Bowl Mania

My parents got home late Saturday night from a mission trip to Guadeloupe. The kids went up Sunday afternoon to visit and Dane got caught up in all the Superbowl pre-game excitement. When I called to have the kids sent home for dinner, my father was reluctant and said Dane wanted to stay and watch the game. Sorry, Dad. Bedtime's 7:00.

After dinner, Dane informed me that he was going to spend his last few minutes of awakeness watching the game and asked if I'd come and join him and snuggle. I gladly piled up on the couch in the Den. It brought back memories of years of Superbowl parties and informal gatherings with friends. Don doesn't particularly enjoyed sports but I love to watch a good game - football, baseball, almost anything. For years when I was single, I'd watch the World Series (when the Braves were in it) and keep in touch with my siblings and parents via phone after any good plays. This was the first time I've ever sat to watch the Game with my progeny.

Just as we were preparing to sing the National Anthem, Deanna ran into the Den.

"Who's winning?" she asked. Dane and I looked at each other and started to laugh. We explained that we hadn't even yet reached the kick-off. Deanna plopped on the couch to join us. Before long, Daelyn appeared, as well. We stopped talking just in time for the kick-off.

"Mom," Dane asked just as the ball went into play and we knew the kick-off moment was done, "has it ever happened that the ball was on the 99-yard line?" I explained that there wasn't a 99-yard line, and Dane rephrased his question.

"What about the 1-yard line?"

"Sure, honey," I told him. "And you should see the players try to climb over the opposing team's line-up after the hike to get that one yard and a TD." Dane laughed. I explained further that it happens quite frequently. As if in response to my answer, literally, within seconds, the ball was on the 2-yard line, then the 1. Dane got very excited.

As the tension built, we all found ourselves whooping. When either team made an impressive play, we'd yell and holler. Don, who was working on the computer (paying bills, I think) and being quite patient with us, finally turned around and made some comment about us being loud.

"Well, what do you expect?" I asked. "This is a fabulous game."

Unfortunately, all too soon, 7 p.m. rolled around. I sent the boys into the kitchen around 7:15 to take their medicines. While they were gone, the game went to a commercial break.

"This is the best part of the game, Deanna," I told her. "They charge so much for commercials during the Superbowl that every company trots out their very best commercials. I often like them better than the game."

Again, as if in response to my comment, we began to witness people getting beaten to a pulp - one guy was hit on a course by a swinging golfer not once but twice; another guy was on a ladder replacing a light bulb when someone around the other corner of the house threw the power lever on the power box, sending the ladder guy flying through the air and crashing into a van across the street; a bowler was passing a ball over top of another guy's head who was bending down tying his shoes when the bag breaks and the ball hits him on the neck and head . . . each incident was funnier than the previous one. I can't tell you what the commercial was trying to sell, but Deanna and I shrieked with laughter. That commercial was followed immediately by another equally funny one involving unusual pets - a grandma with an osterich that chases the mailman, someone driving down the road with a wild boar in the backseat sticking his nose out the window . . . We continued to shriek and roll on the couch. Don shook his head. The boys came running in to see what they missed.

I eventually had to send the children off to bed and get my chores done during commercials. What a shame. I missed all the other good commercials.

Last night at dinner we were rehashing some of the fun from Sunday night. From there, we began kidding each other. Dane had gotten up from the table to refill his glass and remarked from the sink,

"You know, Mama, we have a lot of fun together. It's the most fun we have in our lives."

It's true. And while I love every minute of it, it also makes me feel sad for parents that don't have that with their children. Some people's lives are so busy, they never really get to have fun with their children. I know other people who are too uptight to let their children see them having fun. I'm sure there are lots of other reasons people don't enjoy time with their children like Don and me.

But I'm thankful we do. I'm thankful to have children who want to watch the Superbowl with Mom and snuggle on the couch while laughing at commercials. I love watching them smile and sharing their laughter and creating that strong family culture.

As soon as they woke up yesterday morning, they all wanted to know the outcome of the game. I stood in the hallway between the boys' room and Deanna's and told them about the last 5 minutes. At one point, I stepped into Deanna's room with Dane close on my heels, until I heard a scream from Daelyn who was still laying in bed.

"Mama, get back out here in the Hall. I can't see you there and I want to see what you're saying."

Apparently, it's not only about the humor in words. It's also about the animation. But that's another Post.

For Grandma Doughty

Tomorrow is Grandma Doughty's birthday. In honor of her, I'm posting an essay Dane wrote for school. We love you, Mom - all of us! Happy Birthday!

"I went to my grandma's house in West Virginia last Christmas. I had soo much fun I got alot of stuff for Christmas.

I also had fun when it snowed. It didn't stick, though. Well at least it iced.

I also had fun visiting with Grandma and Grandpa. We stayed up late and watch movies. They also told me some stories of their childhood.

I wish I could have stayed there!"

Here We Go Again!

Dane has been put on the surgical schedule for Monday, February 9. We won't know what time he'll be going in until the day before.

They'll be doing much more aggressive surgery, going into the frontals and cleaning out cells to allow for drainage.

Dane's having very bad headaches still and we have to get him through another week of pain.

We could use prayer.

One Word

My goddaughter's sister and dear friend tagged me with this on Facebook. I thought it was an interesting exercise and decided to repeat it here, although I can't tag 16 people. Anyone who reads this and would like to be tagged, go ahead and copy it.

USING ONLY ONE WORD! It's not as easy as you might think! Copy and change the answers to suit you and pass it on (to 16 others). It's really hard to only use one word answers. Be sure to tag the person you received it from!

1. Where is your cell phone? Purse

2. Occupation? Homemaker

3. Your hair? Straight

4. Your mother? Endearing

5. Your father? Amazing

6. Your favorite? Snuggling

7. Your dream last night? Unremembered

8. Your favorite drink? Wine

9. Your dream/goal? Grandmothering

10. What room you are in? Den

11. Your hobby? Soaps

12. Your fear? Others (This was the hardest one for me to put into a single word; by others, I mean people that I love experiencing pain. Did I just cheat?)

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Moved

14. Where were you last night? Meeting

15. Something that you aren't? Snooty

16. Muffins? Cranberry


Can you imagine me only giving one word answers? That was Don's dream last night!

Emotions are High

I don't know why I'm so emotional these days, but it seems to happen regularly. This morning, for instance, I'm worried about Dane and can't seem to stop crying. I'll get it together for a few minutes, then begin to think about him again and start to cry.

He feels terrible. I had him home all day yesterday, lying on the couch. I kept hot compresses on his head, just hoping they'd take away some of the pain. This morning, I heard voices and footsteps before my alarm went off. I heard Don leaving for work, then someone snuggled up against me on his side of the bed. I knew it was Dane.

When I moved to turn off the alarm, I rolled over facing him and put my arms around him.

"Mama, I hurt," he said, pushing his head against my body as if the warmth would somehow dissipate his pain.

"I know, hon," I told him. I DO know. That's how I felt this summer when they hospitalized me. I thought my head was exploding. "But I just don't know what to do." He's on antibiotics, steroids, I've been putting hot compresses on him and giving him Ibuprofen. The only other thing I could think of was adding a decongestant.

"Mama, would you call Dr. Harmon today and ask him if he can go ahead and operate. I just can't take this for another 2 months."

I think that's when it hit me. Thinking about Dane, so helpless, lying in my bed after his sinus surgery whimpering and saying, "I didn't know surgery would hurt so bad!" and, now, he hurts so badly he's asking to go through it again! I got very choked up.

I encouraged him to try and go to school. Focusing on something other than the pain may help him deal with it. He may not perform as well as usual, but a distraction can't be all bad. I dosed him up again before school with a decongestant, Tylenol, steroids, antibiotic, had him rinse his sinus' and put hot compresses on his head. I made sure he had my cell phone number in case he needed me. He can't spend the next two months at home with headaches. He's GOT to try and push through some.

But I did call the doctor and he has an appointment for tomorrow morning. I just hope Dr. Harmon has some answers and can offer some relief.

I'm going to go and have a good cry now.

Dane's Condition

I don't believe I wrote about Dane's appointment with the ENT two weeks ago (has it been that long?) It was his 2 month post-op and time to do another CT Scan to see what's really going on in that little head.

Nuttin' but bad news. Dane is at least as socked in as he was before his surgery, maybe even worse. The doctor kept muttering, "I'm so disappointed. This is really disappointing." which doesn't exactly instill confidence in the patient.

The crux of the matter is this: the frontal sinus' are located in the forehead, just in front of the brain and separated from the brain by a thin, small bone. In children, the frontals are very small and there's always a danger of perforating the bone and allowing infection, etc. open access to the brain in an attempt to poke drain holes in the frontal sinus'. Huge danger. The ethmoids, which are on the sides of the nose just below the frontals are much easier to access and, in Dane, his two worst areas were the frontals and the ethmoids. Dr. Harmon was trying to very conservative, which pleased me immensely. After all, Dane's only 9 years old.

