Little Man

"If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle." ~Vincent Van Gogh

http://youtu.be/L4kFFMdVjl0  God Danced The Day You Were Born~Hot Soup

Nineteen years ago today, God blessed me with one of the most profound experiences I have ever had in my life! I was in the delivery room as one of my best friends delivered her baby. I was her birth coach, you see. It was nothing short of a miracle. It was the day when I honestly knew what it felt like to dance upon a cloud.  Let me tell you: Dancing on a cloud is AMAZING!  It's a high that defies explanation!
I’ve only known that feeling a very few times in my life.  It's a special experience.  Dakota’s birth was one of them. I’ll never forget the day his mother told me she was pregnant. Her husband of three months was squeamish when it came to matters of blood and whatnot, and I was her best girlfriend so, she delivered the news in one HUGE moment by telling me about her pregnancy and informing me of my nomination by both her and her husband that I should be her birth coach. It was an honor. I didn’t hesitate for a moment in saying yes, that I would gladly do it.
"Don’t answer so quickly," she said with caution. "He’s due around Christmas, and it’ll mean that you’ve got to be on call 24-7 - no going out of town."
I took hold of her hands and looked her in the eyes, still holding firm to my decision, "I’m in!"
This was during the period in my life when I worked at the hotel in Rockville, Maryland. I started out as Sales Coordinator and eventually worked my way up to its Director of Sales. Rosemary was the Reservations Manager. We worked very closely together and thereafter, upon an auspicious meeting, our friendship blossomed.
It was an interesting time for me - going through that pregnancy with her. God knew then, unbeknownst to me, that I would not get to experience all the phases of my pregnancies, so he gave me the gift of Rosemary’s to go through-experience-relish.  I got to experience and witness all aspects of the experience without having the pain of delivering the baby.  It's more than some adoptive mothers get to be a part of.  I was grateful to be asked to do it.  If I had to rate it as a ride at Disney World, I’d give that experience a solid 55 out of a high score of 10. It was an unbelievable experience!  It was a true "WOW" moment!
I think Rosemary wanted me to do it because she knew that I had mother hen tendencies [in a good way], and I would make certain that she was eating right and taking her vitamins  - reminding her of all the things that can be overwhelming when you’re pregnant and have so much to do to take care of yourself, let alone someone else you’re carrying inside and a few others around you to boot.   When you're always putting yourself last on the list in "taking care of" order, it's wise to have someone in your corner who will put you on the list first.  She knew she could count on me for that, and she needed someone to do that for her in that particular moment in her life.
What can I say? I’m a good nurturer.  It's one of my assests. I come from a solid line of good nurturers, and when you’re pregnant, you need someone who’s willing to do that for you, while you’re busy taking care of all your other responsibilities.
Rosemary came from Italian stock; she had a very strong-willed, determined mother who imprinted solidly upon her. I come from southern stock; I have a very strong-willed, determined mother and grandmother who came before me, and who imprinted just as solidly upon me. If we had been playing sports against the other, I’d say it was an odds on bet that either of us could be the one favored to win. It was just that close in the strong-willed, determined department. 
Rosemary could be just as stubborn as me when she believed strongly enough about something.  She wasn't too stubborn with me during her pregnancy however. During that time, I won those battles wills [for lack of a better word], because she knew I was looking out for not only her best interests but the babies too, and she appreciated it.  It's why she asked me to be her birth coach.
Case in point: Rosemary wasn’t a big eater [although her lasagna could make a grown man cry tears of joy, but that’s a story for another day.], She didn’t do breakfast, she didn’t snack much.....I KNOW....I don’t get people who pass up golden opportunities to eat when the rule of thumb calls for you to eat, but that’s just me!
Anyway, I made some homemade granola one day and took an apple and a container of vanilla yogurt into work for her breakfast. [For those of you who are new to the blog, I had a catering business in a past life....] Anyway, I got into work early and went over to the restaurant inside the hotel, taking a tray and adding a glass of juice and a bowl, with napkin and silverware to fix her a "lite" but healthy/nutritious breakfast.
I’ll never forget the look on her face the first time I did this. I placed the tray down on her desk. She looked it over then up at me. She smiled appreciatively and politely noted. "I don’t eat breakfast."
I smiled politely back. "You do now," I informed.
"I'm not crazy about granola or yogurt."
"It’s not for you! It’s for the little one inside you who’s probably starving," I told her, then said something she always said to me when she brought something in for me to try. "Mange!"
She took a bite of the yogurt with the homemade granola [oats, assorted nuts, golden raisins, and a few other dried fruits]. "It’s not bad," she admitted.
I smiled. "See what happens when you open-mindedly try something," I replied. "You like it!"
She chewed crunchily on a bite. "I wouldn’t go that far, but it's not bad," she replied, looking back at me quizically. "Is this going to be a daily habit?"
"Are you planning on having the baby right now?"
She gave me a funny look. "No!" she said, rolling her eyes and laughing. "You nut!"
I nodded my acceptance. "Then, I guess it’s going to be a daily habit."
