Look from the Top

This is a spendid word for a busy day
with its crush of work of all sorts. If we get
caught in the crush and pushed down, so to
speak, the next thing we know is that we are grovelling in the dust.

Things are on top of us, we are not on top of anything.
SO the words come "Look from the top"
Come with Me from all that, come up the mountain with Me,
look from everything UP to the Lord Jesus, Who is our Peace,
our Victory and our JOY, for we are where we look ...

from Amy Carmichael in Edges of His Ways re. Song of Songs 4:8

End of Year Review

It's a clean up day ... getting decorations put away (still keeping the tree up a bit longer for Spouse) ... washing linens after the house guests have left, organizing some stuff for Good Will, getting started on writing the thank you notes (called by an article in the London Times, the "last bastion in an epidemic of discourtesy"--see women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/

the_way_we_live/article3097017.ece), and generally drying out after a wonderful three days of much needed rain. 

As I putter about, it's time to muse on that End of Year Review, or better yet, "how I'd like to do things better in the new year." No resolutions, mind you, just seeking God and His leading ... wanting to become more like Him.

Rondo Rendezvous

We celebrated Christmas on the 26th when family members arrived in town. In the midst of setting the table for our special dinner, I collected the mail and out fell a small packet from a dear friend in England. Inside? "Mini coasters," which Janette knows I love. The package called them "mini rondos." So I guess that's their real name. Amazing ... arriving just in time to add to the table decor! They looked so lovely! And the packaging told me Janette had purchased them on High St. in Arundal ... a place I have been to with her! Thank you, Janette! We loved using them, and none spoiled so they can be used again next Christmas!

It's All About the Manger

jesus & mary in the manger
Originally uploaded by podso

From my sister's Christmas letter: "Each Christmas as we struggle to preserve a sense of worship and gratitude amidst all the busyness which accompany this time of year, it seems as though there is some point [when] God breaks through and moves me with a song or verse, or maybe a word from a friend, and I am blessed. This year it was the last line of one of the songs in our choir cantata, sung as a solo by a sweet and clear soprano voice: 'The manger held it all.' So simple and so profound.

"Everything we need in this life and the next was held in that Bethlehem manger 2000 years ago. Our hopes, desires, dreams, and above all our need for forgiveness and fellowship with God, are all gathered up and met in Christ Jesus. One of [our] father's favorite Christmas carols, 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' says, 'The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.'"

messy deeds

good deeds
Originally uploaded by podso

The other day I lingered in bed after the phone call came telling me I could stay home from work. The luxury of sleeping in tempted me briefly, but is easier said than done when my mind begins to work. I wiggled my toes and stretched as I thought of the luxury of unplanned free time. The gift of a day. Maybe I would just spend the whole day reading. Or making a few Christmas cookies. Definitely time for myself.

Then I remembered an elderly friend who had been rushed to the hospital the night before. I should check on her and maybe I should take my mom along with me to visit her. There was someone else I needed to visit in another hospital too. And find a plant to take to her. And then there was someone else who I needed to help with a change to a new drug plan. Suddenly my day seemed planned as I hopped out of bed to start it. I decided, okay, this would be a day of giving to others. I pictured myself serenely gliding through the day, bestowing acts of kindness on others like the sprinkling of fairy dust.

Well it certainly did not turn out that way. I did do what I needed and wanted to do, but it was a big case of one thing can lead to another. Throw in the mix holiday traffic, not the right plant where I thought it would be, and some extremely inept insurance people on the phone with me for an hour reducing me to tears. The day deteriorated rapidly.

I came home with a splitting headache many hours later (long after I would have arrived home from work). I had a talk with myself on the way. What led me to believe that acts of kindness come wrapped in ease? Did I think I was owed a "walk in the park" just because I was helping others? Nowhere does Christ say our doing good for others will be pain free. If anyone knows about that, He does.