His final decision was to leave the frontals alone but to clear holes in the ethmoids, hoping that gravity would pull the mucous down from the frontals into the ethmoids once the ethmoids were no longer full of fluid. Turns out, the ethmoids have never drained and the frontals are seriously inflamed and FULL of puss. He showed me two pictures of Dane - one with him on his back, the other with him on his stomach. There was a thin layer of air at the top of the ethmoids and frontals. But since the body positioning changed from one picture to the next, he explained that the entire contents of both of those sinus' is fluid (puss) and is moving with Dane's body positioning. Bad news and news which the doctor found very upsetting.

Prognosis? Antibiotics, yet again, to try and clear up infection but, if he's not significantly better in two months, they'll have to operate again, going into the frontals this time. It seems they have to give the body 4 months inbetween surgeries to recover before they can go in again. That means we have two months for God to heal Dane.

After asking some friends to be praying, someone asked if the doctor has put him on steroids. The answer was no, but I thought it was a great idea. If the sinus' are inflamed and the swelling is covering the drain holes, perhaps some steroids with decrease the inflammation and allow the drain holes to reopen and give Dane some relief. I called Dr. Harmon's office and left a note asking his opinion.

I found out yesterday that the nurse had called me back on my cell phone, which was missing for a week and I finally found in the ashtray of the van, and told me that Dr. Harmon had agreed that we should try steroids and had phoned them into a nearby pharmacy. Meanwhile, Dane's head hurts so badly that he's home from school today trying to rest.

I've got to get that prescription for steroids filled today. He's almost done with the antibiotics and still feels crummy. When he first heard the news about the possibility of surgery, he got very shaken and was really mean for a couple of days as he dealt with it. This morning, he asked me to call Dr. Harmon. I asked him if he wanted to have more surgery.

"Mommy, if another operation will take away this pain, it's worth it," he said. It like to have broken my heart.

Please pray for my little boy. He's only nine and is suffering - not as badly as some children with liver disease or other terrible illnesses, but he's MINE and I feel his pain. And he's felt bad for such a long time and been through so much to feel better, with no improvement.

Pray that the steroids do the trick and his sinus' are able to drain and stay cleared up. Pray for an end to his headaches and stomach pain. And pray for grace for this boy to handle suffering and understand it from the eternal perspective.

P.S.

Oh, by the way, I took green beans, a new recipe cooked with sour cream, that were amazing. And I made "pink fluff" which is raspberry jello, cool whip, pineapple, cottage cheese, and pecans all mixed together. And Deanna wanted to make a cake to take, so it turned out to not be a big deal.

And the potluck on Sunday turned out to not be a potluck after all. I had my dates wrong.

Whew! Slid by on that one.

Decisions

We went to a Christmas Party Saturday night. A guy who was once Don's boss throws this party every year. When it first began, December was just too busy for them to be able to book a date, so they opted for a late-January get-together, instead. It stuck and they do this every year.

The Host invites everyone who works for him or ever has. You might think there'd be hundreds of people in attendance, but it seems he only has about 30 show each year. We've attended a couple of times. He smokes a turkey and a ham and everyone brings desserts and side dishes. Covered-dish functions can often be slim pickins', but not at this one. We ate our fill and brought home almost as much as we took.

I know very few people at this party. Actually, Don doesn't even know a lot of them. We were sitting across the table from a very nice couple who were very friendly. After visiting for 1/2 hour or so, the woman asked me Don's name. I told her and she remarked that she should have put two and two together, that she knew the name but just didn't put the face with it.

Somewhere in the conversation, we talked about our short stint in England. She asked me and the children some questions, like if we liked it, what the weather was like, was it a difficult adjustment . . . Then she asked me if we would be going back sometime.

"Don's been back two or three other times," I told her, "but he no longer works for that company anymore, so there's no chance we'll be returning."

"What do you mean he doesn't work for that company any longer?" she asked. "Isn't he with WGI?"

WGI is Washington Group International, the company that had the contract on the Nuclear Plant/DOE facility where Don works and that sent us to England. Last year, they lost the Contract when it came up for bid and Don now works for a new contractor.

"No, not anymore," I explained.

"When the contractor came in, he didn't go with WGI?" she asked.

"No," I responded again. "He stayed at the Plant."

She asked me the same question about six different ways. I think I finally was able to make it clear to her that Don stayed with the facility which now has a new contractor, thus he has a new employer. She seemed very surprised.

"Almost ALL of us have left the Plant and went to work for WGI," she said. Now it was my turn to be very surprised.

Don spent the latter part of last year praying about his job situation - whether or not to stay with the new contractor or look for employment elsewhere. He decided to stay. The transition to new contractor has not been seamless or easy, but Don is a steady guy and he just keeps pushing through, day after day. I had no opinion and prayed very hard for him that the Lord would speak clearly and that he would have the courage to do what he thought God wanted for our family. When he told me he had decided to stay, I was relieved that the decision had been made.

Since he made his decision, I've been struck several times by the thought of how unpredictable employment is these days, especially in this Recession. We're thankful Don has a job, and a good job, at that. And he has years and years of seniority, which must count for something. Lots of people, including his boss and the previous boss who was hosting this party, left the facility during the transition to new contractor, not wanting to weather this type of change yet again. Don held fast, despite difficulties, and I have to believe God gave him the grace to be able to get through for a reason.

Still, to hear that so many other folks went with WGI and know that Don's decision means no more England takes me aback a little. I trust that my husband heard the Lord and I was worried about him leaving and going with WGI anyway, afraid it might mean he would be taking extended trips to England and we wouldn't be able to go most of the time. I didn't want to be separated from him and almost breathed a sigh of relief when he decided to stay where he's at.

As for now, I think I just better be thankful he has a good job that provides well for our needs and support him as much as I possibly can. And who knows what the future will hold for the Doughty family. Maybe the new contractor will ask him to go to France or Africa or Australia.

One thing I've learned over my 47 years - life's an adventure, especially if you walk with the Lord. It's never dull or boring, always busy, hectic, and with many challenges. And lots and lots of rewards.

Most of them far from monetary.

The Potluck Dilemna

Why is it that I can cook a meal for another family practically any day of the week with no stress or sweat. . . I just double up the recipe of whatever I'm making for us and - voila - instant meal to share (well, maybe not INSTANT)!

. . . but, trying to think through what to take to a Potluck completely paralyzes me. Meals for other families are easy. Like I said, I send over whatever we're eating. But POTLUCKS! You have to consider looks. It needs to look appetizing and attractive. You need to consider how difficult it is to serve. You need to consider how many people will be fed. You want to make sure that it's a one-dish meal if meat isn't being served separately or, if meat IS, then what vegetable isn't too overdone at these things and still has wide appeal. When I take someone a meal, I can do rice or pasta with something to go over it. But you can't do that at a Potluck. The pasta or rice always gets separated on the table from the topping and people can never figure out what to do with it if they can even figure out what it is.

Sometimes, we'll go to a Potluck where they designate "finger foods only" because they don't intend to have plasticware! Oh, my gosh! Fingerfoods? That limits me even further.

In any case, guess what's on the schedule for this weekend? Not one, but two, potlucks. I'm going to be a basket case by Monday. Anybody out there want to trade a homecooked meal for your family for potluck foods?

Tongue-tied

I've had this cold for almost 2 weeks now. Last weekend, when I was at the worst of it, I called my doctor's office hoping to get antibiotics for the sinus infection. He was gone for the day and they were happy to make me an appointment for the next morning with one of the Associates, but I really needed to start antibiotics THEN! I found some that Don had never finished up, looked them up online to be sure they were what I thought, and then began taking his. The prescription was one my ENT has used for me before for sinus infections and these had been prescribed by Don's ENT, who's in the same practice. So, even though I know better than to take someone else's prescription meds, I decided this was an emergency and I was going to try them.

They helped and I survived the weekend. Without them, I'm certain I would've been in the Emergency Room. Anyway, I've continued to take them and am continuing to improve. But I'm tired and run-down and never can quite seem to fit enough sleep into our busy schedule.

I was going to a prayer meeting last night while Don stayed home with the boys. Deanna was already there, at a bakesale, and my parents were supposed to be saving us seats. By the time Don got home, the meeting had already started and I was just tucking the boys in. Don and I went into the kitchen so we could exchange a few hurried sentences before I ran out the door. One of those sentences was a comment about how tired I was.

"Maybe if I take an Ambien right now," I reasoned outloud, "it'll kick in about the time I get home and I can go on to bed." The meeting only lasts 1 1/4 hours and I was almost 1/2 hour late already, so I really only needed to get through 45 minutes. Plus, since I've been taking Ambien on a semi-regular basis (every 3 months or so), I've found that they take a little longer to kick in.

