Fun and games...

The kids are playing with Play-doh. Last night we played Yahtzee; we played it again this morning, too.

We are getting ready for doctor appointments now and G has to return to work tonight, but I am still listening to Christmas and holiday music...I'm making it last as long as possible...maybe until next year:)

I hope your holiday is still rolling on, too....

The day after...

The day after Christmas is always a day of recovery in our home. Come to think of it, it was in my parent's home, too.

We were up until five a.m. getting things ready. It wouldn't have taken so long, but Little Big Boy was congested and kept waking up. Number One Daughter actually marched into the kitchen during the wrapping! UGH...neither of us asked her if she had seen anything-we just scooped her along and back to bed.

Both kids were awake at five and I was ready to march downstairs and let the celebrating commence....but Number One Daughter fell asleep, so we all rested. We arose at 8:15.

I do not know when I enjoyed opening gifts more than yesterday morning. Every gift--even underwear were opened with ooohs, ahhhhhs and hoorays. We are blessed.

It was a nice day. Christmas Eve, I baked a ham and we enjoyed that, too. Today we are lazy getting out of bed. The kids are flitting from gift to gift. Between gifts, Little Big Boy sits at his drum set and gives us a drum solo. I have always loved the drums. Dave Clark of Dave Clark Five has long been my favorite drummer-I have many-but yesterday, I think I actually fell in love with my favorite drummer: Little Big Boy.

Number One Daughter is using Digidraw to help her with Thank you notes. It was a wonderful holiday...I didn't want to go to sleep last night...I didn't want to see Christmas end. It doesn't really end...we can carry it with us from day to day...if only everyone would try. I wish the "feeling" of Christmas lasted all year.

That will be my New Year's resolution: live Christmas 365 days a year.

Celebrate the season

And now as the holidays are here, one last time, I bid you a holiday to rival all others. No matter how you celebrate the season, I send blessings your way.

This is the post card that I give you: Two children filled with wonder and peace throughout the land.

Love, comfort and joy to you, too.

Enjoy,

ENJOY,

ENJOY.

~Renee

Winter wonderland

'Tis the season. We have about one foot of snow. I wish that we would get a fresh inch or two. There is too much gray snow now.

I know, however, that there are many who trade places with me in a heartbeat to have a white Christmas. I wanted to write about a ten year old girl and her pen-pal relationship with a 20 year old soldier from our state, but the ending is not happy. I will write about them after the New Year because it is a story worth sharing.

Number One Daughter's Christmas program was wonderful. For the first time that I can remember, we sat on the correct side of the gym. She was almost directly in front of us and it was a rare treat to see her so close to us. Her class sang two songs and then did a variation of the May dance. For the dance part, she was so close to us that I could almost touch her. It was wonderful. She and I kept locking eyes and sharing secret smiles. She was so proud.

Her dance partner was having a tough time dancing with a girl-even though they had been practicing all month long. So we sat in the audience giggling because Number One Daughter quite literally dragged him through the steps. It looked very much like an owner who was walking a puppy who wasn't leash trained-with one exception: the new puppy owner waited for the puppy to cooperate. Our Number One Daughter dragged that boy so fast, that he was nearly airborne!

Little Big Boy's face lit up brightly when all three of us walked into his preschool for the last half of his Christmas party. "You're ALL HERE???!!!!" he exclaimed. There were too many parents around, but the party was okay. It had been planned by parents who apparently didn't realize that their "reindeer games" weren't exactly age appropriate. I mean it was a like a Concorde SST had come out of retirement and flown over their heads! There just wasn't anything that they could readily understand.

We had a very embarrassing moment when Little Big Boy was upset with his book exchange gift. It was suited to a girl's taste and not a boy-makes you wonder what parents are thinking when they buy something for a gift exchange...I was mortified. I was more upset for Little Big Boy. Out of 15 three-year-olds, he was the only one crying and saying that he didn't like his book. I felt like that was the five minute span that everyone was going to remember. He is much better than that and he deserves to be known for his loving qualities and not his little melt down. In the end, "A good time was had by all."

We arrived home and I had to bake a cake for G's Christmas potluck. He tells me it was a hit at work. I baked a pineapple upside down cake and added orange zest to the batter and topped slices off with whipped cream and sprinkled red or green decorating sugar on top. It was a "festive" cake.

