Have you ever plugged a strand of Christmas lights in…

…and they are bright and shiny and glittery and magical, until suddenly they start going out, one by one, until the whole strand becomes nothing more than cheap wire with an electrical plug on one end?

You shake the cord. You plug the cord into a different outlet. You shake the cord again.

Sometimes some of the lights flicker on again briefly. And sometimes they just stay totally dark.


There might be times when you stand in that darkness, feeling like everyone else you know has Christmas lights that work. It might even feel like the whole world is filled with sparkle and twinkle and all you have in your grasp is cheap, plastic coated wire that contains no joy, whatsoever.

If things have been difficult for some time, perhaps the lights coming on at all are really the startling thing. That little bit of glow might feel like a broken promise…or the taunt of a world that seems determined to make the darkness absolute.

Loss. Sorrow. Grief. Disapointment. Pain. Worry. Fear. Expectations. Memories.

One by one the lights flicker out. And sometimes they come on, but sometimes it seems that they just continue until it feels like there is no reason to even look for the plug to try anymore.

Christmas in the dark can be a lonely, isolated time.

I wish I had the answers on how to keep those fragile little bulbs from going dark. I wish I had the reasons that life has to be so difficult.

But, I don’t.

The only thing that works for me is even on the blackest of days, I make myself look outside myself. I’m not saying, “Oh, so many people have it worse than me”. I think I’m saying, “Things are pretty lousy right now but if I let them, all the bad things will corrode these lights to the point that they will never work again.” And that is a risk I am unwilling to take. A possibility my heart cannot afford.

So I will continue to play Christmas music loudly, sing carols badly, wrap presents with too much tape and too few ribbons. I will rejoice in my Christmas cards, and drop jingly change into the Salvation Army buckets and I will hope.

And I will hope that if you are sitting in the darkness, the lights will come a-glow for you as well.

Perhaps if we plug all of our light strands together in a sense of community and kindness and prayer and compassion, we can make this holiday just a bit brighter...


…for each of us…no matter if we are sitting in the darkness or in a dazzling, deck-the-hall room!

Once we take down all the holly and the shiny ornaments and throw away the wrapping paper all that really matters are kind words, thoughtful hugs, and finding joy in small moments…

Deck the Halls with...

Hooray!

Go me!

I am so cool!

I rock!

I'm da man! (Ummmm.... OK, that one was a stretch!)

The good news is...

I am all done Christmas decorating for 2011!

Ta da!

It's true!


Yesterday I decided it was time to take down all the stuff I just put up to make my house feel festive and filled with the holiday spirit and then I realized...

I would have to go out to the frigid garage (Is so! It's been in the 20's at night here in the low desert... so there!)...

...and find all the boxes I just took the stuff out of...

...and put all the stuff back in the boxes...

...and nag ... I mean... ummm.... sweetly encourage ... Mr. Jenny to put all the boxes back up...

...and then I'd have to find all the stuff I took down when I put all the stuff up in the first place...

...So!

I had a brilliant idea! I'm just going to re-arrange a few things and voila! 2011 decorating already achieved.

...

...

Hooray?

Go me?

I rock?

Huh?

OK. Fine. Spoil Sport. You and Mr. Jenny are all kinds of negative at the start of 2011.

Just. Fine.

I'll take the dumb decorations down now.

I hope you're all happy.

But just so you know. I'm not singing any Christmas songs while I do it!

I'm going to be pouty and sulky and naughty and not nice.

It's not like Santa will remember my behaviour after 12 months have passed anyway.

Sigh.

PS. Just so Santa doesn't think I'm a liar, too, that's totally not my house. Mine is decorated wayyyyy better than that.

PPS. OK. It's not. But it could be if I tried harder. And moved. And hired a decorator.

PPPS. Sigh.

I'm not sure how this happened...

...but I swear on all that is holy that just a month ago I had several pair of jeans that still fit.

Now I am down to one pair, and if eat even one more bite of a neighbor's gift of food I will soon have to resort to wearing sweatpants, or perhaps even waddle into Omar the Tentmaker's Dress Shoppe for Ye Queen Sized Women.


I started the season with good resolve. I did. I swear it's true.

But then somehow some tiny, eensy, weensy little bites of the savory crackers and baked caramel corn I made for neighbors made their way delicately into my body. When the neighbors began their Christmas deliveries of 12 pound platters of cookies, fudge and peanut brittle, things went downhill fast. Christmas wreaths made of cornflakes, green tinted marshmallow fluff and decorated with red M&M's seemed kinda/sorta healthy...corn is a vegetable, right?


And from that slippery slope of logic, things got even worse.

