Due to the fact that I am sick with bronchitis we will be combining memories 6, 7, and 8.    This picture is taken in either 1980 or 1981.

Memory 6: See that little elf sitting just under the bells that are hanging on the wall?   His name is Ichabod and he has been in the family for years … watching for who is naughty and nice.    I think he liked the kids and only took in the “nice” list because Santa always brought them a bag full of toys and no lumps of coal.

Memory 7: The kids got to open one present on Christmas Eve – which was always new pajamas or sweats.    The picture shows the boys in their favorite pajamas of all time:   Warren loved the Rams, Ryan the Steelers, and Brett the Cowboys.    My children from left to right, Warren, Ryan, Brett, Kimberly, Angella.  

Memory #8: The Spinning Wheel:   This is the inside of the box that the children are standing in front of above.   It was made by my grandfather, John B. Matheson around 1956 (my siblings may remember better than I do on this).   Grandpa used to stock it with full sized candy bars and prizes and would share with his neighbors and friends as they went to his house during the holiday season.    When we had our big family party he would stock it with special candy and prizes.   When we would spin that bicycle wheel it would go around and around until it stopped with the “clicker” pointing at a number.    Whatever number it stopped at would represent a kind of candy bar and that is what we would win.   If it stopped on one of the red numbers we got a candy plus we got to pick one of the prizes from the shelves or those hanging on the door. 

When Grandpa passed away his children took care of his estate and when all was said and done, the spinning wheel hadn’t been taken by someone … and I was delighted when I asked for it and it became mine.    I didn’t realize what a responsibility it would be once the tradition was started!  

I would shop for great deals all year long that would work for prizes, and right after Halloween I would stock up on miniature candy bars (quite a step down from the large candy bars Grandpa used to supply).

We would put the spinning wheel up on the 1st of December but we kept it locked except for one night a week when we would let the children have a spin … or unless they talked us into more than that.    I use the word “locked” rather lightly because my children soon learned how to sneak candy out of it in in spite of our efforts to keep them out.

We were all excited to make invitations for the families in our small town to come to our annual open house and we would drive around and the children would run the invitations to each door.    We would bake Christmas cookies and clean our house and the Saturday before Christmas we would have company all afternoon as families came to spin Grandpa’s Spinning Wheel.     It was always a huge success and such a fun way to spread the Christmas cheer.

The last year I worked, 2006, I loaned it to TURN Community Services to be used as an incentive program in their employment day program for adults with disabilities.    You can imagine how sad I was when I went to pick it up for Christmas in 2007, and it was gone.    No one knew where it had been taken or where it was.    And it has never showed up again.   I miss it.

If wishing would bring it back … the spinning wheel would be in my front room, set up and ready for the Christmas Eve Open House once again.    But since it’s not, we can all be grateful for the many, fun memories it created for over fifty years.   Thank you, Grandpa Matheson.

“Twas the week before Christmas, and all through our house

Not one person was pleasant, not even our mouse.

The whole fam’ly was sick, with some kind of flu,

Even PaPa was home having aches and pains too.

And he with his hanky, to catch all the sneezing,

Was trying to help MaMa reduce some of the wheezing.

And Kimmy, the baby, so sweet and so happy,

Had just settled down for her afternoon nappy.

When from her room there arose such a clatter,

We sprang from our sick beds to see what was the matter.

She was jolly and plump, a real cute little elf …

But I gagged when I saw her, in spite of myself.

She was covered with poop from her head to her feet,

And so was her blanket, and pillow, and sheet.

Lynn spoke not a word but went straight to his work,

Since she’d filled both her stockings, she went with a jerk

To the john, and was stripped and put in her tubby,

By St. Nick himself, who looked just like my hubby.

He laid both of his fingers aside of his nose,

As the smell from the child in the tubby arose.

And giving a sigh and a nod of his head,

He sent me to clean up the stuff in her bed.

She cleaned up quite well and and was smelling quite nice,

When I saw Lynn in his work clothes and splashing Old Spice.

And I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight.

“It’s much safer at work.   I’ll see you tonight!”

Well, let’s see now…

     When little Edna was (almost) five years old she was such a true believer in Santa Clause that it was inconceivable that there could be any doubt he existed.    By then, of course, she could remember what had happened the year before and she could hardly wait for it to happen again.

