Happy 24th Anniversary to my sweetie!

(I wrote this on our 22nd anniversary. I'm using it again, but adding to it.)

Today, December 29th, Michael and I are celebrating out 24th anniversary. Sometimes our relationship seems so fresh, as if we are still honeymooning. At the same time, I can't remember life without him. I feel like we've finally reached the point in our relationship, that it only gets better with each day. And yes, there are still things I am learning about him, and new things to love about him. So in honor of this special occasion, here are 24 things I appreciate about Michael:

1. His smile. Whether he is smiling at one of the kids, grandson, or me, he has a smile that melts my heart.

2. His sense of humor. It pops up unexpectedly at times, and makes me laugh silly-usually when I am way too serious.

3. His way with finances. He is a genius. How else can you explain how we've managed all these years? When he didn't have a "job" for 2 years, we did great.

4. Along with finances, he is hard-working and creative.

5. Michael is not afraid to take risks.

6. He challenges me. Sometimes it doesn't seem endearing for the moment, but I am a better person for it. The first few years of marriage I was not thankful for this quality, but I am now. And yes, he still finds ways to get me to step out of my comfort zone.

7. I love that he tells me I'm the best thing that ever happened to him.

8. His sense of adventure. (I can't wait to see where it takes us when the kids are grown.)

9. He has learned to validate my feelings and listen. He doesn't try to fix everything for me.

10. The pride and joy in taking Ethan riding on the lawn mower.

11. I love that he is always up for trying new dishes and never criticizes my cooking. He'll try anything once, and if something is really distateful, he will comment, "It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you didn't want to make this one again."

12. Even though he says anything I cook is better than going out to eat, he takes me out anyway, so I get a break from cooking.

13. He will get my car washed and vacuumed, just because he loves me.

14. He never leaves his dirty clothes around. He picks up after himself. (I know women who would kill to have a husband with this quality.)

15. When I need him to run an errand, he does it in a timely fashion. I never have to ask twice.

16. He will admit when he is wrong.

17. He is courageous and will stop to ask for directions.

18. He takes care things I dislike doing, like phone calls, fixing things, etc.

20. I can't believe he tolerates the way I toss and turn in bed to get comfortable, but he never complains.

21. He is neat and tidy, but doesn't give me a hard time for not being so.

22. I so appreciate that his care for me, our children and grandson. His love shines through in all he does. He is my hero.

23. Michael is a loving son. Since moving his mom and dad here, he has shown his devotion as a son.

24. His attention to details-he makes the bed so much nicer than I do.

Happy Birthday Michael!

Today is Michael's birthday. He is 54 years. He surprised me yesterday. I walked into my bedroom and found my clothes neatly folded. Even my socks had been paired together. I honestly did not know how to react or what to say.

I've been doing my own laundry for at least 30 years. I cannot recall a time someone folded my laundry so neatly and laid it on my bed to be put away. Occasionally, one of my kids has hung up a few things that were left in the dryer when they wanted to use it. Or they've tossed my clothes into a basket. But here were my things, very neat and tidy.

Who is this man? At one time in our marriage, I asked him what I could do to make him happy, what things made him feel special. His reply was, "keep my laundry clean, hung, and put away." (His Love Language is Acts of Service.) When I saw he'd folded my laundry, I was thrilled, but felt guilty at the same time. I should have been the one folding his.

Michael is forever showing me unconditional love, the kind the Father has for us. I love him so very much. Happy Birthday Michael!

Away In A Manger

"Away in a manger, no crib for his bed..."

This song is stuck in my head. I don't recall when exactly I learned this tune, but I think I know where. When I was six years old, my family attended a small Baptist church in an equally small town. The children gathered in an upstairs room, for Sunday School, all ages together. There were 10 of us on a good day. We sat in little wooden chairs painted in soft, pastel blues & yellows. Mrs. Noel was our teacher. She also played the piano. Quite possibly, she is the one who taught me the song.

My Sunday School teacher was a lovely lady. I loved her bleached-blond bouffant hair & the tiny, white pearls she wore every Sunday. In my eyes she was beautiful. I was equally impressed with her soprano voice. I wished to be just like her.

After hushing the children, Mrs. Noel would turn towards the piano. Sitting poised upon her swivel stool, she'd majestically sweep her arms out and upward. That was our cue. Feet shuffled, chairs banged, as we sprung to our feet. As quick as lightening, her long fingers pounced upon the ivory keys. Her lovely voice rang out as the piano resounded in a rousing, yet melodic symphony. I was sure we were floating up to heaven as the vibrations rocked the floorboards tickling my feet. We Hallelujahed, sang Deep & Wide. We Burned with Oil, held out our Little Lights as they Shined & never hid them Under the Bushel.