I realized Christmas night that I might have gone just a little berserk in the over-indulgence scenario when Mr. Jenny and I had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: Oh gosh. I am out of butter. I need some butter so I can make the breakfast casserole to take on Sunday.
Mr. Jenny: Butter? Are you kidding? You're kidding right?
Me: No. I'm not kidding. And while you're out, can you pick up some milk?
Mr. Jenny: I'm still stuck on the butter thing. How did you go through that entire semi-load delivery of butter that you got at the start of the holiday season?


Me: I don't know. I just did. Go get the butter please. Now. Two pounds should do it.
Mr. Jenny: Seriously? Do you seriously want me to go and buy butter? Tonight? When you had something like 412 1 pound boxes of it in the refrigerator just a few days ago?
Me: Listen. Don't push me here. Go. Get. The. Butter. I'm not screwing around here.

This little, loving conversation did end happily because Mr. Jenny did go out and hunt heroicly to find a store open on Christmas day, and he came back with the butter.

But now that the euphoric rush of Christmas joy and goodwill is dimmed somewhat I am now possibly aware that the 414 1 pound boxes of butter combined with the 32 pounds of sugar and flour and the 23 pounds of chocolate might have somehow, someway not been the very best of ideas.

Sigh.

Sigh.

I'm just tired even thinking about the whole debacle of gaining weight over the holidays.

Next year I swear I am not getting chaffing thighs and a jellied belly for Christmas.

I mean it.

But since Santa already left them for me this year, I should really just finish off this left-over caramel corn. And maybe the last two pieces of fudge.

My neighbors might think I'm ungrateful otherwise.

And this is a time of peace, harmony and goodwill among men, right?

Tomorrow I will do better. I just know it.

But just in case, do any of you have any coupons for Omar the Tentmaker's Dress Shoppe?

Sigh.

A star, a star, shining in the night...

It was six years ago, today.

Our oldest Granddaughter, Julia, was two and a half and her sister, Riley, was just a little over one.

I had gone to babysit as I did three times each week.

The little girls were sick. Their cheeks were glowing and glorious. I remember how pretty they were…red hair damp and curly from their slight fevers.

In the process of sick children, our daughter-in-law had not had time to finish decorating the tree. It sat in the corner bedraggled and sad awaiting finery that had not yet appeared.

I had warmed the bathroom up and put the girls in a lukewarm tub to play. They were quite occupied with bath crayons. Julia was happily scribbling away while Riley attempted to eat the spongey red and blue discs.

Suddenly, mid-scribble, Julia stopped and got very serious, “Gwamma, this is my sad face.” I asked her immediately, “Why do you have a sad face?” and she replied with great sincerety, “No staw, Gwamma.”

I didn’t understand her, so I asked her again. “No staw, Gwamma,” she repeated, blue eyes big and solemn.

“No straw, Julia? You want a straw?” She patiently repeated it to me, slowly, like I was a very dumb adult, “No staw on twee, Gwamma,” then she held up the yellow and blue bath crayons and pantomimed drawing in the air. “Mine color a staw for twee, Gwamma,” she said. She had a little trouble with her pronouns back then.

I got them out of the tub, cuddling their sweet slippery, clean baby chubbiness in fuzzy bath towels. After they were dressed all warm and cozy in their tiny, blue jeans, turtlenecks and slipper socks it was snack time. After half-heartedly consuming a few crackers, Julia started again. “Gwamma. I sad. No staw on tree.”

So I commenced a search for paper, crayons, and glitter which was mostly futile. After much digging I finally found a manilla folder, some little kid’s crayons, a yellow highlighter and some glitter tubes.

We sat at their little table. Julia colored and colored and colored with crayons and the yellow highlighter all over that manila folder where I had drawn a big star for the top of the tree. While she colored Riley ‘helped’ by attempting to eat the crayons and making that gaggy, stick-out-your-tongue face that seems synonymous with trying to dine on crayolas.

Finally, finally yellow highlighter, multi-colored crayon squiggles and a few bath crayon accents completed a magnificent star. The glitter pens were dried up but Julia didn’t care. She thought her star was perfect.

After watching me carefully cut all the way around the outline of the star, Julia looked at me with a solemn face and pointed at the top of the tree. I lifted her up high into the air and after a few seconds deliberation she finally knew where she wanted to put it.

As I lowered the sweet weight of her down her peach soft cheek brushed against mine.


Safely on the ground, she put her chubby starfish hands onto her tiny jean clad hips. “Oh,” she said softly, “Gwamma, is a staw…” and her beautiful round blue eyes just sparkled with happiness.

I will never forget her face in that moment.

I will never forget the glorious satisfaction she found from a manila folder and a yellow highlighter.

