LIFE IN LINWOOD

We lived in the small village of Linwood, Michigan, on a corner lot on Center Street, right next to the Linwood Recreation. My father was a barber and had his shop kiddy-cornered across the street next to the Linwood Hotel.

It was the early 1940's. My sister, Nancy, was born and WW II was in progress. The United States entered the war when the Japanese surprisingly bombed Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands where we had bases and ships in port. Many people died there. Back home, times were hard. People were enlisting and off to war. The town emptied of its young men who used to frequent The Linwood Recreation next door. When a relative decided to sell The Recreation, my father purchased it and began adding on an addition for a home. The Recreation was not the run-of-the-mill pool room, it was family oriented with a juke box, pin ball machines, ice cream, a popcorn machine ... pop and lots of fun and laughter. The older kids hung out there and many adults came, both men and women. Business slowed down some now that many of the boys left to join the military and fight our war.

Before the addition was completed, we moved into our new home. It was a humble home as building materials were not readily available while the war was on. We had an outdoor privy while we waited for our toilet and sink to be installed. Wood was at a premium and we had only light lavender paper stretched across the walls dividing the 6 small rooms ... a kitchen, living room, 2 bedrooms, laundry room, bathroom. [Later, the rooms were plastered by a good friend, Johnny Pelky, but that was a long time coming.] By the time the men came to plaster, the paper walls were torn and uglier than before from poking our fingers through it and making the holes larger and larger. I was eager to be rid of all the torn paper.

We did have a room attached to our house that separated our home from The Recreation. We called it the Middle Room. It is where my father stored the supplies for the store. It did have a public restroom. Our upright piano was in this room, my mother's push treadle sewing machine, a coal stove, an antlered deer head hung over the piano, later my mother had a dryer tucked behind the door going into the kitchen ... but that, too, was years and years later. The Middle Room gave us a little extra room and we used it a lot to play. The only telephone for the house and store was located here. The room was furnished with a few comfortable chairs and a few wicker pieces my mother loved ... and atop the wicker table stood a colorful Tiffany's style Victorian lamp with tassels hanging from the light switch. In an alcove off the main room was a section used for stacking soda pop bottles for the store. We also kept our dog blanket and Trixie's dog dish next to the stove. The room was filled with memorabilia and interesting bric-a-brac artifacts that Mom collected and had no place in our small home to store them. Everything we had no room for seemed to end up stashed in the Middle Room.

The Middle Room was painted a light pea green ... not too cheerful, but Mom said it was a relaxing color. She loved the colors green and yellow. Our kitchen was bright yellow with dark green counter tops, the living room pale green, the bathroom was tinted pink, the folks bedroom a restful pale green and all us kids, three of us at the time, my brother, Rich, who had a daybed and my sister, Nancy and I slept together in a double brown iron bed in the blue bedroom. There wasn't enough room to install a bedroom door so for years we slept in a bedroom with no door, which was fine as we could get more heat from our oil burner in the living room with the door open. [Years later, when my little sister, Joey, was born, she took my place when I went off to nursing school ... until then, it was necessary for her to sleep on a cot in my parents bedroom ... not an ideal situation, but it was the best my folks could afford. Also, while I was away at school, my folks built an addition to their living quarters, adding on a good size living room with a fireplace, another bedroom, and a lovely screened-in porch.] Many mornings I woke up so cold I would run into the living room and Dad would help us dress with the clothes he placed across our stove to warm them. One of the nicest memories I have is my father sitting me on his lap and rubbing my feet to warm them before he put on my socks.

Mom would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast, either oatmeal, cream of wheat, scrambled eggs and toast or pancakes, if she had time. Ovaltine, a chocolate crystals we stirred into our milk was a regular, as was hot cocoa when it was cold outside. We all had the daily dose of cod liver oil and a multiple vitamin. On the radio we heard Squeaky and Sputters, Eddie Arnold singing, news reports, or Happy Hank singing his birthday song, "I know a girl who has a birthday today, I know a boy who has one, too ...". Mom would braid my hair in pigtails, always neatly pulled tight ... shiny clean. Mom rinsed our hair with vinegar to get all the soap out and make it shine. We got teased by the other kids that our pigtails were pulled so tight, we looked Chinese ... and that we smelled of vinegar ... at least until we had our hair washed again. We didn't care what they said, we knew we looked fresh and clean. Mom would always tie colorful ribbons on the end of our braids. She kept us all neat and clean ... taught us table manners, insisted we respect all adults, and reminded us that The Blessed Virgin was watching over us which encouraged us to always behave ... and of course we all knew our Guardian Angels were right with us to protect us at all times.