As I turned to leave her office and go back downstairs to mine, she called to me. "JhillyBean!"
I turned to look at her.
"Yeah?"
She smiled, taking another bite. "Thanks."
I smiled back. "Don’t mention it!" I said, then reminded. "I’ll be back at three with a fruit parfait."
She groaned, but, silently, I think she liked it – appreciated it.  I was living up to expectation. She knew when she asked me to be her birth coach that I would take it very seriously – as seriously as I would take the pregnancy being my own. I think she knew that I would make sure she was fed, because that wasn’t something normally high on her list of things to take care of. A cup of coffee and she was good to go. Not in my book. Not on my watch. Not with my nephew on board....
For months, I watched as she grew ripe and full of baby. It was a beautiful sight.
We had a coffee machine in the sales department. I had housekeeping move a small refrigerator in there too, where I kept yogurt, fruits, juices, etc. I’ll never forget one morning, she had to have been a good six months pregnant, her coming into the office to make herself a cup of tea. She stopped at my desk and I put my hands on either side of the growing ball she had pushing out from her stomach and began to talk to it.   This humored her.
Imran, a friend and Sales Manger walked out from his office, looked at us both and said, "Jhill!’ in his voice thick with a Pakistani accent, which sounded more British to me. "What are you doing?"
"I’m talking to my nephew!" I said completely unembarrassed by my gesture. "What does it look like I’m doing?"
Rosemary shook her head at Imran [we were all good friends] and pointed at me. "She and Lewie have a bet over whose voice the baby will recognize first."
Imran laughed. "This kid is going to be spoiled rotten!"
"Oh hush!" I waived him off. "He’s going to be loved abundantly!" I disagreed. "There’s a difference!"
"What is it?" he inquired, challenging the point. "Tell me the difference."
I laughed. "Why don’t you make yourself useful and go sell something!" I chimed back.
We all laughed.
Imran had just become a father himself. "I don’t recall you going to this extent for me," he noted.
I smiled sweetly. "You didn’t ask me to be your wife’s birth coach!"
He had no comeback reply for that one, so he went out on sales calls. Still, he remembered the love overflowing from us all when his daughter, Azzah, had been born. We teased and played all in good fun, but we were considered by the rest of the hotel staff to be the three musketeers: Rosemary, Imran and me. Those were good times....working at the hotel with those two.
Of course, I gave Rosemary her baby shower. It was a wonderful Saturday in the fall, and I remember everyone telling me that I should open a catering business, because the food was good as were the decorations and party favors. They all thought others should get the chance to experience my In Good Taste flair as they had.
Having run a catering business in Florida, I knew it wasn’t something I could do alone in Maryland, although I did love and enjoy doing it.  Catering is HARD work.  But, the comments and thoughts pleased me. It was a wonderful day, and I could see that Rosemary was overwhelmed by the love and well-wishes that came to her that day from so many people.
I gave her an antique rocking chair – an old Bostonian style one that I’d found in an antique store. She hugged me BIG when I gave it to her. I also made things for the baby as well: two lamps and I crocheted his baby blanket out of yarn she had picked. The love was overflowing that day with gifts and more gifts.  When Lewie came to pick her up, he seemed impressed by the "haul".  It had been another good day.
We were counting them down until the BIG one arrived.
During the autumn months we took the Lamaze classes. It was all so interesting and fascinating to learn about and listen to how the baby grows and develops through each stage of the pregnancy.  The chemical changes that occur in the body, which starts each chemical-chain reaction for one thing or another to start growing-formulating-developing....how every detail of development going on within a fetus is timed down with the precision of a second-hand clock was nothing short of amazing. Did I say it was a miracle already? It truly is....I don’t think people realize how truly miraculous it is for a baby to be born perfect - with all 10 fingers and all 10 toes intact as well as everything else. There are so many things that go on in a woman’s body, especially when she's pregnant, that are dependent upon the chemicals releasing at just the right time to make it all happen smoothly with no glitches.  The developmental process occurs with a military precision that would make the military sit up and take note. I learned so much in those classes.
I was the one who took the book from class and packed the overnight bag.  I kept it in my car at all times, so we were ready to go when our little Man decided to make his grand entrance.
This baby reminded me a LOT of my father: he did things on HIS timetable – when he was ready, and not one minute before! In other words, he was late for his due date. I spent the night with Dakota’s parents on Christmas Eve that year. It was an unusual Christmas Eve, but one that I enjoyed nonetheless. My family was going down to Richmond, and I couldn’t risk her going into labor, and not being readily available, so I stayed with them at their condo that year.
We watched Christmas movies, exchanged gifts, ordered in pizza and just hung out. We shared a couple of stories about our past Christmases. Rosemary’s heritage was Italian, and I asked her about the Feast of the Seven Fishes. It was interesting. I learned something new that night, because I’d never heard the details of that tradition before. We had a great time as we continued our vigil.