Each year since when I place the angel on the top of our tree, I think of Julia and her ‘staw’…

And I am determined to find Christmas in my heart…

No matter how hidden away it seems to be some years..

…
Bless you, my dear friends. You have lightened my heart this year, shared my silliness, shared my sorrows and have offered acceptance and reassurance in an extremely difficult time of my life.

Even when you haven’t known it, there have been so many times you have been the star on top of my tree. I thank you for that and I send each of you the wish and the hope that each of you has a star adding joy to your life this holiday season.

Merry Christmas.

A beautiful Christmas story...perhaps...

So...

It's almost Christmas.

As of Friday night, sadly and pathetically we didn't have our tree up yet. In years past I have put up as many as three Christmas trees (during one particularly obsessive year I actually did four...sigh) but for the past several holidays we've cut back to a single tree.

It's artificial.

Don't be a hater. We live in Arizona. Real trees cost about a gazillion dollars here and I think they're bad for the environment or something. I am all about saving the environment at Christmas, aren't you?

OK, OK. I'll tell the truth. It has nothing to do with the environment and I'm pretty sure trees don't cost a gazillion dollars here. It's just that I've gotten lazy in my old age. There! Happy now?

On Saturday, Mr. Jenny volunteered to put the tree up. I didn't nag. Really. I didn't whine. Seriously.

And I really, truly wasn't trying to manipulate him on Friday night when I told him that when our Granddaughters had arrived at the house after an early release from school on Friday, they had run frantically from room to room. I wasn't sure what was happening until the middle one said, "OK Grandma! We give up! Where did you hide the tree?" Describing the shocked look on her face when I'd had to inform her that it wasn't up yet might have been the catalyst for Mr. Jenny's kind offer.

On Saturday morning, there was hardly any swearing in the living room and after only a few thumps and bumps he came into my office and proudly ushered me out to see his work.

The only problem was he had put up the wrong tree.

The tall, skinny tree purchased for the high ceilings of the living room did not fit comfortably into the lower ceilinged family room.


BUT...

Mindful of the fact that some of you say I am too hard on him...

And driven by the possibility that he might say, "Well, just put up the other one yourself then..."

I kept my mouth shut.

I didn't sigh.

I didn't cross my eyes.

I just said, "Thank you."

Aren't you proud of me?

The end.

...

...

OK, it's not really the end.

Because when we got home from a Christmas party Saturday evening he looked at the tree and said, "Hmmm...that doesn't look right. Is that the right tree?"

And I, in keeping with the generous spirit of Christmas, replied, "No, but it looks good. It is just fine."

"Is it too tall?" he inquired.

I did not reply, "Well, d'oh...all trees are supposed to be bent over at the top like that." Instead I graciously told him, yet again, "It's just fine. Thank you for doing that."

Sunday morning I was doing some writing when I heard some thumping, bumping and swearing coming from the family room. I did not investigate. I thought perhaps Mr. Jenny had found one of my old Richard Simons 'Sweating to the Oldies' VCR tapes and was trying to surprise me with a six-pack for Christmas.

More thumping and bumping...a few more swear words...

A six-pack! What fun that would be. I gave him his privacy.

Finally, he came into my office all sweaty and red-faced. Richard Simons! I knew it!

But instead of showing me his well muscled abs, he said, "Come with me." I followed him to the family room where the correct Christmas tree had been assembled. The skinny, too tall tree was gone.


Gosh.

I was a little surprised and not disappointed at all that I wouldn't be getting a six-pack for Christmas.

Instead I got the perfect tree. From the perfect husband.

And besides. If he had gotten a six-pack for Christmas then I would have had to get one as well.

And to be honest, I think I might have missed our jelly bellies.

In fact, I'm certain of it. Without them I'm not sure if we could fill out our Santa and Mrs. Claus suits correctly?

I am signing out from this beautiful Christmas story post with a...

HoHoHo...

...and a sigh...

Sigh.

Can you keep a secret?

I mean seriously. Don't tell Santa I said this.

But I am really annoyed with his elves.

Not a fan.

Sure they look all smiling and happy and helpful...

..but frankly I'm getting sick of being fooled by those sweet looking little faces. I tested the rumor, yet again, that they are helpful and kind and jump right in to help with any and all chores.

A few days ago I started getting out my Christmas decorating stuff (pictures are blurred to let me maintain a teeny, tiny bit of my pride...sigh) and I deliberately left a big mess just so the elves would feel needed.


Ya know? I was just trying to do my part to help build their confidence because I read somewhere that elves have notoriously low self-esteem...being so short and all...

Just trying to do my part as a compassionate, caring, non-elf-discriminatory type person and all.

And what do they do? They obviously just came over and hung out in the living room, probably found the wine fridge, maybe found the hidden bag of hershey kisses...