We were a proud family, well behaved, and deeply loved. We put on our winter coats and galoshes, mittens and scarves and we walked to school along the sidewalks that followed Center Street. It seemed a long way then but in reality it was only about 1/4 of a mile. We only got driven to school if it was raining.

When school was out for summer, Mom would always have a hired girl to help out with the housework so she could work in the store while Dad barbered in the shop that he had built in connection with The Recreation. My parents worked long hours. Later, after selling the pool tables, juke box and pin ball machines ... they converted The Recreation into a dairy bar/lunch counter ... sold greeting cards, newspapers and magazines, ice cream and some clothing ... and carried a line of Feather's baked goods brought in from Bay City. It was more like a General Store. Later, my folks bought out the local drug store from Jenny Yakel and moved it into our building ... now selling patent medicines, all sorts of drug store fare except prescriptions. We had no pharmacist. My brother, Richard, began his college studying pharmacy, intending to return to our store when he graduated but he ended up teaching elementary school when he received a full scholarship from the Ford Foundation with the understanding that he would have to study teaching. So our Drug Store never did have a pharmacist ... but we had everything else ... and still ran the dairy/lunch counter. We had many coffee guzzlers daily, sometimes coming in twice a day, morning and afternoons sort of their social life. During the big smelt runs, hundreds of smelt fishermen descended on the whereabouts of Linwood and my folks would keep the lunch counter open all night ... and I worked all night. [One night I was so exhausted I dropped a bowl of hot chili in the lap of one of the sportmen. It was embarrassing but he was a gentleman about it and of course my folks did not charge him for his late night snack ... and my father helped clean him up, heard the smelt were running good and sent him back on his way fishing with a smile on his face.]

Linwood Beach was the place to go at one time. Many lovely cottages lined the shore. Years ago well-to-do families would come, by train, for the summers and return to the city for the school and winter season. The Beach had a pavilion with big bands playing where dances were held and people came in by boat and train from Bay City, Saginaw, and Midland. It still is a lovely beach and many of the original cottages remain with their original families. Many have remodeled them, restored to their original condition and some are just the same as they were in the beginning ... well tended and loved, and Linwood Beach still remains a lovely place to own a second home ... although more and more people are making Linwood Beach their permanent residence.

One Christmas in the 40's when we still owned The Linwood Recreation

I was about eight years old when we had a December with no snow. It was nearly Christmas. Every kid in town was worried how Santa would get to us. The village streets were bare ... the grass bare ... not a snowflake fell the whole month of December. I was not only worried, but I was sad. Here it was Christmastime and it didn't feel a bit like Christmas. Dad and Mom were late picking out our Christmas tree. When it came, it seemed ages before it was fit to decorate. Dad, a Christmas tree perfectionist, was busy cutting holes in the trunk and redistributing branches to cover the bare spots. The Christmas tree was a big deal at our house. Mom loved the tree, as did we all. After Dad was satisfied he'd covered all the bare spots, he covered one or our pool tables with a tarp, set the tree in a stand ... put it atop the pool table and lifted each of us kids up on the table to help trim the tree.

My father was fussy about the decorations and we all liked the icicles, taking great pains to hang them one by one so they hung gracefully from the branches. Dad was bigger on stretching cotton over the branches to make it look like snow. The ornaments were special and each had a story. My favorite was the soft little brown teddy bear that was one of the first ornaments they bought for the tree when my brother was a baby. There were beautiful hand blown glass violet and aquamarine bells that had been on every tree that I remembered. I wanted to put some of them on ... and when I picked one up, it fell and broke and I was devestated and cried forever it seemed. Initially, Dad gave me a sour look, but later, hugged me and said that maybe I had better stick with the ornaments that weren't so fragile. I never forgot that incident. Every time I decorate a tree I think of that broken bell.

