Shhhhhhhhh... I Think Spring Is Just About Here

What the Robin Told

I believe this to be a Rose of Sharon

     The wind
     told the grasses,
       And the grasses 
       told the trees. 

         The trees
         told the bushes,
           And the bushes
           told the bees.
             The bees
             told the robin,
                And the robin
                sang out clear: 

Wake up! 

Wake up! 

Spring is here!  

(Unknown)

Hummingbirds love the flower of the honeysuckle.

Irises...and just about five feet from this is a little hen who escaped her confinement
and is now setting on a nest.
She sees me but I don't see her...
but I shall gather her egg this evening. 

Flax...A bouquet of beautiful blue flower petals last but one day
only to be reborn the next morning

Oriental Poppy.  Beautiful flame-red color with purple lavender

One lonely little tulip.  The chickens--free ranged--dug up all the crocus
and many of my tulips.
Sometimes weighing which I want--eggs or my flowers--is a hard, hard decision to make.

Daffodils are blooming in the Willamette Valley.
This is a promise that Spring is on its way to the high desert.

And peeking out of the Earth is this peony.

To Hell and Back...Travelling the Santiam Pass

On February 7, 2015 Gene persuaded me to go to the Oregon Lavender Association meeting in Mulino, Oregon.  "No!  I don't travel well," I stated, rather emphatically...several times.  I am most happy in my home sewing or doing needlework or outside playing in the garden or lavender, anything but getting on the highway with the IEDs (Identifiable Empty-Headed Dingdongs).  I don't like facing oncoming traffic which is hurtling towards me at 90 miles an hour texting to their BFF about whatever they think is more important than keeping their eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel.   But, Gene dangled these proverbial carrots of "There's going to be a tea.  They are going to cook with lavender.  There's going to be a potluck"  "A tea? Cooking with lavender?  A potluck?  At a meeting?"  Dang!  That changed things.  I have been to an Oregon Lavender Association meeting where they had a potluck.  The most amazing extraordinary flavorings--some for sweet dishes, some for savory dishes--from this magical herb in the qualified culinary hands of  the Oregon Lavender Assocation's members.

So, early Saturday morning, I put my life into my husband's hands and got into the car to make the trek over the mountain to the valley.  I open and close the gate going out our driveway.  Going on the backroads from our home to Redmond was o.k.  We arrived in Redmond in one piece:  I think to myself, "This is going well so far.  I've been in the car about ten minutes, am not a raving maniac and am still in one piece."  We turned right to head to Sisters.  It's a beautiful twenty-five minute drive, the rain is coming down, making the windshield wipers pick up a nice beat, the heat on the back relaxing the muscles and I start to get into the rhythm of the swipe of the wipers, the warmth of the heater, the nearness of Gene and I in the comfort of our car.  So far, no IED to speak of.  Sisters is a quaint picture postcard town well known for its internationally-attended quilt show.  We drive through this leisurely stroll-friendly town, which is hard, because it's been a long time since I've mosied down those streets and popped into one of those bewitching shops.  Our only saving grace (for Gene) is that it is 9 a.m. and not many of the shops are open.  We pass the ranger station and head the car west only to be confronted by this idiot moron who can barely look over his steering wheel which, by the way, he's clutching as if it was the quidditch from a Harry Potter movie and about to fly away.  We followed the pickup and watched as vehicles started to pile up behind us.  A green Suburban passed us, almost hitting our front driver's side, and hugs the back bumper of the lead driver's pickup.  My stomach starts to churn.  This is not good!  Then, before another expletive can leave my lips, a red Escape tries the same stunt of lurching out into the oncoming lane, shooting passed us while the Suburban erratically swings out and passes the lead pickup and behind us, cars and pickups start to back up.  All the way over the mountain, through Detroit we watch this children's game of in-and-out-the-window being played with three-ton pickups and cars. The highway has many places for people to pull off and we keep hoping and praying for the lead pickup  to pull off  the road and let the rest of us pass in safety. For more miles than I care to talk about, Gene and I watched the impatience of drivers putting themselves and their precious cargo in harms way as they popped into the other lane of traffic, swerving back to not hit an oncoming car, taking chances by hurling themselves into the oncoming lane, zipping pass one car at a time until they were behind the lead pickup and then zooming past him as if they had just escaped from hell.