They just did absolutely, totally, zero in the help department.

And I'm disgusted.

But since I am all fair-minded and everything I'm willing to leave the mess up just one more day to give them a chance to redeem themselves.

Sigh...

You can go to the link to all 7 Giveaways if you want to enter one last time by just clicking here. I shall sit down with a big ol' tumbler of whiskey ... ummm.... I mean a glass of ice water ... and ask Mr. Random Integer to help me do the first five drawings tonight! Good luck to you all... and to all a good night.

How someone with ADD un-decorates...

...I'm thinkin' this is pretty much how it would go...

Not that I know for sure...

...but let's just say for instance...

That person...whoever he or she might be would...

Go to take the ornaments off the tree and one would roll under the couch...

And then it would be icky under the couch so they would have to get a broom and dustpan from the garage...

And that part of the garage would be kind of messy so they would take a moment to tidy it up and while they were tidying they would see a bag with a bunch of little kid stuff that they had taken out of the car and forgotten to put away...

So they would have to sort that out and go to put all the little kids books and art supplies away...

And in the process they would see that the rest of the kids books were all messed up...

And in the midst of the books they would find some coloring books which are obviously not supposed to be there...

So they would take the coloring books to the art supply stuff where they would not only find the new stuff they just left there from the garage but also a mess in the old stuff which would require tidying up and they would also find several pairs of little girls socks that would need to go to the laundry room...

Where there would be a load of laundry reading to go into the washer and another load ready to be hung out to dry...

And after they hung out the clothes...

... they might realize that they were getting tired so they would go make themselves a cup of tea and then go lay on the couch with it to watch a re-run of Iron Chef...

And then their significant other would come out to the living room and say "gee, I thought you were taking down the tree."

Hmmm....

I'm just saying that technically something like this could happen to someone who may or may not have ADD.

Sigh.

OK, you know how some people

...don't like you?

And you have to act all cool like you don't care that they don't like you even though you really do?

And you act all tough pretending it doesn't matter to you one way or the other because you can totally take them or leave them?

How do you learn that?

Because I am need of that particular skill at this particular moment.

And it's because of Pioneer Woman.

I'm trying not to be a hater here...I'm all filled with glee over her big success an all...

...but I don't understand why she doesn't like me.

I tried and I tried and I tried to win her Christmas giveaways. Each day I went out there with the other 20,000 people or so and put up my little comments, confident that each and every day would be my day to win.

But was it?

Noooooooooooooooo...

I mean, seriously. The last drawing there was only like 15,312 people and did I win?

Noooooooooooooooo...

She doesn't like me, I tell ya. I don't know why. Really. I'm fun. I'm clever. I can channel vintage TV personalities (not sure who, actually, but I know I could if I put my mind to it!).

I think perhaps she feels threatened by me...after all I put up so many amazing recipes. Who can forget my recipes for snacking almonds...or my stupendous recipe for dulce de leche!

Yea, that is definitely the reason.

But somehow it's not making me feel better.

I had planned to use one of my Borders gift cards from Christmas to order this... But now because PW doesn't like me I will have to order this instead... And somehow that just doesn't seem fair.

Cool recipes or learning how to deal with rejection?

Really, I am so sad I have been forced to this decision.

But I need to find a way to cope with the obvious dislike she has for me.

Because if I can't...

I will continue to eat all the Christmas sweets...

And soon my fingers will be too fat to even type an entry into a PW giveaway...

Not that I would even enter again in a million years...

Because when people don't like me I don't like them either.
.
.
.
.
.
.
oh...and, by the way, she's not having a giveaway today.

Not that I checked.

Sigh.

Please...I'm begging you...

...or threatening you...

...or whatever it takes...

Yea, I'm gonna go with the threats.

Sorry but I'm feeling violent.

Consider yourself warned.

We have traded in our meek little weiner dog for this... AND...

...we haved protected our front door and windows from you by doing this... AND...

I am now officially begging you to please... BECAUSE...

Whoever left the new batch of cookies and the homemade peach preserves on my front step...listen...really...please...

I know you are lovely and sweet and all that blah, blah, blah...

...but I'm in serious risk of a sugar coma here and ...

What's that?

What did you say?

Willpower? Self restraint?

Ummm.... well, yea, there certainly is that as an alternative...

...I think.

Just let me know where you found yours cuz, honestly, I must have missed that sale.

Sigh.

On the day after Christmas....

...but first...the prelude.

