The Little Match Girl

Photo Saved from

surlalunefairytales.blogspot.com

I awoke last night in the earliest hours of the morning as I often do. It is so very silent at that time. So still. A time that sets the conditions for a memory to start as a tiny little light and then floods my mind and enters my heart.

I sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for my robe and put on my slippers to ward off the chill in the air. It was unnecessary to turn on the light as the neighborhood street lamps gave a soft glow calling me to the window. I looked out at the winter scene. The lights illuminated the snow covered roofs and yards and trees and the parked cars and empty roads.  The temperature was still plummeting and I thought how dangerous it would be to be out there instead of warm and cozy inside. The very thought made me pull the robe more tightly around me.

And then in a twinkling I was drawn into the memory of the story of Hans Christian Andersen’s “Little Match Girl”.  It was my very favorite childhood story. I had it read and reread to me by Mother or Dad or any grown up that would take the time until I could finally read it myself.

It was on a night like tonight that the wee little girl dressed in rags and barefoot (because she lost her mother’s shoes that were too large for her tiny feet, while running across a busy snowy street) huddled in a corner between buildings trying to stay warm.  As she looked up toward the heavens a shooting star sparkled across the dark night sky and she whispered as she always had since her dear grandmother had explained, “Oh, a shooting star, that means another happy soul has gone to heaven.”

She had been trying and trying to sell her little bundles of matches so that she could take money back to her family who were freezing and hungry inside their tiny home without food or a fire in the hearth to keep them warm. The people on the street had been uncaring and even rude to her, not giving her the time let alone the small amount she requested for matches as they scurried along to their warm homes that were waiting with a roaring fire in their fireplaces and tables set with luscious smelling food.

She was so very cold and although she didn’t want to waste the matches she finally decided to light just one to see if it would warm her fingers. As she struck the match she saw through the flame a beautiful fireplace that seemed to warm her inside and out, it was so very pleasant and comforting but it disappeared when the match burned out.  She quickly struck another match and this time as the flame illuminated the wall it was as if she could see inside and there was a table set with white linen and silver plates and crystal goblets and such wonderful food!  But again it disappeared when the flame fizzled down and puffed out. Again she lit a match from a bundle and a beautiful Christmas tree appeared within the match’s glow covered in candles to warm her heart and delight her soul but that too faded as the match burned out. Another match sparked into a flame and her cherished departed Grandmother appeared. Oh how warm her hug was to the little girl. But in an instant she too was gone. Wanting nothing more than to see her grandmother again the little girl struck all of the remaining matches and there she was, the beloved old lady. With all of the love and warmth that the little girl could imagine, the grandmother took her by the hand and led her to heaven.  The next morning the people on the street found the little girl with a smile on her face and the burnt matches in her hand. They felt terrible that they hadn’t shown her any compassion.

It occurred to me as I remembered each detail of the story I had loved so many many years ago that these little memories of Dale that awaken me at night or pop into my mind at lonely times are like little matches springing into a warm light that bring me comfort and happiness if only for a minute.  For a moment in time I am walking hand in hand with Dale visiting a castle in Ireland, or walking barefoot in the sand on a Hawaiian beach or watching our sons play baseball, or the magic moment of our first meeting.  Precious little snippets of happiness that keep me warm until the time arrives that he comes for me in answer to my own shooting star.

And in the meantime, I have a dear family that shows me compassion and love and keeps me safe and warm.

I am blessed.

Dreams See Us Through to Forever & Writing Assignment #39

Two years into our marriage we moved into the sweetest little apartment, brand new and I loved it! We couldn't believe our good fortune in securing it as we had just placed on names on what we were told was a long waiting list. The move was a requirement as we were faced with vacating our adults only apartment when we happily discovered we would be a family. We settled into domestic bliss with me setting up a cute nursery and Dale tip toeing around pregnancy hormone moments.  As summer came on in full Southern California fashion, the new landlord assured us that the extreme heat would be taken care of with the powerful air- conditioners in each unit.  He failed to mention that the motors of said powerful air-conditioners were all located on the roof of OUR apartment.  As each apartment turned on their AC we were suddenly living inside an ever beating drum! We quickly understood how we got the apartment so speedily.