"Yeah," Don responded. "Or maybe it'll kick in while you're driving home."

I decided to risk it. Wow! This Post really makes me seem like an unstable person - using someone else's antibiotics, taking an Ambien before going out!

Anyway, I was fine through the whole prayer meeting. At the end, I sent Deanna out to work the bakesale. When I caught up with her outside, there were still many more things left to be bought and the girls were hovering. I waited for awhile and visited with friends, then began to realize that my Ambien was about to begin working.

"Ask if you can leave, honey. We need to get home," I prompted Deanna. She got permission and we headed for my car, bumping into some good friends along the way.

We got into a discussion about the North Star and I asked my friends husband, who's an extremely well-educated man and knows everything about everything, what the name of the North Star was.

"I have NO idea," he responded. Unable to believe he didn't know (did I mention he knows EVERYTHING?), I commented, "I beg to differ," however, the words actually came out,

"I bare to digger." I knew something sounded wrong, so I glanced at Deanna.

"I bare to digger, MOM?" she raised her voice along with her eyebrows. I'm not sure which tickled me more - the fact that I couldn't quite place what I had said wrong or Deanna's reaction.

We piled in the car and headed home. Deanna quizzed me about my driving ability. I was clear-headed and had no difficulty staying in the center of my lane. There were no other cars anywhere around me and we only had to drive 3 blocks.

Deanna started discussing a situation at school, something that had happened with one of the other girls.

"She bares to digger," I explained to Deanna.

"MOMMY," she screamed before breaking into peals of laughter. However, that's become our new catch phrase around here.

Anyone bare to digger with us?

Time to Cut Down

Don and I made a decision to cut back financially in 2009. We held a Capital Campaign in our church towards the end of 2008 and all members were asked to make a sacrificial commitment to the Building Fund. In order to make our sacrificial commitment, we're going to have to tighten up.

Truthfully, this is very timely. With the economy on its way down the tubes, I can't think of a better time to begin practices that will, hopefully, pad our pocketbook a little more. I decided that the two areas in which I can most impact our budget are eating out and groceries, so I'm tackling those areas.

Years ago, Don and I were much more careful about our grocery shopping. However, when you can afford to buy what you need without worry, it becomes very easy to take the shortcut of ready-made foods instead of investing the time in making them yourself. I hadn't realized just how many things I buy off the shelf until the beginning of January.

Over the last two weeks, I've made homemade Chex Mix (3 kinds, in fact: one spicy, one Ranch-style, and one sweet), pizzas (with store-bought crusts and sauce - I'm not yet ready to tackle my own sauce and crusts, but it's coming), bread, syrup, rice krispie squares, and beef jerky. I made a trip to a Wholesale Club and bought large quantities of bacon bits for grits and soups, pepperoni (which I then divided into small baggies), bouillon cubes, vanilla, and several meats. I inventoried our freezer to identify what meats I had in the recesses that needed to be used, I've begun using up canned goods and am now ready to tackle the "snack" shelf.

When making out our grocery list last week, I remembered something we used to do when first married. Don likes to do the grocery shopping, but when I'm not doing it, it's a little difficult to manage costs. So, next to each item on the list, I would put a dollar amount. I'd add up the costs, throw in ten dollars or so for items that he may need but didn't make the list or for "specials" that are on sale and should be purchased even though not on the list, and I would write this amount on the top of the grocery list and circle it. That is our target cost. We should keep the bill at or below that number.

I tried it again last week. Even though I was pretty low on two items ($2 each), I was also over on almost every other item, so we came out almost dead on - no excessive over-buying (although Don DID come home with a box of doughnuts for Sunday morning's breakfast, something he almost always buys as a treat for the children and a break for me which never makes the list). I was very pleased.

I realize it's only the middle of January, but I think we're off to a great start. My plan is to freeze left-overs after labeling to be used for another meal instead of letting them sit in the fridge until they have to be thrown out. It's going to mean a lot more time and attention to the refridgerator and freezer and a lot more time spent in the kitchen, but I'm excited about re-learning to be resourceful.

I figure we should be able to recognize the impact by the end of April. And with all the effort I've made so far, it should be a significant impact.

Now it's time to begin addressing the "eating out" portion of the budget. Don HATES to eat out. Normally, it's me having lunch out with friends or grabbing a quick fast-food dinner with the children between Deanna's basketball game and choir practice. I'm not carrying all my gift cards with me in my purse so they can be used at various restaurants when necessary. I need to find a better way to keep restaurant coupons accessible when I need them. I haven't quite figured that out yet, but I'm working on it.

In any case, there's lots going on in the Doughty house - most of it in the kitchen. But the children are enjoying the fruits of my labor (the jerky is AWESOME) and I feel good about my efforts to cut back.

Ponderings

I've always been fascinated by Drama. In high school, I was just too busy to participate in any of the plays we produced. In college, I was even busier, working a part-time job off campus and as a work-study student on campus. I was active in Student Government, worked on the Annual Staff, and was on the Dean's List and in the Honor Society. All of that took a huge amount of time. I promised myself that I would try out for a play before I graduated, but continued to put it off - just too many other things competing for my time.

My last quarter in college, I was reminded of my promise by a friend. I quickly checked into the production that our school was performing that quarter - Henry IV, a Shakespearean historical play with only 3 female characters, one whose part consists of a single spoken line in Welsh and a Welsh song. Ugh! To complicate matters a little more, a professional Shakespearean actor was taking a leave from his Troup to teach an drama course at my school and star in that quarter's production. We had another "Visiting Professor" from Glasgow, Scotland who was a Scholar in Jacobian Drama and would also be teaching and starring in the play.

Try-outs extended over two nights. I went to the first night and told our drama teacher (whose class I had taken) and the primary director that I was just going to observe. All interested parties were given a copy of the script and different scenes were chosen. Each student tried out reading with the professional actor. There was about a page's worth of script in the middle of a scene that was being used for the women. After observing for an hour and a half, I decided I could do better than most of the women who were vying for the roles. I timidly (TRUE!) asked if I could take a stab at it.

Before I even realized what was happening, I was chasing the Shakespearean actor (whose name was Barry Kraft) around the room, wagging my finger at him. Instead of just reading, we instinctively began acting. Working with a professional was unbelievable. It was so easy. He played off my every emotion and bent to compliment whatever tone I took. I had never experienced anything so exhilarating. When we reached the end of the scene, we both stopped, looked at our script, and realized that we had acted out pages, not stopping or being stopped at the end of the excerpt being used for try-outs. We had acted out the whole scene.

I was quite embarrassed. The director hadn't stopped us and I was so caught up in the role and playing off this REAL actor that we just kept going.

Anyway, I got one of the two women's roles (I'm not counting the Welsh singer's part) and the director decided to take advantage of the expertise available that quarter and form a triumverate. He, the professional, and the Jacobean drama expert jointly were going to direct the play.

The three directors encouraged all the students chosen for different roles to research their characters and base their portrayal on their own interpretation after study. Henry V completes the story began in Henry IV and most of the characters carry over to the next play. I began study everything I could get my hands on relating to Lady Percy, including some articles written by T.F. (Fred) Wharton, the expert in Jacobean Drama who played King Henry.

I would show up for rehearsal, pondering the newest light I had uncovered on Lady Percy. Each day, her personality would change depending on the new slant I had learned. One day, she was petulant. Another, innocent and sweet. Yet another, calculating and shrewd. Still another, simple and kind, yet mature and wise beyond her years. By about the third week of rehearsals, Lady Percy had been through many different renditions.

By the fourth week of rehearsals, the Triumverate asked for a meeting with me.

"Patti, we love that you've taken our advice about developing your character so 'to heart'," they started, "but we're beginning to struggle. We never know from day to day who Lady Percy will be. It's impossible for us to rehearse when the role is changing daily."

Point well-made. In other words, pick an idea, make a decision who I believed Lady Percy to be, and stick to it. Play the part consistently.

I did, and had a wonderful time doing it. The play was one of the highlights of my college years.

This morning at breakfast, Dane began telling Deanna about a play that he must be studying in school. I listened for a moment, then exclaimed,

"That's Hamlet!"

"YEAH!" Dane yelled. Apparently, he couldn't remember the name, just the Plot.

We talked in great length about Hamlet's predicament. Then we began to discuss the in's and out's of the play, those concepts that are played differently by each actor who takes on this part. Was Hamlet trying to protect Ophelia by exclaiming, "Get thee to a Nunnery!" or was he protecting himself from the distraction Ophelia presented to him. And what about his relationship with this mother? Was it incestuous, as some actors have implied, or was he simply making a point that she was committing incest by marrying her dead husband's brother. And was Hamlet really going insane or was he simply pretending to "catch a thief", as it were?