On the twelth day before Christmas,
My neighbor brought to me
12 pieces of toffee
Which to be polite I had to quickly eat.
On the eleventh day before Christmas
I received in my morning mail
11 festive fruitcakes
which I ate and still lived to tell the tale.
On the tenth day before Christmas
I found by my front door
10 pans of fudge, thank goodness
there wasn't 11 cuz I couldn't have eaten any more!
On the ninth day before Christmas
I waddled to the table
To find 9 bowls of hershey kisses
which I ate to please my favorite cousin Mabel.
On the eighth day before Christmas
My husband said "oh ick,
please eat these 8 banana breads
Because frankly I feel sick!"
On the seventh day before Christmas
A box came UPS
Containing 7 sugar cookies
Which put my sweet tooth to the test!
On the sixth day before Christmas
My Mother brought to me,
6 pieces of peanut brittle
which she made me eat right beside the Christmas tree.
On the fifth day before Christmas
I ATE FIVE GOLDEN REESES!
On the 4th day before Christmas
My daughter said to me
"Mom, I'm coming over to bring you
4 special Christmas sweets!"
On the third day before Christmas
I had a terrible stomachache,
But then my son showed up
with 3 special Christmas cakes!
On the second day before Christmas,
I was feeling slightly frownie,
When my very sweet nephew Tom
brought over two big pans of brownies!
On the last day before Christmas
I was in a sugar coma
When our dear friends Steve and Cyndie
Brought us a bag of Christmas donuts!
On the actual day of Christmas
my mouth said to my eyes
I'm sure it's not gonna hurt to eat
just one more piece of pie!
Sigh.

So now, on the first day after Christmas
My jeans say to my tummy,
"Time to get on a diet,
eating Christmas cheer ain't funny!"
Sigh. But not too big cuz I can't really exhale very far at the moment.

Accckkkk!!!!!!

PS I just cracked up when I went to one of the blogs I follow cuz here's what Julie posted!

I'm thinking of filing for divorce....

...sure, I've been all deep and thoughtful in the days leading up to Christmas trying to impress you all with my tear-provoking prose.

But this morning I just gotta be real for a few minutes.

Hope you don't mind if I vent here.

And really, what are bloddies (blog buddies) for?

So here's the conversation.

It's not gonna be pretty, though, and I'm sorry to subject you to this on Christmas morning (oh yea, Merry Christmas, BTW, but sorry this is all about me, me, me at the moment)

Ready?

Take a deep breath.

Steve: Quit wiggling, go back to sleep.
Me: I can't.
Steve: Seriously, Jenny, it is only like 4:30 am
Me: Sorrrrrry.
Steve: Merry Christmas now go back to sleep.
Me: I can't.
Steve: Well I can't sleep if you're so wiggly. Really, you are like a little kid.
Me: Well, maybe we should just get up then.
Steve: I need to sleep a little longer.
Me: Well, maybe I'll just go out and watch Martha for awhile.
Steve: No, you're gonna poke around at your presents.
(We had a fifty dollar limit for each other this year and our goal was to buy the most amount of presents for that money...we do weird stuff like that usually)
Me: Well, there is a big pile.
Steve: Jenny! Go back to sleep.
Me: Well, I can't. I'm getting up.
Steve: OK, but no shaking presents.
Me: Oh?
Steve: And no touching presents.
Me: Oh?
Steve: And no poking presents.
Me: Oh.
Steve: And no opening your stocking stuffer box until I get up.
Me: (silence)
Steve: You were going to open that without me weren't you?
Me: (silence)
Steve: Jenny?
Me: Ssssshhh....I'm trying to go back to sleep.
Steve: sigggggggghhhhhh

What do you think? It is now 6:49 am and he is still not up.

I'm gonna have to go "accidentally-on-purpose" slam the bedroom door or something.

It won't be my fault if I trip over the dog or my slippers.

Right?

That would be OK, right?

Cuz, seriously.

I am not getting any younger here.

Sigh.

I'll have to say Merry Christmas in a song...

..and since very few people ever hear the actual songs I write I'm gonna use a wayyy better songwriter to wish you a Merry Christmas.

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas and a silent night.

I NEED A SILENT NIGHT - by Amy Grant

I've made the same mistake before
Too many malls, too many stores
December traffic, Christmas rush
It breaks me till I push and shove

Children are crying while mothers are trying
To photograph Santa and sleigh
The shopping and buying and standing forever in line
What can I say?

I need a silent night, a holy night
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night

December comes then disappears
Faster and faster every year
Did my own mother keep this pace
Or was the world a different place?

Where people stayed home wishing for snow
Watching three channels on their TV
Look at us now rushing around
Trying to buy Christmas peace

I need a silent night, a holy night
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night

What was it like back there in Bethlehem
With peace on earth, good will toward men?

