See What I Mean?

Good morning! You know, nothing says good morning quite like a puddle of pee and a pile of poop in the library. Not just any poop either, but more of the diarrhea from last night. Speaking of which, nothing says I love you quite like a line of diarrhea from the front door around through the library to the bathroom door. Yeah. Not my thing.

Doane's Falls. This is another picture from our hike around Tully Lake.

Other than that, the past two days have been pretty okay. Tuesday the boys got all of their school work done before lunch other than reading and yesterday, being an early release day for Cedric and Amena, they were able to pull off a repeat performance. I love, love, love days like that.

Today, on the other hand, hasn’t been quite so good. Paul wanted to take the silver Jetta to Westminster to be worked on. The transmission was fixed but there is some other issue as well. Paul being Paul, he can’t just go and do that one thing he needs to, he has to do something else as well. In this case it was drive into Fitchburg to get gas for the green car because it is less expensive than anywhere else.  This put school off from our usual start time of 9:00 to almost 9:45. Now that we have had recess, Seth is stuck on his math (although he has finished grammar, cursive practice, and geography) and Joseph still is not done with his handwriting practice. He is doing a very neat job, just taking forever. Which means the whole rest of the day is likely to take forever.

Heading into the setting sun. Well, you know, it sets eventually. The boys were having a lot of fun fighting trolls and goblins. Seth had a magic sword and the water from the lake made it more potent.

Yesterday afternoon we cleaned the living room including moving most of the furniture and mopping and put the tree up. Somehow I missed a box and some of the things I know we have are not out yet. I’ll go up again once we are all done with school and see if I can’t find it. I am not even going to attempt putting lights on the house because I just don’t feel like it. I have decided that I just really do not like decorating the tree. I don’t mind putting up decorations but I don’t like doing the tree. And I honestly don’t remember if I used to or not.

rttt;/.ewr/,.; That’s what Kitty has to say about it as she walked across the keyboard.

Irish is a lot of fun. Spanish is a lot of fun. I need to talk to people, though, so that I can learn to have a conversation. Otherwise, I’ll be really good at reading it and listening to it but no good at speaking it.

Snowman by Seth.

In other news, the fire would not start yesterday. All I had was very wet wood and in spite of having lots of cardboard and kindling, the wood itself wouldn’t start so it took forever. It finally did burn but by the time we had to leave to drop Joseph and Cedric off for scouts and get to church, I had only put wood in for the second burn. Paul put wood in for the third when he stopped by to get what he needed and pick Amena up. When the boys and I got home, there were enough coals to burn the paper towels I wiped dog diarrhea poop up with so that was very handy because I wouldn’t want it hanging around in the garbage.

I don’t think I have anything else terribly interesting to tell you about but I should tomorrow.

Have a fantastic (rest of the) day!

Davey and the First Christmas

by Beth Vardon

Let's pretend there was a boy, and Davey was his name,

Whose family lived in Bethlehem when Christmas time first came.

Davey had a special pet--a donkey small and gray,

And what the two of them did best was getting in the way!

Davey named the donkey Tim.   He never rode him though.

Either Tim was built too high or Davey was too low!

Davey's father had an inn where people came to stay;

And lots and lots and LOTS of them were coming there one day.

His father was as busy as six or seven bees!

So Davey said, “I want to help, can't I do something please?

Time would like to help you, too.   Find a job for us to do!”

“Listen, Son,” his father said, “Last week you broke three jugs.

You scared my two best customers with your pet lightening bugs!

You tracked in mud on my clean floor, you tripped and dropped the bread.

And though I loved the fish you caught--why leave them on my bed?”

“I've put up with your helpfulness as long as I am able,

So do me a big favor now, get out--and clean the stable!”

Davey sadly went and stood beside the stable door.

 It hardly seemed that anyone could clean that dirt floor.

He and Tim felt so bad they started to cry-

But then (thought Davey), “Yes, we can! Well, anyhow--lets try.”

“First, let's chase those chickens out.   That's what we've got to do.”

 So Tim began to flap his ears while Davey shouted, “Shooooo!”

The chickens clucked and flew and ducked, they fluttered wild and scary.

 Until their feathers filled the air like snow in January.

Yes, Davey chased those chickens out, he and Tim together.

But now he had to get a sack and pick up every feather!

You should have seen how hard they worked!  They stacked up all the wheat,

They straightened up the harnesses till they were nice and neat.

They fought with spiders bravely till they chased out every bug.

And since we must admit the truth-they broke another jug!

The very biggest job of all was stacking up the hay.

Davey climbed up to the loft and put it all away.