As I posed and pondered these questions aloud between flipping pancakes in the pan, I glanced over at the table. The children were staring at me, wide-eyed and with mouths gaping.

Maybe that was a little too deep for ages 12 and under on a Tuesday morning before school.

That's me - Deep Mommy!

Updated, sort of

I decided it was time for a change. While I loved the classic look of the black background, it was a little somber. I'm trying something new on for size - don't yet know if I'll stick with it. The squares at the top look a little like mercy drops, at least if you squint your eyes a little to fuzz up the corners.

I used this same picture for my Profile pix on Facebook. I've gotten several comments that people love the haircut. Sorry to say, I didn't cut my hair. It's an old picture, from my nephew's wedding in California almost six years ago. I love the picture, but hated the cut, which is why my hair is much longer now.

Although, I've been toying with cutting it short again and even talked with my Stylist about it.

Why We Don't Need Cable

When Don and I had Deanna, we decided we would never need cable T.V. The children were entertainment enough. This certainly has born out to be true.

Daelyn is the one who always tells Grandma and Grandpa interesting things that they can't wait to pass along. Like the "twisted ham" and the time he told them that we had all left and gone to DisneyWorld without him.

Dane is humorous in his lack of response. He gets this dull, glassy stare on his face and you're never completely certain if he even heard you. Deanna bought one of her cousins, who graduated from college last December and moved to Atlanta to take a job with an International Banking/Investment company, a talking picture frame for Christmas. It was quite expensive and she used her own money. Before we wrapped it, we took off the packaging and I prepared the children who recorded a Christmas greeting to Bradley. I pushed the button, then pointed at Deanna. Quickly, and in her sweetest youngest female cousin voice, she said, "Merry Christmas, Bradley. We love you." Next, I pointed at Daelyn. "Merry Christmas, Brad." Then, to Dane.

"Merry? . . . " Long pause before we all broke out in laughter. Is it really that difficult to remember the words "Merry Christmas'? It sounded like he was asking Bradley if he was, indeed, merry. After a long, hard laugh, we retaped and, this time, Dane came through. I told Bradley about it when I called on Christmas Day from West Virginia and he told me I should've left the first greeting on the picture frame.

"It's Classic Dane," he said. Yup! That's my boy. Bradley understand him well because they're similar. But Dane is also extremely intelligent and, we've discovered, notices everything. He just stores it all in that sharp little brain of his for use at a later time, like when he announced to our family, at the ripe old age of 4 or so, that one of the neighbors down the street used a different air conditioning company than us. When we finally got down to the bottom of how he had figured that out, he said,

"I saw them carrying in the condenser yesterday." At 4. Most 4-yr. olds don't even know that word, let alone know the piece of equipment well enough to recognize it.

Deanna is my child that entertains us with her faux pas. She is forever using a word incorrectly in a hilarious way. While she, too, is very intelligent, she tends to talk before her brain engages, thus she says CRAZY things! Like the time we were at the Boshears Memorial Fly-in and they featured a boy flying his remote control airplane that he had built himself. He's known for his remote control aerobatics and has won several international medals. Deanna had the camera poised for the fly-by. When I asked her why, she said she wanted to get a good shot of the guy in the cockpit. After we laughed uproariously, we tried to explain to her what a remote control plane meant. She understood, she just couldn't seem to get the idea out of her mind that there was someone inside the plane at the controls.

Last night, while eating dinner, the children began asking questions about my Synchronized Swimming experience. I was fortunate enough to be able to swim with a local team in my teens that competed in the Nationals. The kids asked about our routine and I explained that our routine was about mermaids and the entire thing was done underwater. It was very important that we not break the surface of the water and create ripples that would keep the judges from being able to see the routine at the bottom of the pool.

"So, the judges were ABOVE the water?" Deanna asked.

"No, honey. They all had on swimsuits and were sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the pool making notes."

"I did it again, didn't I, Mommy?" she asked. Yes, dear.

But not to worry, Deanna. We rely on you - no cable T.V. yet.

Flying by the Fillings of My Teeth

A few years ago, Don and I watched the made-for-T.V. miniseries, Dinotopia. We enjoyed it so much that Don bought the DVD's. The children have watched them with us several times.

On the island of Dinotopia, which is cut off from the rest of the charted world by sharp, jagged coral reefs and strong, dangerous tides, man and dinosaur have learned to communicate. Dinotopia is governed by 13 basic principles, which include such philosophical ideas as, "We eat to live, not live to eat", and "Every raindrop raises the level of the sea". In Dinotopia, the common greeting is, "Breathe deeply" to which you respond, "Fly High".

This morning, I had oral surgery. A bridge on my lower left side, which I have had since the early 80's, had leaked and needed to be replaced. I have serious problems with dental injections. In the past, I've had blisters occur at the injection site and, quite often, my jaw will freeze in place, sometimes for weeks, rendering me unable to eat or talk. My dentist has walked through several of these side-effects to procedures and no longer laughs when I ask for pain medication. He requests that I dose up with Motrin or Ibuprofen for a couple of days before any dental work to get a headstart on dealing with inflammation. Today, I was very nervous, knowing that the procedure would be long and painful.

I told him how I was feeling and expressed some anxiety.

"You could even use Nitris on me if you like," I commented.

Realizing that I was serious, he pulled out the nitris oxide (which I've never had before but helped tremendously) and put the mask on me. Near the end of the procedure, I asked the technician to remove it - I felt I was getting a little too much at that point.

Before I left, he sat down to talk with me about what he found and discussed the nitris use with me, explaining that we can use it again in the future and maybe that's an answer to the stress dental work gives me. As we talked about it, I was reminded of Dinotopia's greeting (keep in mind, I had just had 2 hours of nitris oxide) - Breathe deeply; fly high.

He immediately saw the connection and began to laugh.

"Yep. The deeper you breathe, the higher you fly, all right." he said.

That greeting will forever take on a new meaning for me.

Old Friends

Back in October or November, when our stove broke and we had to buy a new one, I asked Don if we could go out to dinner while shopping for our new appliance. We seldom go out to dinner as a family, usually only for family birthdays, and that's with most of the Hunt Clan that lives locally.

We had a wonderful dinner and halfway through our meal, another family was seated near us - 5 adults. I recognized the oldest man and woman from my high school days (the woman had been our school librarian), then realized that one of my dearest friends from high school was the younger woman with them, the librarian's daughter.

I made eye contact with them, waved, and mouthed, "Hello, Mrs. Boerner. Hello, Carmen."

My friend didn't recognize me and was quite surprised when I shouted my maiden name to her across the restaurant. Before leaving, we exchanged numbers and e-mail addresses and agreed to try and get together with another good friend of both of ours who's still very close to me.

Carmen mentioned that she was a Special Ed teacher, so I thought about her in preparation for the holidays. Realizing she'd be off school and probably have a little free time, I gave my other friend a call, then left a message for Carmen, hoping to use that time to get us all together. Ultimately, the three of us had lunch at Olive Garden on New Year's Eve.

We laughingly told the waitress (who gave us our menus and, 30 minutes later, came back to see if we were ready to order - we hadn't even yet opened them) that we hadn't seen each other in - what's that? How many years? Let's see. I last saw Carmen upon high school graduation in 1979. WOW! That means I hadn't spent any time with this friend in 30 YEARS THIS MAY! Seemed hard to believe.

We had a wonderful time and all want to do it again soon. I've thought of Carmen repeatedly since our luncheon and am dying to call her again, but I just don't think it's practical to expect that she has time to get together once a month or more. So, I hold off, trying to be appropriate, but anxious to again renew that old friendship.

Earlier this week, I got home from running errands and there was a message on the answering machine from my sister.

"I'm now Andrea Trumbell's friend on Facebook," she announced. I immediately called her back.

"Andrea was MY friend," I nearly screamed into the phone. In fact, she was my BEST friend in Belgium in the third through sixth grades.

"I know! She asked about you."

Andrea's father was a teacher at the International School on base that all the military kids attended. She had a brother just a little older (one year, I think) than my brother, a sister that was the same age as my oldest sister and they were quite good friends, another sister who fell somewhere between two of my sisters, and then Andrea, who was my age. For three years, we spent the night with each other, rode bikes together, and were bosom buddies. Sometime in my early 20's, I had some contact with her. She had moved to the States and lived with her older sister while attending college, then married. The trail went cold about the time she married.

I quickly looked her up on my sister's facebook and sent her a Friend Request. She confirmed me the same day.

This is the thing: We began communicating yesterday. She sent me a message that said "How long-g-g has it been? I have thought of you EVERY SINGLE ST. PATRICKS DAY! Isn't that funny? Tell me all about your life since leaving SHAPE!"

