A Hundred Gourds 4:2 March 2015

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Angela Leuck - Canada

White Christmas

Snow has come early this year. Every branch and twig of the old gnarled apple trees are outlined in white and glistening in the thin December sun. The yard looks magical, all the sharp edges softened by the snow. I phone my son, but he doesn’t want to talk. These days all he wants to do is rage against what he calls life’s unfairness. A quiet family Christmas doesn’t seem in the works. Maybe next year, I console myself, things will be better. I can’t help it though. A crooning Bing Crosby comes into my mind: I’m dreaming of a white Christmas . . .

Bing Crosby—
his son’s tell-all book
of family abuse

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