Today is going to be a long day of preparation. This is the count down to my favorite moments of the year. Not only the look on the kids faces...Not only the magic of a white Christmas...Not only G's four days off. It is Jesus' birthday and we are going to have a party for him. The kids will help me bake the cake. We'll write Jesus' name on it. We will say a prayer for Peace on Earth and for all of our loved ones. We will ask for everyone in the world to "have enough." Not a lot, but enough food in their tummies...Enough school supplies...Enough roofs over people's heads. Please, dear Jesus, can everyone in the world "have enough."

Thank you for visiting my blog. I wish you a Merry Christmas and hope that the New Year brings you success, happiness and a warm bed.

~Season's blessings to you, Renee

Christmas programs and parties

Today is a big day for our family: Number One Daughter has her first grade Christmas Program today at 1:00 and Little Big Boy has his preschool Christmas Party at 2:00. We are invited to both.

How I treasure these moments. Number One Daughter singing, dancing and frolicking at her elementary school followed by the literal sugar-high excitement of Little Big Boy's party.

We still have to sign Christmas cards for Little Big Boys class and wrap his book-exchange gift. There is so much for us to do yet, so have a happy day. I hope that your day is surrounded by the sweet joy of children at Christmas time...

Ye olde electric company's "Bah humbug"

My dad mentioned to me that there weren't many homes decorated for Christmas this year. He lives in South-eastern Missouri. Last night I picked up Number One Daughter from her Brownie's Christmas Party and ran some quick errands. Lo and behold, there weren't many homes decorated here either.

There are your die-hard decorating fans who put up their overblown outdoor displays no matter what; you know the kind that actually rival the National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation display. But I am talking about your average decorator. You know: Joe Outdoor Decorator. A simple string of lights around the roof of his home and maybe a string or two of lights on his hedge, but nothing too extravagant. Apparently Joe Outdoor Decorator can't afford to put up his tasteful lighting display this year. What a shame!

One of my most favorite memories is driving around and looking at Christmas lights. When 18 year old was 18 MONTHS old, he would squeal happily, "Yites!!!!" It bothers me that there may be children who don't get to see the enchanting displays that he enjoyed. I loved light displays when I was little too.

So I am alarmed, but I have an idea on how to fix this problem. The outdoor lighting and decoration manufacturers need to, "put the squeeze" on electric companies. Yes! The Outdoor Lighting & Display Manufacturers Mafia, if you will. I imagine that outdoor lighting and decoration manufacturers have a lobby because a lobby is a requirement if you want to be heard by our government.

Granted not all electric company's are city owned, but that doesn't mean that lobbiests couldn't work on privately-held electric company bigwigs, too. Surely, the Manufacturers Mafia would be able to persuade electric companies to hold down rates so people can turn on lights.

All kidding aside, what about heating? It is a crime that people cannot afford to keep their homes warm enough in winter. Stories of fixed income elderly literally freezing to death is reprehensible, to say the least.

I wonder what electric company upper management's home lighting displays look like? I would venture that they can afford to put a whole lot of lights on their upper class homes. Hmmm. I think I have an extra long extension cord lying around here some where...

Finding the magic

My little sister's second oldest son asked her, "What do YOU want for Christmas?" Her reply was very simple, "Magic. I want magic."

He is a freshman at Texas A&M University. He has a heart of gold. This year, he sent money home to my little sister for the Christmas tree. I ask you: what college freshman has money for a Christmas tree???? He knew and understood that this was important to his mom.

In the telling of this exchange between daughter and son, I find Christmas magic, for what is more definitive of Christmas than a selfless act. I will never know what sacrifices this son made to be able to send funds for the Christmas tree, but I know that it represents far more than that money could possibly buy.

Moreover, this is a gift that keeps on giving long after the tree makes its way to the curb around New Year's Day. My little sister's second oldest is a good man. That is the best gift that he could give. I know that the MAGIC of Christmas can elude, but sometimes a fresh pair of eyes can help reveal it. Viola! It is Christmas.

No other way

I found this quote after the events of September 11, 2001:

If Tears Could Build A Stairway, And Memories A Lane,

I'd Walk Right Up To Heaven And Bring You Home Again.

And then this morning I thought about my brother.

What if?

It is not worth the risk and I move freely toward the phone

to tell him I am here and I have missed him.
There is no other way and I am glad.

On the outs

When years have rolled by and there has been a rift or misunderstanding with a sibling and out of the blue a holiday card arrives, I am tempted to run to him. Especially because the signature line makes it seem that it is quite possible that he could be in a lot of pain.

