Barbara Beyer Albright

Last night I was in Colorado and my husband was in Utah. My daughter and grandaughter visited, along with Andrew and Moose.  They were the only males in the house.  Well Moose was not IN the house, per se. 

We clapped for the  Rockettes and gagged at Oprah’s Barack adulation but ogled over the idyllic White House Green Room setting. We played Parcheesi and seemed to keep eating and eating and eating. We called Lord Fonterloy in Oregon and wished him a Happy Birthday. 

Too soon, it was time for bed. The yard was peaceful but touched with some joyful red and white Christmas lights in the trees.  I wonder (as an aside) if the deer who frequently graze through the property stop and wonder or question the lit trees at this time of year.  Like, “What the hey?” 

I turned out the inside lights and snuggled into my bed with a little button of a grandaughter.  We read two picture books together before quickly falling asleep beneath several inches of down. We don’t make much of the winter or summer solstice here in the U.S.   I notice their presence after having lived in Alaska for 3 years where the path of the sun and the orbit of our planet are noted and celebrated.  Daylight hours vary widely there, depending on the time of year it is.  And, familial-wise, the winter solstice is my son, Jeff’s, birthday.

So, I found this little poem to be just perfect, perfect for this time of year! Enjoy!

Going to Bed     by George Bilgere

I check the locks on the front door and side door,

make sure the windows are closed and the heat dialed down.

I switch off the computer, turn off the living room lights.

I let in the cats.  (NOT! in my case)

            Reverently, I unplug the Christmas tree,

leaving Christ and the little animals in the dark.

The last thing I do is step out to the back yard

for a quick look at the Milky Way.

            The stars are halogen-blue.

The constellations, whose names I have long since forgotten,

look down anonymously, and the whole galaxy

is cartwheeling in silence through the night.

Everything seems to be ok.

Happy Solstice!  Happy Birthday Jeff!

Sweet!

My parents just announced to the family that they’re not giving Christmas gifts (money) to their kids or grandkids anymore.  There’s a new generation – 2 great-grandchildren – and they’re who’s gettin’ the givin’.  My Dad said there were a couple reasons.  They had talked. 

No – don’t tell me.  No need.  No explanation please, as there is no expectation.  I’ll assume the best but I wonder about the worst.  Are they just tired of it after 50 years?  Has Christmas become a chore?  Are they feeling under-appreciated?  I presume there must not be any joy in the giving any longer.  Shame on them?  Shame on us?  Or is there no shame in it at all? 

My grandaughter told me the other night that she doesn’t know what to give her mother (my daughter) because her mother doesn’t like what she gives her anyway.  That is sad!  When I assured her little 8 year old mind and heart that, of course her mother treasures anything she gives her and asked her why she would say such a thing, she told me, in detail, about “a dolphin necklace with a blue stone” that she worked for in first grade by earning points on spelling tests and good classroom behavior and then gave said dolphin necklace to her mother for a Christmas gift 2 years ago.  She said she loves the necklace but that her mother never wears it so she knows she doesn’t like it. 

OMG – tear my heart out.  Later that night, when said 8-year old grandaughter was tucked in bed with her stuffed giraffe and tiger, I reported this tear jerking news to my daughter.  Of course, said dolphin necklace with, indeed, a blue stone, was in a special drawer in the little 8-year old’s mother’s nightstand, still in the fuzzy blue dolphin case she gave it to her in, along with other handmade treasures.  I could tell by the way my daughter handled it that it was precious to her.  She was shocked, literally shocked that her daughter even remembered the gift, much less noticed that she never wore it.  She’ll wear it now, and I know Brooke (said 8-year old) will be tickled to see the dolphin around her mother’s neck.  Sweet, sweet givers.

more sweet!

It isn’t the size of the gift that matters, but the size of the heart that gives it. 

Give sweetly this holiday. Receive and remember with even more tenderness.  Don’t let grandparents give for so many years with so little awareness of your gratitude that they tire of it, and don’t receive from little ones without realizing how silently but consciously they are giving.

magically sweet!