To all those serving our country now and in the past, at home and far away, during peacetime and war, we thank you. As for those of us who haven’t walked in your boots, may we never take your bravery, your selflessness and your sacrifice for granted. Let’s honor our veterans this day and every day.
Happy Halloween to All!
It’s that time of year again. As Halloween nears, our friend Slim, who engages in quiet meditation in the spare bedroom eleven months out of the year, comes out to play. His loyal pooches Fluffy and Champ are by his side and ready to frolic.
With Slim out and about, our family is blessed with another errand runner. And designated driver. We need more Halloween candy, Slim insists, so he’s off to the store. Kiko, ever the happy passenger, prepares to ride along.
Kiko reminds Champ to buckle up.
Be a good boy, Kiko, for Uncle Slim!
Here’s what Slim says: It’s the night before Halloween. Be ready for fun!
For last year’s photos of the Skeleton Crew, see here.
It’s a cloudy, drizzly July 4th here in Northern Virginia, making brightly hued photos of waving flags impossible. Here, then, are a few images taken under blue skies from past Cape Cod vacations.
On this day, and all days, come rain or shine, may we salute and value our common ties as Americans.
May we work toward liberty and justice for all!
My husband’s feats of gift-wrapping extravagance have become a Christmas tradition. One year he wrapped presents for our daughter in oversized tubes for casting concrete. The next he built six hinged plywood boxes that, over the course of several days, coalesced to form a star. Last year, he enclosed gifts in a tall narrow pyramid and a circular creation suspended from the ceiling. What would he do this year, my daughter and I wondered?
He had to be up to something. He couldn’t give up the practice cold turkey. It was one that was hard to top, but harder still to stop. In anticipation, my daughter and I decided to make the first move. We’d gone to Sears and, with a salesman’s help, picked out a perfectly lovely “air nail gun.” While we didn’t really know what it was, H had asked for it. He’d written it on the official “Family Christmas List,” a piece of note paper taped to the kitchen wall.
We began posting the list several years ago in response to an annual after-Thanksgiving conversation, probably familiar in many households. Someone would bring up the topic of Christmas gifts.
What do you want for Christmas?
I don’t know. I really don’t want anything. I certainly don’t need anything.
You know we’re going to get you something. You might as well give us some idea.
We have to have stuff to wrap and put under the tree. After nearly twenty years of marriage, I’ve become as dedicated a wrapper as my husband, despite being raised in a more minimalist holiday tradition. H’s Christmas list entries typically consist of highly specialized electronics, tools or windsurfing gear for which my daughter and I can’t be held responsible; we lack the expertise. He orders them and thanks us for our consideration and generosity. But this year, D and I actually went to a store and came home with an air nail gun. We weren’t sure it was the exact one he had in mind, but we kept the receipt. The package was of medium size and weight. We disguised it in an exceptionally long box, which we wrapped in three types of paper. Propped in a chair next to the Christmas tree, it greeted H rather boldly when he returned home from work. He was pleased to see that we were in the game.
His response began a couple of days later, when a single square package appeared by the tree. Wrapped in shiny paper, it was marked with a large letter E. An unassuming beginning, perhaps, but one that promised more to come. Later that night, another foil-encased box appeared atop the first, marked with another letter. By Christmas morning, there stood, as tall as the tree, a tower of seven packages, the letters spelling out our daughter’s name. A simple, but impressive presentation.
What’s in the boxes, of course, is of less importance than their visual impact and the process of unwrapping them. Some might say it’s a terrible waste of paper and not very green. This is probably true. But it can also be said that it’s a way of focusing more on the act of giving than on the gift itself. In this case, our family would agree on the truth of that old adage: It’s the thought that counts. Our gift-wrapping is nothing if not thoughtful.
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Kiko, on the other hand, isn’t so much into thoughtfulness or presentation, at Christmas or any other time. For him, it’s all about the smell, and he smells treats. What happened to his stocking? And is there more beef stick?
The first snow of 2015 arrived here in Northern Virginia in the early hours of January 6. This final, twelfth day of Christmas marks the visit of the Magi, who followed a star to worship and present their rare gifts to the baby King.
You could say, then, that we had a somewhat delayed white Christmas.
Much to the disappointment and astonishment of my daughter and other local kids, school went on as usual, without even a delay. After our ten snow days last year, we’ve come to associate even the slightest rumor of a snowflake with a school cancellation. The snowfall was heavier than predicted, so our winding old roads saw many accidents and delays. The elementary school bus in our neighborhood was so long in coming, and reports of road conditions so bad, that parents were discussing simply letting the children stay home.
The dog walking, however, was fine. Kiko and his friend Ziggy the ridgeback were playfully exuberant. Kiko had to show Ziggy how fast he can run, stop and turn, repeatedly. The temperature was in the low 20s, and the snow was the light, powdery kind that doesn’t clump and irritate furry paws. Both dogs looked festive in their wispy Santa snow beards.
Because of this morning’s extensive traffic problems, the kids can probably rest assured that the next time snow is forecasted in our area, it will come with a school closing. My daughter, no doubt, is betting on it.
A little girl from Christmas past–our daughter at age two in December 2000.
Wishing you and your family a Christmas full of love and joy!
This Christmas Eve here in Virginia dawned gray and rainy, as it did along most of the east coast. According to the weather forecast, the day will remain gray and rainy. The heaviest rain is likely to coincide with our church’s live outdoor nativity. There may be thunderstorms.
At last year’s nativity, for the first time, our human participants, that motley, multi-aged crew of holy family, shepherds and kings, were joined by several four-legged friends. These included a burro, a sheep and a goat. Kiko found the burro quite fascinating. The burro ignored Kiko.
But best of all, there was Samson the camel. Samson surveyed the scene with a majestic air of intelligence and calm. He seemed to enjoy nuzzling his many appreciative fans. He and his mate Delilah, who had another engagement, live on a farm in rural Virginia. Samson’s handler appears with him in appropriately Biblical costume and beard.
We all hope bad weather won’t keep Samson away. I doubt it will; he’s a sturdy sort. Last year, he was unperturbed in the face of a frigid, persistent wind.
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We know with absolute certainly that nothing can extinguish the true light of Christ that dawns in our dark world. It’s the flame that glows within us, if we let it, all our lives, illuminating our paths and those of others with whom we share the road.
I wrote about that light in the darkness several years ago in a Christmas Eve post. It continues to express my thoughts for the day, and it can be found here.
This Christmas Eve, may we feel the warmth of the miraculous light, and may we keep it burning.
One holiday activity (and chance to go overboard) is no longer available to me. That’s dressing up my daughter in a Christmas costume and photographing her endlessly. Over the years, my mother had outfitted most of my dolls with Christmas dresses, coats, capes, and sometimes special hats. She was eager to transfer her efforts to our real-life baby doll when my daughter came along. For her first Christmas, Mama made her an elf outfit out of soft fleece. While D was, like many babies, often the contrarian, from the very beginning she was pleased to play dress-up and pose for the camera. Here, then, some photos from fifteen years ago, of our little Christmas elf, not quite twelve months old.
December 1999
To new parents, nothing says “Merry Christmas” like their baby decked out in holiday gear.