To protect our sanity we had to try to find another place. Coming home from work one day Dale found and quickly signed his name on the bottom line of a lease for an apartment without my input…pretty much the last time he ever did anything like that!  It was an old place on Roscoe Blvd. with a large sign in front that proclaimed The Roscoe Arms - Lowest Prices Around emblazoned on a coat of arms. Alas, my vanity surfaced I’m afraid but the price was good (as was so blatantly advertised for the world to see) and we did have a child and the accompanying expenses on the way so I decided to grin and bear it without too much of a fuss. The old brown carpeting was so deplorable that we had it ripped up and replaced with some beige carpeting that was being torn out of a home in Dale’s folk’s neighborhood but in much better shape than what we had. We scrubbed and wallpapered and did our best to make it livable.

It was hot, and getting hotter. The outdated AC window unit was woefully lacking in it's intended purpose, hardly able to produce even the slightest breeze of cool air. I was so very pregnant (over due in fact) but we turned on the radio one sweltering evening and listened to the incredible performance of Neil Diamond’s "Hot August Night" concert playing live at the Hollywood Bowl. We spread a quilt on the floor, as if we were there picnicking with the crowd and sipped on tall glasses of cold lemonade and munched on corn dogs, the only thing I craved at that stage! Well, actually, Dale wouldn’t eat them, he was content with the potato salad, but corn dogs with mustard and catsup swirled together was ambrosia to my taste buds! OK, it’s hard to even type that without a wince now but hey like I said…I was so very pregnant!

With Neil Diamond wailing Pack up the babies and Grab the old ladies -Everyone goes -Everyone knows -Brother Love's show - Halle Halle Halle  I unconsciously dabbed at yet another drop of perspiration on my forehead with my napkin thinking that I was somehow very happy and as I glanced over I saw Dale with a look that registered love and a touch of compassionate sadness. He quickly looked away when he caught my eye.

The very next day he came home with a large, ornate gold frame. His eye had zeroed in on it while passing by a garage sale. And what a frame it was - the likes of which would fit nicely into a hall at Versailles.  He had a mirror cut to fit and it took up the better part of the living room wall in that tiny apartment. It was a gift representing a dream for the future. He promised that one day he would give me a home to match the frame.

A promise that he fulfilled, actually several times over as the elaborate mirror followed us for the next 40 years, being carefully packed and unpacked and strategically placed on bigger and better walls with each move.

Sadly, he and our dream frame are gone now but I find that I'm not willing to say goodbye to many of our remaining dreams.

I have experienced so many little miracles since he died that tell me he is close by and it just feels like our dreams didn't die with him - but are very much alive.  Dreams that I'd like to carry through, not alone but with his help.  As I volley that notion back and forth as to the possibility of it all - a song is suddenly filling my mind and heart. He so often speaks to me through the poetry of songs given unexpectedly at just the precise time that I need them! I start humming the music that effortlessly materializes in my head but I have to go to my computer to do a search for the words, I actually only knew a few.  I listen with my heart as I hear him telling me:

Don't lose your way
With each passing day
You've come so far
Don't throw it away
Live believing
Dreams are for weaving
Wonders are waiting to start

Live your story
Faith, hope and glory
Hold to the truth in your heart

If we hold on together
I know our dreams will never die
Dreams see us through to forever
Where clouds roll by
For you and I

Souls in the wind
Must learn how to bend
Seek out a star
Hold on to the end

Valley, mountain
There is a fountain
Washes our tears all away

Words are swaying
Someone is praying
Please let us come home to stay

If we hold on together
I know our dreams will never die
Dreams see us through to forever
Where clouds roll by
For you and I

I realize more and more that it is a blessing to be alive and with his help I can still accomplish many of our dreams if we hold on together. And interestingly for his benefit as well as mine. When I started this new journey of life without Dale I wasn’t sure how it would play out but as I’m looking at the anniversary of his death getting closer and closer indicating that it’s been three years, it’s clear now that we don’t ever have to say goodbye or stop dreaming. I’m glad to know that now. And I feel him saying that whatever I do or wherever I go he will be here for me, we'll hold on together.