There was a rest area coming up and Gene needed me out of the car; I needed me out of the car.  Gene quietly surveyed the road through the car window, vigilant eyes sweeping the road as he slowed down and made a left-hand turn into the rest area while the pickup with his captive entourage continued west. Some kindly nonprofit had a motor home set up at the rest area and coffee awaited the weary traveller.  I was not weary so didn't think coffee was the thing for me.  My heart was  racing, my stomach was churning and my mind was in scrambles as I opened the car door and my feet hit the ground.  Gene and I headed towards the opening grassy area lined with trees.  I calmed down as Gene and I walked in the grass, smelled the freshly-rain-washed trees, talked about the upcoming meeting, watched families as they took a "time out", enjoying the freedom that walking on solid ground brings after being confined in a car.  After a while, Gene said we better go if we didn't want to be late for the meeting and we got back into the car and started searching for Exit 13 to Silverton.

The rain abated, the traffic was normal and we turned north towards our destination when we found the correct exit.  I had forgotten how beautiful is the drive to Silverton.  Lots of wineries, berries, small hamlets and farms tucked hither and yon.   We arrived at the beautiful lavender farm hosting the meeting and entered a home filled with friendly faces and cheerful words.  The meeting started with an introduction of the different lavender farms attending the meeting: a healthy mixture of old and new faces.  Then we ate...and ate... and ate... a few nibbles of this, a few nibbles of that... from lavender meatballs and lavender quiche to shortbread cookies and white chocolate lavender fudge.  I suggested we start a cookbook because there were so many good things prepared for us to eat and to enjoy.   With full tummies, a warm, friendly home full of like-minded people, the normal meeting started full of good stuff, led by good people who work fulltime, own working farms and still manage to volunteer their time, experience and knowledge to put together good, educational, informative meetings.  Gene and I were so glad we came (and to think I almost didn't go!)

The tea sampling was a popping eye-opener.  Drinking lavender buds, drinking lavender buds with other herbs, drinking lavender leaves,to drink tea with lemon or honey, how to serve your customers at a high tea, talking about what to serve at high teas, testimonials... I could either hold a pen in my hand to write all this knowledge down or I could sample:  I choose the sampling.  Then, we went to the kitchen and watched lavender being roasted and sampled the different roasted lavender varieties.  We sampled  the different sauces, jellies, jams, salts, seasonings on a myriad of crackers, cookies and cakes.  What a meeting!

Then, it was time to go.  It was starting to get dark and fog was rolling in.  Gene and I had about a two and one-half hour trip back over the hill (Santiam Pass) and I could feel my back starting to tense up and my heart starting to flutter as my mind began to race.  It was not raining, it was beautiful and green and the air smelled good as we said our goodbyes and left.  We retraced our pathway through historic Silverton and the hills of the beautiful, fertile Willamette Valley.  It was peaceful as we entered onto Highway 20 heading home.  Our journey home was uneventful and relaxing; Gene and I talking and sharing all the wonderful knowledge that good people shared with us at the meeting.  While we didn't have the rain and the windshield wipers to contend with going home (and one inconsiderate driver), we did have oncoming lights of travellers coming from where we wanted to go.   I started to get into the rhythm welcoming the beckoning oncoming lights, the warmth of the heater, the nearness of Gene and I in the comfort of our car.   We headed east, passed the rest area with their lights on and the motor home still welcoming wayfarers to warm coffee, providing a "time out" from their travels.  Onward we travel, road conditions good, pavement bare and dry, traffic light, passed Marion Forks Restaurant, over the hill, down the other side passed Suttle Lake.  We see the lights of home:  Redmond, the center of Oregon.  I let out a deep sigh as we pull into our driveway and open and close the gate.  Home!

The next morning over coffee, I asked Gene, " Give me one reason why you were glad you went to yesterday's meeting."  He answered, "The people and their willingness to share their knowledge."  I concurred.  "What about you?" he asked. "What did you like about the meeting?"  "White chocolate lavender fudge", I replied.  We laughed.  Gene shakes his head back and forth.  And to think I almost let one idiot moron ruin a chance for me to have that heavenly lavender white chocolate fudge!  Silly me!  I need to learn to travel well!


http://www.oregonlavender.org/index.php

Most Precious, Most Perfect, Most Pretty Molly: Winter 2015

Breakfast over.  Warming by the hearth on a cold, wintry day while going over the day's chore list.

Constitutional after morning breakfast.  