Then my pride or whatever you want to call it takes over and I do not know what to do. I want to grab the telephone and call him because he sent his new phone number. I want to tell him that I am here and never went away.

Then this voice inside of me wells up and wants to scream: YOU CUT ME OFF.

You did this and it hurt my heart...Without explanation and with a lot of chat between our parents and sisters, you cut me and my family out of your life.

I think that I know why you did it. My Number One Daughter had sent several letters and messages to you when you were very, very ill. You never replied and I scolded you. I think you were ticked off about it. Well, what price my daughter's feelings? You have three daughters and never considered how they would feel if I had done the same to them. You would have moved to protect them.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the years that have been lost. I am sorry that it looks like you are still in pain. Most of all, I am sorry that you didn't understand that a little heart reached out to you. A little heart was trying to comfort you. You didn't even acknowledge her.

Where did you learn that? Her heart is worth the trouble of a note. Even one sentence: Thank you, Number One Daughter. Just one sentence.

I am sitting here paralyzed by this. I have written you a Christmas card, too. I only wrote them last night. But it is sitting here because I don't want to set my kids up for pain again.

Seven years ago, I left my parents house on Christmas Eve. We were hundreds of miles from home and I left anyway, husband and 18 year old in tow. It was an awful night. Eighteen year old was 11 years old. I was pregnant with Number One Daughter. The awfulness was in the air. It was smothering. I yelled at my father. He said things; I said things and we left. I remember looking towards the back door and he turned off the light before we drove away. That was a defining moment. I left their home in darkness. I remember that night as if it were yesterday. 18 year old vomited in the backseat. His tummy was a rage because of the awful confrontation. We didn't even get that far away and stopped at a hotel. We had Christmas in a hotel that year. Bright and early we arose opened gifts and then hit the road. It was a 14-hour drive home on Christmas day. We had the roads to ourselves that year.

Several weeks later, I called to talk. My dad said, "It's a bit too early for that." So I hung up the phone. I do not know when we began talking again, but it was that year.

I talk to my parents and miss them, too. I would like to go visit them again, but that chance that there will be ugliness weighs on me and I do not go. Neither Number One Daughter, nor Little Big Boy have met my parents. I have invited my parents to my home, but they do not come. To be fair, they do not visit any of us-their children that is. They have their reasons.

The disfunction in this family has caused many a rift. Now I need to decide whether or not "fixing it" is worth the trouble and possible pain. I remember when my dad was gone...In Vietnam and when he was simply stationed abroad for a year at a time or stationed in San Diego when we lived four hours north, that I was the one who walked down scary dark hallways to make sure that bogeymen were at bay. It always turned out to be a branch against a window or something benign, but there was that one real-live bogeyman in our lives. The "grandfather" who trolled the halls at night.

But the bogeyman that remains alive and well in my imagination now is the one that I cannot figure out what to do with. I know that families cause each other pain and you move on, but I am hypersensitive when pain lands on my children's doorstep. I am determined that they will not be harmed. So I sit here and I can't make myself step into that darkened hallway in my mind.

I would like to call my brother; I really would, but I am staring at the phone. I would like to go visit my parents for the holidays again...But the trek is haunted with carnage and the phone lines are tied up in carnage. Once upon a time, the carnage was my heart.

Stacy's Mom "B" side

Yes. Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne is the song that plays on the latest Dr. Pepper commercial.

Which brings to mind this aside: In my early 20s when I was working in the most beautiful California State and National Parks, including Muir Woods, where I first fell in love with my wonderful Redwoods, I would break things up for my crew by performing the then very popular Dr. Pepper commercial: "I'm a Pepper...You're a Pepper...He's a Pepper... She's a Pepper... Wouldn't you like to be a Pepper, too?" I would just leap up on top of a picnic table and dance from there to a tree stump and so on. Singing the song and dancing and soon, my crew would be dancing and singing with me. Oh, those were truly special days. Who wouldn't want to be a Pepper? But I digress.

So the current Dr. Pepper commercial features an "ordinary" mom. A soccer mom who brings an ice chest of Dr. Pepper to the soccer team. It is a great commercial in my mind because it combines the thought that "moms" have "it" going on. In the day, I could truly have been Stacy's mom, but that is another story.