One of my prized possessions is a little soup bucket I have in my kitchen. The story, as I understand it, is that my great grandmother used it to take soup to sick people. I have a mental picture of a tiny Dutch woman in her heavy brown cape, walking down a city street carrying a little pot of soup and probably a basket of bread too. My soup bucket reminds me to think of others. My guess is that she didn't have an easy time with her good deeds either. 

Out of Africa

We have two new ornaments on our tree this year--a gift from some women in Nigeria who live with great challenges. They receive help from our mission and wanted to thank us all so made ornaments and sent them to our headquarters. I love the color and the tie-dyed fabric––in the shape of the continent we love so much! Another reminder at Christmas of our beloved Africa!

Very Cool French Bread

I am making my good friend Susanna's French bread today. I love using recipes that remind me of friends or family members! The nifty thing about this is there is no kneading and you can make it ahead and refrigerate up to 24 hours before baking. So you can get the mess cleaned up, yet have very freshly baked bread when it's time to eat. There's nothing like the scent of bread baking to warm the heart (and start the stomach growling!)

Cool Rise French Bread

2 C flour
2 pkg. active dry yeast (or 2 1/2 Tb. loose)
1 Tb. Sugar
1 Tb. Salt
2 Tb. softened butter or margarine
2 1/4 Hot tap water

Combine dry ingredients to blend and add the hot water and butter. Mix with electric beater on medium for two minutes. Add one cup flour and beat on high for one minute or thick and elastic. Scrape sides of bowl and gradually mix in enough flour (about 2 more cups) to form a soft dough that leaves the sides of the bowl. Turn out onto floured board, round to a ball, cover with plastic wrap and a towel on top. Let rest for 20 minutes.

Punch down and divide into two equal portions. Roll into approx. 8 x 15 in. rectangle. Roll up tightly like a jelly roll, beginning with the long side. Seal edge and tuck in and seal ends. Place on greased baking sheet, seam side down. Brush with oil and cover loosely with plastic wrap.

Refrigerate from two to 24 hours. Remove, uncover and let stand 10 minutes while preheating oven to 400. Brush gently with cold water and slash tops of loaves at two inch intervals. Bake for 30-40 minutes.

ready for soup

Angel Watching At Our Door

Marshmallows, Not

Our little friends from across the street came for African stew last night––oh, yes, with their parents of course. First Kayla presented me with the frilly blue girl. "Oh!" I exclaimed, "Made from a marshmallow."

"No, not a marshmallow," came her soft, endearing reply. Then Jack presented his some kind of protector guy. "Well this must be made of marshmallows," I stupidly insisted, not being up on the very latest in art supplies. "Nope!" came a more determined answer.

We had a good time, and I love my new Christmas decorations!

Angel Exchange

It's been more than ten years ago that I belonged to a small group that did an ornament exchange at its Christmas party. We were a feisty bunch so it was a lot of fun as we bantered about, grabbing up each other's adored ornament in exchange for one we didn't like as much. One particular year, two of us were going after the same angel ornament. I won, but felt bad later. So, I dropped the angel off at this friend's house, with a note that simply said, "to an angel."

I liked this idea, so the next year I dropped another small gift outside her door labeled "to an angel." This went on a couple of years (I always had to stalk her house and find a time to drop it by when she wasn't home.) One year she "caught me." I quickly waved and scooted on out of the driveway.

That's when the angel exchange began. She soon dropped a litte gift at my door. And so we have continued to drop small angel or angel-related presents off at each other's house every Christmas, never with any hint of the gift giver. We don't comment on it when we see each other either. But we know what's going on.

This year I really thought we were done. For we go to different churches and our paths no longer cross except for the occasional wedding or other special event. The pizza delivery guy rang our doorbell the other night. He handed my son the pizza and ... the angel gift sitting by my door in the dark.

What to my wondrous eye did I unwrap but a beautiful spode Christmas plate ... and a glass angel on the side. How fun! Now the ball is in my court. I found a sweet pewter angel ornament marked down at the hospital gift shop Christmas sale. I hope she'll be at work today when I try to drop it at her door. And so the tradition continues.