After Constitutional, nap time.

After nap time comes another day to get chores done.

Hmmm...deer, eight in number, five does, three last year fawns.   Check off chore list.

Checking the lavender...looks good...needs weeded...bad!  Check off chore list:  

 Moving a downed tree from November storms.  Check off chore list.

Day is done.  Waiting for mom to fix dinner.

The Life and Times of a Lavender Farm Dog: Toby in the Long Winter of 2015

Toby Jack Schmidt

Those  rascally varmintss

...footy prints,,

....on my desert again!  

Soaking up the heat...

Left behind!

(Deep sigh!)  This is what "alone" looks like

Waiting for dad's and my day to begin...

Ever vigilant

Lookout Stand!

What a farm dog does best:   farming with his dad.

Bringing Down the House (or Closing the Shows in 2014)

2014 has come and gone and we are almost one month into 2015.  Gene and I were vendors at many bazaars, festivals and shows held throughout Central Oregon during the 2014 Christmas season.  We also attended the North West Regional Lavender Conference in October.  Gene and I attended different classes offered during the three-day event and then would meet up and discuss what we found interesting, met people who taught us a lot and just as enthusiastic about lavender as we were and ate, and ate, and ate.  What did I take away from the Conference:  a satisfaction of meeting the wonderful lady face-to-face I buy the fabric from to make my handmade products (sachets, pillows, etc.), beginning the (long) learning process about how lavender affects our body ("sesquiterpenes" and "monoterpenes") and learning while watching a demonstration of extracting lavender oil from frozen lavender buds.  You'll have to ask Gene what his take was on the Conference:  it is positive but his classes and what he took away are different from mine.  This is the second lavender conference Gene and I attended.  It was well worth the money and time involved in attending and we were sad to see the Conference end.

Gene and I at the NW Regional Lavender Conference:  10/24-26/2014

One of the "big" shows we attended was the Central Oregon Holiday Arts and Crafts Show held at the Fairgrounds in Redmond.  Gene and I felt the show culture changed in 2014 from 2013 in that there was a lot of liquor this year:  wineries, breweries, even a vodka vendor.  We offered three new products:  Hardanger Pillows, Provence Lavender Wands and Printed Sayings on Lined Linen Pillows.  It was enjoyable talking to people who recognized hardanger.  One precious lady told me that she framed and hung over her mantle a piece of hardanger curtain her mother made many years ago.  The Provence Lavender Wands sold out before the first day was done.  It was fun listening to the guests laugh and talk with each other as they showed and read the individual sayings printed on the lined linen pillows.  The pillows sold quickly and I learned other sayings people would like to see printed!  One young lady asked for one that had "Best Friends Forever".  I thought this was an excellent idea!  I need to listen to the young more often.

Food Stuffs and Ornamental Dolls

Totes, Dried Lavender Buds, Silk Scarves, China

The Holiday Market at Centennial Park is one of our favorite and one of our last shows of the season.  The City of Redmond's Chamber of Commerce contracted with the Redmond High School students to make several small replicas of buildings--a church, a schoolhouse, a livery stable--and place them around the park for vendors to rent.  They have electricity to them and were decorated with festive garland and twinkly lights.  (Spaces can also be rented for vendors who have canopies or tables.)  Our thanks to the Chamber staff for their helpfulness in scraping off the ice on the walkway, putting deicer down by our booth and the courtyard, constantly asking how they could help, stopping by and making sure everything was o.k. and that we were happy. 

The weather the day before the market opening had been terrible--wind and rain--and Gene and I looked at one another, shook our heads and told each other there would be no way for the market to be held the next day.  Even though we would be inside, we were concerned no one would show up because the weather was just too nasty.  But, true to Central Oregon weather, the next day was bright and beautiful, the sky was as blue as could be and steady customers throughout the day.   

Holiday Market at Centennia Park:  12/6,13/2014

doorstops, printed sayings on pillows, moth repellents,
white-on-white hardanger pillows, drawer sachets,
colored hardanger pillows

honey, our daughter's  much sought-after lipbalm, hydrosol, lavender travel sachets

crochet ornamental Christmas dolls

quilted ornamental Christmas balls

All in all, 2014 was a very good vendor year.  To all of those who stopped by and visited, thank you.  To all of those who purchased our products, thank you.  To all of those who expressed an interest in visiting our farm, we look forward to seeing you again.  Because of all of you, you enhance and energize our lives--Gene and mine's--and we thank you.  We wish you all a Happy New Year!