Now as former radio personalities, my husband, G and I were privy to some of the stories behind the music. It is rather neat to know the origin or inspiration of a song. G is an alternative music guru. You name any band and he will have listened to them and liked them long before they hit the airwaves or before they became mainstream popular. Like Gwen Stefani former front woman of No Doubt...There is always something a bit sad when a band folds so the "talent" can go mainstream. To this day, I prefer No Doubt to Gwen Stefani solo, but that is the way of the all mighty dollar and dreams, eh?

Well, you may notice that in my previous post, I chose a picture of Elle MacPherson. This is not accidental. The story of Stacy's Mom that was spreading was that it was inspired by Elle or one of the other "supermodels" of her day. Elle has a daughter, you know. Well, leave it to me to contact the band's handlers to get the scoop on the inspiration. Surprisingly, I received a reply immediately.

Suffice to say that the thoughts of the author of the reply were unimaginative to say the least. Uninspired and frankly monotoned. So I will tell you "my truth" about it....

Once upon a time, Adam, a member of Fountains of Wayne noticed that Elle MacPherson was preparing to board a flight with her daughter. He watched Elle tend to her daughter. Even when Elle wasn't on an assignment, her body always looked like she was camera ready. You can just look at Elle and get a feeling that she understands that her body looks best when she reaches for something this way or puts that there that way. She is constantly aware of her body, as if a camera lens is always aimed in her direction...Even when she is retrieving a soda from a vending machine.

He watched her board the flight. He was dazzled by her smile. He caught himself thinking about what it would be like for her daughter to grow up in that statuesque shadow. In fact, Adam was so taken my Elle and her daughter's future that he penned the lyrics for Stacy's Mom while in flight. The band went into the recording studio and the rest is, as they say, a platinum record.

I won't swear this is the way that it really happened, but this is the way that I like to think it happened and it is far superior to the way that I was told it happened. Interestingly, I find that it is a very appropriate story to tell during the holidays when so many stories are told. We can't swear that they happened the way that the story tells us they happened, but in our heart of hearts, it is the way we hope that they happened.

I'm in love with "Stacy's Mom"

Fountains of Wayne's song Stacy's Mom is running through my head. It is one of those songs that I think about when I need to "strut." It is an ego boosting song. Enter self-talk, "That's right! I've got IT goin' on."

Of course, I change the name of the girl to Number One Daughter and off I go. Self-talk is cheap, usually, and distructive, too. BUT sometimes I really challenge it and when I do that...

Honey, I GOT IT GOING ON!!!! Ahahhahahahahahahahahahaha This is MY house. ahahhahaha Use it! BE it! FEEL it! BELIEVE it! It transforms my day from ho-hum to OH YEAH.

Stacy's mom, has got it going on
Stacy's mom, has got it going on
Stacy's mom, has got it going on
Stacy's mom, has got it going on
Stacy can I come over
After school (after school)
We can hang around by the pool (hang by the pool)
Did your mom get back
from her business trip (business trip)
Is she there?
Or is she tryin to give me the slip (give me the slip)
You know I'm not the little boy that I used to be
I'm all grown up
Now baby can't you see!?

Stacy's mom, has got it going on
She's all I want, and I've waited for so long
Stacy can't ya see?
you're just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong but,
I'm in love with Stacy's mom

Stacy's mom, has got it going on
Stacy's mom, has got it going on

Stacy do you remember
when I mowed your lawn (mowed your lawn)
Your mom came out
With just a towel on (towel on)
I could tell she liked me
From the way she stared (way she stared)
And the way she said
"you missed a spot over there" (spot over there)
And I know that you think its just a fantasy
But since your dad walked out
your mom could use a guy like me

Stacy's mom, has got it going on

She's all I want and
I've waited for so long
Stacy can't ya see?
You're just not the girl for me
I know it may be wrong but,
I'm in love with Stacy's mom

Stacy's mom has got it going on (shes got it going on)

She's all I want and
I've waited for so long
Stacy can't ya see,
You're just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong,

I'm in love with-Stacy's mom, ah-oh-ah-oh
I'm in love with-Stacy's mom, ah-oh-ah-oh

Wait a minute
Stacy can't ya see?
You're just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong but
I'm in love with Stacy's mom

Protect a child

Is he real? Does he exist? These questions are not being asked in my home this year, but I know that it is coming. It is years away, but it is out there lurking.

Once my dad told me that my son didn't believe in him anymore. I knew that. My dad thought that 18 yr old continued to "believe" because it got him more gifts on Christmas morning.