“Look, Tim.   You see how high it is?   I'll make just one more trip.”

Then clear up by the stable roof his feet began to slip!

Down came the hay and Davey, too.   The stable looked so queer-

All you could see was piles of hay-one sandal, and one ear!

Slowly they came out on top, and Davey didn't whine,

Though hay stuck out all over him just like a porcupine!

He put the hay all back again and stacked it up with care—

But left one armload down below to fill the manager there.

So Davey's work was done at last, and when it all looked neat

He picked some flowers to trim the barn, and some for Tim to eat.

“I hope it's clean enough,” he thought.   “At least I did my best.”

And feeling very, very tired, he curled up for a rest...

Who woke up Davey from his sleep? Just guess them if you can.

Mary was the woman's name, Joseph was the man.

Mary said, “Oh, Joseph, look! This is a lovely place!”

Then seeing Davey there, she said, with such a shining face,

“Your father's inn had no more rooms, tonight we're staying here.

So tell me now, are you the boy who cleaned the stable, dear?

And did your donkey help you work? We want to thank him, too.”

Though Davey was still half asleep, his heart was glad clear through.

So that is how a little boy, two thousand years ago,

Stayed on to hear the angels sing, and see the Star aglow.

As soon as Baby Jesus came to use the manager bed,

Then Davey's sack of feathers made a pillow for His head.

No one told Davey anymore that he was in the way.

His work had helped get ready for the world's first Christmas Day!

Christmas Day in the Morning

by Pearl S. Buck

                He woke suddenly, and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called to him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he wakened at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.

                Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.

                "Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."

                "Well, you can't, Adam." His mother's voice was brisk, "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."

                "Yes," his father said slowly.   "But I sure do hate to wake him."

                When he heard these words, something in him woke; his father loved him! He had never thought of it before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children--they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm.

                Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no more loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blind with sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes tight shut, but he got up.

                And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and the mince pies his mother made, his sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.

                He wished, that Christmas he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright.

                "Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"

                "It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."

                "Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come..."

                The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went to start milking, he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn't sleep too sound.

                He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch-midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock.

                At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was too early for them too.

He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go to get the two empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty; they be standing in the milkhouse, filled.

                "What the—," he could hear his father exclaiming.

                He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.

The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father, who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milkhouse door carefully.

                Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.

                "Rob!" his father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."

                "Ah-right," he said sleepily.

                The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.

                The minutes were endless-ten, fifteen, he did not know how many—and he heard his father's footsteps again.   The door opened and he lay still.

                "Rob."

                "Yes, Dad--" His father was laughing, a queer, sobbing sort of laugh.

                "Thought you'd fool me, did you?"   His father was standing beside his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.

                "It's for Christmas, Dad!"

                He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces.

                "Rob, I thank you.   Nobody ever did a nicer thing!"

                "Oh, Dad, I want you to know, I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.

                He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh, what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the three younger children listen about how, he Rob, had got up all by himself.

                "The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son, every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."

                They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone; that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.

316 Words Aren't Many so I Guess Christmas Stories Are Good

Good morning! I’m not sure that anything of great enough import happened yesterday to report. We started school at 9:00 in the morning as we are wont to do and when Cedric got home at 3:35ish, Seth and Joseph were not done. We were reading at that point, but still, that means everything else took so long that reading didn’t happen until almost 3:00. Ridiculous. Especially ridiculous when you consider the fact that Seth had gotten two subjects done prior to the morning recess and Joseph did one. That means that it took Seth approximately 4.5 hours to do three more subjects, and Joseph that long to do four. Oh my freaking gosh. Days like that, I really wonder why we are doing this because they could waste time so much more effectively in public school and I would be able to get a lot more done at home. Still, I know this is what we should be doing and other than taking forever, they are doing well.

More pictures from our Tully Lake hike.

In other news, there isn’t much to report because nothing much else happened.

I did go to the Round Table last night. They have such good ideas there; I don’t know why more of the leaders don’t go.

Other than that, Paul told me this morning that he contacted the cocker rescue people and they are sending him the paperwork for and want some pictures of Misty. The brown ones like she is are very popular. That is good. She needs to be with someone who loves her as much as she loves them. I don’t. I almost feel bad but at the same time, it will be a relief.

And that is that for now. There is much more going on in my head but it will have to wait for another day and time when I feel like expounding or otherwise expressing.

Have a terrific day!

A Different Kind of Christmas

Martha had tried to ignore the approach of Christmas. She would have kept it almost entirely out of her thoughts if Jed had not come eagerly into the cabin one day, stomping the snow from his cold feet as he said in an excited voice, "Martha, we're going to have a Christmas tree this year anyway. I spotted a cedar on that rise out south of the wheat field, over near the Norton's place. It's a scrubby thing, but it will do since we can't get a pine. Maybe Christmas will be a little different here, but it will still be the kind of Christmas we used to have."