2014-2016: COUNTRY FOLKS CAN SURVIVE

I thought I would start this blog by talking about the good times we had in 2014:  the excitement of having two new greenhouses constructed; the thrill of propagating several varieties of lavender and watching them grow in our very own greenhouses;  meeting lots of wonderful, extraordinary people at shows and those who took time out of their busy schedules and visited us on our farm; finding and buying a weeder which lessened our time out in the fields weeding.  We have so many good times  in 2014 to remember.   The bad and inbetween times?  I was really looking forward to placing my  arm on my forehead getting my "Oh, how I suffer" stance as I wrote about those times.  My mind seems to remember ever minute detail and I was so relishing writing about them.  Then the line from the 15th Century Nun prayer crept into my mind..  "Seal my lips from my aches and pains.  They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by."  2014 is not the year to rehearse my aches and pains.  Rather, 2014 was the year of realizing my aches and pains were pretty trivial.  So many tragically sad events; but the one event that stood out for me and made me stop and take a deep breath  happened close to home.  It may not have been a major, newsworthy event in your part of the world but, to my family and I, it was profound and affected over 200 families in a lovely, tightly-knit rural community.

Greenhouse 2014 (Prior to 11-14-2014)

On November 14, 2014, snow started to fall on Central Oregon.   The snow fell all day, covering the ground and adding up to a good foot of the fluffy white stuff.  Around 10 p.m., a freezing rain started and lasted until almost 3 a.m.  Then, it started snowing again and by morning, there was about two and one-half feet of snow.  We sunk deep and our boots were full of the snow as we walked outside to shovel off the walkways and take the broom and try to knock the snow off the roof.  We packed water to our poor chickens who wouldn't come out of their coops even when we threw an abundance of scratch at them.  They hunkered down under the heat lamps, knowing their pellets were within walking distance in the coop and looking at us as if we were without brains for even thinking they would venture outside.  They were perfectly content to stay put where it was warm and cozy.  In Prineville,  mill workers were headed to work.  Out of five original mills back in Prineville's heyday, only two remained, Contact Lumber and Woodgrain Millwork.  The employees of these two mills had two weeks before Thanksgiving dinner when they would be gathering around the table for fellowship with their loved ones and six weeks before Christmas Day when they would hear the squeals and giggles of their children as presents were ripped opened and hugs and "I love you" were exchanged.  Black Friday was held the day after Thanksgiving and people were hoping to make that paycheck stretch a little further by shopping for bargains.

Gene and I were preparing for a couple shows.  We had new products and were finishing up on some of the handmade items to take to the shows.  We were nice and cozy tucked into our home, plenty of wood for heat and food in the pantry.  If the electricity went off, we were prepared with lamps and warm clothing.   The lyric to the song "Country folk can survive" came to mind as Gene and I talked about being prepared.  

That night we listened to the 10 o'clock news before going to  bed.  We heard the report and saw the film of  Woodgrain Millworks' roof collapsing and workers being sent home.  We were relieved to hear that no one had been hurt.  The workers expected to go back to work as soon as the damaged area was repaired.  Life would continue, Thanksgiving and Christmas would come and their paycheck might be a little less but there would still be a paycheck.  Millworkers are use to the ups and downs of their vocation and know you just tighten your belt a little during the bad times.  Gene and I got up the next morning, fed ourselves, our puppies, our chickens, loaded up the pickup with our products and went to our scheduled shows.  Even though we met wonderful people, came home and prepared for Thanksgiving and Christmas, we still anxiously waited to hear any news about the people in Prineville.  Gene knew and worked with many of those affected and worried about their welfare.  Much to our dismay, the mill announced they were finished:  almost all the workers--over 200 of them--were without work two weeks before Thanksgiving and six weeks before Christmas.  Everyone--friends, family, agencies, businesses--was scrambling around trying to put together a plan to help but time marched on and these people were unexpectedly without a means of earning a livelihood.

Time does not stop for mankind. It marches on regardless of our existence on this beautiful planet we call home. Time is not personal or intimate. It is like the proverbial rabbit in the children's classic fairy tale "Alice in Wonderland" as it scurries towards a darkened hole into the unknown crying "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date' and then disappears. Time, that proverbial twitching rabbit, did not stand still on November 14, 2014. In the blink of an eye, time twitched and ran into the unknown, leaving behind the rest of us wondering what the hell had just happened.