     Edna’s older siblings worked hard during December to fill her to the brim with stories and activities so that by Christmas Eve her excitement level was bubbling over the top.    As her father would say, “She was as jumpy as a fart on a hot skillet.”    Her only sister was twelve years older than Edna, and her brothers were ages eight and ten years older; it was the perfect time to work on Edna’s imagination.    She seriously soaked in everything she was told about Santa, his elves, the North Pole, and Santa’s Toy Shoppe … and it was all vividly painted in her imagination.

      Her brothers told her tales of Santa’s elves and how they jumped from snowy fence post to snowy fence post; how they were so fast that you rarely ever saw more than a blur from the corner of your eye as they ran around gathering notes for Santa’s list.   The brothers knew everything about the elves from the tips of their pointed little hats right down to the bells on their curly little shoes.   They knew where they slept when they were on “duty” and how they would sneak in at night to get warm by the coal-burning upright heater in our living room and sneak little nibbles from our bread.    Bill swears to this day that he saw one leap the high fences that corralled the farm animals who lived down the dirt lane from our home to the barns at the back of our three acre lot.    They would take Edna to the windows of the house and watch for elves, occasionally screaming, “Did you see it?   Did you see it?”   At first, she didn’t … but by the time Christmas came around, she was pretty sure she was seeing them too.    Both of her brothers made sure she understood the seriously worrisome details of how easy it was to get on Santa’s “Naughty” list, particularly if you disobeyed your older parents, your sister, or your brothers.   (This story teller knows it was their way of expressing their love).   

     Ann, was in high school, and Edna thought she was the prettiest, nicest big sister you could have ever, ever … ever wish for and she always seemed to make sure every holiday there was plenty of “sister time”.    She would show her pictures of the North Pole and tell her stories of Santa’s workshop, how the toys are made, and how easy it is to stay on Santa’s “Nice” list.   

      On Christmas Eve, after visiting some neighbors, singing carols together with the family and reading the story of Christmas from the Bible, it was time to hang up the Christmas stockings.    Edna was trying to find the biggest stocking she could among the ones in her drawer but her foot was much smaller than the ones everyone else had found.   Her mother found her sitting on the sofa, arms folded across her chest and a big frown on her face. 

     “What are you doing sitting here like that?   You better hang up your stocking and get to sleep before Santa comes or he will see us still up.   He has to visit every house in the world, and you know, he never comes unless we are asleep,” Mother told the pouting little girl.

     “My stockings are too little.   Santa won’t even be able to give me a big orange and apple in its toe,” she grumbled, holding up her longest stocking, which compared to the others was, indeed, very small.    “That’s what he puts in the toe, because I know.”

     Daddy, who overheard this exchange winked at her and motioned secretly with his finger for her to follow him.   They went around the corner, through the kitchen, down the hall, and into her parents bedroom, which was filled with mysterious shopping bags and lumpy things that were covered with Mother’s table cloths.    Finally, inside the closet, Daddy opened the drawer that held his neatly rolled socks and told her she could pick any one of them.

     “I can?” Edna asked excitedly.   “Won’t Santa care if it isn’t my own stocking?”

     Daddy laughed and said, “No, I absolutely know for sure that Santa won’t care if you choose one of mine.” 

     And so she did.    She chose the longest stocking in Daddy’s drawer and went running happily back to hang it in the living room where five other stockings were already hanging in a row.  (This memory was three years before Reed was born.)

     “Now Santa can fill it clear full,” she thought to herself as she sat once more on the sofa to look at the Christmas room; the decorations, the lights on the beautiful tree in the corner, and the odd shaped stockings hanging on the wall.    She felt safe and happy as she looked at mother’s Christmas Crèche and thought about Mary and Joseph, the singing angels, the shepherds sleeping on the hills with their sheep, the wise men who followed the star all the way to where baby Jesus lay sleeping on the hay.  Her mother told her the story when they would rock in the big, leather rocking chair and Edna knew that Christmas was the birthday of Jesus.

     “I love Jesus,” she thought as her eyes got heavier and heavier until she was sound asleep.     Her Daddy quietly picked her up and carried her up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms that were built in the attic above the kitchen and living room.    The ceilings of the rooms were higher in the middle so everyone, even Daddy, could stand up straight but then they sloped at an angle out to meet the walls on two of the walls before they angled down about four feet to the floor.     To get to the room Ann shared with Edna, Daddy walked through Bill and Chick’s shared room and then he gently laid her down in-between the nice, clean sheets and pulled the covers up and tucked them around her chin.

     “Good night, Babe (He always called her Babe),” he whispered.    “I love you.”

