Oldroyd elves

My friends the Oldroyds came over tonight and helped me assemble and put lights my Christmas tree! Kim lived in our ward briefly when she came home from her mission (she's the eldest daughter in the Daniels family) and now she's got 5 kids and they are days away from leaving Boston (Jim has been an international faculty fellow at MIT) and weeks away from moving to Korea where Jim will teach business at a university. She went to NYC with me last Saturday--she had never been before! It was a fun evening and their kids are delightful! I showed them "Charlie Brown's Christmas" which they had never seen. They brought a yummy pie and this cute butterfly ornament. Just when we were starting to have fun they are going to be moving. Instead of crying about it I'm going to put the rest of the ornaments on my tree!

Greatest Gift

Greatest Gift
First Prize Winner of Woman’s Day “Greatest Gift” contest by Sandra Bateman, American Fork, Utah, Woman’s Day, December 18, 1979

It was but a few short days until Christmas in 1966. Two young Elders of the Mormon Church walked the streets of Laredo, Texas, knocking on doors in search of someone who would listen to their gospel message. No one in the entire city had time to hear the teachings of the Savior, it seemed; they were so intent on making the celebration of His birth suit their own social purposes.

Filled with discouragement, the two young men turned their backs to the approaching twilight and began the long walk home. Retracing their steps of the afternoon, they came upon a low, windswept riverbank. Jutting from its brow stood the barest means of a shelter, constructed of weathered wooden slats and large pieces of cardboard. Strangely, they felt moved to go to the door and knock. A small, olive-skinned child with tangled black hair and large dark eyes answered. Her mother appeared behind her, a short, thin woman with a tired bur warm smile. In her rich Spanish alto she invited the young men to come in and rest awhile. They were made welcome and seated on the clean swept floor. The little one-room shanty seemed to be filled with shy, smiling, dark-eyed children. The mother proudly introduced each of them—eight in all—and each in turn quickly bobbed his or her head.

The young men were deeply moved at the extreme poverty they saw. Not one in the family had shoes, and their clothes were ill-fitting and in a condition beyond mending. The walls of the little home showed daylight between the wooden slats, and eight little rolls of bedding were pressed tightly into the cracks to help keep out the draft until they were needed for sleeping. A small round fire pit dug in one corner marked the kitchen. An odd assortment of chipped dishes and pots were stacked beside an old ice chest, and a curtained-off section with a cracked porcelain tub served as the bathing area. Except for these the room was barren.

The mother told how her husband had gone north to find employment. He had written that he had found a job of manual labor and that it took most of his small wage to pay his board and room. But, she told the young men, he had managed to save fifty cents to send them for Christmas, with which she had purchased two boxes of fruit gelatin. It was one of the children’s favorites and would make a special treat on Christmas day.

Later, long after the young men had left the family, they stood and asked each other, “Fifty cents?...Fifty cents for eight children for Christmas?” Surely there must be something they could do to brighten Christmas for such children.

The next morning, as soon as the local shops opened, the young men hurried to the dime store and purchased as many crayons, cars, trucks, and little inexpensive toys as they could afford. Each was carefully wrapped in brightly colored paper and all were put in a large grocery bag. That evening the two young men took their gifs to the shanty on the riverbank. When they knocked, the mother swung the door open wide and invited them in. They stopped inside and in halting Spanish explained to the children that they had seen Santa and he had been in such a hurry he’d asked if they would deliver his gifts to the children for him.

With cries of delight the children scrambled for the bag, spilling its contents upon the floor and quickly dividing the treasured packages. Silently the mother’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. She stepped forward to clasp tightly one of each of the young men’s hands in hers. For long moments she was unable to speak. Then, with tears still welling from her eyes, she smiled and said, “No one has ever been so king. You have given us a special gift, the kind of love that lights Christmas in the heart. May we also give you a special gift.” From the corner of the room she drew out the two small boxes of fruit gelatin and handed them to the young men. Then all eyes were moist. All knew the true meaning of giving, and none would ever forget that at Christmas the greatest gift of all was given.

Covered Bridge

I took this photo in December of '01 near Woodstock, VT. Quintessential New England I'd say...

The Gift of the Magi

by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. "Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously. "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first." White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

A Holiday Stop for Train Number Seven

I am going to post some of my favorite Christmas stories this year. Here's the first one.

