Early in my married life I realized having an enchanting tale to read to Wee Ones on Christmas Eve was not only a wonderful tradition, but a great attention-diverting tactic, to fill the time between the dreaded evening feast clean-up and the Grand Gift-opening Event. This was the time when sweet little tykes began wheedling, whining, and bouncing off the walls like ping-pong balls. I would hand my selected story to Patsy and she would smile and patiently herd the kiddies into a quiet space. She was well prepared for her assignment; she was a Junior High School English teacher. Silence prevailed as she plied her natural story-telling abilities and swept anyone within ear range away to another time and place. Her eyes sparkled. Her voice resonated with just the right flavor of mystery mixed with reassuring predictability, mesmerizing her charges until the bewitching hour arrived. Those little listeners have grown and she no longer comes to family gatherings but we carry on the tradition and know that she looks over our shoulders whispering tidbits of inspiration. The plot thickens.