Hear Diana Ross sing the song here if you'd like: 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ASSIGNMENT #39 – A Decade of Living

 Writers…Are you ready to pick back up with the work on your autobiography? I just came upon this precious little poem in the history of my great-great Grandmother as a tribute to her.  It didn’t indicate the author so I can’t give credit but the history was written half a century ago…

No Matter What Else

No matter what else you are doing, from the cradle days to the end

You’re writing your life’s secret story; each night sees another page penned.

Each month ends a thirty day chapter, each year the end of a part

And never an act is misstated, nor even a wish of the heart.

Each morning when you wake the book opens, revealing a page clean and white

What thoughts and what words and what doings, will cover its surface by night?

God leaves that to you, you’re the writer, and never one word will grow dim,

Until someday you’ll write the word “finished”, and give your life’s book back to Him.

Let’s go back a decade from today.  Go back to January 2007 and work your way giving the highlights -with those ever important details, including all of the people, places, things, triumphs, failures, and the general roller coaster ride of life from then until now! 

By now you will have developed your own style of writing, your own voice telling about your own life.  So enjoy sharing what you did and even more importantly, what you learned over the last 10 years of your life. (If children or grandchildren were born or marriages performed – give the names!!! Don’t leave anyone in your family out!)

A Simple Understanding that Opens a Door on a Widow's Journey

“I am a child of God”

I remember the thrill I felt hearing those words in a brand new song when I was 5 years old.

 

We were practicing for the children’s program at church and the chorister, a lovely lady with a soft voice and a comforting smile, introduced us to each line, one at a time. She would sing and then we would sing it back to her.  I loved it instantly.

I am a child of God, she sang and we, the children, sang it back.

And He has sent me here.

     And he has sent me here.  We imitated

Has given me an earthly home

With parents kind and dear.

 

Oh it was a good, happy song I thought.

Lead me, Guide me, Walk beside me.  She said this was the first line of the chorus and we repeated it.

Teach me all that I must know

To live with Him someday.

“Oh…will there be a lot I’ll have to know?”  I wondered. 

We practiced and practiced each one of the 4 verses that went with the chorus until we had every word and every note perfect and she smiled. And we smiled. It was a good song. One that just seemed right.

Weeks of practicing and then it was program day and we were all dressed in our Sunday finest and had taken our seats in the choir loft. People were milling in. The chorister stood before us, tapped her baton lightly on the music stand to get our attention. And in a quiet voice said there was a change in the song.

We were worried.

But she said it was just one word in the chorus.  She said that Spencer W. Kimball had heard the song and loved it but wanted it to say, “Teach me all that I must DO” instead of “Teach me all that I must KNOW.”

We put that thought into our minds and tried very hard to keep it there and then the time came for us to stand and sing our song. We gave a satisfactory performance I felt, although we may have over-emphasized the word DO each time we sang the chorus. But perhaps that was a good thing!

Today, sixty years later, I’m thinking of New Year’s Resolutions (perhaps for the 60^th time) and I realize how easy it is to make the resolutions and it’s actually pretty easy to set a plan for making the resolutions happen!  I know just how I can go about it, I have schedules all prepared, neat little charts and files with info…ready to make things a habit! I have the desire, I have the game plan. And yet….alas it’s January 5^th and I haven’t started yet. And it’s not for lack of trying. It’s as if the engine won’t turn.

Shoot…but I KNOW it needs to happen. So I go with the pep talk...

Just get up and GO…just light a fire under yourself and burn brightly….just throw caution to the wind and try…just DO IT…You go girl…fight, fight, fight.

Wait for it, wait for it!......Oh who am I kidding?  It’s a huge step from Know to Do.

So as is often the case…I decide to research it. I’ll see if someone knows how to get from knowing to doing.

I found this by Leo Barbauta:

You know that you should exercise, and eat lots of veggies and less fried, salty and sweet foods. But knowing something and actually doing it are two very different things.

You know you should stop procrastinating. You know you should watch less TV or go to social sites (or news sites, or your email program) less time. You know you should be writing, or learning that language you’ve always wanted to learn, or practicing guitar, or decluttering your house.

Knowing isn’t the problem. It’s the doing that gets us every time.