      “I love you, too, Daddy”, Edna whispered back, even though she was already dreaming of elves, and candy and dollies who really drank from teensie, little baby bottles. 

     Morning took forever to arrive for the children in the attic.   There was a firm family rule that no one … and that means NO ONE … was to go into the living room without first waking up their parents.   The tradition was that Daddy would get up and sneak in first in to make sure Santa had come and gone, so he wasn’t disturbed before he was through filling the stockings and putting presents beneath the tree, and then he would turn on the bright, flood lights so he could take pictures of the children who would come down the hall, shortest to tallest, to see what awaited just around the corner.

    The first four or five times that one of the children quietly snuck down to the side of their parents bed to ask what time it was, they were told that it was still the middle of the night and to go back to bed.    The last time, when the boys talked Edna into sneaking down to check on the time, Mommy sat up in bed and said, “Oh come on, Lewy, (that was what she called Daddy) let’s get up and see what Santa brought.

     “It’s 5:00 in the morning,” Daddy loudly whispered as he sleepily sat up and stretched his arms wide as he yawned.     “We don’t even know if Santa has been here yet.”

     “Well, you could quietly sneak down and see,” Mommy whispered  back as she winked and smiled at the now wide awake Edna.    “You go back up the stairs very, very quietly and  tell everyone they can sneak down to our room and Daddy will go see if Santa has come.”

     Edna whispered back, “Okay, Mommy,” and she quietly did just as she had been told.

     The children quietly huddled at the back wall of the hall, shivering in the morning chill, already lining up so they would be ready when Daddy gave the word they could march into the living room.   Shortest to tallest; Edna first, then Chick, then Bill, and then Ann lined up very quietly in the hall and whispered excitedly as Daddy tip toed with a highly exaggerated steps, down the hall where he stood pressed against the wall as he peaked his head around the corner.

     Quickly he pulled his head back and gave a panicked look at the children down the hall, motioning for them to be very still.   Slowly, he flattened his back along the edge of the wall of the kitchen and began to inch his way very carefully and quietly back down the hall to where they stood.  All motion and whispering had stopped and they were dead still as they watched Daddy make his way back to the family, where he quietly patted his chest and breathed in some big gulps of air.

     “Don’t anyone move or sneeze or make any kind of noise.   Santa and the elves are in there right now.    You know what that means.”  Daddy whispered seriously.

     Yes, indeed, they did know what that meant, and Edna tried to stand still, but Ann, and Bill, and Chick kept whispering to each other and getting the giggles.    The coal heater, you will recall, was in the living room and the hall was so chilly that cold Christmas morning that their teeth began to chatter, which made them giggle even more.  Daddy hushed them and said he could hear movement in the living room and suddenly, so could they!   They really could, it wasn’t their imagination!   They could hear faint talking and bumping sounds, and the jingle of bells, and then, just as suddenly, everything was quiet.    They waited quietly for another long minute before Daddy once again crept down the hall alone, just to make sure.

     “It’s clear,” he called as he flipped on flood lights, played soft Christmas music on his new recording machine, and stirred up the fire in the furnace.    “Oh boy, you aren’t going to believe the things that are in here,” he would call out every few seconds.

      “Hurry, Daddy,” we called back as we took our turns in the single bathroom that everyone shared.  Mommy and Ann decided to take their hair out of the pin-curls they slept in and comb it and put on lipstick for the pictures.    It seemed to Edna that it was taking everyone FOREVER!.

      When the excitement was literally bouncing from the walls and ceiling, Mommy and Daddy went into the living room and called, “Okay, you can come now!”

      The first thing Edna saw when she turned the corner to the room of surprises was a row of stockings hanging on the wall … with round, full heels and toes and mysterious bumps with a banana and candy cane peeking from the top.    What a relief she felt!    Santa had really, really come!   

****** 

And that’s where this memory ends because even though our gifts to each other were carefully chosen and deeply appreciated, and Santa had given us wonderful presents, those things are not what I remember most.   I remember the things we did as a family in the days leading up to Christmas; whispering secrets, telling stories, singing carols, hanging our stockings, reading from about the first Christmas from the Bible, and faking sleep so I could be carried to bed.  How fun it was when my father caught Santa in the act, and that we heard he and his elves in living room as we all stood quietly shivering in the hall.   