Marching Forward in Time: January 24, 2016

I had a hard time writing about those workers and decided to put this entry on hold until I was in a better frame of mind. I couldn't finish it or proof it without getting upset. I was concerned about those workers and was hoping that Woodgrain Millworks would be able to rebuild and start back up in a few months. Working with these people brings on a whole new meaning to community. They work together, fight together, play together and if you ever get into trouble, they unite together as only a rural small community can.

The first lay off after the collapse of the Woodgrain Millwork roof was about 185 people; by the end of December 31, 85 more human souls were without work. It's hard to find work in Crook County: there is a 10.1% unemployment rate. Good people, good hardworking people without work and very little hope of finding a way to support themselves and their families unless they move away from their homes and loved ones. It's hard. It's hard on marriages, on children, on the close-knit community: it's just hard on everyone. We hunt, we fish, we grow gardens, we sell what we don't need and we barter for what we do need: we know how to survive in rural America. We don't ask for handouts or anyone's pity; we just ask that you get out of our way while we pick ourselves up and move forward with our lives. The people of Prineville and who work at Woodgrain Millworks are the backbone of this country; it is that spirit of being knocked down and getting back up that made and makes this country great.

I can plow a field all day long

I can catch catfish from dusk 'til dawn

We make our own whiskey and our own smoke, too

Ain't too many things these ole boys can't do

We grow good ole tomatoes and homemade wine

And a country boy can survive

Because you can't starve us out

And you can't make us run

'Cause one-of-'em old boys raised on shotgun

And we say grace and we say Ma'am

And if you ain't into that we don't give a damn

("A Country Boy Can Survive" - Hank Williams Jr.)

I was hoping against hope that the few workers left at Woodgrain Millwork would be able to hold onto their jobs. I was hoping against hope that, somehow, Woodgrain Millworks would be able to start back up. However, later in the year a very brief announcement in October, 2015 on the local tv station let us know that Woodgrain Millwork was closing its doors forever at the end of the year. Fifty-five more citizens of the small town of Prineville, population 9200 (plus or minus a few), lost their jobs and an era of good paying jobs for blue collar workers was gone forever. But these country folks have taken their licks before and know how to survive.


Greenhouse Collapse 11-14-2014

On that snowy, icy night, both our greenhouses collapsed. Gene had been out all day sweeping off the snow as it fell and would come in during the day, warm himself up for a few minutes and head back out to get the snow off the roof. It snowed all day and into the night but Gene kept knocking the snow off the roofs of the greenhouses. About 10 p.m., he came indoors. He thought the snow was abating and that the greenhouses would be o.k. We watched the evening news, listened to the weather and then went to bed. About 3 a.m. I awoke and sat straight up with Gene quietly saying, "I think the greenhouses just went down." I looked out the window but couldn't see a thing so, being curious, I went downstairs, got my coat, ear muffs, gloves, scarf and boots out of the closet and headed out to see what I could see. Out the door I went, down the walkway and stepped off into the snow. Well, that was just about as stupid as going outside because the minute I stepped off the walkway, I came to an abrupt halt in the snow which filled my boots. It was about two feet deep and I didn't have my ski poles to help keep me up. However, I was focussed on those greenhouses: it was 3 a.m., the greenhouses were just a few feet away from me and I wasn't going to let a little snow stop me. I couldn't see very well but I could see that the inside of the greenhouses and the roofs of both of them, as I walked around them, were collapsed. All our tables, all our propagation, all our dreams were on the floor. I got back into the house, climbed back into bed, told Gene he was right, put my feet on his calves because they were freezing and he was so warm and went to sleep. There was not much more we could do at this point.

The next evening, our contractor came out and he and Gene went out to the greenhouses to survey the damage. Yep! They're gone for, done, finished, adios amigos. Nothing could be done in the snow but, come spring, we would be able to start building. And that's what we did. We could go backwards and not do anything, we could stand there and twiddle our thumbs or we could go forward and build. Like most people who live in the country, we know there are good times, there are hard times but standing there twiddling our thumbs and crying "oh dear, oh dear" was not in the cards. So, one greenhouse went up and then the weather again decided our fate by being so pretty that our lavender budded early, about three weeks early. A halt was put to finishing the second greenhouse while we harvested, processed, bagged and sold and made products from our extraordinary producing lavender. About the time we finished the harvest, the weather changed so we weren't able to get back and finish the second greenhouse... It won't take long because most of the work is done, but, I have to tell you, the one completed greenhouse is beautiful.