I remember calling my family and telling them to have safe travels to Richmond the following morning. I fixed my bed on the sofa and slept beneath the lights of their Christmas tree. I remember staring at it – those lights and thinking about what the holiday truly meant. I can’t describe it other than to say that the thoughts and feelings were very profound, and my heart was full of joy knowing that soon, our little Man would be taking his place in the world.  The thought made bringing a child into the world so much more special having it happen during the holy season.
Christmas came and went with no appearance. We went back to work. [Rose worked up until the time she delivered.] Everyone laughed that this kid just didn’t want to come out and meet everyone! So, we waited and waited and waited some more. Lewie gave me a pager so that they could beep me at anytime if I was out doing errands, on Sales calls or if it was the middle of the night  "our little Man" decided he would come out to play. At that time, I lived in my parent’s basement apartment, but we shared the phone.  Rosemary and Lewie didn’t want to disturb my parents in the middle of night, if little man decided he was ready to come out and join the party between the hours of midnight to six a.m.
At lunchtime, on December 29^th, we walked the floors of the hotel. Rosemary’s doctor said that walking might help induce labor. After work, Rosemary and Lewie went over to Lakeforest Mall and walked for about an hour more. I think the walking did the trick.
At 2:30 a.m.; the beeper went off just as my mother came running down the basement stairs. Apparently, in his excitement over Rosemary’s water breaking, Lewie called the house first THEN called the pager. My heart began to race.
"I’ll meet you guys there within the hour," I said excitedly.
"Great! Yeah! Great!" he replied, too excited to really hear me.
There was a pause, then I heard Rosemary’s voice. She was calm. "Be careful driving over. We’ll see you soon. Don’t rush! We’ve got lots of time!"
"Tell Lewie to be careful!" I replied, noting how calm she sounded but knowing that Lewie was in a mini tailspin. "He’s carrying precious cargo!"
"I’ll tell him," she told me.
"See you guys soon," I replied. "Love you!"
I could hear a smile in her voice. "Love you back!"
I remember turning off the phone and sitting in my bed for a minute, inhaling four-exhaling eight, which is a yoga technique for centering oneself. I did it three times to calm myself because I knew Rosemary didn’t need her husband and best friend both off the hook.
My mother made me a cup of coffee and slice of cinnamon toast, because we didn’t know how long the labor would last. In the Lamaze classes, we heard tales of eight hours up to two days. I couldn’t imagine two days.....Mom kissed my cheek as she headed back to bed.
"Call me when he arrives and let me know how everyone is doing," she told me.
I nodded that I would.
Quickly, I went and washed my face then got dressed in the comfortable clothes that had been laying across the chair in my bedroom for a couple of weeks waiting for just this moment.
I grabbed my purse and the car keys and headed upstairs to grab a packet of crackers, if I needed them for later.
When I got to the hospital, things were moving quickly on the maternity ward. Hustle and bustle quick.
Rosemary looked pale when I walked into her room. I looked around but didn’t see Lewie there.
I put the overnight bag down and went to the bed, reaching for her hand.
"Where’s Lew?"
"He went to get some ice chips."
"How are you feeling?" I asked, pulling the chair closer with my free hand so that I could sit down.
"JhillyBean," she said, letting me see her concern. "If I’ve got to go through 12-18 hours of this, I don’t know if I’m going to make it!"
Her eyes teared. I knew the pain of the contractions were bad. Rosemary was NOT a crier.  I am, but she's not.  She, like me, had high pain tolerance.  It was troubling if she was complaining.  I could only imagine how bad and intense the pain must be.
"What did the nurse say?"
She shook her head. "Nothing yet."
"Where’s your doctor?"
"He’s on his way."
Just then, a contraction hit.  She groaned.  I squeezed her hand, as we breathed through it: "he*he*he-----whoooooooooooooooooo" blows. I could tell by the way she squeezed my hand exactly how bad the pain was.  NOT good.   
I reached for the overnight back and unzipped the pocket pulling out the booklet we had gotten in Lamaze class. Quickly, I thumbed through it, trying to locate the place we were at within the labor process.
"How long have you been in labor?" I asked. We’d not discussed it when they’d called to tell me to get to the hospital.
It was pushing 4 a.m.
She closed her eyes trying to find some place of physical comfort, given her circumstance.
She shook her head again. "I don’t know....a few hours."
Her situation didn’t sound like anything we’d been told about in class with regard to the first stages of labor - how it would go or what could be expected. It wasn’t suppose to be this hard this early on.
I must have looked like an idiot, rapidly turning the pages, trying to find some clue as to what else might be going on? I had paid attention in that class! I had paid attention like my life depended on it. Still, I had no clue what we were dealing with?
Just then, a nurse past by, and I flagged her down. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t Rosemary’s nurse. I didn’t know who her nurse was at that point. All I knew was we needed a nurse, and for me, ANY nurse would do.
"Excuse me," I said, reminding myself to stay calm. "She’s in a LOT of pain here, and I’m not really sure what’s going on? This doesn’t seem like the first stages of labor to me."
"Let me get your nurse."
"Thank you," I replied, feeling my frustration level begin to rise.
While we waited, I went to get a cold washcloth.
