After eight decades my Christmas memories all run together like a collage, bits and pieces too varied to become one big composite of countless images. Because our memories canât be tapped into by dates, like finding a photo in our cell phones, and because Christmas nowadays is not just one day out of 365, but a whole season, itâs impossible to be sure how old we were when we saw Santa for the first time. And we canât pinpoint which puppy love guy introduced us to the mistletoe legend. But most of our Christmas memories are tied to people ⦠family, friends, fellow worshippers, even familiar store clerks and the mailman. So it was with me when I heard of the death of Georgia writer, Terry Kay. I had been deeply touched and entertained, even inspired, by his writing for many years. He is just one the many blessings I experienced during my 20 years with the Woodstock Public Library. In one of my different positions there, I was allowed to arrange programs, and I came to realize then that you can best achieve some things by simply asking instead of just waiting for them to happen. So it was that early in the 1993 Christmas season, Terry Kay agreed to come to our library for a book signing. (These events are often called Author Appearances, like the author had been missing and suddenly appeared out of nowhere.) Terry had published a little book titled âTo Whom the Angel Spoke,â sub-titled âa story of the Christmas.â The very title sparked my interest; the designation as THE Christmas spoke volumes, even before we turned to the first page. We talk of Christmas, but this story is of THE Christmas. In this tiny volume, Terry Kay â like writers and storytellers, playwrights and film makers, composers and artists, through hundreds of years â takes us to the hills of Galilee where shepherds are tending their sheep. Well, up front, we can hardly relate to that element of the story. Most of us have never seen a flock of sheep, and we are not acquainted with anyone who would list shepherd as his occupation. But 2,000 years ago, it was a common way of life in what we now call the Holy Land. But this account of the experience of these three common shepherds that night is anything but common. They are described in details that tell us just how human they were. They were good shepherds, but they had differences. One was tall, one was short, and one was medium. One was fat, one was thin, one was in-between. One was black, one was white, and one was bronze. They differed in their likes and dislikes, and even in their views of King Herodâs dreadful taxes. But when the angel came with the message, âFor unto you is born this day in the City of David,â they were in complete agreement.