There’s something about the age of nine that made the Minis go sour on Sundays. Perhaps nine is when my Sunday-hate began as well, but I dared not display that to my parents. Last year Minimike reluctantly participated in the Christmas pageant under painfully increasing degrees of bribery and coercion. Minime dutifully, albeit reluctantly, sat through Minimike’s Christmas pageant rehearsals, and to cheer her up, doodled her own interpretation of the Christmas story in the margins of the script. It’s perhaps a little unorthodox, but it sure cheers me up as we approach the one-year anniversary of leaving church. But I can address that depressing topic another time. Whimsy and mirth is the only thing on today’s menu. Enjoy!