As she shook her head, Martha noticed that Daniel glanced quickly up from the corner where he was playing, patiently tying together some sticks with bits of string left over from the quilt she had tied a few days earlier. She drew Jed as far away from the boy as possible.

"I don't want a tree," she said. "We won't be celebrating Christmas. Even a tree couldn't make it the kind of Christmas we used to have."

"Martha, we 've got to do something for the boy at least. Children set such store by Christmas.”

"Don't you think I know? All those years of fixing things for Maybelle and Stellie. I know all about the kids and Christmas. " She stopped and drew a deep breath, glancing over to see that Daniel was occupied and not listening. "But I can't do those things for him. It would be like a knife in the heart, fixing a tree and baking cookies and making things for another woman's child when my own girls are back there on the prairie."

"Martha, Martha," Jed said softly. "Its been almost a year and a half. That's over, and Danny needs you. He needs a Christmas like he remembers."

She turned her back to his pleading face. "I can't," she said.

Jed touched her shoulder gently. "I know how hard it is for you, Martha. But think of the boy. " He turned and went back out into the snowy weather.

Think of the boy. Why should she think of him, when her own children, her two blue-eyed, golden-curled daughters, had been left beside the trail back there on that endless empty prairie? The boy come to her not because she wanted him, but because she couldn't say "no" to the pastor back east last April before they came to settle in this valley.

Pastor Clay had brought Daniel to her and Jed one day and said, "I want you to care for this lad. His mother died on the trek last summer and his pa passed away last week. He needs a good home."

Jed had gripped the pastor's hand and with tears in his eyes, thanked him, but Martha had turned away from the sight of the thin, ragged, six-year old boy who stood before them, not fast enough, however, to miss the sudden brief smile he flashed at her. A smile that should have caught her heart and opened it wide. Her heart was closed, though, locked tightly around the memory of her two gentle little girls. She didn't want a noisy, rowdy boy hanging around, disturbing those memories, filling the cabin with a boy's loud games.

Yet she had taken him, because she felt she had no choice. Faced with the pastor's request-more of an order, really-and Jed's obvious joy, she couldn't refuse.

He came with them out to this new valley west of the Salt Lake settlement and had proved himself a great help to Jed, despite his young age. Sometimes Martha felt pity for him, but she didn't love him. With Jed it was different. He had accepted Daniel immediately as his own son and enjoyed having a boy with him. They had a special relationship.

Daniel mentioned Christmas only once. One day it was too cold and snowy to play outside and he had been humming softly to himself as he played in his corner. Suddenly, he looked up at Martha and asked, "Can you sing, Aunt Martha?"

Martha paused and straightened up from the table where she was kneading bread. She used to sing for her girls all the time. "No, I can't, Daniel," she said. "Not anymore."

"My mother used to sing a pretty song at Christmas," he said. "I wish I could remember it."

On the day before Christmas, Jed went through the deep snow to do some chores for Brother Norton, who was ill. Daniel was alone outside most of the day, although he made several rather furtive trips in and out of the cabin. On one trip, he took the sticks he had been tying together.

Toward evening, Martha went out to the stable to milk Rosie, since Jed had not yet returned. As she approached, she saw there was light inside. Opening the door softly, she peered within. Daniel had lit the barn lantern, and within its glow, he knelt in the straw by Rosie's stall. In front of him were the sticks he had tied together, which Martha recognized now as a crude cradle. It held Stellie 's rag doll, all wrapped up in the white shawl Martha kept in her trunk. Her first impulse was to rush in and snatch it, but she stopped because the scene was strangely beautiful in the soft light from the lantern. Rosie and the two sheep stood close by, watching Daniel. He seemed to be addressing them when he spoke.

"The shepherds came following the star," he was saying. "And they found the baby Jesus who had been born in a stable." He paused for a moment, then went on. "And his mother loved him."

Martha felt suddenly that she couldn't breathe. Another mother, another day, had loved her boy, and had told him the beautiful story of the Christ Child with such love that he hadn't forgot it, young as he was. And she, Martha had failed that mother.

In the silence she began to sing.  "Silent night," she sang. "Holy night."

Daniel didn't move until the song was finished. Then he turned with that quick heart-melting smile.

"That's the one," he whispered. "That's the song that my mother used to sing to me."

Martha ran forward and gathered the boy into her arms. He responded immediately, clasping his arms tightly around her.