At Christmas, the songs changed. When we sang Away in a Manger, the room became quieter. Even Charles, Mrs. Noel's son stopped poking and pinching. We stood quietly. My eyes were misty as I imagined no crib for his bed, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay. I was not quite sure what the cows did when they were lowing, and I was amazed that there was no crying from this baby. But how could he be looking down from the sky at my cradle? I was lost in imagination.

I still get lost in the song. It's different now. I think about Mary, sitting in a stable amongst the animals. The odor of manure, mixed with fresh hay fills her nostrils. She lays her newborn baby into an eating trough to sleep. This isn't any baby. It is the son of God. Mary, a teenage girl, sits pondering what has happened. God has spoken to her about this child, conceived while she was a virgin. Did she ever imagine he'd be born in a barn? Did she wonder if he would be a carpenter like Joseph?

I don't know what happened to Mrs. Noel, the Sunday School teacher who I aspired to be like. I am not an accomplished pianist, nor can I sing the notes she did. But I hope I never tire, or lose the wonderment of Christmas or the songs about the birth of Jesus. It is my desire carry her same enthusiasm. I hope to spark the imaginations of others, especially children, so that they too are intrigued and interested in this baby's birth, far away in a manger.

Merry Christmas

My computer has been hijacked. Not sure when I'll be back. Don't have time to delete the hard drive and reinstall everything right now.

Merry Christmas!

Wordless Wednesday

Bah Humbug!

I feel like a Christmas failure. Each year I tell myself I won't procrastinate, I will not be in the stores shopping for gifts the week before Christmas. But that is exactly where I am. But guess what? I figured out why I do this.

I hear tales of others who buy early, wrap early, bake, ship, entertain...and I've thought a time or two, "I could be one of those people." Not. I suppose it is my inner child who likes to play and have fun. Whenever I buy a gift for somone, I am excited to give it. I can't wait. If I purchase presents too early, I will give them early. I bought some presents this week and already gave 4 of them early. Ugh!

Oh, and what child doesn't enjoy stamping and making stencils? Doesn't this look like fun? This is my bathroom rug, a sprinkling of baby powder and a couple of hands. Why do kids love playing in powder so much??? I guess because the mom does things like this. (Dad, I promise my girls will never have a powder war at your house again.)

Please?

I heard commotion in the kitchen. I'd gone grocery shopping, but hadn't put away the dry goods yet. It sounded like Ethan might be helping. I came into the kitchen to find him at the table. A wooden spoon in one hand and brownie mix, bowl, and cake mix, on the table. How could I say no?
















I convinced him we didn't need both boxes, and I helped him choose the brownies.





















Do you think he'd like a kitchen set for Christmas?

 

Thank-you, Thank-you, Thank-you

I need to say thank-you, to two gentlemen. (Or were they?) I don't know who they are or where they came from. I didn't ask their names and barely saw their faces. They appeared within 2 minutes of my car spinning 180 degrees and landing just off the side of the road.

I didn't hit anything, but the car was stuck in the snow. I tried going forward, then back. I was only successful at wedging us deeper in the slush and ice. Hilary looked at me and I at her. I was glad she hadn't been driving. We both reached for our cell phones.

Outside the window, I saw a truck stop on the shoulder of the road. Two men got out. I rolled down the window. Brrr....it was 21 degrees outside. One man asked if we were stuck. The other walked to the rear of the car to take a look. Then without speaking, they backed their truck up next to us, hitched a chain, and pulled us up out of the ditch. I offered my thanks and cash, but they both refused and waved me along, as they placed the tow rope in the back of their pickup truck. Good Samaritans they were, (or were they angels?) Thank-you! Thank-you! Thank-you!

Do you know what the truly amazing part was? Before I left to pick Hilary up from practice, I grabbed a light weight jacket. But before I took another step, the thought hit me, "what if you were in an accident? Take something warmer." I went to the closet and took out my heavy winter coat. I knew Hilary didn't have her coat either, but I remembered hers was in the back of the car. I know, I didn't even get out of the car so why did I need that coat. Plain and simple, I believe that little voice was the Holy Spirit letting me know ahead of time to be prepared. It is God's way of reminding me that when I am attentive to Him, I can rest assured that He knows what is happening even before it happens. Nothing takes Him by surprise. He is right there with me in the blessings and in the hard times.