Lew got back with ice chips about the time that her nurse arrived.
I introduced myself as Rosemary’s birth coach and asked. "Can you tell us what’s going on? She’s in a LOT of pain, and as I told the other nurse, I don’t recall mention of it being this taxing, this early on."
The nurse looked at Rosemary, then me. "You're in rapid, hard labor, Honey!" she said.
Rosemary was focused on her breathing.
My eyes squinched together. "What exactly does that mean?" I didn’t recall anything about that in the book. If it there was, I missed it, and I read that book cover to cover three or four times.
"Her labor is coming hard and fast," the nurse explained. "She’s in the last stages of it."
I glanced over at Rosemary. I don’t think she was processing it.
My brows came together. "What?" I replied.  "Last stages?" I asked, not sure I was understanding. "You mean 'pushing' last stages? Are you saying she’s gone from A-Z in little more than two hours?"
The nurse nodded. "She’s almost fully effaced.  Yes. She'll be ready to push soon. The doctor should be here any minute, and we'll move her over to the delivery room."
My eyes widened.  It was all happening too fast.  I tried to get my bearings.
"How’s the pain?" the nurse asked Rosemary. "Do you want an epidural? If you do, we’ll have to give it to you soon."
Rosemary had planned for an all-natural birth. Sometimes, it’s good to be open to other alternatives.
"Can I talk to them?"
The nurse nodded. "I’ll check back in a few minutes."
Just as she left, another contraction hit. Again, we did our panting and releasing breaths.
"What do you want to do?" I asked quickly, before another contraction hit.
"God!" she cried. "I don’t know! I wanted to do this on my own."
Her eyes locked on mine.
"Honey!" I tried to be encouraging and supportive. "Don’t try and be a heroine here! If it’s bad, take the shot! Who cares if you don’t do it 100% all natural? My gosh, you’ve done most of it naturally! Just do what’s best for you at this point!"
Lewie nodded.
She bit her lip, thinking just as another contraction hit. Again, we panted and blew.
When it was over, she nodded that she wanted the shot.
"Lew," I said. "Would you go find the nurse and tell her that she wants the shot?"
He nodded, not minding the errand. This was, after all, the reason I was called in to be the birth coach.  I could handle pressure - didn't buckle under the weight of it.
I remember giving Rosemary an ice chip and taking the cloth and wiping her forehead.
"What do you need?" I asked her.
Rosemary was the kind of person who didn’t like a lot of people hovering around her.
"Just sit with me," she said.  She was also not one who liked people fussing over her, especially if she was in rapid, hard labor.
I smiled. "I’m not going anywhere!" I assured. "I’m in for the duration.  You just tell me what you need when you need it!"
She closed her eyes and nodded, as a momentary peaceful expression came to her face. She was happy to hear it.  It was the best gift I could give to her.
We went through one more contraction before the nurse arrived with the epidural.
Lewie looked like he might pass out.
"I need a soda," he said, needing a reason to excuse himself again. "You want one?" The sight of the needle had made him slightly queasy.
I shook my head, wishing I could go with him, because the sight of the needle had made me a little queasy too. I was the birth coach, however. It was my job to stay and face the music with her no matter what it might be.
"Babe," he called to Rosemary. "I’ll be back in a minute."
She didn’t seem to notice – to hear him.  As each contraction became more intense, her focus was solely on riding the waves through it.
I think I looked to Rosemary the way Lewie had looked to me. It was my ashen face she saw, not the needle.
"What’s wrong?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing," I gulped, not wanting to upset her, and I certainly didn't want to frighten her. I’d never seen a needle that large though, and I couldn’t imagine it being injected into her!
"Just a little warm in here," I told her.  "That’s all."  What I really wanted to say was: "Don't do it!  She's getting ready to stick something into you that would make Mr. Ed wave a white flag of surrender!"
The nurse moved quickly, telling Rosemary what she was doing as she did it.
"Don’t move!" she said, before she got ready to inject the numbing agent.
I think I looked at the nurse in utter disbelief! How in the world could you expect someone not to move, let alone tell them to stay still, when you're about to stick something like that into them?
Still, it wasn't my place to red-light a decision that Rosemary had made.  It was, after all, her pain level not mine that needed relief.
"It’ll only sting for a minute!" the nurse told her.
I prayed it would only sting for a second, beyond that, I wasn’t saying a word about it, because I wasn't going to be a "Liar!  Liar! Pants on fire!", although I think I rolled my eyes when she said it, which Rosemary had obviously not seen.
"Focus on your friend," the nurse suggested.
I wanted to shout, "NO! Don’t focus on me! I want to throw up because of the big @$$ needle she's getting ready to stick into your backside! Whatever you do right now, DON'T look at me!" I did not, however, say that. I used all my acting skills from high-school drama class to project a person who was both calm and collected – who could be focused upon.
As the needle went in, Rosemary mouthed the word "$#*%"
I nodded understanding, that was my sentiment too upon seeing it.  I couldn't imagine feeling it.  [Although I have since come to know the pain of said type injections, and "$#*%" is the appropriate sentiment for it.]