In business, there’s a concept called The Knowing-Doing Gap, where companies study all kinds of ways to improve, hire consultants and hold endless seminars, start a new Big Program ever year..but don’t actually change anything. They know what to improve, but don’t actually implement it.

Why is implementing so hard? How do we put knowledge into action? What’s stopping us, and how do we overcome it?

He goes on to say that rather than doing it we usually read more about it, talk more about it, put off doing it, feel guilty about it and then push it to the back of our minds. And when we finally decide to do something about it  - we read and talk about it some more.

Ok…so I’m not the only one.

He believes that the answer lies in fear. 

“Ok” I say…”What am I afraid of?”  And after some good soul searching….I’m not afraid. That’s probably it for many people but that doesn’t seem to be the case for any one of the resolutions on my list.

Gosh, when I look back over the past 3 years of moving on without Dale…I’m not afraid of too much! To quote Helen Reddy:

Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong
I am invincible
I am woman

What then?

What’s keeping me in the knowing zone and out of the doing zone?

The answer came this morning in an unlikely source. An online art instructor who had confided that she not only had and then survived cancer but then discovered her husband was cheating on her and she ended her marriage. But then she had experienced and had found from others who had experienced tremendous heartaches and loss that part of the grieving process was to block negative emotions.  This I knew for a real live fact but then she said something important...that people going through this had discovered that this subconscious blocking of negative emotions, which is very much a part of grieving, can also be a block to creativity. 

Amazingly after responding to her in an open communique of my loss and this subsequent blockage that was causing resistance to dive into my creative plans. I heard from many other art students from around the world who had experienced this same phenomenon following grieving.

I recognized it as a truth right away.  I know that in the name of self-preservation I have had to shy away from many negative emotions as well as from some highly positive emotions because it opens me up to the vulnerability which may lead to the emotional pain that I fight so often. 

But to recognize that this plays a role in blocking the path from Knowing to Doing on my resolutions and/or goal lists is empowering.  There’s nothing wrong with me…its part of the process.  And as long as I see it now, I can understand and understanding bridges the gap between knowing what to do and finally…finally…being able to do it and with a lightness of heart.

I feel a Renewal of spirit. Another milestone. A gift of understanding.

Knowing what to do is important and necessary….being able to start the engine and Do it is a beautiful thing.

 And I smile. It’s good. I've taken yet another step.

P.S. You can hear the famous Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing "I am a child of God" by going to the following link, (Still a good song 60 years later- although they sing it a bit better than we did. LOL)

The Train

The Clickity-Clack...Clickity-Clack of the wheels on the train lulled me to sleep as I was gently rocked, cradle-like, in my narrow bed in the sleeper car. The room was cozy, (translation ~ small), but clean, comfortable and adequate for two ‘thirty-something’ sisters on a journey from Barcelona to Paris and beyond by way of Switzerland and Germany. Mesmerized by the quickly changing shadows on the ceiling and walls as we scurried past little villages I fell into a contented sleep

.

It was coming upon midnight when the train stopped. To our amazement we were told that we were at the Swiss border and that the train needed to have its wheels changed in order to fit onto the different sized track for the rest of the journey. This was amazing and at the same time quite disturbing as I could not begin to fathom how this massive project could be done at all let alone with all of the passengers still on board. I assumed the seasoned travelers were still nestled in their beds but it seemed that most were standing at their windows in nightgowns, robes and slippers! 

But it was done in record time and we were soon back in our beds sleeping soundly, rocking left to right, left to right to the Clickity-Clack of the new wheels for the next track-line. (I understand that this method has been replaced by variable gauge axles now).

A few weeks ago I injured my knee. Oh it hurt!  It hurt day and night, it hurt when I walked, it hurt when I sat, it hurt the most when I tried to stand and it hurt to lie down. Regardless of what I tried or the distraction I created with movies or food or social media my focus always came back to the pain. It ruled my life; it dominated my thoughts and confounded the ability to function normally.

It has healed now, I’m fine and even though it is no longer screaming out for attention, I still appreciate the value of having a good knee!  I'm quite attached to it in fact.

