For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when themeaning of the day shone clearest.My own "truest" Christmas began on a rainyspring day in the bleakest year of my life.Recently divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to gothe rounds of the employment offices.I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallenapart, and I could not afford another one.I sat down in the streetcar--and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrellawith a silver handle inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel.I had never seenanything so lovely.I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls.The usualprocedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse Idecided to take it with me and find the owner myself.I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protectmyself.Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it.Icalled and a lady answered.Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, hadgiven her for a birthday present.But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker atschool(she was a teacher)more than a y