But I surprised my dad when I said, "I know he doesn't believe anymore, but Santa will always visit my home." It is the truth and you know why? Because I still believe. I'm not kidding. I do. I believe in Santa. He is as real and necessary as breathing.

When the questions come about Santa and they most assuredly will, I will tell my children, "Yes. Yes, Santa is real." He walked this Earth giving to children...Honoring children...Protecting children. Oh! To have known the real St. Nicholas. A man so true to children that he endured years in prison because he was thought to be a spy.

St. Nick lived the spirit of the season every day. When he died, I think that he called on every able bodied person to carry out his work. So parents took up the fight, so to speak.

St. Nick was a religious man. He knew and believed in Jesus. Maybe that is why children were so important to him. Jesus said, "Let them come." To me, Jesus and Santa are intertwined; most believe that they are separate. Yet, to me they believed the same thing: children are most important.

If everyone lived that...Really believed that children are most important of all, well there wouldn't be anymore wars...And famine would not be tolerated...And child abuse would be abolished because no one would stand silently by while a child was abused. It could happen, but we have to make up our minds that it is worth the fight.

We need to realize that silence is not an option. Do you have a neighbor who yells unmercifully at their child? Have you ever said anything about it? I do. You may think that it is none of my business; however, if St. Nick had thought that it wasn't his business we wouldn't have Christmas at all.

Protect a child. If you see a child in need, reach out. Children do not have voices when they are being harmed. It is up to us to provide the voice. I hope that my children never have to spend a dime on therapy because a traumatic event stole their voice. That is my wish for the New Year: no child's voice will be lost to trauma. Oh, I know it is a weighty wish, but it could happen.

The tears welled up in my eyes

Today was my birthday. I spent it at the hospital-undergoing tests. I am not sad or upset or anything. It was a nice day after the testing.

We picked up the kids from school. Then we went to an early dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant. Yummy-that's all I have to say.

We arrived home and Number One Daughter ran into her room yelling, "presents!!" Then she brought me a gift wrapped in a coloring book page of My Little Pony. It was violet-my favorite color, so it was extra special. Inside were two hand-drawn figures. One a gingerbread daddy and the other a gingerbread mommy. There was also a picture of a cake with heart sprinkles and a box with heart shapes on it. And a very humbling gift completed the package: one of her necklaces.

Oh! What a bounty. Little Big Boy thought it must be time to unwrap the gifts that are under the tree, so when we weren't looking, he started to bring them upstairs. We convinced him that they were for Christmas and he marched them back downstairs.

Number One Daughter took him into their bedroom to draw cards and now Little Big Boy doesn't feel left out.

G's birthday was the fourth. I gave him a print from Breakfast at Tiffany's. I have told G that he looks like a young George Peppard. We love that movie and the kiss at the end is the print that I gave him. It is a small token of the love that I have for him. I gave him a black and white print, but it is of the scene herein.

These last three years, he has earned a living while I stayed home with Little Big Boy. All the while, he has also been going to college again. He is on his way to a second degree. He does this without a word of complaint. He works third shift and goes to school days.

More than that...as I have become almost home-bound, he also runs the kids to and from school, to doctor appointments and grocery shopping. He is an amazing man.

Then to top the whole birthday off, my daughter came to me and told me that her class is gathering "gently used" toys and books to give to children who don't have any. She brought with her one of her Barbie dolls...not the ones with hair that is cut off...not the ones that she has had for too long...no...she brought me one of her "princess" Barbies. She offered it to me and she said, "I don't care very much for her anymore....someone who doesn't have any dolls will care for her a lot."

I told her that God is looking down on her and smiling with a tear in his eye. I said to her that he is up there with all of the good angels and he is pointing down at you and saying, "Look! Look, there." And he is so proud...then the tears welled up in my eyes and I told her that I am proud of her, too. She has the real spirit of the holiday in her soul.

How blessed am I? All the way up to the sky!

A holiday to remember

I expected to have a lonely Thanksgiving. I expected to be disappointed, too. I wasn't setting the bar very high in expectations this year.

After kicking 18 Year Old out of the house almost eight weeks ago, I just wanted to bury my head in the sand. Circle the wagons-that is my survival technique. It appeared that He wouldn't be coming over for the holiday. I invited him weeks before.