Anyway, there was still no snow on Christmas Eve. As usual, a bunch of us went Christmas caroling in the neighborhood and returned home for hot chocolate and Christmas cookies. It was time to prepare for midnight mass. Our house was unusually quiet. Mom and Dad had closed the store and were resting up before going to church. It had been a busy week and up until I left for caroling, Mom was still wrapping gifts.

We all went to Midnight Mass together, leaving early about 11:00 as Midnight Mass was always well attended at St. Anne's and although our church was large for a small town, it would be crowded ... by the time mass started, there would be standing room only. As we approached the church steps, Mother saw how sad I looked and asked me what was wrong. "It's Christmas, Carole. You should be happy."
"I know, Mom. I am happy, but I am disappointed that it is not snowing. All the little kids are worried about Santa arriving."
"Not only the little kids," Richard said. "You look a bit concerned yourself."
"I am concerned as to how he'll get here but, like always, I'm more concerned about how he will get into our house. We don't have a big enough chimney for him to crawl down. How does he get in?"
"We don't really have a chimney at all, just pipes from the oil burner," Richard said.
"Santa has all kinds of transportation, kids ... airplanes ... trucks ... not only reindeer and a sled," Dad reminded them "Remember, just the other night Santa was checking and left his big red truck on our lawn."
"Yah, right, Dad," Richard said.
"That was Gene Sauve's Gasoline Truck, Dad. He was filling our oil tank. We knew that even though he tried to scare us by tapping on our windows and pretending he was Santa Claus." Claus."
Dad smiled. "Just pray for snow then, kids."
"I'm praying hard," I said. "I've been praying for snow all week."
Christmas Mass, as always was beautiful. The Adult Choir sang and the Children's Choir, which Nancy and I belonged to. It was hot in church with our winter coats on and by the time the long line of communicants finished, they were hot, tired and ready to go home.
All I could think about was seeing our Christmas tree, and sitting curled up on the couch in front of it and just watching it. When we opened the doors to leave church, I gasped! Looking up, I cried, "Look Everybody! It's snowing! It's a miracle!"
"See, kids. Your prayers were answered," Mom said, smiling. "Now Santa will get here for sure."
Happily they headed for home where Dad and Rich would eat oyster stew and the rest of us would have a piece of Mom's famous meat pie with cranberry sauce. They laid out a snack for Santa ... Christmas cookies and milk with a little bowl of sugar for the reindeer. Then it was time for bed and sweet dreams of Santa flying through the air while the snow fell paving his way to deliver his toys to all the boys and girls. It would be hard to sleep tonight as we listened for the reindeer to land on our roof and hoping Santa would find his way in.

TOUCHING CHRISTMAS STORY

My friend, Lois Miller, sent me this beautiful, touching Christmas story about a family falling on hard times. 1/4/2004

THE BIG WHEEL

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job … still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called The Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.

And so I started at The Big Wheel. When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home. One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in The Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree. [We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road down by the dump.] It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car-or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what.

When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, scrambled inside and knelt in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It as full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning. Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, [ MOM STYLE]

My neighbor, Jackie Wilkie, sent this clever poem that most mother's can relate to. 12/23/2003

Sometimes we need reminding of what life is all about. Especially at times during the Holiday season, when all we seem to do is clean and bake and shop and and and and and and and … You get the picture, I'm sure. So stop for a moment and hug that little one so special, whether he/she is 2 or 22, or even older than that. For they are the Gift that God gave us in life . . . and what a gift to be treasured, far above any other! May the real meaning of Christmas be with you all this year, is my prayer.

Twas the night before Christmas...[Mom style ]

Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the abode
Only one creature was stirring,
And she was cleaning the commode.

The children were finally sleeping,
All snug in their beds,
While visions of Nintendo 64 and Barbie,
Flipped through their heads.

The dad was snoring
In front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle
Propped on his knee.

So only the Mom heard
The reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh,
"Now what is the matter?"

With toilet bowl brush
Still Clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs,
And saw the old man.

He was covered with ashes
And soot, which fell with a shrug,
"Oh great" muttered the Mom,
"Now I have to clean the rug."

"Ho Ho Ho!" cried Santa,
"I'm glad you're awake.
Your gift was especially
Difficult to make."

