The angels who scared the fleece out of those poor shepherds on the first Christmas Eve must have been pretty awesome. Bigger than the Goodyear blimp. Blinding white. Blowing trumpets that sounded like a marching band in a tornado.

"An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified," the Bible says (Luke 2:9).

I believe it. I saw an angel once. She was pretty scary, too.

She looked exactly like my Aunt Merece, who had a tongue so rough it could strip the rust off a junkyard hubcap. When she got going, she could melt a snowman two blocks away and scold the hair off a dog. It was enough to put a blush on the face of a clock.

`Get off your duff'

She wore those cat-woman glasses with rhinestones in the pointy corners. And she had on tall galoshes. Not boots. Galoshes with big metal latches. Her flowing robes were a scarf and a tweed overcoat. Her "trumpet'' was a Winston.

"But the angel said to them, `Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.'' (Luke 2:10)

My angel said, "Get off your fat duff and go help your sisters." I was only in third grade, but I could tell she meant business.

The poor shepherds found "a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." I found a Pontiac in the driveway, packed with grocery sacks. There was a lot of stuff. Cake mixes, eggs, steaks, bread, hamburger, canned soups, ice cream and even candy. But we had plenty of room to put it away because our refrigerator was as cold and empty as King Herod's heart.

We had been living on a diet of mostly navy beans from a 50-pound burlap bag. Beans on bread. Bean soup. Baked beans. While other kids were all snug in their beds with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads, we had beans in our dreams.

Surf's up

We opened the candy first, and our angel was OK with that. And then she took us sledding.

When we got to the park, we went down the hill a few times and she finally flicked away her cigarette and said, "What's the matter with you kids? Don't you know how to ride a sled?"

She grabbed a sled like a surfer running into the ocean, and dove off the hill head-first. We could not have been more amazed if she sprouted white feathered wings and rose up to greet a heavenly host singing "Jingle Bell Rock" with Vic Damone.

Then we picked up our jaws, grabbed our sleds and went head-first after her, flying downhill in a cloud of spraying snow. That night went down in family history as The Time Aunt Merece Taught us to Bellyflop.

I suppose Aunt Merece was just helping out her little sister who was struggling to raise three kids alone. Uncle Harve owned an IGA store, so maybe it was no big deal to her.

To us, it was a visit from an angel.

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests," the angels told the shepherds.

I think it means each of us can be an angel to someone.

E-mail pbronson@enquirer.com.