Not a White Christmas

Even though it was years ago, I remember the time as clearly as if it were taking place today. We were a young family, just settled down to life in West Africa, when our world came crashing down around us. Spouse got very, very sick and turned yellow.

Due to a recent coup, borders were closed and grocery store shelves were empty. Spouse couldn’t even get a blood test to tell for sure what was wrong. We lived near the university and knew the dean of the medical school, so he made house calls to check on Spouse though there was nothing he could do.

Those were dark days for us as Christmas approached. We tried to make the best of it with our two small boys, while we watched their Papa get thinner and thinner. The bile under his skin caused severe itching and relief only came with a scalding bath followed by a cold shower and then a sit under the ceiling fan––a routine not always possible with frequent power outages and lack of water. We were about out of food.

Often sitting with only the light of an oil lamp, I’d hear God speak words of comfort and peace. He reminded me of Isaiah 40 again and again. "He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak…They will soar on wings like eagles…"

God’s grace amazed us. A knock sounded at the door one evening just before Christmas. Linda, a Peace Corps friend, greeted us with a special piece of meat wrapped in shiny tinfoil and a festive bow. Mmm, it was delicious. An adventuresome friend showed up with a cooler full of meat and sack of potatoes bought in a neighboring country (he’d gotten across the border in a desolate area). What a treat!

Not long after that, a friend traveling through our city walked into our house with a gunnysack over his shoulder. He dumped the contents out on our kitchen counter. My eyes opened wide when I realized Henry and Jane had shared from their “special times” stockpile. What stood out the most was a can of powdered lime drink. Now Spouse could have at least a sort of fruit juice. The tiny ants marching around the glass at his bedside didn’t irritate me as they usually did––I was so thrilled to offer him such a treat.

When a truck pulled up to our door I was certain it was a mistake, especially since there were two small barrels for us on it. It didn’t make sense until we learned they had been flown in from London from friends who used to live near us. Having heard of our situation, knowing what the closed borders would mean for our food supply, they knew exactly what to send us. Imbedded in my memory is the thrill of unwrapping foods fresh off English grocery shelves––beautiful, clean packages of flour, sugar, and powdered milk with special holiday treats tucked in. We were overwhelmed at God’s tender care for us.

Before long our doctor friend told us we needed to go home to get better care. It was unsettling to abruptly leave a home and work we loved. But we had learned the valuable principle that God does not make mistakes and knew that He cares deeply for us; and so we trusted Him. We didn’t leave before celebrating Christmas the best we could. We made clothespin ornaments representing each family member to put on our little tree. They are falling apart now, but we still hang them on our tree every year. And when we do, we remember all that God taught us the year our Christmas was yellow.

Flashback!

A young friend told me recently that she is amazed at how everything in our house has a story to go with it. That's what I love about "things." Not so much the actual possession of things, but that most of the stuff around my house has history that is meaningful to me. Christmas ornaments on the tree really bring the stories. I love it when my kids come back home to help put the ornaments on the tree. I get the tree all ready, with the wretched job of stringing the lights all taken care of ahead of time. Spouse sits in a chair––waiting for his single role of plopping the worn angel (given to us by the boys' youth pastor) at the top of the tree––while I dig through unorganized boxes ("next year I'll organize them better") and hand out what needs to be hung on the tree. And while we decorate, the stories flow.

Some ornaments were homemade ... such as "vintage 1978" ... or that was the year I crocheted ornaments, or knitted them ... and the puffy quilted ones I made that mostly remain in the box because of their huge size ... or the painted wood ornaments from sometime in the late 80s ... and then the ones that hung on Spouse's childhood tree (those are really vintage) ... different ones gifted from friends ... and maybe most special, the ones we made from clothespins our "yellow" Christmas. Almost each and every one a "flashback" to something special in our lives.

It reminds me of a program I heard on the radio as a kid called The Listening Post. Stories read aloud, but the listening post would actually open each program with his crackly voice, "In my old wooden heart ... are stories." I like to personify our tree as proclaiming, "Tucked inside my green branches ... are many old stories..."