"Thanks, Santa, But all I want is time alone."
"Exactly!" he chuckled, "So I've made you a clone."
"A clone?" she muttered, "What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit chat."

Then out walked the clone. The mother's twin,
Same hair, same eyes, Same double chin.
She'll cook, she'll dust, She'll mop every mess.
You'll relax, take it easy, Watch The Young And The Restless."

"Fantastic!" the Mom cheered. "My dream has come true!"
I'll shop, I'll read, I'll sleep a night through!"
From the room above, The youngest did fret.
"Mommy! Come quickly, I'm scared and I'm wet."

The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart."
Hey," the Mom smiled, "She sure knows her part."
The clone changed the small one And hummed her tune,
As she bundled the child In a blanket cocoon.

“You’re the best Mommy ever.
I really love you.”
The clone smiled and sighed,“
nd I love you, too.”

The Mom frowned and said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal.
That's my child's LOVE She is trying to steal."
Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear,
Only one loving mother Is needed here."

he Mom kissed her child And tucked her in bed.
Thank You, Santa, For clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, It won't be very long,
When they'll be too old For my cradle and song."

The clock on the mantle Began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time."
With the clone by his side Santa said "Goodnight".
Merry Christmas, dear Mom, You will be all right."

Hero General John Borling's POW Christmas Poem

The Other Christmas

-By General John Borling, Republican candidate for U.S. Senate

In the spirit of the season, General John Borling (GOP U.S. Senate candidate) recalls the holidays he spent as a POW in North Vietnam by writing poetry mentally composed (including the one below) while in a communist prison camp. Borling would tap it through the walls as a present to his comrades and as a reminder of what Christmas means. Since our nation is blessed to have the continuing service of its military men and women, the message is contemporary still.


The Other Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and out at alert,
Not a creature was stirring, card table desert,
The pilots and crew chiefs in bunk rooms asleep
Toss fitful awaiting the klaxon to leap,
And off in the corner, a dark, tinseled tree,
It’s Christmas again in the land of the free.

Twas the night before Christmas out over the pond
Where a Starlifter strains for far Europe beyond.
The drone of its engines an ole carol say,
Germany tomorrow, Mid-East next day.
The instrument panel dull red all aglow,
Back home at McGuire, it’s starting to snow.

Twas the night before Christmas so far out at sea,
Be it cruiser, destroyer or Battle Group CV
Up forward, the lookout marks tolling of bells,
No church steeples here, just salt spray, and ground swells.
And on watch, on the bridge, the O.D. doth roam,
The Captain’s Chair empty, both here, and at home.

Twas the night before Christmas, up over the pole,
There’s a B-52 on atomic patrol.
With peace their profession, its crew doth attend
Their fortress of strength to deter and defend.
Strange, all electronics of this modern day
Show nary a sign of old Santa and sleigh.

Twas the night before Christmas, a deployment call comes,
So good-bye little children who dream sugar plums,
Tomorrow they’ll wake, their young eyes all alight,
Then blink back the tears, Daddy’s left in the night.
Now far from the hearth where each stocking is hung,
Cross cold, starlit skies, a small aircraft is flung.

Twas the night before Christmas, down deep in the pad
Stands a Minuteman poised, if the world should go mad.
Its cold chimney silo hath no warming place
Nor rooftop awaiting a swift courser’s pace.
And what yuletide missal from men waiting still,
Though strange it may seem, peace on earth, and good will.

Twas the night before Christmas mud up to the knee,
Here’s a lone foxhole dug by a young PFC.
He’s only eighteen, Christmas Eve seems to close
But ready he stands, to destroy unknown foes.
He’s scared, but he’ll do the grim job that he must,
In him have we placed, our defense and our trust.

Twas the night before Christmas, all over the earth,
There’s a serviceman standing, no mistletoe mirth.
He’s Army and Navy, Air Force and Marines,
If asked, he could tell you, how much Christmas means.
You don’t know his names, waiting children or wife,
But for you, if need be, he’ll lay down his life.

Twas the night before Christmas, and then, Christmas Day,
And just maybe you’ll think of those troops far away,
And just maybe, take out a moment or two,
Say a short prayer for them, the family and you.
A small price indeed for your bright, tinseled tree,
It’s Christmas again, in the land of the free.