I tried to be comforting. "Not much more," I told her and prayed it was so.  "You're doing great!"
Thank God, it worked rather quickly, and I didn’t have to say much more on that topic.
No more had she been given the injection then her doctor walked in.
I wanted to say, "where in hell have you been?" but I remembered my acting skills from high-school drama class and remained calm.
"Boy! It’s good to see you!" I exclaimed, instead.
He said good morning to me, as he moved to Rosemary and spoke to her briefly. He picked up her chart and read it. "So," he said rather emotionless. "Are you ready to have a baby?"
Rosemary is known for a sarcastic kind of humor. I saw the look in her eyes when he asked her that stupid question. "REALLY?" was the look she gave him over that ridiculous question.  "Are you seriously asking me that?" came the follow-up glare.
I couldn’t help but remember, in that moment, a skit that I'd once seen that Carol Burnett did which involved a guy asking a stupid question regarding pregnancy, and her pulling said guy’s bottom lip up over his head....or something to that effect, with a sarcastic look of "any more questions?" 
Exactly!
Being the southern, diplomatic one, I interjected quickly. "I think we’re all ready for this baby to hurry up and get here!"
He patted her leg. "I’ll see you in the delivery room in a few minutes."
Lewie seemed to have a built-in radar regarding when to step outside and when to come back in, because he got back to the room just as we were getting ready to go to the delivery room. He wanted to be in there, but he couldn’t commit to being the calm, cool-as-a-cucumber presence that Rosemary would need.
Roles. It’s good when you know them and understand your ability or not to fulfill them. He was a little squeamish about the sights that would be seen in that room, and he knew himself well enough to know that he might not be the best choice to be the support for her in that moment. One thing I’m good at being is a sidekick.
We went to the delivery room and each took our places. I gotta tell ya, if the breathing exercises sounded tedious and exhausting, it didn’t compare to the task of pushing.   Pushing was a whole other level of tedious and exhausting.
I watched my friend push until I thought her head might explode, and when she lay back against the upright portion of the bed, too exhausted to continue, it was my job to cajole her into pushing some more.
I wasn’t a cheerleader in high-school. I was on the pep-squad, which is akin to being a cheerleader, without having to wearing the little shorty-skirt. In other words, I knew how to cheer someone on. That’s just what I did, whether Rosemary was in the mood for it or not. She was not!  She was tired of breathing!  She was tired of pushing!  She was tired of labor!  Plain and simple, she was tired!  Still, it was my job to make her go outside of those bounds of normal reserve and encourage her to find the special reserve we all have within us to do things we don't believe we have the stamina or wearwithall to continue doing.
"Come on, Rose! I've seen your Herculean strength!  You've got to push just a little more." I tried to pump her up with a tone of pure belief that she could do this, until they told her she didn’t have to do it anymore, not the other way around. "You can do! You can do it! I KNOW you can!"
And, we pushed some more.
I’ll never forget seeing that child’s head crown.
"Oh, my God!" I gasped.  It took my breath away. "Look!"
And, she and Lewie both glanced up in the overhead mirror so they could see what I was seeing.
"Just a couple more good pushes," the doctor said.
I felt the tears come.
I looked into her eyes. "Come on!  Just a little more! You can do this!" I nodded my belief in her. "I know you can!"
"I’m tired!" she said in a tone of pure exhaustion. She wasn't certain at this point if she had anymore energy let in her to push anymore.
I nodded. "I know!" I told her. "I know you are, but one more big push....one more really good one.  That's all, and he’ll be here!"
Then, she did something that I’ve never forgotten and never will as long as I live.  She held her hand out for me to take, and when I gave it to her, she locked her fingers around mine.  My other arm wrapped around her shoulders, helping her to rise up one last time and hold her steady for that final, momentous push.
She squeezed my hand so tightly, that I thought it might break, but I didn’t care. It got that push out of her.
"That’s it, Rose!" I said, excitedly. "That's IT! You’re doing great!"
With that, Dakota made his entrance into the world.
"Oh, my God, Rosemary!" I squealed. "Look at that! Here he comes!"
And, we laughed and cried as we pushed that baby into the world.
They pulled Dakota out and laid him on her stomach as we all kept laughing and crying. The nurse cleaned him off a bit before the doctor handed Lewie the scissors to cut the umbilical cord.
Lewie rapidly shook his head that he wanted none of that.
The doctor seemed to understand.
Rosemary stopped the doctor, "Let Jhill do it!"
The doctor looked at me and I nodded absolutely to let me do it! For me, being part of a miracle wasn’t an opportunity that I was going to pass up. I took the scissors and watched where the doctor directed that I cut. Before I did so, I looked back to Rosemary. She nodded, and I proudly cut the cord, while the doctor and nurse both clamped the severed places of the cord between mother and baby.
I remember clutching my chest. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I remember glancing up at the wall clock. It read 6:11 am. I bent down and the three of us had a group hug with the baby between us all.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. "My God! That was something!"