"Danny, " she said, sitting on the edge of Rosie's manager, "Let's go in and get the cabin ready for Christmas. Maybe it isn't too late for Jed-for Pa to get that tree. It might be a little different kind of Christmas, but it will still be a little like the Christmases we used to know."

"Do you mind it being different?" Danny asked. "I mean with a boy instead of your girls?"

Martha wondered how long it would take her to make up to him for the hurt she had inflicted these many months. "No, " she said, "After all, the Baby Jesus was a boy."

"That's right," he said wonderingly.

She set him down on the floor and put her arm around his shoulders. "Merry Christmas," she said. "Merry Christmas, Danny."

He looked up at her with a smile that did not fade quickly away this time, a sweet smile full of love he had been waiting to give her. "Merry Christmas," he said, and then added softly, "Mother."

Um, yeah.

Well, how do you like that? I wrote a couple of weeks ago and never posted it.

(Good morning! It’s been a rather Spartan month and I apologize for this. I did write several pages the other day about my experience with Jonathan and Elizabeth at the hospital but I do not have permission from them yet to share it so I will be patient and wait.

Life has been rather interesting as of late. Nothing too out of the ordinary has been happening but it still manages to be interesting. I just don’t feel like writing about it.

I will say that Laura introduced me to duolingo online and it has been quite interesting. She is doing Spanish, German, and Irish Gaelic. I’m contenting myself with Spanish and Irish. I have actually surprised myself with how much Spanish I remember which is nice. My hope is that my recall will improve to the point that I can actually carry on a conversation with someone. And it would really be nice if people whose native tongue is Spanish found out that they have no reason to be so condescending—drives me nuts. I don’t expect to ever know the language better than they do but I can actually understand more than they realize. The Irish is just for fun. Still, you never know when something might come in useful.

A couple of days ago we got a new range for the kitchen. The bottom element in the oven decided to go out and there was a burner on the stovetop hadn’t been working all that well for about ever. To replace both would have cost more than to buy the new one we got. Paul found an LG on Craigslist brand-new, never been used, regular price from the store $700 for $400. It’s stainless steel and the oven is a really pretty blue. I like it so far. All I’ve baked is brownies. The oven is a convection oven and my experience with them is limited (to those times we house-sat for the Vaniman’s, acutally) but that’s okay. It has warming and proofing features which are nice and a glass top which is also nice. Now all I need is a gas range for the back room and I’ll be all set. You know, relatively speaking.

We need to get school started in less than an hour now and I really need a shower before that happens so I’ll be off for now. Have a great day.)

This is Tully Lake from November 3. Very pretty. Jay and Becky, we have lots of places to go hiking when you are here next.

Go figure.

Several years ago, in California, we put together binders of Christmas stories and music for a Super Saturday type activity at church. Because I liked the idea so much, I gave all the stories and music an overhaul and did the same thing in Idaho. For the days leading up to Christmas, I thought I would share them on my blog. So, for those days I also decide to grace you with something I wrote about what’s happening in our lives, you’ll get more than one post to read. Are you excited? Hmmm, yeah. I have given Jonathan and Elizabeth over 5,000 words to read and approve or not regarding their birth experience. If they approve my sharing it, you’ll get even more to read one day. You should be excited. Extremely.

In other news, I have a secret that I would love to tell you about but since it’s a secret and I can’t risk it getting out, you’ll have to wait and hear about it after the fact. Which will be Christmas.

In other news, we’ve been busy, had a good Thanksgiving, and yata, yata, yata. Another of the girl kids died night before last. I don’t know what the deal is with that because she was fine the day before. This morning they are all fine.

And such is life.

I think I would like my computer to be wirelessly connected to the printer.

Have a terrific day!

A Brother Like That

Taken from Especially for Mormons, Volume II, page 40

                A friend of mine named Paul received a new car from his brother as a pre-Christmas present. On Christmas Eve, when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.

            "Is this your car, mister?" he asked.

           

            Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas."

            The boy looked astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you, and it didn't cost you anything? Gosh, I wish..."

            He hesitated, and Paul knew what he was going to wish. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.

            "I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."

            Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively added, "Would you like a ride in my new car?"

            "Oh, yes, I'd love that!"

            After a short ride the urchin turned, and with his eyes aglow said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?"

            Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again.

            "Will you stop right where those steps are?" boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while, Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little polio-crippled brother. He sat down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up right against him and pointed to the car.

            "There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas, and it didn't cost him a cent, and someday I'm gonna give you one just like it; then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I have been trying to tell you about."

            Paul got out and lifted the little lad into the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.

            That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when He said, "IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE......"