Hark!

These carollers landed at our doorstep and hopped up onto our piano. Their singing is delightful and I just love the one lady all dressed in furs. She doesn't really need all that get-up with our 78 degree record-breaking/heart-breaking (where did winter go?) weather, but she looks great. Still their singing does not compare to the heavenly music we heard this weekend when our church choir, along with our local symphony orchestra, gave us The Songs of the Saviour. Uplifting and worshipful!

BBs at Christmas?

So this is something to tell about how stupid or naive I can be. There is a big increase in huge blow up Christmas decorations in people's yards. I'm not too crazy about them. When some Winnie the Pooh characters appeared at the corner house a couple of years ago I thought, "Well, that's nice for the kiddies." But when I would leave for work early in the morning they would be deflated and crumpled on the lawn. "How sad," I would think, "it's ruined." That evening they would be up in full bloom again, lighting up their part of the world. Then they would be deflated again. I assumed some kids in the neighborhood were going around shooting BBs at the blow up Christmas decorations. I wondered how long these patient home owners would continue to patch their decorations.

Well now that such decorations have migrated to the house right next door to us, and I have heard the sound of the motor that keeps it "alive" I have figured this thing out. Still I smile when I ride by Winnie the Pooh and Tigger up at the corner. Smile at my stupidity. To think I envisioned a gang of BB gun-toting teens running through the neighborhood on Tigger detail. Smile again!

Whose Head?

A wonderful book club gathering last evening at a long table set festively for lovers of the Jane Austen time period. She certainly would have felt right at home with us at the table. But instead of Jane's company, we had a phone call, on speaker phone, with the author of this great little book! How fun is that?

For a half hour we plied Lori, who followed Jane around England before writing the book, with questions, listened to her heart story, and heard about her life since the book was written. We even prayed for her. The book––I recommend it––is a surprise. Each page is like unwrapping a package as the author reveals herself in great honesty, while also telling of Jane Austen's life (sometimes clueing us in to not so well known facts.) I would be reading about Jane and suddenly realize that Lori was telling about her own personal life. The weaving back and forth was subtle but delightful. I have never read a book quite like it.

Book club gatherings are more than just about the book we've all read (sometimes furiously up until the last minute). It's even more about stepping back from life a bit and just being with friends, sharing our lives and thoughts ... sipping tea, chewing on sweets ... you know, much as they may have gathered in Jane's day. An amazing book, and a scrumptious evening. Thanks, Boniface!

The Yellow Convertible in My Life

Joy was six years older than me. As a teenager that felt like a big age difference. When we started hanging out, her parents had just bought her a yellow convertible to celebrate her college graduation. When she would pick me up and we'd drive off together with the top down, I felt pretty cool.

Joy came from a family of 12 kids, all strong leaders. A good proportion of them were scattered throughout our metropolitan area, working with youth groups at various churches. During the summer these youth groups would come together on Tuesday nights for a big bash at a barn out in the country. The hour bus ride there was itself a ton of fun, to be sure, but when we arrived, there were even more good times. Over 1000 kids spilled off buses and gathered to play wild games, watch funny skits, sing our hearts out to the rafters of the big ol' barn, and then listen to a "hold-your-attention" talk about faith in God. Many came to a personal relationship with God during those warm summer nights, and for myself, it was a time of intense spiritual growth.

I could never really understand Joy's interest in me. I was a "preacher's kid" (PK) and had had a pretty ideal, "Leave it to Beaver" kind of upbringing. I didn't have any big challenges in life that I needed her counsel about. Yet she, as one of my church youth leaders, chose to spend time with me. We would study the Bible together, and at other times Joy would just take me along for whatever she was doing, talking as we went. Sometimes we'd go to special shops, or to her parents' lake house to canoe ... we would just "do life" together. I guess you could say she had a "ministry of hanging out" with me. Back then it was known as "discipling;" today it is likely to be called "mentoring."