I am thankful that He speaks to me in His quiet gentle way. All I have to do is listen. Sometimes I wish He'd yell to get my attention. But He doesn't. As I think about that very first Christmas, and the baby Jesus in a manger, I am reminded of the Lord's gentleness. I need to slow myself down, seek Him first, and listen. And I could stand to be a little more gentle myself.

A Christmas Gift

Kindergarten. A delightful time for a child to develop a love for learning. With new experiences unfolding, it's a time for best friends, reading books, recess & riding the bus with classmates. Kindergarten is meant to be a positive time in a child's life. This hasn't been the case for Ethan.

Ethan had a great summer and was making remarkable progress cognitively. We were excited for his Kindergarten experience to begin. He was ready to learn. His excitement at seeing the school bus the first morning was refreshing. A few days into his school year, the joy was gone.

It became painfully obvious that Ethan's teacher was ill-equipped for the job. She had no qualifications to work in Special Education, in fact, this was her first year teaching. At one point, she admitted taking the job in order participate in the "Loan Forgiveness Program," to pay off her student loans.

The class was chaotic. This teacher had no identifiable schedule for the classroom. No routine for the children to learn. One morning she might gather the kids for calendar time, the next day it would thrown in during the last part of the day. Ethan had disturbing behavior changes, along with other very concerning incidents. He came home with handprint bruises on his arm.

Because of his extra needs, Ethan's CNA worked with him at school several days a week, and was there to help him with lunch. She reported serious concerns with classroom activities. The following week, the school stated Ethan's CNA could no longer attend class with him. They also refused to offer him an aide to take over caring for his needs.

I can't tell you how many tears I've shed, or prayers I've prayed over this situation. I went to meetings with my daughter with the principal, school social worker, special education director, therapists, etc. on more than one occasion. It has been a nightmare.

The teacher was fired. A substitute brought into the class. Next, the preschool teacher was brought in as a temporary teacher, while they certified the new teacher. This teacher had been a consultant brought in to assess the situation. She was horrified at what she saw, having been a veteran of special education for 30 years, but recently retired. She took over as the new teacher the first week of December. She lasted 4 days, then resigned. Another substitute is the current teacher. The children in this class have lost the entire semester. Ethan has regressed. He not only missed out on anything productive his first semester of school, he lost more than an entire year of positive progress developmentally, behaviorly and cognitively.

This is unacceptable. I'm proud of my daughter. She has fought for her son, researched, made phone calls, attended meeting after meeting, sought out help from every imaginable place. As a single parent, she doesn't have the option of homeschooling or sending Ethan to a private school. On Thursday, she met once again with a team of "experts." She put together an amazing list of Ethan's needs, where the school has failed, what the law requires and more. She presented her information to all present at the meeting. The superintendant, who last month refused to give Ethan a full time aide, conceded. Ethan is now authorized to attend a private, autistic school-with a one-on-one teacher ratio. We are elated. Ethan has the chance to have a wonderful school experience. In a school that not only understands and accepts his disabilites, but he will attend a school designed spefically to work with his special needs.

What more could I ask for Christmas than this? We've been given a treasured gift for a very cherished child.

Life Is Precious

I wasn't able to attend church yesterday. I was caring for Ethan. He was sick all day Saturday. At 9:00a.m. Sunday, our Pastor sent an email, telling us of the shootings that had occurred on the church property at the YWAM (Youth With A Mission) Base. I'm sure most have heard of it by now, and the other shooting in Colorado Springs at New Life Church later in the day. So before I post anything else today, I will pray. I hope you will too.

My mind is slipping. It makes me afraid. I pride myself on having a very good memory. But this past week, I considered tucking the pride away with the Fall decorations.

The girls wanted to get a Christmas tree to put up, the day after Thanksgiving. Afterall, everyone does it. (Can we say peer pressure?) I was in the midst of a full-blown pity party originating from the wicked side effects of a particular medication. They asked if we could "pulease get a tree and decorate it the next day." Before my brain could process their request, Michael responded, "sure!"