SHAPE, Begium was the military base where my father was assigned. SHAPE stands for Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers, Europe. The amazing thing is that Andrea, after 37 years, still remembers that my birthday falls on St. Patrick's Day. She remembers my birthday! How is that even possible. We were in the Sixth Grade when I last saw her. And she remembers me on my birthday every year.

Since I had to stop to wipe the tears off the keyboard, I'll end my Post here. Suffice it to say, running across these two friends after all these years has meant a lot to me. And the fact that, after 30 or more years, the relationship is still important is staggering to me. I feel with both these women like we've never been apart.

I guess that once you build deep relationships, the bond never quite dissolves. Two different women from two completely different seasons of my life, both a lifetime ago, and I still feel like their best friend.

Could God have given me a better Christmas present? I think not.

Christmas Pix

My mother- and father-in-law, trying to tackle their stockings. Santa always fills our children's stockings and Don and I fill each others. We decided Grandma and Grandpa needed stockings, too, so we bought ones for them, then filled them. Grandpa said he had never had so many gifts on Christmas in his entire life. He really seemed to enjoy opening his gifts - a taste of Christmas the way the younger Doughty family does it. Notice who's piled on the couch next to Grandma and she can't open her own presents what for petting the little pooch. He always gravitates towards my mother-in-law when we're there. Every night, he snuggles her on the couch instead of me. He just instinctively knows she's Grandma. Plus, she's very sweet and is much kinder and more attentive to Donovan than most people (except for me, of course).

There are also pictures of our family gathered in Don's old bedroom at home (piled on the bed) at around 5 a.m. Christmas morning. When the children wake on Christmas day, they have been taught to come immediately to our bedroom. We talk about the meaning of Christmas, read Scripture, and spend some time praying together before we tackle the less spiritual side of things to get our day started right and keep our minds on the Baby Jesus instead of "what we got". So here we are, the children bright-eyed, Don and I barely able to focus. Grandma and Grandpa look a little bleary-eyed, too.

The last is a picture of my sweet Daney looking over the stash from his stocking, specifically his men's cologne. Santa give each of the boys a bottle of cologne in their stocking every year and they apply it quite liberally on special occasions. They'll appear in the kitchen chanting, "Smell me, Mommy, smell me." I seldom have the heart to tell them that I smelled them from two miles away. In any case, I love it that they like to smell like men.

Merry End-on-the-Season and happy belated Epiphany!

The Question of Space

The big question on my mind today . . . do you get rid of items that you seldom use but are perfect for that unusual occasion?

For instance, the roaster that I've only used maybe twice since marrying 13 years ago - this past Thanksgiving (my parents were in California with one of my sisters and I made a whole Thanksgiving dinner for my family by myself, for the first time ever) and perhaps one other time that I can't even remember.

And what about those Tupperware pieces like the jello molds (which I regretfully couldn't find for my father's birthday party in October and needed) or the mega-size Corningware that I only use when having many guests or preparing a meal for someone else with a large family.

All these items take up a lot of cabinet space and fly in the face of simplicity. Yet, I already own them and they make my life much simpler on those rare occasions when I need them.

When we were in England, we had so little and our lives were so very streamlined. But we were only there for 3 months and everyone understood that we weren't "setting up house". Obviously, our real lives are different. We HAVE set up house and we do have those special occasions when it's very nice to have those special pieces.

I remember being much younger and dreaming about having that Corningware piece and a roasting pan. I figured when I was old and established and my children were grown and gone, I could have those nice pieces, like the older couples I knew that had the "perfect piece" for every concern and whom you would call from time to time looking to borrow. Those pieces were on my Wish List and I watched for Macy's Open Stock sale every year so I could pick up one more much-needed (or so I thought) piece of Corningware.

I think my friend, Kelly, would probably say (isn't it funny when you've gotten to know someone so well that you can almost hear their voices in your head!) that if you have the room for them and you think you might use them, then it's a toss-up. If you want to keep them, do. If you don't, get rid of them and make-do with what you have.

But I feel stuck in the middle between TOO many of those items and having worked very hard to get to this point.

Any suggestions or ideas from readers (all 21 of you)? I'd really like to hear some compelling arguments to move me from this point of indecision.

So, if you have any words of wisdom to offer, please, feel free to offer. I'd love to hear what any of you think about this issue (Kel, even you - I might have missed the mark on your thoughts).

One final note. My niece, Alicia, spent the day with me yesterday. We filled up several 40-gal. trash bags with stuff that's already out at the curb for trash pick-up and 4 or 5 more that are in my trunk for Good Will. It's not as if I didn't get rid of anything. But Alicia's comment, repeatedly, was "I've never seen so much stuff!" We cleared out at least one shelf in each of 8 different cabinets. Everywhere I looked, there was empty space. And that was after finding places for most of the stuff that sat on my counters and the appliances that sat on the top of the refrigerator and deep freeze (except for my Kitchen-Aid mixer which is unbelievably heavy and we tried in several cabinets, only to find that it's too tall or too wide. The only cabinets where it fit were ones from which I would never be able to retrieve it because of it's weight, so I'd never be able to use it, and I DO use it, so it remains tucked in the corner of the top of the freezer). I have lots of empty space now, which is great, but all too quickly that space gets refilled, and I'm trying to simplify, not just de-rid myself.

Enough said. Comments, anyone?

That Time of Year Again

We had some friends over for New Year's Eve. We try to do this every year. It began about five years ago when a close friend and I were talking about our plans and neither of us wanted to leave our children for the night to go out and celebrate. Everyone we knew that had parties planned them just for adults, which I suppose is quite typical. But I didn't want to leave my children with a sitter and I really didn't want to be away from them. So, we hatched a plan. Invite a few close friends to gather with our children. Everyone would bring party foods. We'd throw all the food out on the dining room table, play games including the children, shoot off fireworks during the evening, lay any children down that needed to go to bed, and have fun together.

After the first couple of years, a pattern developed. Folks would arrive around 8 p.m., we'd get into a roaring game of some kind (Scattergories or something that didn't involve a board but could be played with lots of people), when we got hungry, we'd take a break and hit the food. Around 10 or 10:30, we set off the fireworks and at 11:45, we'd move into the Den to watch the ball drop in New York City on T.V. We'd kiss our spouses and children to ring in the New Year, hug each other, then begin cleaning up. By 12:10, the house would be clean, everyone would be gone, and I'd be settling the children down to bed. Lots of fun for all, but not an extremely late night.

Over the years, the guest list has expanded a little. But it's still a relatively small group of close friends and family (my parents always come and one of my friend's mother always attends for a while) and I don't feel like the house has to be spotless.

This year, however, the house was so dirty and I was so unpeaceful about it that we worked really hard to get it clean before the party. Usually, I clean the house real well before Christmas, but we left for West Virginia on the 21st and were gone over the days I would normally be cleaning. It needed a good scrub and some organization, which it DID. The children worked side by side with me and Don and I was very pleased with the outcome.

My niece will be coming over next week to work with me to begin the initial steps of minimizing - getting rid of STUFF. All of us have FAR too much junk and it's time to pare down, significantly. We're in a good place now to begin the task. Things are neat and orderly so we can get down to the work of minimizing without needing to organize first.

Maybe we should have a party once a month or so.

Worth thinking about!

Missing Parts

I'm not one of those people who faithfully reads the newspaper. Many years ago, I had a job at MCG that required me to read all local and National newspapers daily. My entire day was spent reading up on current events, looking for news regarding large corporations and millionaires who might be interested in spending their millions on MCG. I got a little burned out on News.

We don't even subscribe. My parents do and send us down the Sunday paper once they're finished. Don clips the coupons and I glance over the sales inserts. Once in a while, he'll find something that he thinks would be of interest to me and cuts it out. My father, also, sends down articles with asterisks for me to peruse. But, typically, I read the Parade (or whatever version our hometown newspaper is currently distributing), especially the inside front cover which Don likes to call the "Gossip Report" and the Sunday comics.

Don is very meticulous about saving those two parts for me each week and putting them at my place at the kitchen table. I, in turn, am pretty meticulous about reading them. Sometimes I have to wrestle the funnies from Deanna, but I almost always get them read (my educational reading material!)

Last night, Don had been separating out the parts of the Sunday paper which my father had sent down via one of the children. He was sitting on the loveseat in the dining room and began clipping coupons once the news was separated. There, in the middle of the coupons and scissors, was the Magazine that I always read.

He ran off to the store and I worked on taping matching gift tags into the underside of Christmas-decorated boxes before storing them until next year. I had them all sorted by size and shape and was about half done when Don returned with groceries for me to unload.

We met in the dining room, about even with the loveseat, when Don gasped.

"What, honey?" I prodded. "What's wrong?"

He pointed, silently, at the front cover of the Magazine. A circular hole met my glance, covering almost the entire cover.