The nurse took the baby for a minute to clean him up.
The three of us chattered and laughed as we waited for him to be given back.  It was a high rush that we all felt....so, so high.  It's a high that few experiences in life take you to, but when they do....Boy, is it a great feeling!
"How are you feeling?"
"Good," she said. "Relieved it’s over with and tired....all in that order."
"I hear you, Sister!" I replied.
Rosemary took hold of my hand again. "You’ll never know how much I appreciate your being here."
I teared up again and nodded. "Oh," I sighed. "I think I do.  You'll never know how much it meant to me that you asked me to share this experience with you."
She nodded and softly replied.  "Oh, I think I do..."
Then, the nurse gave the baby back to Rosemary who held him for a moment and cooed over him then gave him to Lewie and finally, Lewie passed him over to me.
I remember kissing his little forehead that had the white and blue baby hat on his head.
"Welcome to the world, little Man!" I whispered. "We’re so happy to finally have you here! Gosh, we've waited a long time to see you!" I told him, kissing his cheek. "There’s a lot of love in this room for you. And, I hope you know how much your Aunt Jhill loves you!"
Rosemary watched me holding and loving on her son.  I watched her watching me.  It was a moment.  It was an incredible moment.
I handed the baby back to her. "Listen," I said, wiping at my eyes.  "I’m going to let you guys have some family bonding time," I told her. "I’m going to stop by work and give them the good news before I head home to get a few winks of sleep." I told her. "Do you need me to do anything else right now?"
She shook her head. "No, Honey!" she replied. "You go get some rest."
"You get some rest too!" I encouraged. "Call me about noon, and I’ll bring some food over."
"Sounds good," she said. Then, I kissed them all goodbye and did what I said I was going to do before I got home about 9:30 a.m., which was stop by work and deliver the good news of healthy baby and exhausted mother having come through the experience with flying colors; I had a great talk with my mother about the entire experience after I got home, then I went off to bed for a few hours of much needed rest.
True to form, I was up around 1, took a shower and head backed over to the hospital. I took soup and sandwiches over, and we ate and visited for a while as the baby lay in her arms.
There is no more beautiful sight in all the world than seeing a mother holding her baby in her arms, looking so peacefully content.
"How are you feeling?"
She smiled. "I feel good," she said. "A little tired, but look at him!" she beamed with pride. "Isn’t he beautiful?"
"He is beautiful, Rosemary!"
"I can’t believe how much I already love him!"
"I can!" I replied.
"It's a little overwhelming."
"That’s normal."
She looked at me. "You don’t seem too concerned."
"Of YOU mothering this baby?" I giggled as I said it. "Not a concern in the world."
I glanced over to the recliner where Lewie was asleep.
I looked back at Rosemary. "You’ll do fine!"
She let me hold the baby one final time before I left for the day. As I held him and talked softly to him and rubbed my fingers along his, they tightly gripped around my finger.  My jaw dropped when Dakota did that.  "Look!  Did you see that?"
Rosemary said. "You’re going to be a great mother yourself, one day, JhillyBean!"
I smiled. It made me feel good. I liked hearing that someone other than my mother thought that about me.
"In the meantime, I’ve got this precious baby right here to love all over," and I smothered him with kisses. He didn’t stir. He knew his Aunt Jhill’s voice. That was the point of all those months talking to her stomach....so that he would know me when he came out into the world, and my voice wouldn’t startle him in any way, shape or form.
"When are they releasing you?" I asked.
She sighed. "I think tomorrow about two."
I nodded. "I’ll loop by your place at lunchtime tomorrow and make sure you’re fridge is stocked and things are picked up."
"You’re a good friend," she replied.
I winked at her. "It’s one of the things I know how to do best," I replied.
"Will we see you tomorrow?"
"Of course you will!" I told her. "I’ll drop by for a few minutes after work and make sure you're both settled."
She nodded, seeming to be relieved by that. I bent over and kissed her cheek. "You get some rest." I told her. "You’re going to need it."
Again, she nodded. "I know."
"Call me if you need me," I told her. "I can be back over here in 15 minutes."
"Thanks."
"No thanks needed. It’s been my pleasure!"
When I reached the door, she said, "it was a good day, huh?"
I turned back and smiled. "Oh Rose!" I sighed.  "The best!  Today was the best day! I danced on a cloud today. I didn’t even know that was possible!"
She seemed to understand.
"Thanks for letting me..."
She cut me off not letting me finish the thought. "There’s no one else who I’d want to do it."
"I love you guys!" I said. "I’ll see you later."
She nodded. "We love you more...."
Sometimes, even when you know it isn’t true, it’s best to let a compliment lay out there uninterrupted - having its moment.
I didn’t debate the point.  I let her tell me that they loved me more.
What I remember now when I think back on that day is the glorious experience I shared with a dear girlfriend, when she reached for my hand, and I helped her push her son into the world.....