Through it all, Gene and I have grown to be thankful: thankful for friends and family who came to help, wipe away our tears, prop us up when we listed a little to the "poor little me" syndrome. We have watched and learned from our families who raised us to be who we are today, the friends from childhood to adulthood who put up with us, almost all people who lived in small rural tight-knit communities like Prineville. Good people, good hardworking people, resilient, strong in body, strong in mind and strong in character. Country folks do know how to survive but, more than that, we know how to live.

These Gifts of Mine... The Message of Christmas

My children asked me, "Mom, what do you want for Christmas?"

I replied, "Come home."

They laugh.  "Mom, what do you want for Christmas?"  "I want you home." and the phrase repeats over and over in my head.  "I want you home.  I want my family home."

My children know me, whether I answer them as they wish or not, and they gave such wonderful gifts this Christmas:  gifts exchanged among wife and husband, children and grandchildren.  So many gifts.  So blessed.  Family gathered in a circle upstairs, Luke II read by grandson, packages taken from under the tree--and in the tree--by another grandson as each name and giver of the gift was read.  Laughter.  Teasing.  Joking.  Thank yous.  Gifts finally all dispersed and time given for each tag to be read, each gift opened, remarks made and especially thanking the giver as we went around the circle.  A family circle.  A family come home.  From out of nowhere, a remembrance of loved ones who could not come home suddenly flooded my thoughts.  Tears choked back knowing there were no gifts under the tree, or in a pile because some of our loved ones would not be home this year or ever again.

My daughter and my son both gave me gifts of bees:  precious, sweet, thoughtful.  I opened the first gift and wrapped the bee scarf around my neck.  It looked at home with the sparkley, golden shirt a once tiny grandson had chosen as his gift for me many Chrismases ago.  Then, when everyone had opened a gift and it came my turn again, I chose a big, square box. A perfect bee cookie jar!  For me!  First, a bee scarf and now a bee cookie jar!  "Where are you going?" my family asked as I grabbed the cookie jar and ran down the stairs.  Home.  This gift had a forever home downstairs on my kitchen table.

"Is there anything else?" I was asked.  I thought.  I shook my head back and forth.  No, I couldn't think of anything.  I could think of nothing but that my family be home.  Gathered around the table:  laughing, eating, a joyful noise for their mom!  That is what I yearned for the most this Christmas.  "Is there any saying you like, mom?" asked my son.

"Yes," I replied.  "There is a 15th Century Nun's Prayer that I like."  I read it to them.  They laughed.  This nun knew their mom on intimate terms, even if they never met and one was born in the 15th century.

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody: helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all but Thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint – some of them are so hard to live with – but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, Lord, the grace to tell them so.

Amen

"Anything else?" my son asked.  "Yes."  I replied.  "I want something to remind me of Little Duck."

And, so it was, on Christmas Eve, I received Little Duck.  I cried when I opened this gift.  My family cried with me.  I again grabbed the gift and ran down the stairs.  My family didn't ask where I was going this time.  They knew I was taking Little Duck to his forever home.  Little Duck is on the lamp overlooking my chair.  He will constantly be a reminder of how fragile life is, to be kind and always, no matter what, embrace and say "I love you" when saying goodbye for, who knows, it could be for the last time.

Christmas is over physically but emotionally, this Christmas lingers on in my heart.  My family was home for such a short time.  They are now in their respective homes, as it should be for grownup children.  But, for that brief moment in time, our home resounded with laughter and talking and cooking (and eating more and richer foods than any human should).  I am overwhelmed as I write this of the love my family and friends displayed.  More than the physical gifts; their love manifested itself in its actions towards me, towards one another and towards those whom they came into contact.  There is a children's poem, entitled "Message of Christmas" by Rega Kramer McCarty that goes...

"What did the Christ Child teach us

By the humbleness of His birth?

What word came easiest to His lips,

As He walked with men on earth?

What spirit exemplifies His life,

A commandment for God above--

What is the message of Christmas time...

The wonderful message of LOVE.

And, so, from my house to your house, I wish you a belated Merry Christmas.