Don quickly flipped the page. So much for my "Gossip Report". Gone. Cut away with the front cover.

"WHO could have DONE this?" I asked, incredulous. The most important part of the paper, destroyed!

I leaned over to look at the front cover and noticed two little words on the bottom of the remaining part. It said, simply, "Jonas Brothers".

I held the words up for Don to see. This morning, the culprit returned the picture of the Jonas' so I could read my part, silly grin on his/her beautiful little face (as if you didn't know!).

"Sorry, Mom!"

Of course Don and I understood. After all, my Gossip Column can't compete with teenage hormones and the Jonas Brothers.

Home and Hearth

We're home and had a wonderful Christmas with Don's folks. It was peaceful and focused on family and our blessings - just what I needed.

Now I'm into the throes of trying to put order back into our home and lives. My niece is going to come and work with me next week to scale down . . . everything, hopefully. In any case, I need to clear a path so she and I can work. So far, so good.

Happy New Year!

A Christmas Story

A friend sent me this story earlier this week. I hope it touches you as much as it did me.

Merry Christmas!!

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1878. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon, Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight."

I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"

"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what?

Yeah," I said, "Why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.


Hope yours is as Blessed!

Had to Share This!

I just looked up the weather forecast for Parkersburg. We'll be leaving early Sunday morning to spend Christmas with Grandma and Grandpa Doughty. Here's what it looked like.

Sunday Night
Low: 20
Mostly cloudy with a 50% chance of snow showers. Lows around 20.

Monday
High: 28
Mostly cloudy with a 30% chance of snow showers. Brisk with highs in the upper 20s.

Monday Night
Low: 20
Mostly cloudy. Lows around 20.

Tuesday
High: 35
Mostly sunny. Highs in the mid 30s.

Tuesday Night
Low: 25
Mostly cloudy with a 50% chance of snow showers. Lows in the mid 20s.

Wednesday
High: 32
Cloudy with a 50% chance of snow showers. Highs in the lower 30s.

!!!!!

How exciting is this! Surely, we'll have some snow while we're there and, by the looks of things, it'll stick. A HIGH OF 28 on Monday!?! I'm gonna pack several pairs of mittens for each child and really warm clothes for snowman and snowball-making.

It's possible we might even have a White Christmas? Is it too much to hope?

Food with a Twist

Last Saturday, while we were decorating our tree as a family, I decided to pull out the party foods. I had made a huge cheeseball, had crackers, Christmas cookies, beef stick, and I baked a luscious spiral ham that Don had picked up for me on sale recently. I basted the ham with the honey and spice packet they include and the ham was absolutely delicious. Daelyn asked a lot of questions about the "spiral ham", trying to figure out why it was called "spiral".

At 6:30 yesterday morning, my father was standing in his kitchen looking through sales newspapers when he heard the back doorknob rattle. He turned to find Daelyn trying to get in and quickly unlocked the door.

"Good morning, Grandpa," Daelyn chimed in that sweet voice. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine, Daelyn," Grandpa responded. "What are you doing up here so early?"

"I'm walking the dog for Daney since he had surgerwee," Daelyn explained. "What are YOU doing?"

"I'm looking through sales newspapers."

"For what?"

"Well, I'm trying to see if anyone has turkeys on sale."

"Turkeys? Let me think." Pause from Daelyn. Then, "Oh, yeah. I saw a commercial. Kroger's has turkeys on sale, Grandpa."

"Krogers? You say Krogers has turkeys on sale?" (When the story was repeated to me by Grandpa, he had a little hint of laughter in his voice at this point.)

"Yeah. Krogers. Oh, no. That's right. I'm sorry, Grandpa. It wasn't turkeys they have on sale. It was twisted hams."

Gifts and Friends (or Surgeons)

Dane had to have additional sinus surgery yesterday. I took him for his 3 week post-op last week and the doctor attempted to look into his nose with a scope. The pain was a little too much for Dane and the doctor wasn't able to see anything except some scar tissue that had adhered his middle turbinates on both sides to the lateral walls of his sinus.

Without being able to move past the turbinate, he couldn't see into Dane's sinus'. Dane has been complaining of a lot of pain and was very congested, so Dr. Harmon was afraid he had gotten blocked up with blood and dead tissue that couldn't slough off and there was some concern that his sinus' weren't able to heal. He decided he HAD to put Dane back under, remove the scar tissue, clean up the surgical area, and take a good look at his progress.

It was only going to be a 10-minute procedure, but it meant going back under anesthesia which is the biggest risk, anyway, and all the pre-op preparation.

Dane's fine. Turns out, there wasn't any problem with the sinus'. They're healing just fine and the doctor didn't see any accumulation of anything. He removed the scar tissue and put some cellulose packing around the turbinate to keep it from re-adhering.

Dane had some bleeding and some pain yesterday but is much better today. The doctor thought he could likely return to school today, but with the bleeding last night and two doses of narcotic pain meds, I decided it was best to give his body at least one full day to heal before he jumped back into the routine. No Scouts last night, no school today. But he's doing much better and is driving me a little crazy. He's a very needy child when he's the only one home, and it was a challenge yesterday to get my daily chores accomplished.

Several weeks ago, during one of the many appointments with Dr. Harmon (either mine or Dane's), I was working on my Christmas list. Dr. Harmon noticed and casually asked if he and Kathy (his nurse, who's wonderful and has been an incredible help to us) were going to get Christmas presents. I didn't respond immediately.

"There it is," he said. "No response. I guess we know what that means, don't we, Kathy?"

"I'll bring Christmas presents to you," I responded, but not until I had thought it through for a few seconds. While I knew he was just joking with me, I have appreciated his care of me and Dane and thought it would be a nice gesture.

So, yesterday, before running out the door to get Dane to the Surgical Center, I grabbed something for Kathy, several gift tags, a gift bag, tissue paper, and Dr. Harmon's present - three gourmet butters from Hickory Farms (apple, peach, and pumpkin). I prepared their packages in the van on the drive (Don was driving - I wasn't wrapping presents while driving). Dr. Harmon LOVES gourmet foods and often talks cooking with me, once even recommending that he and I start a cooking show together.

"Wouldn't that be something?" he said. "The former Human Resources Generalist, now homemaker, and the Medical Doctor doing a cooking show!"

It would be fun to do something like that, I agreed. Anyhow, I thought the butters were the perfect gift for him and they came in a lovely gold foil box.

Upon arrival, Don and I were trying to figure out how to get the presents upstairs to the offices when Kathy appeared in the Surgical Center. I was delighted and gave both gifts to her. She had come downstairs to speak with Dr. Harmon and, when I saw him next, he was carrying the gift bag. Kathy must have passed it off to him.

"Mrs. Doughty, you shouldn't have," he said.

"It's just a little something to let you know I'm thinking about you, Dr. Harmon," I explained truthfully.

"I'm going to put it under my tree at home to open on Christmas," he told me. "It'll be the only present I have to open on Christmas."

"What!?!" I shrieked, unable to quite comprehend what he was saying. "What do you mean, your 'only present'?"

"We don't do presents anymore," he responded.

Don't "do" presents? I've never heard of such a thing! How could anyone not "do" presents on Christmas? I was absolutely appalled.

Turns out, five years ago, he swore off present-giving and donates a sizeable amount of money each year to a Veterinarian to care for indigent pets in honor of his wife and children. He says he's felt a freedom like never before these last five years.

"Christmas really is Christmas for me," he said, "without any other trappings. I'm able to enjoy Christmas for what it was intended to be."

He must've seen the look on my face (I'm quite sure it was impossible to miss) because he began questioning his decision. I told him a little about how I feel about Christmas. Then I told him I still believe in Santa Claus. After a few seconds of registering surprise, he smiled.

"I guess there really IS a Santa," he said. "After all, the Holy Spirit in each of us is really the spirit of Santa, after all."

"Exactly," I explained. "My children believe that Santa was appointed by God to share his love with the children of earth."

We talked a little more about Christmas and the joy I experience through it.

"Maybe I need to rethink my decision," he said, finally.

"No, no, Dr. Harmon," I said. "To each his own. If your decision brings you peace and joy, then that's exactly what you should do."

While Dane was in the Recovery Room, Dr. Harmon came in and was sitting on a stool at a desk making notes in somebody's file. He glanced over at us, then his eyebrows went up. He grabbed for the gift bag and started unwrapping his present.

"Why are you opening it now?" I asked. "I thought you were going to put it under your tree."

"Well, I decided I wanted to open it when you could see me." I reassured him that it was just a small thing. He opened the package and looked the butters over.

"When I was growing up, I used to make apple butter with my mother." He waxed philosophical for a few moments, then got quiet.