Every shepherd's out in the field
Keeping watch over their clock by night
And the glory of the Lord shone around them
And they were so afraid

And the angels said fear not for behold
I bring you good news of a great joy that shall be for all people
For unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord
And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace

I need a silent night, a holy night
To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise
I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here
To end this crazy day with a silent night
To end this crazy day with a silent night

This is the end...

…of the innocence.

If someone ever made a very, very boring movie of my life that would be the soundtrack for the story I am about to tell you.

I was seven years old.

My sister was eight.

She was worldly and knew what was what. And she knew what she thought I needed to know.

And she thought I needed to know there was no Santa Claus.

Sure, I had heard a few things from kids at school but I was working hard back then at developing the skill of sticking-my-head-in-the-sand which would serve me well even until this day.

To make me pull-my-head-from-the-sand, my sister came up with a plan that was going to prove to me once and for all that “no Jenny. There is no Santa Claus.”

The plan involved a stack of presents that she found in the back of my parents closet.

This stack of presents had our names written on them in ink right on the tape on the wrapping paper.

How my sister figured this out I have no idea.

But she did. And she decided it would be a good thing to show me. Our next younger sister was too little and could be a potential risk of blabbing so she wasn’t included in this momentous plan of anti-Santa revelation.

I have it in my memory that my Mom was busy in the kitchen when my sister and I snuck into her room. From the depths of the closet my sister brought out a bounty of eight boxes. Four with each of our names. She cleverly slit the tape at the end of the package and very, very carefully shook out each shiny, white gift box.

And then she very, very carefully opened each box to reveal the tissue wrapped contents.

I saw a sweater for me. And some socks. And some books. And a Barbie doll with a black and white swimsuit.

And I don’t remember at all what was contained in her four boxes.

And after we looked at each item my sister very, very carefully put each box back into the wrapping paper sleeve and retaped it in the exact same spot and put them back in the closet.

My heart was pounding. I felt sick. And I felt sure that this would only prove that our parents bought SOME of our Christmas presents and that SANTA brought others. My sister laughed at my theory. But I continued to believe this.

Until Christmas morning when the tree had four boxes underneath with my name. I unwrapped each item slowly…with great dread…to see a sweater and some socks and some books and a swimsuit clad Barbie doll. And nothing else.

There were some things in my stocking but I was too heart-broken to care.

All day I felt sad and sick. And my heart hurt with that heavy ache that comes from reality thumping you firmly on top of the head.

This was the first time I felt that ache. And it would certainly not be the last as I discovered that innocence ends and that unsticking-your-head-from-the-sand could sometimes cause a lot of pain.

I don’t remember anything else about that Christmas.

I do remember, though, that the next year I firmly declined my sisters offer to preview presents. I didn’t want to see. I wanted to pretend that everything was the same.

But it wasn’t.

And it really never, ever was again until the day I had my own children and I watched their amazement and joy warm my entire universe as they saw the blazing tree on Christmas morning stacked high with possibilities and promises. That lovely, glittering tree surrounded by boxes containing simple wishes that could make their lives perfect for that single moment of time.

So I learned that filling someones simple wishes brought Christmas to my heart. And the ache was finally gone and Christmas found me once again.

And I found that Christmas always came with the giving.

Whether the giving was filling a wish for a warm coat or whether the giving was merely take the time to listen.

Whether the giving was to my child, or my child’s child, or the child of someone I had never met.

And each year Christmas came and went as it has since the beginning.

And each year it came back, magical and sparkly, as long as I was willing to make the effort to share and give honestly of myself.

Some years I find it hard to give.

I find it hard to step outside of the troubles in my life to look beyond me.

And on those particular years what I have learned is that is the time I need to dig deeper. To reach into the depths of pain or disillusion or illness or fear because it is when it is the hardest to give of myself …

…is always the time when I truly, honestly find Christmas glowing the warmest in my heart.

Can I show you Christmas?

Technically her name is Riley, and she is our middle Granddaughter. Our dreamy, sweet, heart-driven, lovely Riley who is six years old. And who has one of the kindest hearts I've ever been around. Although she is wearing a pink and white dress and is holding a puppy in this photo, that's not why she is Christmas.

She is Christmas because of this drawing. And many others like it. Espcially because of who she has been drawing them for.

But I think for me it is this drawing in specific that whispers Christmas into every particle of my being. May I tell you about this picture?

This picture is drawn for a wonderful man who is suffering from so many awful things it would take me an hour to tell his tale. He is the son of one of the most loving friends I have.

This picture was drawn at Riley's own initiative. When she saw an envelope on my desk and asked who it was for and I told her "Mike" she immediately ran for the colored pencils.

This picture was drawn with two legs because Mike has had one amputated and Riley says he wants to see himself the way "his heart wants him to be."