On the 2nd Memory of Christmas …

“Hey, my name is Alice and my boyfriend’s name is Andy”, Marie Osmond’s voice rang out from the small tape player that sat on the kitchen table. My daughter Angi and her friends Annette and Jenny Hancey had been singing and dancing for hours without a break. Their faces were red and sweaty from their exhaustive dance moves, but they were preparing for a show for the two families and it was do or die.

The boys had given up tormenting the girls and had gathered every blanket and chair they could find in the house to make a huge tent in the living room. It was impressive but I couldn’t help but think about the work involved in getting all those blankets on the beds and back where they belonged. “Whew,” I thought to myself as I eased down on the edge of the sofa, trying not to disturb the heavy pile of books that were holding down the corner of their house.

It was our first Christmas in Ivins and I was doing my best to combat homesickness from the thought of not being able to get up to Draper, Utah, and attend the family parties. The closing costs on our house had been considerably higher than we’d been told and pennies were pinching at our house. Fortunately we had a little bit of a stash put away to get the children their Christmas gifts, but there was no money left for enough gas to get up to Salt Lake City, Utah, and back. We were fairly new in a small town that of people who seemed to be all related and I wasn’t feeling much of the Christmas spirit.

On the first day that the children were out of school for the holidays I decided to let the children have their friends over for the entire day. Well, actually there was a reason for this mad gesture of kindness and that was that my friend, Phyllis, needed to finish up four beautiful Christmas dresses, four Christmas nightgowns, and one nice warm pair of flannel pajama without curious children around. It was the day I’d set aside for baking … so I was willing to put up with just about anything as long as it wasn’t continually right under my nose.

The day before I had gathered ingredients and favorite family recipes and early that morning, in the tradition of my grandmothers, mother, and sister, I began baking up batches of cookies, brownies, and banana bread. I had many fingers in the batter when they thought my eyes were turned, but I figured the heat of the oven would kill any germs that were being passed around. I have to admit, I had my shares of samples as well. I may not have been with them in their kitchens, laughing, talking and stirring while beautiful Christmas music played softly in the background, but my house definitely smelled as good as theirs and I had eleven young children to keep me entertained … with the music of Donny and Marie Osmond blaring loudly in the background. As each mouthwatering treat was carefully set aside to set up or cool down, I found myself singing along with Marie’s, “Paper RoooZes, Paper RoooZes …” as I realized that I didn’t have to physically be with my family to feel the Christmas spirit. Carrying on family traditions and breathing in the familiar aromas of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and chocolate would fill more than our tummies.

So it was time for Lynn to get the turkey in the oven. One by one the children’s eyes lit up and they quickly began to gather around … not because they loved turkey, mind you, but because our turkeys had personality. Well, at first they didn’t. At first they were just a dead old, naked, inanimate bird but as soon as Lynn picked them up and put them in the water to get washed, they magically came to life. This one was from France and his name was Jon Pierre, and he definitely didn’t like to be bathed in a kitchen full of people! He kicked, and tried to get away, and tried hard to fly with his featherless wings, all the while splashing water on the countertops and the kitchen floor. Lynn was able to calm him down with a nice massage but when he was thoroughly dried and ready for his tasty herbs and spices, Jon Pierre burst up once again in a last giant effort for freedom, chasing a screaming Brett and Ryan through the house and almost making it out the front door before Lynn was able to wrestle him back to the kitchen. He may have been one of the feistiest birds we’ve ever met. The children giggled and screamed as Lynn continued to try to reason with our turkey to no avail. Finally, in a last attempt to plead for his life, Jon Pierre sang out in a high pitched, falsetto voice, “Ta Ra Ra Boom-dee-ay, Ta Ra Ra Boom-dee-ay,” while doing the Can Can on the kitchen counter top, but everyone still gave him a merciless thumbs down and our spirited Christmas turkey was placed in the oven to roast. Satisfied with the results, the giggling children went back to their activities and Lynn and I began to mop the kitchen floor.

While the turkey sizzled in the oven I stirred up batches of delicious home-made fudge, English toffee, and peanut brittle. That night after dinner we were to be favored by a program featuring the children and Donnie and Marie Osmond … not exactly your traditional Christmas program but, hey, they’d practiced it. After Christmas caroling we would exchange gifts and read together about the birth of Jesus Christ, surrounded by our new (to be loved for many years to follow) friends and neighbors, the Hanceys.

Oh, and there is something I almost forgot to tell! When Lynn went to lift our beautifully roasted John Pierre from the oven he slid right out of the pan and onto the floor.