During those years (and it continued into college for I attended the college that Joy taught at), I grew a good deal in my walk with Christ. But I also learned, by her example, to disciple others. I was taught that everyone should mentor someone younger in the faith, and at the same time, be encouraged or mentored by someone older than them. And so I went about my life in this way, naively assuming others knew the concept and were doing the same thing. After all, Christ gave us the example.

When I am doing this actively, I find it stretches me and I grow more as a result. I think this is how God intends it to be. Stretch ... and you grow. And I also realize how much a gift this was in my life, for I know now that not many have had such a privilege as they came along in their faith. And not so many grasp or practice the concept. How God richly blessed me.

I don't see many yellow convertibles any more, but I don't need a glimpse of such a vehicle to take me back to those years of being discipled. I remember them often and will always be incredibly grateful to Joy, a young woman who cared enough to "hang out" with me and bring me along in the faith.

not a winter wonderland

Today it's gray and cold ... "feels" like snow is in the air. Of course it's not, but sometimes in the south, even the "feels like" is good enough. But, with our ongoing draught we could really use either rain or some white stuff!

more

Another quote from our pastor's sermon: "Our incessant busyness works against our maturing in Christ." Further: give yourself a gift and stop! Think! Evaluate! It will take all your life to become what you are to be. God is not going to shout over your noise. Be quiet so you can hear Him.

Take Time

In speaking of Paul's preparation for his main ministry in the book of Acts, our pastor told of how Paul went aside twice for long lengths of time (once 11 years), to be quiet and to listen to God. He reminded us of our need to do the same ... to say no to some of the pulls on our time ... and make time to read, reflect, rest ... and listen to what God is saying. Even, and especially, at this season of the year. We ended the service by singing an old hymn, exhorting each other as we turned to face the center aisle to sing. It was a moving time.

"Take time to be holy, speak oft with thy Lord. Abide in Him always and feed on His Word. Make friends of God's children, help those who are weak, forgetting in nothing, His blessing to seek.

"Take time to be holy, the world rushes on. Spend time in secret with Jesus alone. By looking to Jesus, like Him thou shalt be. Thy friends in thy conduct––His likeness shall see.

"Take time to be holy, let Him by thy guide. And run not before Him, whatever be tide. In joy or in sorrow still follow thy Lord. And, looking to Jesus, still trust in His word.

"Take time to be holy, be calm in thy soul, each thought and each motive beneath His control. Thus led by His spirit to fountains of love, thou soon shalt be fitted for service above."

Five Cousins

I'm in the middle, always the middle of both family sides of girl cousins our age. Which way do I gravitate? Older or younger?

Cracked Up

"You crack me up" used to be a frequent expression (maybe it still is) and it had a slight nuance to it that I think insinuated a slightly quirky action on the part of the person who "cracked" you "up." I think expressions are fascinating, especially the history of where they came from. I remember living in Ghana when we had to have local expressions explained to us. Expressions for similar things to ours, but differently worded. But that's not the point of this post. "Cracked" as in cracked hands is my point.

This is the time of year when I welcome the cold weather. I like it to be consistent, day in and day out so I know what to wear ahead, rather than listening each morning for the temperature prediction. But the downside of the weather is the chapped and cracked hands. They come almost instantly. Believe me, I have tried all kinds of creams, ointments, white-glove sleeping, liquid Band-Aids, gloves for dishes, and still the pain continues. Where I work, each crib is considered a "room" so we must foam our hands with alcohol foam before and after we touch a baby, and as we go in and out of a mother's room. Disastrous to the hands.

I use my hands all the time, and value them tremendously. The arthritis that has set into my thumbs (from overuse undoubtedly) is disconcerting at best. Add to that the constant cracking, especially in my thumbs, makes using them painful.

So my nighttime routine is lotion, antibiotic cream, and often Band-Aids (that only will stay on at night). I'm always open to new ideas for my cracked up hands.