This picture was drawn with the two of them getting onto an airplane because Mike goes back and forth between bedridden and the ICU unit at the hospital and Riley says he wants to see himself going on a trip. With her. To Disneyland.

One morning several weeks ago Riley was here in my office actually drawing a picture to send to Mike when my friend called to tell me her husband had suffered a stroke. All this in addition to dealing with the sadness and medical horrors that encompass every single moment of their life.

Riley listened to my conversation and then looked up at me to ask "Grandma, who is Bob?"

I replied "sweetie, that is Mike's Dad and he is very, very sick now, too."

And Riley said to me "oh boy, Grandma, I have a lot of drawing to do here."

And went to get another piece of paper.

Did I say that this picture whispers Merry Christmas to my soul.

It doesn't. It shouts "Merry Christmas!" to every atom that makes me who I am. It makes my heart swell with carols and pride and love and certainty.

Certainty that because this little girl exists there is still hope and love and joy and possibility and kindness in a world that sometimes feels otherwise.

And Mike, I hope this dream of walking sturdily and confidently onto an airplane to take a trip to somewhere wonderful soothes your soul and eases your pain for just a moment.

And Riley? Sweet, sweet girl.

Merry Christmas.

I wasn’t dreaming of a “White Christmas”…

Probably because we were living in Montana at the time and we already had lots and lots of snow to play in.

My father was stationed at Malmstrom AFB and I was a Brownie.

And even though I wasn’t dreaming about snow I was, however,spending a lot of time dreaming about the Brownie Christmas gift exchange…an exciting concept for almost-seven-year-old-me.

For the gift exchange we were supposed to buy a present for a girl. It was supposed to be a dollar gift, a sum that seemed like a fortune to me at the time.

I shopped for my gift with great and serious intent. I tried to choose but it was so hard. What gift to purchase for this momentous event?

I finally decided on a little doll. She was awfully cute. Little plastic molded on hair, a little plastic heart-shaped stand for her little plastic feet to slide in.

Oh, she was a beauty.

And I could scarcely contain myself in the days leading up to the Brownie meeting.
But finally the day arrived and my Mom left me at the meeting. Our Brownie leader carefully affixed little numbered slips of papers with scotch tape to each gift. I handed her my gift proudly. Did I mention the little molded on high heels the doll was wearing?

I was hoping that Susan would get my little gift in the exchange. I really liked Susan. She had long, curly brown hair and a gap-toothed smile and I was certain we would be best friends forever.

The meeting and the craft and the refreshments dragged on and on and on and on.
It felt like forever to almost-seven-year-old-me.

But the moment finally arrived and we all drew little folded-up pieces of paper from a shiny, green plastic bowl . The number on your slip of paper told you which gift you would receive. I got number 8.

The Brownie leader handed out the gifts. Number 8 was a box wrapped in red Santa Claus paper. There was a little red curling ribbon bow tied jauntily around the box.

I could hardly contain my excitement.

But I did.

I watched each Brownie open up her gift. What riches! There were some Christmas coloring books, one girl got a big box of crayons, there were barrettes and a hairbrush shaped liked Santa Claus. After each gift was opened the giver would proudly say “I picked that out!”

My gift finally got opened and although Susan didn’t get that number, the Brownie who received it opened her eyes wide in excitement. She fingered the little molded on hair and her mouth made a little “O” of enthusiasm. “I picked that out!” I told her proudly.

Finally it was my turn. I was almost last so it seemed like I had been waiting forever.

I carefully un-wrapped the Santa Claus paper.

I lifted the lid off.

Oooh. Tissue paper. I had tissue paper in my box. It was white and rustly.

All the little Brownies gathered around the box to watch me fold the paper back carefully.

And there on the tissue was a set of three little girl white panties.
I looked again.

Surely this could not be correct.

Surely someone did not give me UNDERWEAR for the Brownie gift exchange.

But someone did.

We all just sat and looked at the underwear for a minute. Or ten minutes. I’m not sure but it felt like an eternity. My Brownie leader tried to be enthusiastic, “oh my, now you will have some nice new underwear for Christmas, Jenny!” but I have to be honest that my joy didn’t match her perky, happy voice.

I wanted to cry.

But I didn’t.

No-one spoke up and said “I picked that out!” so I never knew who actually gave the gift of underwear.

The final two girls opened their little gifts and neither of them received underwear. I don’t remember what they got but I’m certain it wasn’t white and stretchy.

And I’m certain that the song “White Christmas” wasn’t written for a brown eyed Brownie who got white underwear in a gift exchange but this is often what pops into my head when I hear this song…

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
with every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your gifts of underwear be white.”

Sigh.

I know you're busy with Christmas, but could you please run by Home Depot...

...and buy me a 2 x 4?