I realized shortly afterwards though that for nearly three years now my underlying mind-set has been the pain of being without Dale. Similar to my aching knee, when I wake up in the middle of the night that emotional raw pain is there in my mind and heart. Or when I finish anything, be it reading a book, watching a show, painting, taking a walk, shopping….you name it.  As soon as the distraction is over my brain’s default falls into focusing on the pain of being alone.  Not just alone, although that has taken a good deal of adjustment, but the pain that continues on unceasingly is being alone without him. I’m not seeking companionship, which would take care of the being alone but it would never take care of the being without.

In the early hours of morning and as my eyes go from deep sleep to wide awake in a literal blink as they so often do, I’m aware that this emotional pain dominates my quiet times. I can involve myself in all kinds of distractions and goals which work but unless I carry it on 24 hours a day those transitions between activities times quickly make my mind re-set to that standard default which is emotional pain.

But to try to fight it or deny these emotions only makes me focus on them more. One cannot simply say goodbye to a 42 year old bond. 

But then I think of that train. I don’t need to disembark from the comfort of the train, the “being the-wife-of-Dale” train; I just need to change the wheels for use on these current tracks. The old wheels having morphed into the painful emotions that are always turning turning turning below the surface of my very existence.  And perhaps, just perhaps, instead of fighting it or protecting myself from that pain… I should just simply release it.  Not release my love for Dale or the memories but release the painful emotions. 

I asked myself to just let it go. And I felt a change come over me. A freedom. I realize that I may be required to release the pain now and again as it crops up unexpectedly until it becomes the standard mind set. Who would have thought that quietly releasing the pain and have it flutter silently away as if on butterfly wings works better than bravely fighting it and trying to force it to stop!

I’ll talk about Dale’s passing now when I need to but without the pain. I’ll think about it when I want to but without the pain. Isn’t doing that like being fitted with new wheels that work on the track of my new default set point? The one of emotional happiness for the time we had instead of emotional pain for what I've lost?

I stopped by the charming little book store in the village yesterday to look for a children’s book I had heard about for my grandchildren.  Pushing open the front door I passed by the little café on the left enjoying the aroma of fresh baked muffins and then past the book loving employee handing a book to a customer; “I play the guitar and also paint” he said, “And I believe that writing is an art as well and this author is the epitome of that” he went on to elaborate the finer points of the book which I missed as his voice faded away as I continued on in my pursuit of the children's nook.

There it was - a delightful little place with colorful books and matching fluffy toys, a table with chairs and a big rocking chair.  I found the book I wanted and sat at the table to peruse. I was aware that a little child had climbed into the rocking chair next to me but I didn’t look up from my reading. 

Then interrupting the quiet, a little voice: “Hello”.

 “Hello.” I answered back.  I turned my head now to see her - She was a darling little girl with deep blue eyes and long wavy black hair. She sat with her legs crossed and clutched an overstuffed purple unicorn up to her heart.

“I don’t have any friends” she divulged with sad eyes and a trembling lower lip. “Nobody likes me”.

I put down my book. “Why do you think that is?” I asked. Captivated by her dark blue eyes.

“Well I did have a best friend but she moved and I won’t ever see her ever again.” There was agony in her little voice.

“I lost my best friend too” I told her.

We both sat in silence for a few seconds.

“Did your best friend move too?” she questioned.

“No, my best friend died.”

“Oh” she said.

And I could tell she knew now that I understood her angst.

She continued on with her woeful story…“So I tried to get Abby to be my new best friend and she just hit me and told me she doesn’t want to be my best friend”.

“Well that’s a problem” I sympathized. “Why do you think she said that?”

“I don’t know!” she sighed. “She pushed me away and when I tried to pull her arm she hit me so I bit her”

“Perhaps she’s not best friend material” I mused. “The thing is, you need to be friends before you become best friends. Do you think if you were not looking for a best friend and concentrated on being a friend that you might be happier? The best friend part could come later.

“Maybe” she said

“Are there other children in your class that you like?”

“No, none of them want to be my best friend so I don’t l like them”

Are there any children who are nice to you?

“Yes”

“If you had a book to write in, could you write down the names of the children who are nice to you? (I've become keenly aware of the power of counting your blessings at a time such as this).

“I don’t know how to spell their names”

“Can you draw pictures of them?”