I was shocked. Those words clearly, could not have come from my husband. He was the one who never wanted the tree up early. Once spruce trees begin to dry out, they drop needles like snow in a winter blizzard. Worse than the needle residue is sap dripping from the bark, right into the carpet. Another year, I overfilled the reservoir with water. The lovely metal stand rusted right onto the carpet. I haven't found anyone or anything that gets rust out of carpet. One year I tried to put the tree up while Michael wasn't home. It took 2 hours to saw off the bottom and then didn't fit in the stand. It tipped over 3 times before I finally sat their crying until he came home. It was always an ordeal to get our Christmas tree. Maybe Michael was just kidding about putting it up the next day.

"Really? We can?" The girls were pretty excited. "When can we go pick it up?"

"I can go downstairs now and get it right now if you'd like."

"What, you're going to chop one down for us outside?"

Now it was his turn to look puzzled. "No, I'm going to get the tree we purchased last year. Remember the tree we bought?

I was stunned. No, I was aghast. A fake tree? I never, in my wildest dreams ever, did I want, nor would I have purchased a tree that came in mulitple pieces and smelled of plastic. I honestly did not remember this.

As we talked about it, hints of a memory began to emerge. I remembered the classic procrastination of getting a tree. When we finally went to pick up our fresh Douglas Fir, the lots were empty. There wasn't even the more expensive kind we'd had to purchase because of our late purchasing and the cheaper ones were gone. In all our years, I don't recall seeing nothing left. We drove around town. We hit 3 or 4 empty lots before giving up. Sometime after this, in a dazed state, I was worn down and agreed to getting a faux tree. It was out of necessity. We needed somewhere to place those last minute presents I still needed to buy. But I don't remember buying it. What did the thing look like?

Another fuzzy memory...something about a pre-lit tree. If we were getting an artificial tree, I did not want clear bulbs. That, to me, would be another loss of tradition. We must have multi-color lights. I could not pull up the memory of assembling the tree, decorating it, or taking it down. Had it been that traumatic for me to settle for less than real? Yes, that must be it. And now, we were stuck with this green thing for years to come.

Last Sunday, Michael brought the tree up. The girls assembled it and decorated it all on their own. I admit, it was so much easier than past years. I have to say too, that in its own way, it did look lovely. That night, as I went to unplug the twinkling lights, I stopped to admire its beauty. And without thinking, I instinctively bent down to check the water level, so our tree would stay fresh.

Yesterday I was tired.

Tired of not feeling well.
Tired of having my house undone.
Tired of seeing my Fall decorations and lack of Christmas one.

The solution? Just do it. I figured the first thing on the agenda was to clean. How in the world can one decorate with lovely Christmas decor if it looks like it's mixed with leftover Halloween cobwebs and goo?

I began in the kitchen. After tidying up, I couldn't help but notice the grime on my kitchen cabinets. Each door had a dark area where we grab to open. We do actually have knobs we could use to avoid this, but the original creator placed them at the middle of the door. They might as well be at the very top. Way too much effort to reach for them.

I wanted a quick & easy solution. Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser. It will rub that grime right off, the way a pencil eraser removes pencil marks. I set to work, scrubbing the corners, then wiping down the rest of the doors. This was working better than I expected. The dirt came off pretty fast. I was half-way finished when I looked back to inspect my work. I was a little shocked at what I saw. In the corners of each cabinet door was a very clean spot, with the finish rubbed completely off. Oh my word, this was much more noticeable than the film of dirt. Nice. Why did I start in the Kitchen anyway? It's not like that is where I do most of my decorating. I quickly left the task half finished and moved to a new area.

The entryway. Ah, a nice small I-can-clean-this-in-a-few-minutes place to start. This is where I hang our Advent Calendar and the first part of the house visitors see. Quickly, I vacuumed every place I could, including the roof where cobwebs had dangled. I noticed the light could stand to be cleaned. It is a lovely glass fixture, with glass panels that can be removed for cleaning. Rather than grabbing the windex, I figured I'd take them down and wash them in the sink. They'd be sparkling in no time. Standing on a kitchen chair, I removed them one-by-one. I tried to be very careful, not wanting to ruin another household item. I stepped down, somehow lost my footing, and fell to the floor. This could have been distrous, but I didn't even try to catch myself, I protected the glass with everything I had. They survived unscathed.

I limped around a bit more, but found my body just wasn't cooperating. I gave up and decided I'd better finish my dinner, since we had guests coming. Back in the kitchen, I remembered my earlier mishap. I chose to ignore it and concentrate on putting away the grocery items I'd bought earlier. I carried a case of water bottles downstairs. Once again, my feet gave way to a tumble. Believe it or not, each of the 48 bottles landed unharmed. I left them on the floor and hobbled back upstairs.