Good Will Among Old and New Couch Owners

I don't feel at all offended that someone asked if our new couch came from Good Will. It's extremely cottagy and cozy. I even like that the transfer of our old loveseat across the street to its new home, and the arrival of the "bride" both occurred after dark. Kind of gave it an air of intrigue. The uptown girl who owned the couch got very sentimental as it went out the door. Ten years is a long time to sit on a couch. I understand. So I emailed her a photo of her couch in it's new home. "You made my day," she wrote back. That's all on the "bride," but I thought it was kind of a sweet little story. I'm glad I sent her the photo. Above: the bride's old home and new home.

Old Trucks and White Slipcovers

The old truck rattled down the road as we headed uptown towards the city. "No power steering," Spouse declared of the dated pick-up we had borrowed. The wheel was very hard to manage. I came back with, "Didn't you used to drive a school bus?" "Yes, but I think this truck originally had power steering which is now gone. That's a whole different game than just a truck originating with no power steering!" (yes, we are old enough to remember those.)

My lap was so piled high with tarps and old bedspreads and shower curtains that I could barely see the road ahead of us. We were on our way to pick up our new gently-used couch. Someone had taken mighty nice care of the couch I had always dreamed of owning, but never even considered for the cost. Good ol' Craig's list.

Then the thought occurred to me ... here we are at our advanced age still borrowing trucks to pick up old furniture. Has a shiny furniture truck ever stopped with a delivery at our house? I don't think so--the only new furniture we bought was years ago--a couch and chair--which I'm sure we picked up to save delivery charges.

But this is the way I prefer it, really. It's like buying a used car--let the depreciation set in and then go for it. I looked over at Spouse, trying hard to manage the steering, and realized how much fun it's been all these years. There's a thrill in looking and then finding old treasures. Pieces with history who still have enough life in them to make more history in our house. Conversation pieces. Not to mention how much fun it was to see inside the fetching arts and crafts-style bungelow––where our couch resided––nestled under the city skyscrapers (where the young professionals now want to live.)

So I guess that's us. That's who we are and who we will always be. And I'm very content with that.

Cold, cold rain, lots of it. "It's a British sort of day," we say. Time to fire up the kettle and make some hot tea.

Not Your Everyday Green Bean Casserole

When I put a spoonful of Youngest Son's greenbean casserole on my plate, the lima beans mixed in with the green beans were a surprise. "Oh, something new," I suggested. Apparently the full story is that when he went to make the casserole, they were lacking in green beans, so he creatively substituted the limas. We were around the Thanksgiving table of Youngest's Son's wife's family. We decided this might be remembered as the "lima bean" Thanksgiving. Little did we know what more was coming.

A beautiful ceramic centerpiece was opened towards the end of the meal to reveal small envelopes tucked inside, filled with the tithe of a money gift given to our host family. As we each took and opened an envelope, we found an amount of money to share with someone in need. There would undoubtedly be a story for each of us to tell as we put our money to work. "The Gift that Gives Back." Now this would be a Thanksgiving to remember!

Later, Spouse beat Youngest Son in a game of ping-pong. Competitive streaks being what they are in the male species, a second game ensued. As Spouse forgot his age and sprung for a far ball, his body kept going into the wall, hitting his forehead on the light switch. End result: almost-a-dentist son stitching up father, closely observed by dentist father-in-law holding a strong light. A nice even row of six stitches––he did a good job. Now there will be several stories for history to tell about this Thanksgiving, and much, much to be thankful for!

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving
Originally uploaded by podso

The Lord is God; 'tis he alone
Doth life, and breath, and being give;
We are his work, and not our own,
The sheep that on his pastures live.

Enter his gates with songs of joy,
With praises to his courts repair;
And make it your divine employ
To pay your thanks and honors there.

from Psalm 100, by Isaac Watts (1674-1748) in THE PSALMS OF DAVID, written in 1719.