Technorati Tags: 12 Days of Christmas Memories,Edna Henke

Little Teddy with the permed, very, very curly hair and the smile that showcased her two missing front teeth, had some difficult decisions to make the year she turned eight.    And for an eight year old, it felt like it was pretty heavy.    It was mostly about Santa Clause.   Some of the older classmates were beginning to whisper quietly that their dads were really Santa Clause.   Edna was, and had always been, a believer so she stood up with her hands on her hips and told them so.   Recently, however, it was getting harder to defend her position, because two of the boys had started to call those who maintained Santa was real … a baby.   Her teacher, upon hearing snatches of their conversations, had taken each little boy by an ear and led them to the corner where she scolded them smartly while shaking her long, pointy finger in their faces.  The boys were sternly warned not to say anything more, but when the teacher was out of the room they would look over at the girls and rub their eyes and act like they were crying like babies.    Edna pulled her eyebrows together and scowled hard at them but that just made them laugh, and she just hated it when they laughed at her, even though Mama told her it was only because they thought she was cute.  

    When Edna asked her two older brothers, Bill, & Chick, if Santa Clause was real she was told, “the minute you start thinking there isn’t a Santa you’re doomed because he’ll know it and then you’re on the naughty list and he only brings you underwear”.     She found that very easy to believe because obviously her older brothers must have done something bad to get on Santa’s naughty list since most of their Christmas gifts were clothes.     Her sister Ann hugged her and said, “Santa Clause is the spirit of Christmas.”

    When she approached her mother with the same question she was carefully told, “All I know is what my Daddy told me when I was a little girl, and that was, ”If you stop believing in the Magic of Christmas, Santa just might stop coming around.  Do you want to take that chance” her mother asked?       No way did Edna want to risk that!  She would go to her grave hanging on to that Christmas magic!   But still, in those secret quiet moments when she was all by herself, sometimes she thought about Santa … and wondered.

     Every year she had whispered in Santa’s ear that she wanted a new doll.    She loved her dolls and had given each one a name.   She now had four!   She’d already begun her yearly job of getting all of them especially clean and neat so she could line them up on Christmas Eve so Santa could see for himself how careful she was with the gifts he’d given her. 

     Most years, Edna’s family chose a clear night when the temperature was well below freezing and they would pile into the old, wood-paneled station wagon and head from Draper for their special ride to the Avenues above Salt Lake City, Utah, to see the beautiful Christmas lights in some of the city’s most highly decorated neighborhoods.   Of course, they always filled the car with nice, warm blankets, ear muffs, scarves, heavy winter coats, and nice thick gloves and they would all snuggled together until they were nice and toasty. Even so, the car’s heater wasn’t powerful enough to chase away all of the nippy, below zero cold, so their breath came out in little misty puffs as they talked.   They laughed when their teeth chattered so hard and fast together that it garbled their words. 

     On the way to the big city the family would sing Christmas carols one after another until their voices were hoarse.   Somewhere along State Street Daddy would stop at one of the places that sold Christmas trees of all sizes for $2.99, and they would all pile out of the car, walking through the trees and examining them from all sides.   It was always Mama who found the perfect tree and then the boys would help tie it to the top of the car.

      Edna remembered last year’s trip when they made a side trip to Sugar House so she could visit Santa Clause where he sat in a little shack right in the middle of streets that cross-crossed in the busy shopping area.   Because it was so cold, the other children who were lined up to see Santa moved through rather quickly, but not so quickly that Edna didn’t have enough time to worry as she inched closer and closer.  She had somewhat the same feeling in her tummy that she always felt on the last day of school when she was waiting to get her paper that would say if she was going to be promoted or held back. 

     As she inched closer and closer to Santa she couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was the year she would be on Santa’s “naughty” list.  What if she waited and waited and waited here in the cold to talk to Santa Clause, and then when it was her turn to talk to him he just looked at her sadly and shook his bearded face back and forth while he slowly told the helper by his side, “Not this little girl.  She has been naughty and I won’t be visiting her this year.” 

     What a relief she’d felt when he’d finally lifted her onto his knees and asked her if she had been a good little girl.   Of course, she said “Yes”, which she quickly followed with the sentence she had practiced so carefully many times in her mind.   “Can I please have a dolly that opens and shuts her eyes and has real hair?”

      By the time she would get safely back in the car and wrapped snuggley in her blankets she was filled with relief and the Christmas spirit.   Not only had she told Santa what she wanted. she was sure she’d talked to the real Santa because just for good measure she’d given his beard a good, solid yank just before she jumped from his lap.   Santa had winked at her and laughed his booming “HO HO HO” as he gently squeezed her ruddy red cheeks.  His beard was real and his tummy was nice and plump and right at that minute she’d had no doubts about Santa Clause.