A Holiday Stop for Train Number Seven
by Lavetus Mahan Wimmer, Medford, Oregon

Published in Family Circle December 11, 1984

My most joyful Christmas remembrance goes back 60 years, when a simple message in a letter brought together three nations. The great flu epidemic of 1918-19 had claimed my father several years before, leaving Mom to care for us seven children. An enterprising woman, she did the best she could providing for us. We were poor, but happy.

Many of our friends lived, as we did, close to the railroad tracks. There were the Hopi Indian boys we often played with and our Mexican friends, who lived in a section house. These houses were provided by the railroad company, which allowed only two rooms per family, no matter how big the family was.

As I think back now, we were a super bunch of kids. We all got along well and learned to respect each other's backgrounds. We visited each other's houses and enjoyed our families' ethnic foods as often as we could, though our parents never mingled.

The area between our house and the train tracks was our private playground. From there, we watched the trains go by each day. We waved to the crewmen daily. Although the passenger trains went by very fast, the crew­as well as the passengers­never failed to wave back. Our favorite train was the Number Seven, Chicago Limited; it was long, shiny and black, with its Pullman windows red-curtained.

The afternoon of Christmas Eve, with faces aglow, noses runny and hands blue and trembling from the cold, we 17 children lined up to wave and shout holiday greetings to our favorite train. We all watched in awe as the Number Seven, whistle blowing, topped the grade. And then, wonder of wonders, that long, magnificent train pulled to a halt right in front of us. We couldn't believe it.

The big engineer swung down from his cab. Close behind him came the crew, carrying boxes and crates filled with treats for us. As the trainmen approached us, the passengers leaned out of the windows, waving and calling greetings to join in the celebration. The conductor stood near the train, observing the festivities and holding a single package under his arm.

Mother had heard the commotion and came out to join us. The conductor handed her a letter along with the package. Then, before we realized what was happening, the train pulled away.

Mother began to read the letter, and soon she was shedding tears of joy. She sent the other children to get their parents, telling them to come back with baskets for the goodies.

When everything was divided among our families, Mother asked us to be quiet. She opened the package the conductor had given her, and there, under all the layers of white tissue paper, were 17 pairs of red woolen mittens in various sizes. With the help of our parents, we each found our size and eagerly put them on our cold hands.

Mother then took the letter from her pocket, and we listened very carefully as she read it aloud: Merry Christmas to our Junior League of Nations. You are the future of our country. We stand proud of you. It is our fondest hope that someday all races and nations, like their children, shall come together and live in peace.

From the Engineer and Crew of Number Seven, Chicago Limited

One December day in New York City

Look who we saw in NYC!

Guess where I'm going tomorrow???

Tonight was my 20th Wreath Making Party!

WOW! What a great night! [It was worth all the frustration of the last few days. I'll spare you the details.] This is a tradition that has been a part of the Boston/Cambridge Stakes for 40+ years. We had a terrific crowd of women there. We had dedicated co-chairs (thank you Sherene and Darcy). We had beautiful decorations (Jenn is a rock star!). We had delicious food (will you cater my wedding, Brittany?). We had a wonderful musical program (Linda=maestra). We had rows of bows (Elisabeth orchestrated the making of 200 bows!). We had lots and lots of helpers with set-up, clean-up, registration, food, decorations, buying supplies, participating in the program and making bows. Everything turned out GREAT!!! I was so glad to have so many of my friends there. And Shelly and Shelley came all the way from Utah!

Twenty Wreath Making Parties ago the chairwoman asked if I'd be in charge of food. I said "sure" and had no clue what the party entailed. Her instructions were, "The food needs to be really nice, try not to spend a lot of money, and we have to have carrot soup." Carrot soup? I didn't know nothin' about makin' no carrot soup. Well, I made gallons of carrot soup (and followed her other instructions) and was totally blown away when I got to the church and saw what a Wreath Making Party was all about! Since that first year I've been in charge of something almost every year (chair/co-chair/set-up/clean-up). This year I was an unpaid consultant. The party is a BIG deal. It's a wonderful tradition. Some women have brought their same friends for 15 or 20 years. You walk in the building and can smell the boughs (it's better than a Yankee candle!). I think the party is worth every ounce of effort that goes into it. The Wreath Making Party is one of my very favorite New England traditions and it really is a wonderful way to start the Christmas season even if it's not December yet!

It's beginning to look a lot like Wreath Making

A Christmas classic

I watched "Charlie Brown's Christmas" tonight; I think I can honestly say it's my favorite Christmas movie.