“Yes”

Could you draw them with happy faces?

“Yes”

She started rocking and I could see she was in thought, so I finished reading my book, but as I was disappointed in it I decided against buying it and said, “Well I’ve finished my book, I think I’ll put it back and go now”

She reached over her shoulder and grabbed a three headed dragon puppet from the puppet tree and as I put the book back on the shelf she said in a pleading little voice, “Can you give the dragon a hug?”

I did, and I told the dragon that I loved him and that I thought the dragon was very brave. I told the little girl my name and asked her if she would draw me in her new friend book.

She smiled, nodded and hugged the unicorn and dragon.

We had both found a new friend.

I walked out of the book store and climbed into my car and as I fastened my seat belt I realized that it hadn’t pained me to talk about Dale dying. It isn't that I don't still love him or miss him, but like my knee - I don't have to be in pain to recognize what's there. I had released the emotional pain of my loss.  Clickity-Clack Clickity-Clack... my journey through life can continue now.

In Silent Awe

I remember those beautiful end-of-summer days as a child at my grandparent’s farmhouse.  I can still hear sweet Grandma calling: “Come sit on the porch and watch the sunset with me!”

I’d scurry out to the wide porch gracing the front of the old home that I loved so dearly. The porch was draped in the green of lush summer vines and I'd find Grandma sitting cozily in a white wooden rocking chair. Climbing into the matching chair next to her, my young legs were too short to touch the floor but even so we would sit and rock ever so slowly, ever so quietly, ever so aware of being together and we would watch.  She’d place her 80 year old hand on my youthful one resting on the arm of the white rocker and we would just watch the miracle of “God signing his name to the end of the day” as she would call the sunset.

With his colorful pen of gold and crimson and saffron and honey we would observe with amazement how brilliantly his signature would appear on his masterpiece, another perfect day.

It always felt like an important time. Those moments shared with Grandma. A Grandma with her memories and a child with her dreams but not now, this was a grateful and non-rushed time. No words, no music, no hustling or bustling.  Just a time of awe.  Simply enjoying the moment.

It was magical and like they say…it’s hard to feel down when you’re looking up.

I’ve strolled through the great museums of the world, lost in the grandeur of masterpieces brilliantly created by artists whose only goal was an attempt to emulate in paint or marble or clay the beauty and power of God’s masterpieces. Be it his world or his children.

The Bible begins with the words…”In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” And it seems to me that he "goes about" each and every day since then attending to it. Every day is unique, every day is important; every day ends with his signature.

Many years have passed since sitting on that front porch with Grandma; the dreams of my youth are my memories now. I feel as if Grandma and Dale are on the other side of the sunset, along with Mother and Dad and Grandpa and all of those others that I loved so dearly in this life.  I’m comforted to know that they will be waiting for me there someday.

It pains me to be without them though. 

I’m left with the pain of missing them as well as the physical pains of mortal life at this age but it occurs to me that my pain, whether emotionally, physically or spiritually turns to prayer.  And prayer turns to hope and hope turns to strength and strength turns to courage and courage turns to peace. A peace like I feel when I watch God sign his name at the end of the day, or…I look out the window now as I type this and it’s snowing.  Quietly, softly, peacefully snowing, pure white prisms, none alike, each a mini masterpiece. And I am in awe.

It's only two days until Christmas and I think again of the Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem” with my favorite line…”How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.”  This miracle of peace made possible by the Savior’s birth.

What a gift of peace is waiting for us when we stop in awesome wonder for just a moment or two to observe one of God’s masterpieces. Especially at this joyously busy time of the year.

My most loving wishes for a happy and peaceful and.....

T'was the Week Before Christmas

T'was the week before Christmas and two little girls, 

one blond and one red (the redhead in curls)

Would giggle and squeal as Dad brought in the tree, 

he added lights and glass ornaments to heighten their glee.

Year after year, the routine unaltered, 

became part of the girls’ stability and comfort.

When the lights were emblazoned their joy became song 

as in harmony the girls sang “Oh Tannenbaum”.

The girls became teens; each Christmas was Merry,

‘til Grandma arrived with a gift – they were wary;

She said it was an angel, but twas more like a fairy,

 its dress made of feathers, bright yellow like a canary!