CHRISTMAS CAROLS FOR THE PSYCHIATRICALLY CHALLENGED

For a change of pace ... let us have a few laughs together.

Schizophrenia --- Do You Hear What I Hear?

Multiple Personality Disorder --- We Three Kings Disoriented Are

Dementia --- I Think I'll be Home for Christmas

Narcissistic --- Hark the Herald Angles Sing About Me

Manic --- Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and ....

Paranoid --- Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me

Borderline Personality Disorder --- Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

Personality Disorder --- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll tell You Why

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder ---Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells

GOD BLESS OUR TROOPS

A Powerful Message

A powerful message for this Season of thanks. The following passage is from a sermon by John Hagee:

I want you to close your eyes and picture in your mind the soldier at Valley Forge, as he holds his musket in his bloody hands. He stands barefoot in the snow, starved from lack of food, wounded from months of battle and emotionally scarred from the eternity away from his family surrounded by nothing but death and carnage of war. He stands though, with fire in his eyes and victory on his breath. He looks at us now in anger and disgust and tells us this ...

"I gave you a birthright of freedom born in the Constitution and now your children graduate too illiterate to read it.

I fought in the snow barefoot to give you the freedom to vote and you stay at home because it rains.

I left my family destitute to give you the freedom of speech and you remain silent on critical issues, because it might be bad for business.

I orphaned my children to give you a government to serve you and it has stolen democracy from the people.

It's the soldier, not the reporter who gives you the freedom of the press.

It's the soldier, not the poet who gives you the freedom of speech.

It's the soldier, not the campus organizer who allows you to demonstrate.

It's the soldier, who salutes the flag, serves the flag, whose coffin is draped with the flag that allows the protester to burn the flag!"

"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. I ask this in the name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior. Amen."

A WW II Soldier's Christmas Poem

A friend, who is head of AMVETS, sent this to me. This is his request ... "I think it is reasonable to ask ... PLEASE ... to do me the kind favor of sending this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our US service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this small seed.
-Dave Woodbury 12/9/2003

A Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan wrote this poem.

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
He lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of
Plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney
With presents to give,
And to see just who
In this home did live.

I looked all about,
A strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents,
Not even a tree.

No stockings by the mantle,
Just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures
Of far distant lands.

With medals and badges,
Awards of all kinds,
A sober thought
Came through my mind.

For this house was different,
It was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier,
Once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping,
Silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle,
The room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured
A United States soldier.

Was this the hero
Of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
The floor for a bed?

I realized the families
That I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers
Who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world,
The children would play,
And grownups would celebrate
A bright Christmas Day.

They all enjoyed freedom
Each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers
Like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder
How many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas Eve
In a land far from home.

The very thought
Brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
And started to cry.

The soldier awakened
And I heard a rough voice,
"Santa don't cry,
This life is my choice;

I fight for freedom,
I don't ask for more,
My life is my God,
My country, my corps."

The soldier rolled over
And drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it,
I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours,
So silent and still
And we both shivered
From the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave
On that cold, dark, night,
This guardian of honor
So willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over,
With a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on Santa,
It's Christmas Day, all is secure."

One look at my watch,
And I knew he was right.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."

A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS

A Soldier's Christmas

The embers glowed softly and in their dim light, I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight. My wife was asleep, her head on my chest, my daughter beside me, angelic in rest. Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white, transforming the yard to a winter delight. The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe, completed the magic that was Christmas Eve. My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep, secure and surrounded by love I would sleep in perfect contentment, or so it would seem. So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream. The sound wasn't loud. And it wasn't too near, but I opened my eye when it tickled my ear. Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear, and I crept to the door just to see who was near. Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night, a lone figure stood, his face weary and tight. A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old; perhaps a Marine huddled here in the cold. Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled, standing watch over me, my wife and my child. "What are you doing?" I asked without fear. "Come in this moment, it's freezing out there! Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve, you should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eye shift away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts, to the window that danced with a warm fire's light. Then he sighed and he said, "It's really all right, I’m out here by choice. I'm here every night. It's my duty to stand at the front of the line that separates you from the darkest of times. No one had to ask or beg or implore me. I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.My Gramps died at Pearl on a day in December." Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas Gram always remembers. My dad stood his watch in the jungles of Nam and now it's my turn and so, here I am. I've not seen my own son in more than a while, but my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile." Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag, the red white and blue … an American flag.