#18

I met my friend Katie for dinner tonight at Emma's Pizza in Kendall Square. I went there a few months ago with a few coworkers and had the yummiest pizza. Emma's is thin crust pizza so I can pound down 4 slices instead of my usual 2. I'd been thinking about the pizza I had with sweet potatoes, spinach, artichoke hearts and mozzarella. It was #18 on their menu and it was good!

the Dinner Party Project

I wish this had been around when I was in 5th grade.

Merry Tuba Christmas

I went to the Tuba Concert at Fanueil Hall this afternoon. It was really cool. There were lots of baritone and tuba players -- the youngest was 11 and the oldest was 72! And, one guy had been performing at the concert for 22 years! My niece plays the tuba so at one point I called their number, held up my cell phone, and left a voice mail message of tubas playing "Drummer Boy" so she could enjoy it! I LOVE being downtown at Christmastime; I love the decorations and all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. I saw the sister missionaries there (they got the idea from my holiday list -- yeah!) and had a nice visit with them. I had pizza from Pizzeria Regina and then stopped at Starbucks for peppermint hot chocolate which I sipped as I was riding the subway back. It was really cold (30's) but worth it! I do something new each year for the holidays and this year it was the Tuba Concert!

I've experienced...

...walking on the Great Wall of China, winning a shopping spree, riding the Chinatown bus to New York City, viewing Paris from the Eiffel Tower, working for a Governor, sleeping out at the Rose Parade, hiking to the top of the Statue of Liberty, playing my clarinet at the L.A. Coliseum, seeing Niagara Falls, and now...shopping on Black Friday! I woke up at 4:00am (after very little sleep), met my friend at 4:30am and we were at Best Buy at 5:00am! From there we went to the Square One Mall and then to Target. She is at the Burlington Mall now and I'm going to stumble to my bed and hopefully get a few more hours of sleep. I'm exhausted , but hey, I can say I've experienced Black Friday!

Happy Thanksgiving!

I had Thanksgiving dinner with the LaPierres (for the 16th year!) and took my traditional items: cranberry/raspberry jell-O, rolls and games. We played spoons and then the M&M game. There were 29 there and it was very noisy and very fun. I went to the Truscotts after for a slice of Julie's delicious chocolate mousse pie. Now I'm home. I'm going to tidy up the place, go to bed at a decent hour, and meet my friend at 4:30am to do some early morning Black Friday shopping (a first for me).

Tradition...Tradition!

One Thanksgiving holiday my mom took two of us ("the reds"?) to Sacramento to visit her cousin and our SLC grandparents who were visiting her, and my dad stayed home with the other two kids. I remember getting a phone call on Thanksgiving day at Cousin Isabelle's house and it was my dad and brothers calling from DISNEYLAND! They went to Disneyland without us--on Thanksgiving Day! And, they said it wasn't even crowded! So for years after that, it was our Thanksgiving tradition. I think our friends the Eccles went with us a few times. This picture was taken on Thanksgiving as a possible Christmas card photo.
















My parents would give us money for lunch and point us in the direction of the stand that sold hot dogs and hamburgers and they would eat somewhere else (a nice turkey dinner) and we'd meet up after. It didn't take us long to realize we should ask to eat with them and then we all enjoyed a Thanksgiving meal!

It was fun to spend Thanksgiving at an un-crowded Disneyland!

One winter glove

It's getting cold in Boston. This morning I dumped out a garbage bag of winter items (coats, scarves, hats, etc.) and only one glove fell out.

Only one glove? I thought of Michael Jackson.

Brush with fame: I went to the Galleria Mall in Sherman Oaks on New Year's Eve back in the early 80's (maybe looking for a last-minute item before going to a church dance...I can't remember). I was in a store, heard some commotion, turned to look, and there he was: Michael Jackson! He was wearing a sparkly jacket, high-water pants, white socks, loafers, and ONE glove (no, I didn't take this photo -- but I guess I could have!). My mom didn't believe me when I said, "That's Michael Jackson!". But, it was him.

San Fernando Valley trivia: If the Jackson Five had gone to public high school, they would have been educated at Birmingham High with the Patton Four.

Back to my one glove saga. I will not survive the winter with only one winter glove so I stopped at the Eddie Bauer Outlet tonight and found a nifty pair of gloves (and a reasonably-priced wool plaid skirt!).