I’m full.

       I don’t know about y’all, but I can’t eat another bite… well, unless it’s something chocolate.  The cocoa plant from the gods is simply, to me at least, something akin to a collapsible shoe organizer or a few of those stackable multi-sized Tupperware containers: a reason, if not a vessel, to hoard the things we love and can’t live without until a more appropriate time presents itself sometime in the future (you know, late at night).

By Margaret Evans, Editor

Writer’s Note: I greet you, reader, from an upstairs bedroom at my parents’ house in Alabama. It’s the day after Christmas, the TV is droning, and downstairs a dog barks as my nieces, ages 3 and 5, belt out another round of “Let It Go” on their new karaoke machine. (Thanks, Santa.) Certain circumstances do not lend themselves to column writing, so I offer you a “classic” from the archives. This piece first appeared in January 2012…

There is an old joke about the birth of Christ that goes something like this:

          What would have happened if it had been three wise women instead of three wise men?

            They would have asked for directions, arrived on time, helped deliver the baby, cleaned the stables, and bought practical gifts.