From Baboushka, retold by Arthur Schollet, and illustrated by Helen Cann. A not-so-subtle reminder to get out from under the business and just *enjoy* the season.
Now everyone was itching for news. No one could work. No one could stay indoors. No one that is, but Baboushka. Baboushka had work to do — she always had. She swept, polished, scoured, and shined. Her house was the best kept, best polished, best washed, and best pained. Her garden was beautiful, her cooking superb.
“All this fuss for a star!” she muttered. “I don’t even have time to look. I’m so behind. I must work all night!”
So she missed the star at its most dazzling, high overhead. She missed the line of twinkling lights coming toward the village at dawn. She missed the sound of pipes and drums, the tinkling of bells getting louder. She missed the voices and whispers and then the sudden quiet of the villagers, and the footsteps coming up the path to her door.