"I can live through the cold and the being alone, away from my family, my house and my home. I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet; I can sleep in a fox hole with little to eat. I can carry the weight of killing another or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers who stand at the front against any and all, to ensure for all times that this flag will not fall. Oh go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright, your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least? Give you money?" I asked, "Or prepare you a feast? It all seems too little for all that you've done, for being away from your wife and your son." Then his eye welled with a tear that held no regret, "Just tell us you love us, and never forget to fight for our rights back home while we're gone; to stand your own watch, no matter how long. For when we come home, either standing or dead, to know you remember we fought and we bled is payment enough, and with that we will trust that we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

There is one Christmas Carol that has always baffled me. Have you ever wondered about THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS? What in the world do leaping lords, French hens, swimming swans, and especially the partridge that won't come out of the pear tree have to do with Christmas?

Today, I found out.

From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly. Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics. It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church. Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality, which the children could remember.

The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.

Two turtledoves were the Old and New Testaments.

Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.

The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.

The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.

The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.

Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit: Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.

The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.

Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.

The ten lords a-leaping were the Ten Commandments.

The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.

The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in The Apostles' Creed.

So there is your history for today. This knowledge was shared with me from my daughter, Susan Beighey Morrell, and I found it interesting and enlightening and now I know how that strange song became a Christmas Carol.

Merry Christmas!!

CHRISTMAS

IF I WERE SANTA, I’D …
If I were a rockin’ Santa, you know what I’d do? I’d dump the silly gifts that are given to you. I’d deliver some things just inside your front door … things you have lost, but treasured before. I’d give you back all your maidenly vigor, and to go along with it, a neat, tiny figure; Then restore the old color that once graced your hair before rinses and bleaches took residence there.

I’d bring back the shape with which you were gifted, so things now suspended need not be uplifted. I'd draw in your tummy and smooth down your back till you'd be a dream in those tight fitting slacks! I'd remove all your wrinkles and have only one chin, so you wouldn't spend hours rubbing grease on your skin. You'd never have flashes or queer dizzy spells, and you wouldn't hear noises like ringing of bells.

No sore aching feet, and no corns on your toes no searching for spectacles when they're right on your nose. Not a shot would you take in your arm, hip or fanny from a doctor who thinks you're a nervous old granny. You'd never have a headache; so no pills would you take. And no heating pad needed since your muscles won't ache.

Yes, if I were Santa, you'd never look stupid. You'd be a cute little chick with the romance of a cupid. I'd give a lift to your heart when those wolves start to whistle, and the joys of your heart would be light as a thistle. But alas! I'm not Santa. I'm simply just me, the matronest of matrons you ever did see.

I wish I could tell you all the symptoms I've got, but I'm due at my doctor's for an estrogen shot. Even though we've grown older this wish is sincere:
Merry Christmas to you! And a Happy New Year!

Family Thanksgiving

[Carole’s message to family for Thanksgiving 2000)

FAMILY IS FOREVER

Even though we will not be together to celebrate this Thanksgiving, our hearts and prayers will be with you all. We have much to be thankful for. Let us bow our heads and thank God for our many blessings.

Think of all the wonderful Thanksgivings we have been blessed to enjoy. On Thanksgiving, one thing I always remember vividly is my Mother, in one of the countless aprons she made, leaning over the oven, basting the large family turkey, covered with cheesecloth that held the juices in while Dad peered over her shoulder, yum-yumming, thinking of the turkey leg he was sure to get and the big turkey sandwich that would follow. We'd all gather around inhaling the good smells, anxiously awaiting the best feasts I'd ever eaten.

Thanksgiving dinner was a time for Mom to get Grandma Ballard's flow blue china down from the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard and wash those precious dishes we used for special occasions, laying out her antique lace tablecloth, setting the table with our finest silverware, Mom's wedding candlesticks and freshly ironed cloth napkins folded delicately at each place. I would step aside and admire it until its beauty almost took my breath away.

Soon it was time to whip the cream for the pumpkin pie. Whipped cream was a luxery for our family. We lived in a small village where the local market only sold such luxeries for holidays or special occasions and it was expensive. But Mom would allow us this special treat to spoon over her delicious pumpkin pie, which happened to be the best pumpkin pie I've ever eaten.