It's the Little Things

I take joy in the little things of life. One of the most exciting things that has happened to me this year is that I got a light put in a long closet under our stairs. It serves as sort of a pantry, and catch-all, and all that in the dark for the almost ten years we have lived in this house. Imagine––great storage, endless possibilities, but only visible with a flashlight or one of those florescent tube lights where the batteries are either falling out or wearing out. Very frustrating.

When an electrician was doing some other work at our house, I asked him to put a mere lightbulb in the closet--with the old-fashioned pull-string. As simple as can be, but the delight it brings me everytime I enter that closet is ... well, amusing, I guess. Now I can really organize, and get to things easily ... just with a pull of the string. I don't think I'll live long enough to stop appreciating the wonder of light in that dark place.

That could be a sermon illustration right there, couldn't it ... how the Light of the world illumines our lives and makes something of them. But right now I'm not preaching, just appreciating one of the little things in my life.

Tea With Milk and ...

I was privileged to be a part of a tea for young neighborhood girls put together by my friend Barbarona. The table was an array of goodies, adorned by ornaments of the fall season. Ten or so girls sat around sipping tea, some of whom were from homes where they face challenges that young girls should not have to face so early in life. So it was a joy to share in a tea party with them, indulging in some of the finer things of life.

Barbarona shared the gospel story with them, and also about the death of her dear friend, Rosie, who used to help with similar teas. Some of the girls remembered her. Then we used rubber stamps, glue, and markers to make Thanksgiving cards for someone special in their lives. It was a whole bunch of fun for all of us.

Today it is a year ago that Rosie went to be with her Lord. My guess is she's had a few tea parties in heaven by now, that is, if she cares about them anymore. I'm thinking that they pale in comparison to being in God's presence, don't you?

can it be?

I'm not great at backing out of parking spaces. It hurts my neck to look around and it seems something is always blocking my view. So I back out cautiously. The other day at the grocery store I looked around and saw nothing in my view and backed out.

"STOP!" A man's voice called out, not too loudly, not too hysterically, but firmly. Where had he come from? And what should appear in my rear view but another car backing out right into mine. The older man waited while I pulled in, let the other lady back out, and then backed out. Like he was supervising or something. Then I didn't see him again, and began to procede out of the parking area. I saw him again near the exit, standing by his car, as if making sure this silly woman could actually drive. So he undoubtedly saved me from at least a "fender bender." I always like to think of these experiences as possibly encounters with angels. After all, it seemed he "came out of nowhere!"

Do It For Me

In recent years I have started decorating for Christmas pretty early. I get it all out in the spare room and do a little at a time. But it seems harder and harder for me to lug out all the stuff and decorate, especially since I am on my own now to do it (though I still try to reign in some of the young folk to trim the tree). And while our house used to be filled to the brim with relatives, Christmas is getting quieter and quieter as babies have come, expanding families, and making it hard to travel and all fit under one roof. So this year it will be just us, an occasional pop in from my mother living nearby, and some in's and out's from our children. Maybe a small party or two as well, since we love to practice hospitality.

So, wondering if I had it in me to drag it all out and decorate this year, I suggested to spouse that I pare it down even more than I already have in recent years. Spouse does not have a lot of great memories of childhood Christmases, so Christmas with our family in our cozy house means a lot to him.

He cut my chatter short. "Just do it for me, only me," he said quietly.

Will do my love, with pleasure.

These are a few of my favorite things ...

... that is––small towns, back roads, old friends, old doors, windows, flowers (especially daisies), little boys (because I had them), my friend's homemade quilts, mailboxes (for what they contain), and tea with all its trappings. Of course there's more. Life is full of favorite things!

It's been awhile ...

... since I was at a college basketball game, but we enjoyed an exhibition one this weekend. The school spirit was contagious. I loved the way they showed an electronic banner of just the eyes of the player doing the foul shot. I decided to become a fan of one of the players and chose #14 because he had the same name--Danny--and is about the same size--as the #14 on our college team. Since youngest son attends this school, maybe its time to more closely follow the team. Gives me something new to root for. After all, spouse was a ball player, so the game has always been close to my heart.