     But this year, the year Edna turned eight, her family couldn’t make the trip to Salt Lake City.     For the first time that she could ever remember, they hadn’t gone as a family to pick out their Christmas tree.  Somebody at work had given her father a big, bushy pinion pine and now it was glowing in front of the window, bubble lights bubbling and lights reflecting off the colorful glass ornaments mother kept safely wrapped in white tissue paper.   The Christmas tree was fine, it wasn’t that that was bothering her as she looked around the empty room.   Her mother had given her some pretty stationery to write Santa a letter year but that hadn’t been very fun.     Everything was changed this year and it made things not quite fit together in Edna’s mind.   She wasn’t about to say so, though, because it was really close to Christmas Eve and she was on her very best behavior.   

     Two days before Christmas Edna’s mother handed her a soft dust cloth and sent her into the living room with instructions to dust it carefully.    Edna had been feeling anxious and sad all day but she wasn’t really sure why.   She just couldn’t shake off the feelings about Santa this year, and she was starting to feel that she’d already lost some of the magic because of it, and it worried her.    And now she’d been sent to dust the front room again, when she’d just dusted it the day before.   Mama plugged in the lights of the tree and opened the curtains so Edna could see the beautiful giant sized snow flakes that had been falling quietly since the night before.   The flakes looked like they were as big as silver dollars and the trees, and bushes, and fence posts were all evenly covered in a sparkling blanket of white.     Edna watched the as it danced outside the window for a little while and suddenly two big tears spilled out of her eyes and found their way down her face.    It was nice to have a white Christmas, she thought to herself, but not if it meant your daddy had to go to work all night to plow the roads so other people could drive safely.    She would rather have her daddy home where he was safe and warm than have a white Christmas.  

      Slowly she turned to do her dusting and heard the faint tinkling of Christmas bells.  She stopped and leaned her right ear forward listening intently, wondering where the quiet jingling was coming from and a quiet “tap, tap, tap” on the window behind her caused her to spin around and peer once again out into the darkness.   One more time she heard the quiet song of bells and suddenly right there in front of her, peeking in her living room window, was the realest looking Santa of all Santa Clauses.   He looked just like the Santa in her picture book!

     “Ho, Ho, Ho.  How are you Edna?    I heard you were sad because you didn’t get to see me this year, so I here I am,”  Santa said as the quarter sized snow flakes settled on his white hair and red suit.     

     “Santa!” Edna squealed with delight.   “ I can see you!  You are here!   I’m going to go get Mama!” she said as she prepared to run from the room.

     “No, no … I am in a hurry,” Santa called to her.  “There is just enough time for you to tell me what you want for Christmas.”

     Edna turned toward him again, her eyes wide with wonder and a joyous smile that seemed to have taken over her entire face. 

    “Santa,” she whispered through the window as close to him as she could get.   “Santa, are you for real?”

     The question seemed to surprise Santa and he put his chin into his big black glove as he thought for a moment before he cleared his throat and scratched his head.    “Well, little girl, what do you think?” he answered.   “Do you think Santa is real?”

     Edna looked deeply into Santa’s eyes before she answered, “Well, you are here, and I can see you, and there are no footprints out there in the snow … so that is kind of like Christmas magic.    I was afraid I had lost some of the Christmas magic because my brain kept asking if you were real.”

     “Sweet child,” Santa said as moisture pooled in his eyes.    “There is a magic to Christmas but it is not because of me.    What I do at Christmas, anyone could do.    But do you remember whose birthday we celebrate?”

     “It’s when Jesus was born,” Edna answered quietly.    

    Santa answered back, “I would like to think I will always  be in your heart and help you feel the magic of Christmas, but never forget that it is Jesus who has given you the greatest gift of all, not me.    The gifts I bring to you will be gone some day, broken or passed on to some other child, but the gifts He brings, will be with you always.   That is the magic of Christmas.” Santa said as he gently smiled at her.  “That is what you must never lose.”

     Edna stood at the window for a long time after Santa left and she thought about Christmas, and Santa, and her Mom and Dad and the happy feeling that was here in her house.     And she thought about that first Christmas long ago when baby Jesus was born in a stable … and that was when she felt it.   That was when it had all come together like a warm light had been turned on in her heart and its warmth had spread through her chest, then her arms, clear to the ends of her fingertips.    “That does feel like magic,” she thought as she quietly stood and watched the beautiful snow fall into the still, black night.