It doesn’t get much better than that: helping a little soul come forth....dancing on a cloud and celebrating the part you played in helping to bring someone into their life. It truly is a miracle of profound proportions!  I have never forgotten the perfect symmetry and beauty of that one singular moment of pure joy, when two women pushed, cajoled and loved a little boy into this world. As long as I live, I will never forget the feeling of that most profound miracle and precious gift.  Today, Dakota turned 19, and it seems like only yesterday that he blazed his trail of glory to this place...

http://youtu.be/1Nk-yiwJJ04  I'll Play For You~Seals & Crofts
http://youtu.be/BEbJduR6640 Sing Your Song~Barbra Streisand

　
　
　
　
　

　
　

　

The Jesus~Less Nativity

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace." ~Isaiah 9:6

http://youtu.be/DKk9rv2hUfA [Linus Explains the Meaning of Christmas/Charlie Brown]
http://youtu.be/O3wujkozv9E [A Baby Changes Everything/Faith Hill]

Well, it seems only fitting that the last Christmas entry for this year would be this particular one. [There will be more fun tales NEXT Christmas] For now, this seems like a perfect place to wrap up this special day and conclude the Christmas season until another year.
I don’t know how many years ago this happened - at least 10. My A.B. and I can’t pass up a sale ESPECIALLY if it has to do with angels. We collect them, namely Seraphim angels by Roman, Inc. Well, one year [about 10 years ago], Karen stopped by my office early one morning before our workday began.
"Tiara is discontinuing the Seraphim line," she told me.
Immediately, my ears perked up. "Really?" I said with a question of disbelief in my voice. "Why are they discontinuing it?"
"I don’t know," she replied. "But, it’s at least 50% off everything. What are you doing for lunch?"
I smiled. "Going down to Tiara with you!"
She laughed and nodded. "See you at five til."
"I’m there!" I assured. See, when you’re heading for a sale, it’s best to get a jump on everybody else. Even if it’s only five minutes, that extra five minutes gave us a little bit of an advantage over everyone else. In a situation such as that, an advantage is ALWAYS a good thing! I mean....50% off... For a collector, that’s like Manna from heaven!
On the drive down, we chatted about everything and nothing in particular.
She glanced over at me. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"
I smiled. "Anything that’s 50% off!"
We laughed again.
I told myself that I was only going to get two angels. I mean, one would basically be a freebie. It was my reasoning anyway. You have to understand though that this line of thinking was like a potato chip lover telling you they were only going to eat one Lays – two at most. It’s impossible to do. Still, it sounded good.
We got down to Bethesda and Karen parked the car. We held our breaths as we entered the store wondering what treasures we were about to discover? Trust me when I tell you that we both knew we were about to hit the Motherlode; it was approaching with each step we took.
We entered the store and a saleslady immediately asked if she could help us.
Karen took charge. She’s the calmer one between the two of us when a sale of such proportions regarding angels is involved and on the horizon. She’s able to hold herself together with a sense of refined decorum, unlike me who felt the small collection of foam gathering at the corners of my mouth.
"We were looking for Seraphim Angels," she said politely.
I, on the other hand and inside myself, was wildly screeching.... "Take us to them NOW!" [See why I let her take the lead on matters such as this?"]
She took hold of my arm. I think she sensed my impending over zealousness to get to the angels and gather them up while we may, so to speak. Did I say I was only planning on getting two? Yeah, well....we all know [or those who know me] know that was more for a restrained effect quality than actuality. I was taught, raised with proper decorum, even if it has tended to leave me a time or two, namely when we’re talking about 50% off discounts on things that I collect, or let me qualify that further now: collected.
There were about four rows of angels. LONG rows of angels. We did the collector’s assessment move first, which is when you patiently walk the rows of inventory to see what’s in stock and what the best deals are. For instance: if you can get 50% off an angel that regularly cost $150 vs 50% off an angel that typical sold for $45-50, which do you think is the better bargain? Of course, the exception to this rule is if you see an angel that had been on the top of your wish list for a while, and it was on that shelf for  a half-reduced rate...well, that one is a no-brainer.
Karen and I went back to that aisle prepared for collecting combat too. We didn’t carry a little hand cart. Those are for amateurs, when you’re at a sale - people who have no clue the amount of time they will waste once they fill that handcart and have to go back for a second to add more treasures. No.  We were professionals at this sort of thing. We got the large shopping cart. One for each of us. [In case I’ve not mentioned it, the Seraphim Angel boxes can be rather large - take up a lot of space. So, it was best to be prepared for any case scenario!]  Two carts should cover us both and all the thing we needed to get.  I would take Karen's overflow if she had any, or she would take mine.  It's what friends do for each other! ;-)
Now, I will say that Karen was newer to the collecting of Seraphim angels than me. I had been collecting them a full year and a half prior to her discovery of them. However, in that instant, that sale leveled the playing field, and my dear A.B. procured, in one fell swoop, what it had taken me 18 months to amass. Yes. I was ecstatic for her!
I had put four angels into my shopping cart when I spied the Nativity. This wasn’t just any nativity. It was 85% off. There was a catch. It was missing the baby Jesus.