Tomorrow is December 1st. It isn't beginning to look like Christmas. I'm still tired, but I've decided:

I kind of like the Fall Colored Decorations.
I kind of like our very well lived in home, even if it is reminiscent of Disneyland's Haunted Mansion.
I appreciate this tired, weak body. It gives me an excuse to sit at the computer, drinking Starbucks, dipping into the bowl of leftover Halloween candy and reading blogs.

"Walkin' around, the Christmas tree,
have a happy holiday..."

Hilary, it isn't "walkin" it's "Rockin' around the Christmas tree."

No way. We always sang "Walkin' around the Christmas tree" while we walked around it.

We weren't walking, we were dancing. We were Rockin'!

That wasn't dancing. We were definitely walking. Are you sure it's Rockin' around? Walking sounds way better.

Thirty-Eight Degrees

Today it was 38 degrees outside. A lady was driving her car, a convertible, with the top down. I surmise that the mechanism must be stuck, poor soul. The wind whips her hair across her face, cold air bites at every turn. I make the same assumption when it's raining, or snowing and I see a driver with his window down. I feel badly that he must suffer the ills of a broken window, allowing the freezing wetness to blow into his vehicle. That is, until I see the glow from his cigarette as he flicks it out the open window. Nope, he has chosen to leave the window open for his own enjoyment. The lady in the convertible? Oh, that was me. As long as it isn't raining or snowing, I crank the top down and let the wind blow. I choose to have the wind toss my hair wildly.

I find it one of life's little pleasures. As I drove to a doctor appointment, I felt healthy & carefree. Driving to pick up yet another prescription, the sun felt warm, in spite of the arctic air. Besides, my car has a heating system. It is akin to sitting in the glow of a fireplace, with the snow outside. It isn't necessary, but it makes one feel warm and cozy.

Seeing Is Believing

Glasses for busy, little boys are hard to find. They are expensive too. Ask my daughter. Ethan's first pair of glasses didn't last long. Once or twice a day, the lenses would pop out. The eye glass shop said there was nothing he could do and suggested a specialist in children's eyewear.

Four hundred dollars later, Ethan had his second pair of glasses: a lovely blue, flexible frame with non-scratch lenses. The clerk assured us of the durability with the guarantee that they could not be broken. If the lenses were scratched or anything went wrong, they would gladly replace them within the year. Their confidence in the frame was a 2 year warranty. I'll admit, they did stand behind their promise. But by the ninth time replacing the glasses, the clerk didn't seem nearly as cheerful.

The difficult part about replacing the glasses is, it takes 7 days. Ethan has to look through huge scratches, or wear misshapen frames until then. This weekend, though, he rendered them unwearable. He spent a day without his glasses. The strain on his eyes caused them to stay crossed most of the day. We set out to find an inexpensive replacement to wear, while waiting for the new ones.

Christina explained the situation to the optician. He smiled and reached for a small pair of glasses. "These are indestructable, built out of titanium-made especially for boys who are tough on glasses. I assure you, if he can bend them, I can put them back to their original shape. Look, they are flexible and nearly impossible to destroy." Christina nearly laughed in his face. She restrained herself and asked, "do you have a replacement guarantee?"

"Oh absolutely! For an additional charge of $30, we guarantee the lenses for a year. But like I said, the frames are indestructable."

"So how many time will you replace them if they do become damaged?"

He stammered a bit. "Well, just once."

Nice.

Over the weekend, we listened to a lot of Christmas music. We laughed a lot, as we found out some members of the family enjoyed different lyrics to the same songs. I wonder how often this happens.

I remember singing, "by the donzer lelight," as the National Anthem was played. I had no idea what it meant-along with much of the rest of it. As a child, hymns sung in church were often imagination stimulators, as I'd try to figure out what in the world I was singing about. Even with the printed words in front of me, I was often clueless.

Just as curious, were the songs we sang in Sunday School.

"This little light of mine. I'm gonna let it shine...hide it under a bushel, no!" I knew all of the hand motions and loved to sing it, but I wondered what kind of a light was I not going to hide? I knew if you put a burning candle under a basket it might start a fire, so I wouldn't do that. But how was I going to keep satan from blowing it out?

Another one was:

"Give me oil in my lamp, keep it burning...keep it burning till the break of day." Then we'd sing Hosanna's. (Another elusive word, that I tried to imagine what hidden meaning there might be.)

"Are you washed, in the blood, in the soul-cleansing blood of the lamb?" I didn't get that one either.