Then on Thanksgiving Eve, I decided to drop the "pride" and I called him. I reinvited him over and the delight and excitement in his voice rings in my ears as I type. He said he would arrive around three, so I knew to plan to eat at four. He is perpetually late.

Lo and behold! He called for a ride at two o'clock. We weren't even dressed. hahahahahaha. I was so busy in the kitchen, that I hadn't thought about showering or dressing yet!

The turkey was done one hour early. I lamented, "It's not time to eat yet!" Then Little Big Boy yelled incredulously, "You mean we don't get to have a FEAST????" Well, I had to laugh.

I think he called it a feast because Number One Daughter was telling us the story of the great first feast of Thanksgiving. It was interesting to listen to all the details that she had absorbed. She has her daddy's brain and ability to retain a lot of information. She loves school and that in itself is a wonderful blessing.

The side dishes weren't ready until four, but everything tasted wonderful. I am a great cook. It was a survival skill that I learned-my mother's specialties were good, but there are things that I learned to like only if they are charred. Not charred on the grill; charred like-close to flames. In my mom's defense, her roast beef with all of the trimmings can't be beat and to this day, I prefer her beans and tortillas to my own. Her Thanksgiving spread is hard to beat, too. I have never been able to make her stuffing from scratch, but this year's was close:)

All in all, I think that everything tasted so great because our little family was together. Just the five of us. It was a wonderful holiday and it will go down in the books as one of the ten most memorable. The year that my oldest came home for the first time. Yes, it was a landmark event.

Eighteen Year Old doesn't want to come home to live-he likes his freedom out there. No rules. No rush. There are things that I want to tell him-like: you are living WITH another family-you MUST find a job! But I have tried that, so I repeat to myself the good ol' Dr. Phil line, "How's that workin' for ya?" and I leave him alone. He wants to make his own way.

I know it is wrong for him to live in their home without a job. I know this, but maybe he needs to figure this out for himself. I asked him if he wanted to come home and he doesn't. He likes the "no rules" mentality, but he will discover that everyone has rules-EVERYONE.

But on Thanksgiving, I was simply glad to have him near. He was helpful and considerate. I could barely walk by the end of the preparations and he carried things for me without my asking. Well that's a bit of an embellishment, but that is how I want to remember it. In short this Thanksgiving was magical.

Deleting the inbox

xxyztmf

ssdurfk

ckdstyr

I find myself trying to pronounce the word verifications when I comment. If the word sounds interesting, I try to come up with a definition for it.

I know that it is necessary-who ever thought someone would spend their time learning to "spam" blogs? For that matter, who ever thought anyone would send such filth in the form of spam to email addresses? Surely there are better ways to spend time than to create disgusting messages.

I terminated my personal email address because of the pornography that was finding its way into my inbox. No matter what setting I used or the rules I created to fight them, they still ended up in my inbox. I would delete one and then five others of the same sick graphic rolled in, so I erased my inbox.

Isn't it sad that people spend precious time figuring out how to "out smart" email rules? Then the heathens are hired by the likes of Microsoft so that they can stay on top of viruses. So who is winning here?

There is so much in this world to be done. So many wonderful things that need doing. Oh to be so smart and to use that ability for good-kind of like a capeless super hero. Yes! I want to be a super-like The Incredibles. And my super power would be to reach through the screen and throttle the person who is sending filth via email. Deep breath. I feel better already.

A paper clip to remember

One paper clip for every victim of the Holocaust. Six Million Jews. Five Million others-exterminated by the Nazis in Germany. Eleven million people killed in total because a crazy man had an idea that their lives would "contaminate" the rest of the world.

The Paper Clip Project is complete, but it is not over-not by a long shot. Paper clips were gathered and sent from all corners of the world. One suitcase of paper clips was prepared by a group of German students who wrote letters of apology and requests for forgiveness from Anne Frank.

I watched the documentary: Paper Clips, now showing on HBO. It changed me. It moved me. It made me think. Imagine being one of the eighth graders involved in bringing this project to life. You will discover why paper clips were selected as the symbol of remembrance and you will learn the meaning of the butterfly paintings and the butterfly sculpture that is near the museum.

Eleven million paper clips are stored in a genuine rail car that housed Jews on their way to the concentration camps. Survivors stories and moving letters from their families are read. I encourage you to watch it.

Prejudice is alive and well and it sickens me. If you watch this documentary, it will show you what the residents and students of a small Southern town did to understand the weight and cost of prejudice. More importantly, it will show you what prejudices live in you and how you can change it.