• So, dapper little man with the cumber bun and the hat made of feathers, if I chose this day to go back to it would be because this was the Christmas when I began to understand that even though Santa plays an important part in spreading the love of Christmas, the real magic of Christmas isn’t Santa Clause.   It is the light of Jesus Christ.   And somehow I knew that night, that no matter what else changes, He will always be there for me..   
• P.S.   I love Santa Clause more than ever now that I as old as he is.

I have to tell you the cutest thing EVER!   I have a semi anti-social cat who has been queen of the roost for over 13 years and a sweet, sort of timid little dog who has been afraid of the cat ever since she came to us three years ago.   Yesterday I was walking from the bedroom to the front of the house and Fresca wagged her tail at me, ran to the door of the utility and laid down so she could look into it.    I walked past her and she came running down the hall and wagged her tail and whimpered a tiny bit and ran back and laid back down in front of the utility hall.    I went to the door and couldn’t hear or see anything so I petted her and walked on down the hall.   The third time she did it I decided there was definitely something about that hall that she wasn’t liking so I went back and turned the light on and listened and to my surprise, I heard FiFi meow from the garage.   She’d slipped out there when the door was opened and couldn’t get back in and Fresca was telling me.      You may not think it was all that cute, but I thought it was awesome.   I love when I can see how animals think and sort through things in their heads and try to communicate with us people.  

I’ve been enjoying my grandchildren a lot the last couple of months since I’ve felt better.     Aren’t grandchildren just the best invention ever?  EVER?   And how blessed am I to have 17 of them?   They motivate me to try harder … to be the best I can be.   

This month had one very exciting thing happen.   One of my dear friends (and her husband) from the past … I mean from the WAY past … came to visit us.    We hadn’t seen each other in probably 25 years and yet, the minute she walked in the door it was just like old times.    Within seconds we were hugging and laughing and that old friendship picked up almost in mid sentence from when we moved from Blanding so many years ago.  I have been reflecting since then how blessed I am to have met the wonderful women in my life who have befriended me.    I have so much to be thankful for.

Still no medicine to stop the advancement of the disease.   That’s one of those “waitings” I was talking about earlier.    It seems to me like the people working on that are moving in slow motion.   They are on a different time frame than I am.    I shouldn’t say that … it’s not the people.  The people have been kind and helpful.  It’s the system that doesn’t seem to care about the person.   But we will keep hoping it will be approved. 

I guess that’s about it … I’m doing a lot of reading and unfortunately, not much writing.   I try to wake up the brain but it’s foggy in there but I will keep trying.  

Yesterday for a little while there were eight beautiful, funny grand daughters here at once.   The five older girls are fun to talk to.   They fill me in on their activities at school and we laugh at silly things that happened in their day.  It’s fun to hear them laugh and talk together as they catch up on their news.   

Listening to the three little ones chatter and giggle as they dressed my magnetic paper-type dolls was highly entertaining .    Abigail has just turned 5, Ande is 3 1/2, and Olivia is 2 1/2.   Here’s how that conversation went.                   

Ande:   “Oh, this one doesn’t have any pants on!   Now that’s gross!   (looks at me in disgust as if it was me who put her away without seeing that she was properly covered).

Abigail:  “But it would really be gross if she didn’t have underwear on.”

Me:   (Laughing with the giggling girls)  “I have to agree, Abby.    That would be pretty gross.”

Ande:   “I have underwear on and I’m not gross.”

Abigail:   “So do I.   I have underwear on.   I’m not gross.”

Olivia:  (Shrugs her shoulders and looks at me with concern)  “Well, I not even potty trained yet.  Soooo …?”

Me:    “B-u-u-t, Do you have a diaper on?”

Olivia:   (Sighs in relief) “Oh … I have my diaper on, so I not gross too!”

Me:    Laughing and hugging my three entertaining little girls … “Thank goodness none of you are gross!”

*****

You know … I might not be on the right “pill” yet, but I do believe in the old adage that “LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE”!

I’m doing pretty well “on the one hand”; that hand being that I am able to go for rides in the car, walk through a store most weeks, have my grandchildren over, read, crochet, use my computer, laugh and enjoy life with my man etc.    And I am very grateful to feel as good as I do have the medical advances on my side.      I am not depressed, which is such a blessing because I have known depression and I would rather cope with illness than that.   Not to say I don’t get down … but I also get up and that is a wonderful feeling.