As Dad opened the box, he gasped (I can’t lie). 

Grandma was so pleased she wiped a tear from her eye.

Dad retrieved the said ornament and with love in his heart 

placed it on top of the tree and turned with a start. 

His eye met his kind wife's and she knew just what to say, 

“Oh Grandma, how lovely, we’re so happy today! 

To have a new angel to bless our tree 

and year after year we’ll remember thee!”

Now Grandma had talents, none other was better; 

she could tatt she could quilt she could knit you a sweater.  

Her ability to cook is memorable still; 

her desserts were legendary and made with great skill.

But once a month dear Grandma became prey - 

to the blessed event they called “Homemaking Day”.

The crafts, a bit tacky– we could not escape - 

popcorn roosters, computer-card wreaths and giant glass grapes.

Year after year, Dad donned the top branch 

with the bright yellow fairy for he wouldn’t take a chance,

Of offending his Mother whom he loved with devotion 

– to use something else could cause a commotion.

The girls moved on, they each would soon marry 

and have trees of their own (sans the bright yellow fairy) 

But they hold love in their hearts for their dear little Grandma 

and their wonderful Dad who placed love before drama. 

Each Christmas they decorate their own pretty trees

and with love and remembrance they fall to their knees

and thank Heavenly Father for the years so divine

when their father created these memories sublime, 

for it isn’t the gifts they remember through time, 

it’s the tree and their Dad and it’s all very fine.

And so to all a very Merry Christmas!

 May your own fir-tree with lights blazing green & bright red, 

be topped with a shining bright star instead.  

Giving praise and glory to the Son and our Brother, 

and perhaps some unconditional love for your mother.

My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

We didn’t bring much to our marriage. Well not in the way of “things" - Love and dreams and happiness were abundant but the sum total of personal belongings carted to our small furnished one-bedroom apartment fit into a single car load. The wedding gifts, which we sorely needed, had been delivered, unwrapped, to our new home by our loving parents while we were on our honeymoon.

Among Dale’s belongings however was a black 3 ring binder. Upon inspection as I put things away, I saw that it was filled with articles from newspapers and magazines about people. People as different as could be. I couldn’t find a connection between them as I quickly scanned the pages.

Intrigued I asked and he replied, “Oh that’s my book of heroes!” And he took the book with a loving respectfulness and showed me each page.  It was then that I found out that my new husband’s first real heroes were cowboys dating from the time he was 5 years old. It was on his 6th birthday that he received a large box among his presents. He said he was so excited, so hopeful, but also so very afraid that he would be disappointed if it wasn't what he'd longed for that he actually waited a few minutes to tear off the ribbon and rip through the colorful wrapping paper. But his birthday wish came true! The box contained chaps, a neckerchief, a cowboy hat, two six shooters in a leather holster and…wait for it….wait for it…..BOOTS...with spurs!  Just like Hopalong Cassidy.

I asked him why cowboys were his heroes and he said it was simple…They were always the good guys.

Many heroes were to find their place in his book over the years. Articles were carefully clipped and urged into plastic inserts and snapped into place. In later years the articles were copied and simply tucked into the binder's front pocket as the binder ring was filled to capacity.

Just last night I came upon his Book of Heroes as I was perusing the book case for something good to read. And it’s clear as I read through the musty old articles collected over 60 long years of his life, that the common thread among all of these people was that they were all good guys, dozens of them, every single one - a good guy.

None of them wore capes, or wielded Rambo-like weapons, none of them had super hero powers.

•   Some were rich financially and did wonderful works of humanitarianism with compassion and sympathy
• Some were poor financially but from their humble situation did wonderful works of caring and helping with compassion and empathy.
•  Some determined a need in the world and created a solution.
•  Some had illnesses but inspired others to live their best.
• Some were athletes who rose through all kinds of trials to succeed.
• Some had Lot-like trials but never lost faith or the ability to smile in order to brighten someone else’s day.
• They were all people who worked hard and had integrity.

And so I carefully and even a bit reverently close the old book and sit back in my chair thinking; “Well this proves it – you become like your heroes”.

And I can honestly say I married one of the good guys.