But, best of all, it was time for our family to gather together. Grandma La Flamme would come from Detroit with Aunt Virginia and Uncle Martin and Bob, and sometimes Uncle Mart's sister, Aunt June and Uncle Del and Susan and Dutchie. Our dear friend, Father Paul, a Franciscan priest who assisted our parish priest, Father Bourget, at St. Anne's Catholic Church in Linwood, Michigan, was a regular guest on holidays as well as anyone else who had nowhere to go. Mom and Dad always had room for one more.

It was a day of love, togetherness and merriment ... days, I'm grateful we shared, days which were some of the best memories of my life. After dinner we would put on skits, play the piano, sing songs; Mom and Dad would harmonize singing Smile The While and When You Wore A Tulip and other romantic favorites; Dad and Aunt Ginny would play the ukelele ; with a bit of coaxing Mom could be teased into doing her rendition of Alouette, which was always a hit. Grandma La Flamme would play the spoons on her knees while we kids would wrap wax paper around combs and hum songs into them that made our lips tickle. Those were wonderful fun memorable times that I will always treasure. I wish you could have been there to remember as I do. But we will make new memories and in time, you will be remembering the old times just like I remember mine.

Okay, enough nostalgia. Just really wanted to tell you that we are thinking of each of you and that we will be missing you. We love you all.

Hugs and kisses galore. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Mom and Dad

Family Thanksgiving

[Carole’s message to family for Thanksgiving 2000)

FAMILY IS FOREVER

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! WITH LOTS OF LOVE! MOM & DAD

Our hearts will be with you all. We all have so much to be thankful for. Let's bow our heads and thank God for our many blessings, which we have many.

Think of all the wonderful Thanksgivings in our lives. One thing I remember vividly is my Mother, in her apron, leaning over the oven, basting the turkey. We'd all gather around inhaling the good smells, anxiously awaiting the best feasts I'd ever eaten.

Every year, Thanksgiving was time for getting out Grandma's flow blue china, washing it and setting the table until it's beauty almost took my breath away. It was time for the special treat of whipped cream (a luxury for us) we spooned atop Mom's delicious pumpkin pie, also the best I've ever eaten.

But, best of all, it was time for our family to all be together. Grandma and relatives came. Father Paul and anyone else who had nowhere to go joined us for dinner. Mom always had room for one more. It was a day of love, togetherness and merriment...days, I'm grateful, were some of the best memories of my life. How about you? We love you all.

Hugs and kisses galore,

Thanksgiving

THOUGHTS ON HOW TO OBSERVE THANKSGIVING

Count your blessings instead of your crosses;
Count your gains instead of your losses.
Count your joys instead of your woes;
Count your friends instead of your foes.
Count your smiles instead of your tears;
Count your courage instead of your fears.
Count your full years instead of your lean;
Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.
Count your health instead of your wealth;
Count on God instead of yourself.

--Anonymous

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

'Twas the night of Thanksgiving, but I just couldn't sleep. I tried counting backwards, I tried counting sheep. The leftovers beckoned - the dark meat and white, I fought the temptation with all of my might. Tossing and turning with want and gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore. I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes, pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes. I felt myself swelling so plump and so round, 'til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground. I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky with a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie. But I managed to yell as I soared past the trees ... Good eating to all - pass the cranberries, please. May your stuffing be tasty, may your turkey be plump. May your potatoes 'n gravy have nary a lump, may your yams be delicious, may your pies take the prize, may your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL!!!



















