We sat in the back of an old pub tonight and watched “Miracle on 34th Street”. I’m amazed that as I get older, living in a society where belief, faith, and ideals run at a trickle, I find myself constantly seeking them out. Tirelessly searching for them. And it’s amazing how art, in some form, will bring tears to my eyes as I sit in a dark room watching a film at Christmas, thousands of miles from my home. Some sort of hope wells up in me, something I can hardly dare to explain- I can only report it-though I may sound like a hopeless fool, that Don Quixote, that babbling Simon Peter.