I am forever changed by this documentary and the Paper clip project. The students and community of Whitwell, Tennessee took an amazing journey and you can go for the ride. Again, it changed and enlightened me and I know you will be too.

Turkey, trimmings and tidings of joy

G is working part of the holiday, so we are lying low. Just us. I like it when it is "just us." It takes a lot of the anxiety out of the equation.

Granted there are so many "issues" that crop up when we do this. His family lives in town and they all go to his parents' house for the holidays. I should say that they "converge" on his parents' house. His mother's family is large, as is his father's family, but it is his mother's family that gathers for all of the holidays. They celebrate everything.

It causes hurt feelings when we do not go, but that is not the intention. Sometimes, I like a more intimate celebration. I grew up with just the four of us kids and mom and dad at holidays. It is comfortable when it is a small number. No competition during discussions. Less stress. Most of all I like an intimate celebration because you can focus on the people who make your life better every day in wonderful ways.

So this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful to have time with my husband and children. I invited P. I told him the offer was good until 9 p.m. on Thankgiving. He didn't know what his plans were and I doubt that he will come, but the invitation is out there. I am going to gather my family around me and enjoy their company. This holiday is just for us.

So from our peaceful celebration to yours-even if yours isn't;) Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy everyone and everything. Don't forget to taste the life!

http://wandascountryhome.com/autumnsharvest/

Happy Thanksgiving

Holiday blessings to all and to all an elastic waist band:)

Dusting of snow

Early this morning, we had our second dusting of snow.

"Reality's" gray line

When I was 18, our family doctor told me, "You need to learn to relax." I have never accomplished that goal. Never. I cannot recall any day in my life when my body wasn't "on guard."

It is a result of a gpa who trolled the hallways at night. And it is also the result of being bashed upside the head or kicked or whatever that P's father would feel up to. I used to think that they were separate things, but they are actually related. Gpa T taught me what to expect when it came to men.

I read somewhere or heard somewhere-I think both-that if you want to be a writer, you should not write about incest or abuse. Let me rephrase that, if you want to be a successful writer you shouldn't write about incest or domestic violence or date rape.

Does that mean that once taboo topics have yet again numbed society to the depth of the pain inflicted on survivors of abuse of any kind? I find that interesting. What is that show? The one where people eat bugs and other deplorable and disgusting things-yes, "Fear Factor." You-not you, you, the "royal" you-You mean to tell me that people would rather watch this disgusting excuse for entertainment than hear another true story of abuse?

Rather than spend money on ridiculous fodder as so called "reality" t.v., that money could go to Ethiopian families who have to place children in orphanages because they cannot feed them properly. See this month's issue of Good Housekeeping for the story of two such children. They are now flourishing with their adoptive family in the United States.

That is reality. So the "Survivors, Fair Brady, Bonaduce, Tommy Lee-gag-he is a batterer" are consuming resources and apparently enough viewer brain cells to keep them going. To what purpose? What good is being served?

No-television was not invented to serve a "greater purpose." It was invented to entertain. So called "reality television" is not entertainment-it is exploitation.

Somewhere along the line...think NYPD Blue, which was supposed to be so daring, made it okay for words like, "slut. bitch. bastard", etc. to be uttered during prime time. That isn't entertainment either. Last night and the night before, I watched reruns of Friends and the Gilmore Girls...I like them both, but Lorelei uttered the word, "slut" and it rolled off of her tongue so easily in the seven o'clock central time slot that I just stared at the screen. Yes, they have the little viewer rating on the upper left hand corner, but last time I checked, I was not 14. I cannot recall the words that were uttered on Friends, but there are many words uttered on that show.

I only just began to watch Gilmore Girls again. It was a show that I always liked, but just stopped watching. Maybe it was the language that made me turn off the t.v. set in the first place.

Using this "language" is not okay. It is not freedom of speech. It is carelessness. It is laziness. A great man once said that using vulgar language is actually laziness. It is a crutch. You are not asking your brain to define what you are feeling, you just insert an expletive.

I suppose part of the reason that I am opposed to this language is that when I think of the trolls that I have known...the ones who stole innocence from me, I think of things that are lost. This language is stealing the innocence of our children. They have become numb to its vulgarity. I am hyper-sensitive to the potential loss of innocence, you could say, but you cannot deny that I can recognize loss of innocence when I see it.