Now “the other hand” would be my frustrations and perhaps insecurities about all the changes in my life and wondering if or when I will be able to take on some projects again … like clean the heck out of some of my closets or book shelves, or bath and brush out the dog.    It’s frustrating to me to not be able to make the travel plans or to run up to SLC to see family.          I’m still waiting on the PAH medication but I can’t take it unless I get the approval from the insurance company because it is just too costly and I refuse to go into debt to the tune of $4,000 a month.  

There are so many good support groups found through the Internet, both for the person with the illness and their family members.    Years ago I had used another group for a health problem of one of our children.    When you are able to talk to people who are experiencing what you are experiencing it seems to validate your feelings differently and I have found it to be very encouraging.    I also have felt good about, in turn, helping other people who are new to the situation and seem at such a loss as to where to turn first.    For me, online support is preferable to a standard support group at this point in time because that would mean getting cleaned up and having to go somewhere, which is very tiring.   The place I use now is  http://www.phcentral.org.   It is also a wonderful resource for family members and friends who want to know what this disease is about.   There is another great source of help at http://www.phassociation.org.      They have an annual conference that I would like to go to.

I am fortunate because I also have a large family, caring neighbors and friends, and my blog and my new friends here.    Actually, how much better can it get.    When I used to work with people with disabilities we used to help them make charts that helped them visualize dreams to work for and it showed them who was in their support system.   It consisted of a picture (drawn or a photo) of them in the middle and then all around that person would be pictures of their family, friends, coworkers, health care people, school teachers, and coaches.   Around the outside of that would be pictures of the things they want to work for.    As I have been writing this I have imagined one of those with everyone surrounding me.    I suddenly had an epitomy of how it might must have helped them.    It feels like a big warm blanket of love and makes you feel you can handle anything.     Thank you everyone!   Just knowing you are out there is encouraging.    You don’t even have to say anything!

We found this site and I thought, “just how hard can that be”?   The directions were actually written out very well, and if you go to the site you’ll see there is even a video that takes you through it step by step.  The problem?   I zigged when I should have zagged … and I kept zigging in the same spot for over an hour until I almost changed my mind about doing it.   I pert near wore the first dollar clear out by the time I figured out what I was doing wrong.  It’s just a good thing I wasn’t trying to make a living at it because if I’d been paid by the piece I think I’d have starved.   By the time I was finished, twenty hearts later, I was whipping them out without even looking at the directions.   I’d go so far as to say I became a pro.    You be the judge.

I like them this way, where it looks like there is a pretty white flower on the front … but this is how they look with the suggested quarter added …

By the way … for you Granny’s with less grandchildren and more money … you can use $5 or $10 … or however high your income goes.

I shouldn’t be posting this until after Valentine’s Day because I know there are probably four of my grandchildren who will read my blog before then … but in case any of my readers want a cute, inexpensive idea to add to their Valentine treats I have to post it now.    So, Aubree, Curtis, Mikayla, and Kaitlyn … you have to keep it a secret, ya hear.

      So today is my sixty-fourth birthday and Lynn has been singing this old Beatle’s song under his breath all day:

The song was written by Paul McCartney of the Beatles when he was just sixteen years old and it apparently was inspired by his “lover”. I can’t imagine having a lover at sixteen, nor can I imagine that Paul McCartney or anyone else at that age has a clue about getting old but amazingly, it is pretty apropos.   

I was tempted to write a poem about it … “There’s an awful lot of learning on the way to getting old” … but it sounded too much like “A Heap o’ Living” written by Edgar A. Guest.   When I thought about it, his poem pretty much sums up what I wanted to say, anyway.  

      I guess I’ve just been caught up in lots of memories today.   It’s a funny thing about memories because the farther away you get from them, the more they become like treasurers.  The hard times lose their sharp edges from a distance and you begin to recognize them as stepping stones along life’s path.  Each stone and hurdle moves you toward the next stone and the next set of hurdles, and hopefully helps you gain the confidence and encouragement you need to make you better prepared to handle them.     We may start out with baby steps, but right now I’m most grateful for the giant steps in my life.    I’m going to fall back on those experience to help me through the challenges that lie ahead with my health.

      So … Happy Birthday to me from Edgar A. Guest …

It Takes A Heap O’Livin” by Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ‘preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ‘em somehow, with ‘em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumb-marks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ‘em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ‘come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ‘em long ago, an’ trained ‘em jes t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

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