those of you who are on the road, or will be on the road. Blessings to any of you who are standing the watch: as part of the military, as law enforcement or fire or EMS, or even holding down the fort at the gas station or answering support calls Christmas Day.
There are two people that I’d like to extend extra special good wishes to this season: Borepatch, for his continued support and driving traffic my way. And pigpen51, who has been leaving a lot of thoughtful comments recently. Especially on the obituary watches: he’s clearly been giving some thought to mortality and what it all means, and much of what he says overlaps things I’ve been thinking about myself.