Black November

When I was a young turkey, new to the coop,
My big brother Mike took me out on the stoop,
Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was something that I had to know; His look and his tone I will always remember,
When he told me of the horrors of... Black November. "Come about August, now listen to me, Each day you'll get six meals instead of just three,
"And soon you'll be thick, where once you were thin,
And you'll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin;
"And then one morning, when you're warm in your bed,
In'll burst the farmer's wife, and hack off your head; "Then she'll pluck out all your feathers so you're bald 'n pink,
And scoop out all your insides and leave ya lyin' in the sink;
"And then comes the worst part" he said not bluffing,
"She'll spread your cheeks and pack your rear with stuffing."
Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat,
I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat,
And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked,
I'd have to lay low and remain overlooked;
I began a new diet of nuts and granola,
High-roughage salads, juice and diet cola;
And as they ate pastries, chocolates and crepes,
I stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes;
I maintained my weight of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when the bigger birds laughed;
But 'twas I who was laughing, under my breath,
As they chomped and they chewed, ever closer to death;
And sure enough when Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in the entire compound. So now I'm a pet in the farmer's wife's lap;
I haven't a worry, so I eat and I nap;
She held me today, while sewing and humming, And smiled at me and said: "Christmas is coming..HAPPY THANKSGIVING Y'ALL!


THOUGHTS ON HOW TO OBSERVE THANKSGIVING
Count your blessings instead of your crosses;Count your gains instead of your losses.Count your joys instead of your woes;Count your friends instead of your foes.Count your smiles instead of your tears;Count your courage instead of your fears.Count your full years instead of your lean;Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.Count your health instead of your wealth;Count on God instead of yourself.
--Anonymous

THANKSGIVING

'TWAS THE NIGHT OF THANKSGIVING

'TWAS THE NIGHT OF THANKSGIVING, BUT I JUST COULDN'T SLEEP
I TRIED COUNTING BACKWARDS, I TRIED COUNTING SHEEP.
THE LEFTOVERS BECKONED - THE DARK MEAT AND WHITE
BUT I FOUGHT THE TEMPTATION WITH ALL OF MY MIGHT.

TOSSING AND TURNING WITH ANTICIPATION
THE THOUGHT OF A SNACK BECAME INFATUATION.
SO, I RACED TO THE KITCHEN, FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR
AND GAZED AT THE FRIDGE, FULL OF GOODIES GALORE.

I GOBBLED UP TURKEY AND BUTTERED POTATOES,
PICKLES AND CARROTS, BEANS AND TOMATOES.
I FELT MYSELF SWELLING SO PLUMP AND SO ROUND,
'TIL ALL OF A SUDDEN, I ROSE OFF THE GROUND.


WITH A MOUTHFUL OF PUDDING AND A HANDFUL OF PIE.
I CRASHED THROUGH THE CEILING, FLOATING INTO THE SKY,
BUT, I MANAGED TO YELL AS I SOARED PAST THE TREES ...
HAPPY EATING TO ALL - PASS THE CRANBERRIES, PLEASE.

MAY YOUR STUFFING BE TASTY, MAY YOUR TURKEY BE PLUMP.
YOUR POTATOES 'N GRAVY HAVE NARY A LUMP,
MAY YOUR YAMS BE DELICIOUS MAY YOUR PIES TAKE THE PRIZE,
MAY YOUR THANKSGIVING DINNER STAY OFF OF YOUR THIGHS.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL!!!

Turkey Poem

BLACK NOVEMBER

When I was a young turkey, new to the coop,
My big brother Mike took me out on the stoop,
Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was something that I had to know;

His look and his tone I will always remember,
When he told me of the horrors of ... Black November.

"Come about August, now listen to me,

Each day you'll get six meals instead of just three,
And soon you'll be thick, where once you were thin,
And you'll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin;
And then one morning, when you're warm in your bed,
In'll burst the farmer's wife, and hack off your head;

Then she'll pluck out all your feathers so you're bald 'n pink,
And scoop out all your insides and leave ya lyin' in the sink;
And then comes the worst part" he said not bluffing,
"She'll spread your cheeks and pack your rear with stuffing."
Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat,
I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat,
And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked,
I'd have to lay low and remain overlooked;
I began a new diet of nuts and granola,
High-roughage salads, juice and diet cola;
And as they ate pastries, chocolates and crepes,
I stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes;
I maintained my weight of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when the bigger birds laughed;
But 'twas I who was laughing, under my breath,
As they chomped and they chewed, ever closer to death;
And sure enough when Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in the entire compound.

So now I'm a pet in the farmer's wife's lap;
I haven't a worry, so I eat and I nap;

She held me today, while sewing and humming,

And smiled at me and said:

"Christmas is coming."

HAPPY THANKSGIVING Y'ALL!

SUPERMAN

My daughter Annie sent this cute photo of my Grandson Connor on Halloween.