...and then, if you could spare just a teensy moment more could you whack me alongside of the head with it?

I'd really appreciate it.

Why?

Because I am an idiot.

Several months ago my daughter-in-law and I went to K-mart and put stuff in layaway.

I haven't attempted layaway in about 138 years but it seemed like a good idea because a) my granddaughters wouldn't find everything and b) my husband would have less sticker shock if the payments were spaced out.

OK, here's the problem with doing layaway at my age.

Actually that should be PROBLEMS!

First of all who the heck can remember what they got? Sure I had a 17 1/2" long receipt but that would be too much work to read it and try and remember.

Second of all because of the first reason I pretty much went out and bought all the stuff I put in layway anyway.

And third of all, there is this major reason... Oh yea. Big time.

Every single time I've tried going in there the line looks pretty much like this. Only no-one is smiling. And there are a lot more kids with runny noses in line.

So I tried asking the girl at the service desk when would be the best time to come. And she replied "oh between 3:00 pm and 3:01 1/2 pm but only on days that start with the letter T" or some such nonsense.

So I've been waiting and stewing over the whole depressing K-mart layaway fiasco.

Until this morning.

I woke up around 6 and I said to my husband "that's it! I'm going to go to K-mart as soon as they open and get my layaway stuff." He was oddly unimpressed by my brilliant idea. And less impressed still when I turned on the light.

Obviously he did not read our marriage contract rules that state quite clearly "If my wife is awake I will immediately awaken and do her bidding."

When I called K-mart I said "what time do you open?" and the cranky lady said "we open at 6 am" and I said "so are there people in line for layaway" and she said "honey, there isn't even anybody in the entire store."

Yee haw!

I threw on some clothes, threw in my contacts and headed for the big K.

Although I didn't see any blue lights flashing during my mad dash back to the layaway department I actually didn't see anyone else either. Maybe two employees.

And all the chairs and benches lining the hallway leading up the layaway counter were empty. The layaway girl was reading a magazine!

And I got my layaway in something like 15 minutes.

And since they have to check off each item against the receipt I made piles of stuff to return because I had already bought something like it. Or because with several items I actually thought "who the heck did I even buy that for?"

I returned more then I kept.

And then bought the stuff I thought I had bought the first time.

Hmmm...

Are you confused now?

No matter.

Just take my advice here.

When you go by Home Depot to pick up the 2 x 4 DO NOT PUT ANYTHING IN LAYAWAY.

It is just not worth the suffering.

Sigh.

Listen...can you keep a secret?

I mean seriously. Don't tell Santa I said this.

But I am really annoyed with his elves.

Not a fan.

Sure they look all smiling and happy and helpful.....but frankly I'm getting sick of being fooled by those sweet looking little faces.

I tested them, yet again, and I swear this is the last time.

I started getting out my Christmas decorating stuff (pictures are blurred to let me maintain a teeny, tiny bit of my pride...sigh) and I deliberately left a big mess just so the elves would feel needed.
Ya know? I was trying to do my part to help build their self-esteem because I read somewhere that elves have notoriously low self-esteem...being so short and all...

Just trying to do my part as a compassionate, caring, non-elf-discriminatory person and all.

And what do they do? They obviously just came over and hung out in the living room, probably found the wine fridge, maybe found the hidden bag of hershey kisses...

They just did absolutely, totally, zero in the help department.

And I'm disgusted.

But since I am all fair-minded and everything I'm willing to leave the mess up just one more day to give them a chance to redeem themselves.

Sigh...

Week 10 of Red Writings 12 weeks of Christmas!

OK, this week we are supposed to write about Christmas parties! But I haven't given any yet or even gone to any.

I wonder if it's my poor table manners?

Hopefully there will still be a party or two in my immediate future but I'm gonna have to cheat a bit here and go backwards in time to share two of my favorite party ideas with you. Gotta warn ya, though, there are lots 'o pictures so you might want to get comfy.

The first is a graham cracker house making party. Hey, we're lazy and gingerbread can be really hard to work with! We found out, though, that graham crackers (get the cheapest ones) can be heated in the microwave for about 30 seconds and then they become soft enough you can use a serrated knife to cut the roof angles without breaking them.






This other little party idea is a progressive dinner party we have with a small group of Master Gardener friends. We're supposed to decorate our table with things from our gardens and since roses and citrus are so plentiful in December that's what I used. I think it turned out quite pretty.


And those are my two party ideas!

If you want to read about other parties check out Red Writings McLinkey for this event by clicking anywhere on this long, dragged out sentence!

And the drawing for the lemons will be mid-afternoon tomorrow. My little name drawer is at pre-school until 1:30 tomorrow but I'll have everything ready for her when she comes home!