I hope he liked the gift. He seemed to. I had sort of thought of it as something of a gag gift. Not that I didn't think he'd like it, but I gave it sort of to give him a hard time since he had asked me if I was going to give him something. In the end, I really wanted him to like it and wished it had been more. And I think it DID mean something to him.

It's funny how God will turn the tables on you. Anyway, Dane's recovering well and I'm getting a few things done in preparation for Christmas - in my spare time.

I'd Prefer a Different Kind of Snuggling, If You Please

I was reading a friend's Facebook Wall last night and it reminded me of a story. She said her son will be keeping his class' lizard over the holidays. Here's my story.

When I was a young teenager, probably about 13 or 14, my parents took me to visit my Aunt (my father's oldest sister and one of my absolute most favorite people in the world, who is now deceased) who was living in Oklahoma City at the time. She had two sons - Larry, who is the same age as my only brother, and Randy, who's a couple years older than me. My siblings and I were always very close to these two cousins but we hadn't seen each other in years.

When we arrived, my Aunt told me that Randy would be giving up his bedroom for me. It was very big with a huge bed. My older cousin, Larry, had graduated from high school and was working strange hours, so he needed to keep his own room. Randy told me he was sleeping on the couch but would be hanging out in his room, if that was okay with me. I was thrilled with the thought of being able to hang out with one of my fav cousins in his room.

Randy worked at an Exotic Pet Store. He had several aquariums, one with fish that are now illegal to sell in the U.S., and a terrarium that was home to a VERY large, very spoiled iguana. While the iguana gave me the eebie-geebies (chills went up and down my spine everytime I got close enough to the terrarium to see him), I didn't want to let on to Randy. I participated in the conversation about how "cool" this horny, ugly creature was, nodding and smiling, doing my best to convince Randy that I, too, was "cool".

During the night, I rolled over in that huge bed and felt something underneath my chest. I threw back the covers and, yes, you guessed it, a VERY large iguana was snuggled close to me. I shrieked, jumped out of bed, and threw back the covers. Randy came on the run, assessed the situation (which included me hanging from the ceiling fan whimpering and biting my nails and the iguana, who had crawled up onto my pillow, standing still and erect), and yelled,

"Be quiet, Patti. You're scaring him!"

"Scaring HIM?!?!?!" I shrieked at him. Suddenly, he no longer was my favorite cousin. "What about me?"

"Did I forget to tell you that I leave the terrarium lid cracked at night 'cause he gets cold and likes to climb out and get in bed with me? He's a great snuggler!"

Randy was promptly moved back into his room with the "great snuggler" and I moved to the much safer living room couch. I'll never forget the fear of feeling those spiny, poky things in my chest and realizing what it was. "He gets cold at night?" He'd be much colder if he snuggled me one more time.

Far Too Young to Know This

Last night was the Church Christmas Program. We had dinner first, then the adults moved into the Sanctuary for a Sing-along while we prepared and costumed the children. We had about an hour of adult carol singing before we got the o.k. to bring in the kids.

Meanwhile, in the Fellowship Hall, we were trying to keep 40 or so kids occupied and uncrumpled. I had 12 angels and shepherds between the ages of 4 and 6. Keeping them from bending wings and losing halos was quite a challenge.

We sent a Scout into the Sanctuary to check on the Sing-along progress. The Scout returned with bad news. Twenty more minutes. Our Children's Ministries Director fell back to her Plan B, which was her Ace in the Hole in case the video she had brought along finished too early.

"Whose name begins with a 'B'?" she asked. A couple of hands went up. "Think of a word that has something to do with Christmas that begins with a 'B'," she said.

The children who had raised their hands began to yell out, "Bells . . . " and other Christmas-related "B" words, which I can't now seem to remember.

From the water fountain at the end of the room, a boy yelled, "What about 'A'?"

"I'll get to 'A' in a minute, Adam," she yelled back. "But for now, whose name begins with a 'C'?"

She managed to get through "D" (for which we couldn't really think of anything) before having to return to "A".

"Alright," she called above the din, "whose name begins with 'A'?"

Alexandra and Adam raised their hands.

"Alexandra, what about you," she asked. Alexandra looked puzzled. "What about those things behind you?" the Children's Ministries Director prompted, pointing at the costumed angels standing directly behind her.

"Oh, yeah," Alexandra responded. "Angels!"

"What about you, Adam?"

Adam looked stumped. So did everyone else in the room. No one could come up with any other Christmas item that began with an "A".

Finally, from one little girl sitting in the middle of one of the tables, came this response:

"What about 'afterbirth'?"

Drink it up anyway!

When we were in England, the children discovered exotic juices. They fell in love with mango, papaya, etc. Upon our return, they really wanted to continue drinking juice but "none 'a that yucky stuff". We finally found a line of refrigerated juices from Welch's. I buy one half gallon per week and try to vary the flavor. This week's installment is Passion Fruit.

Because it costs roughly as much as our monthly mortgage, I use small juice glasses with their breakfast. I poured their glasses this morning, then herded over them to be certain every drop was consumed. When Daelyn still had half a glass left and it was almost time to walk out the door to school, I prompted him to finish up.

"I can't drink anymore," he said. "I'm full."

"Deanna," I asked, "could you please finish up your brother's juice?" She, being older, understands that Passion Fruit is roughly comparable to liquid gold. She politely took Daelyn's juice glass and started to drink, but not before making an awful face.

"What's THAT all about?" I asked, surprised at the look. Could it be she really didn't like Passion Fruit? "What was that face for?"

"Well, there were two eyelashes in Daelyn's juice."

Dane's Sinus'

Dane had his 3-week post-op visit this afternoon. The doctor numbed him, then tried to scope him. His turbinates are adhered to the lateral wall of his nasal passages with scar tissue and he wasn't able to debride and clean up the scabbing and damaged tissue left from surgery. SO . . .

Monday he'll be going back under anesthesia again so they can clean him up without injury or pain to him. The doctor said it should only take about 10 minutes but that this often happens with pediatric patients due to a low pain threshold. He's planning on putting in some cellulose packing and removing the scar tissue so the turbinates can hang free and his sinus' can drain.

He says Dane can go back to school on Tuesday, but he'll need to sleep off the anesthesia on Monday. I think we'll have to play it by ear. Anesthesia takes a toll on the body and no one, not even children, rebound immediately.

Dane's a little shook. He heard some of what the doctor said but didn't understand it and misinterpreted some of it. I explained as simply as I could, but the first episode was very unpleasant and he's not looking forward to the second.

How Do You Measure Success?

After a week of sleepless nights, finally dropping into bed at one a.m., then dreaming fitfully and rising again before six, working all day Friday into the late night (with children in tow) and then back up at it again on Saturday to finish all the preparations for the Silent Auctions, it seemed to go well.

The question, of course, is "Is it worth it?" I'm not sure we can answer that question.

We don't remember for sure what we made off the Auction last year, but we think we have a good idea. If our recollections are correct, we made around $300 less this year. I found that staggering considering the many more hours I've invested and the much larger size of both Auctions, filled with real quality items and gift certificates. Our starting inventory this year was certainly way more than we started with last year.

I was discouraged by that and mentioned it to an older male friend. His response?

"That's remarkable, to be only $300 off last year's total!" When he saw the look on my face, he added,

"Patti, do you know how bad things are out there? Unemployment is at a many-year high. Things are REALLY bad out there. To even come close to last year's take is REMARKABLE. We're in a VERY bad recession." Later, my father told me that hundreds of thousands of people are losing their jobs daily.

So, was the Auction a success? I think we have to look beyond the dollar amount (although it seems others think that's quite a successful number) and see some of the stories.

We had an item for a one-hour consultation with a therapist from an organization called "Egoscue". It's a physical therapy method based in Atlanta that has had overwhelming success for people with all types of injuries facing surgery. The bidding on this item spilled over onto a second page and, within the last five minutes, one woman was hovering near it, watchfully making sure she was the final bidder. Obviously, she WANTED that gift certificate.

There were many items that had heavy bidding. There were also some items with almost no bids. One of them was a beautiful couch and matching sleeper loveseat. The truth is, the fabric was a little less than attractive, but the furniture was solid, unbelieveably comfortable, extremely well-made, and in fabulous shape. With a few whispered words, the couch was purchased for someone else, as a gift, and a huge need got met in a wonderful, only-God could've done way.

Another item had a minimum bid. It got NO bids, at all. After all was done and said Saturday night, Don brought it to my attention. We had been given permission by the owners to lower the minimum bid, but no one had caught it, so the item hadn't sold. However, written across the side of the Bid Sheet was a note from someone saying they really wanted the item and how much they were able to pay for it. The amount they could pay was the amount to which I would have lowered the bid, had I caught it in time. Don called the individual and told her and she explained that she desperately has needed that item and hadn't been able to afford it. She was thrilled to be the successful bidder.