Many of you reading, may have no idea what I'm talking about with regards to the songs-unless you too sang them. Contemporary churches of today don't sing many hymns. But do our children understand the songs of worship? For that matter, do adults?

When we speak about the things of God, do we speak with Christian lingo that leaves others with lots of words in their head, but no clear message? Are we reciting words ourselves, with no real understanding? We hope that those we speak to will "come to salvation, be sanctified & saved." But are we truly presenting a clear, gospel message? Do we even know what "gospel" means?

Just something to think about.
And no, they don't call him Rudolph.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Waiting For Changes

What was I doing baking cookies at 6:00a.m.? This is the time I usually pack lunches and make breakfast. Was it because I had frozen french toast and chocolate chip pancakes to pull out for breakfast, so thought I'd make a nice batch of homemade cookies for lunches? No. It was in response to the child who commented at 10:30 last night that she needed to bring 2 dozen cookies to school today. Another child remembered she was assigned to bring a bag of chips. (Reminder to self, buy another bag of chips for lunches.) Normally, I would have stayed up baking late into the night. But with 3 hours of sleep the night before, my brain fog might cause me to add a bag of prunes instead of chocolate chips. So, like any good mom who rushes to rescue her kid, I made cookies first thing this morning.

So when do kids think ahead about what needs to be done instead of waiting until the last minute? I thought back to when I was in 3rd grade. Yes, back in the dark ages. Back when we walked to school, and truthfully it was uphill both ways. (Sometime I'll get photos and prove it.) We also went home for lunch. The poor souls who had to eat lunch at school walked 1/2 of a mile down the road to the high school. That was the only cafeteria.

Each week it was one child's turn to present a science experiement. I recall when it was my turn. I remembered that morning at school. Upon arriving home for lunch, I mentioned to my mom that I needed a science experiment to take back for that afternoon. After eating a bologna & mustard sandwich, my amazing mom helped me put a project together. Not once, but twice that year. Afterwards, she drove me to back to school, since we'd used the extra 20 minutes it would have taken to walk.

So when do kids plan ahead instead of waiting until the last minute? I've had the privilege of seeing my older ones do just that. They grow up and don't need to be rescued. No more procrastination! So when does it happen? Oh wait, it doesn't happen for everyone. You see, I am one of those kids who still waits until the last minute.

The Next Time

The next time I'm sick:

I won't wait 6 days for the medicine to start working.

I won't wait 6 days for the second medicine to start working.

When the prescription label lists possible side effects as "insomnia," I can be assured of 3-4 hours of sleep a night.

I'll remember that having empty hampers doesn't equate to having clean clothes.

I'll remember that I have a laundry chute where clothes mate and reproduce into an overabundance of very ripe, dirty laundry.

I'll check my calendar for important upcoming events like Thanksgiving.

I won't be grumpy when Michael says I look beautiful, and instead, I'll respond in kind.

Lastly, I will be thankful for my overall good health, my loving husband who is so very encouraging, for the 5 best kids in all the world, the cutest grandson ever, and will focus on how very blessed I am.

Thanksgiving Memories II

I am not a planner by nature. I don't multitask well. (Does anyone?) I tend to deal with today's agenda and worry about tomorrow, well, when it arrives. This approach dictates mandatory last-minute shopping, creative ideas on how-to-quick-thaw a 16 lb. turkey, and wishes of having 3 ovens. For me, these are almost traditions that every year I try to change.

Thanksgiving Eve, after returning from church, I think, "it's time for me to make my pumpkin pies. The first thing I do? Call my mom.

"Hi Mom! What are you up to?"

"I'm baking, sewing, crafting, designing..." It could be just about anything. My mom is always busy.

"Hey, do you have that Pie Crust Delicious recipe? I know you gave it to me last year, and the year before, and maybe I wrote it down somewhere, but could you give it to me again?"

We chat while I gather the ingredients. I ask about her Thanksgiving preparations. It's been a long time since we spent Thanksgiving together. I feel connected, as if we are standing in the same kitchen working together. Giving thanks and gathering with family just go together.

Last year, in my desire to tame my resistant-to-planning nature, I purchased premade crusts. Although they were tasty, as good as home-made, I found them lacking. I missed my mom and her expert advice. My kitchen was much too quiet and empty without my baking partner. Planning ahead is overrated.

This year, I'm not making pies. But come Thanksgiving Eve, I'm calling Mom.

Thanksgiving Memories 2006