Then there were our many friends who just stayed at our sides. The mothers who took their children home, fed them, then returned to help us, without being assigned to the Work List or even being asked. They just showed up to help. And I can't even begin to tell you how many of these people there were. At the end of the night Saturday, there were 4 men who stayed with me, Don and the children, literally, until we had locked the gym up and were in our cars. They stuck it out to the last possible moment with us.

The blessings were poured out, many times over. If success is to be measured broadly, more than just in terms of money, the Silent Auction was a resounding success. People were very happy with their purchases. We made a lot of money. There was a ton of fellowshiping and laughter going on around the tables. And we felt deeply the love and commitment of our friends and family.

It's difficult to express in words, without tears, how amazing this experience was for me. Don and I are both exhausted and he was stressed out beyond belief, but the balm of love that was freely poured out on those wounds more than made up for anything we experienced.

The Lord made two promises to me at the beginning of this whole thing: If I would but do what He told me, He would bless it. In fact, He had already gone before me and was waiting there to bless me and others. And, secondly, that I should pray, because He wanted to soften hardened hearts and would soften them if we would pray. He was true to both promises and, time and again, I was astounded by people's generosity in the midst of difficult times.

A Success? Yes, but so much more. A step in growth of love of God and love of man. And a little fun along the way, to boot.

Very near the end . . . of the rope, that is.

It's amazing how children so quickly see through us. They know all the chinks in our armor and are experts at exploiting those chinks. It seems that from the time they're babies in arms, they know when Mommy's preoccupied and they can get away with murder.

That about sums up my week. I've been preoccupied, they've gotten away with murder, or at least not doing chores or homework, not cleaning their rooms, not getting to bed on time, not being kind to each other, just playing, playing, playing. One night, inbetween phone calls, I finally went looking for them, well after dark. They were outside, playing in the yards. I'm sure all the other children were already settled in their warm houses. NOT MINE! Running around like hooligans, dressed for summer in 40 degree weather.

But the Silent Auction is only two days away and then we'll be able to return to some normalcy. Granted, a couple of weeks before Christmas-normalcy, which isn't ever really normal in and of itself. But I'll grasp for straws right now.

Got to do some baking today and keep the house afloat. I can hang on for another two days. Especially if I keep telling myself that I can!

A Touch of Humor

Daelyn: "What's green and sings?"

Me: "A cricket!"

Daelyn: "Nope!"

Me, realizing this is a joke, not a riddle: "What, son?"

Daelyn, triumphantly: "Elvis Parsley!"

He says he made it up himself. I'm not sure. Usually HIS jokes aren't very funny.

Dog Days

The children all had dental appointments this morning so, when I returned home at 10:30, the first order of business was to take Donovan out.

As he was standing on three legs, one hind leg flailing in the air, I was reminded of his puppy days. When we first got him, he was only a few weeks old, tiny, and darling. I fell in love with him the first time I saw him, sitting on the seat of a truck, shivering out of fear. We immediately took to each other and he's been MY dog ever since.

He would squat to go potty when he was a puppy. Eventually, at around 6 months, his male hormones kicked in and he decided he needed to cock a leg. The first few attempts were hilarious.

His first try resulted in him falling over sideways. He toppled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Apparently, standing on only 3 legs took some balance, and he didn't quite have it yet.

His second attempt, he sidled up too close to the tree and, when he lifted his leg, banged his knee into the trunk. He stumbled around, nursing the knee. If he had been human, he would have been yelling, "Ouch, ouch, ouch!"

It got so that we all would go out, as a family, to watch his attempts at tinkling like a "big dog". We were very entertained. He was hilarious. He finally figured it all out.

Anyway, who knew that dogs could be so much fun. At least, ours.

Advent is on our Doorstep

No time this week for dilly-dallying, or for the next 3 weeks, actually. Over the weekend, I needed to make out menus for the next month and do the grocery list for the next week so Don could do the shopping, so we sat down with our calendars to plan December.

This week is the lull before the storm, and I'd better make good use of it. The Silent Auction is this Saturday and there's lots to do to prepare, but the evening this week shouldn't be TOO bad. However, starting Friday, with the set-up for the Auction (picking up large items, staging them at the Auction Site, finishing all the last minute paperwork and signage . . . ), the Auctions themselves on Saturday (two; one in the am, one in the pm), then a dress rehearsal on Sunday after church and Sunday School for the Christmas Program. Monday night I believe we can take a deep breath in preparation for "The Plunge": Tuesday night, a party; Wednesday night, the Church Program; Thursday night, the School Program; Friday afternoon, we get our tree; Friday night, the Church Adult Party; Saturday, our Tree Decorating Party . . .

However, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. It seems like everything is falling during the same week this year. Then we're done and can relax and finish our preparations for Christmas and going to West Virginia.

I've also made a decision to Fast from Blogger and Facebook on Thursdays as well as social e-mails. If it's work-related, such as getting announcements in the Church bulletin, etc., I'll use e-mail, but not for anything social-related.

On Wednesday, as we were preparing for Thanksgiving, I decided I needed some music in the kitchen. Deanna's portable CD player that Don's sister gave her several years ago for her birthday was on the bureau in the dining room with two speakers attached. Deanna and I searched and searched for Praise Strings, but couldn't find it. We settled for Manheim Steamroller and Kenny G. and one on her CD player. When the CD was finished, I carefully removed it and put in the next one. After several hours, I realized there wasn't any music playing, but was tired of having to change out the CD's so often.

During dinner on Thursday, I turned the music on again. About mid-way through dinner, Deanna asked,

"What's that, Mama? I don't recognize that music."

I listened carefully. It wasn't either of the CD's I had picked. In fact, it was Amy Grant's Christmas Album.

I looked across the table at Don.

"Did you put another CD on?" I asked. He grinned at me. Suddenly, Deanna shouted,

"Oh, yeah, that's MY CD player from Aunt Sue!" as if I would know what that meant.

Turns out, this CD player has memory and Don had stored a number of discs on it last year at Christmas. It must hold several hours of music.

We had a lovely meal and didn't have to change out CD's once. So, I'm all set to turn up the music, pull out the broom, and begin preparing the house for Christmas. Then there's wrapping to do.

... and many more!

Happy Thanksgiving!

And I hope your day was filled with fellowship, love, peace, and joy, like mine.

What's In a Name?

When I was making the children's lunches Monday night, I thought about breaking out some of the Christmas cookies I've made. I decided to give them each 2 pieces of Scotch Shortbread, one of my specialties.

I dug small containers with tight-fitting lids out of the cabinet and carefully placed two pieces of Shortbread in each. Then I placed them carefully in the lunch boxes.

On the way home from school yesterday, Daelyn was telling me all about his day, who he had played with at recesses and what he had done.

"Oh, and, by the way, Mom, thank you for the German Biscuits."

German Biscuits? What's he talking about? I thought for a few seconds. What DID I put in his lunchbox? Last night seemed a very long time ago. Then I remembered the Shortbread.

"Do you mean Scotch Shortbread, son?" I asked him.

"Yeah. That. Whatever."

Name of country and bread name. I guess they all sound alike. Scotch Shortbread could have just as easily been German Biscuit.

T-Day!

My parents are in California. One of my nieces, the first of my nieces, in fact, got married Saturday. I've had 4 nephews marry but this is the first niece. So, they left last week and are taking advantage of the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving with my sister and her family. They don't get to do that but every 20 years or so, if that.

I prompted a couple of weeks ago about our plans.

"What are we going to do for Thanksgiving? Should we invite friends over?"

After much thought and my attempts 3 or 4 times at discussing, Don finally responded.

"No," he said, "I think we need to just have Thanksgiving at home by ourselves this year."

I was shocked. No friends? No family? Just us?

"You and the kids can watch the Macy's parade and eat bon-bons and relax and there'll be no place we HAVE to get to, we'll eat when you're ready."

As I thought about that, I realized that it would be much like our Christmas in England, which was wonderful. I quickly agreed.

Turns out, one of my sisters and her daughter had no place to go and there's no way she'd be making Thanksgiving just for 2 (her husband is working), so they're coming here, also, which will be very fun for my children but still won't add any pressure, I don't think. Anyway, Dane helped me plan the menu last week - it was scary. If I get it all done, we'll have enough food for an army and way more than we can fit in our fridge. I'll likely have to take some up to my parents to store in their fridge.

I started last night with cranberry sauce. My mother does this chunky orange cranberry sauce. I found a recipe and made it last night. It's wonderful, although Deanna thinks it's a little TOO tart and needs a little more sugar. Then I began working on homemade jellied cranberry sauce.

Based on the response I got from Deanna and Dane this morning on the jellied, I've just given myself a new lifetime job - maker of the cranberry sauce.

It should be a fun Thanksgiving.