"Huh," I said, staring at the original price and quickly calculating how much money I would be saving with 85% off. This is the ONLY time that my brain was able to solve mathematical problems in a rapid fire succession. "Look at this, the baby Jesus is missing! I wonder if they have one in the back?"
"It probably got broke or something," Karen said.   "Which is why it's so discounted."
I decided to ask anyway. Here’s the thing. You’re no worse off for asking a question like that and getting a no-can-do than not asking, because you're in the same situation anyway - a no one.  Sometimes, though, the answer can surprise you which is why you should always ask.  Come to find out, the baby Jesus had turned up missing out of that particular Nativity set.
My jaw dropped as I said to Karen. "Missing?  As in stolen? WHO would steal the baby Jesus out of the Nativity?"
"That’s weird," she agreed.
"I think there’s a special place you-know-where for someone with that kind of  audacity!" I grumbled.  "That's pretty low."
Karen tried to find the positive in that situation. "Maybe they were desperate and needed the reinforcement of just having him with them, ya know?  Something tangible.  Who knows?"
"You’re always very kind-hearted," I told her. I was ready to string them up for stealing the main character of the set, and Karen put a more compassionate spin on it.
"Well," she replied. "You never know what’s going on with anyone."
I nodded.  That was true.  you didn't.   "Hey, maybe I could call Roman when we get back to work and order the baby Jesus. It would be worth it for 85% off."
"That’s a great idea!" she agreed.
In my cart it went.  I didn't consider any other scenario.
Later that afternoon, I discovered that Roman didn’t make it a practice to sell individual pieces from a set unless something had happened to said set such as damage to something, which meant the other pieces had no active role for its original intent. Currently, they had no damaged nativity sets and not one baby Jesus’ floating around waiting to come home with me.
I went down to Karen’s office.
"Great!" I told her in a tone that was tinged with sarcasm. "I’ve got a beautiful Seraphim nativity, and it’s missing the main player! What am I going to do? I can’t put out a Jesus-less nativity!"
Her brows furrowed as she listened sympathetically. "Oh, Honey!" she lamented with me. "I’m sorry. That’s too bad. Maybe one will turn up down the road."
I nodded and went back to my office, hearing the words of my father echo in my ears: "Sometimes, if it wasn’t for bad luck...we’d have none at all."
As Christmas approached, Karen asked me what I was going to do with the nativity.
"I don’t know," I said rather glumly. "I can’t very well put it out in the main room missing the star of the event, but I hate to leave it in the box."
"I’m sure you’ll figure it out," she replied.
I nodded. "I think I’ll put it out in our bedroom, have it stand as a metaphor for how empty one’s life can be without Jesus in your life – something will always be empty and hollow if you don’t have the main player front and center where he should be."
She nodded her approval. "I think that’s a very creative approach – appropriate too."
"Thanks," I said. "It’s the best I could come up with."
"Yeah," she agreed. "But, that’s got just as important a message to it in its own way, you know?"
"Keep your eyes open for him, though, will you?  I'd rather have the original message out at Christmas than mine."
"You know I will."
Several years past with me putting the Jesus-less nativity in my bedroom and thinking about what I’d reconciled that particular nativity meant: the testament to that philosophy of how empty a life can be without God-the father~God-the son in it.  It was odd, that thought began to grow on me: how important a remembrance that thought is-should be at this time of year.  The Jesus-less nativity served a signicant purpose: a great reminder of how important it is to celebrate the one for whom this holiday season is truly about. It's a scary world out there, if you don’t have a belief in something~someone greater-grander than you are - a higher power. We didn’t just happen upon this earthy plane by mere change or happenstance. There’s too much order and design to the world for it to be some sort of cosmic fluke as some like to tell or would have us believe that it us.  My belief is that there is a divine work at play here.  You just have to view the ocean, the lake surrounded by mountains or visit the state of Maine to know that fact. [Maine is our heaven on earth....what is yours?]
A few years later, I got a couple of presents from Karen for Christmas. Among them was a small box. When I opened it, there tucked neatly inside was the Seraphim baby Jesus. I looked up at her with~in disbelief.
"How?"
She smiled. "I just kept calling every year til I hit pay dirt and someone had a broken set. They were selling the other pieces, and I said, ‘I’ve got just the friend for that Jesus!’."
We laughed about that.
That year, I put my Seraphim Angel Nativity Set front and center in my living room. I took it into work so that Karen could see me put with putty the manger of the Christ Child into place. It seemed only fitting that she share that moment with me. It felt good to see it complete for a change.
"There you go, baby Jesus!" I said. "Back where you belong!"
Karen took stock, admiring it. "Looks good, Kiddo!"
I hugged her. "I couldn’t have done it without you!"
"Well," she disagreed. "I think what you created out of it was very significant, but it’s nice to have it complete for a change. We’re a good team."
I nodded. "Yes, we are!" I agreed.
Every year, when I pull out that nativity, I think of that wonderful girlfriend shopping spree with my best A.B., but more importantly, I think about the greatest of life lesson’s that came with a purchase that most people would have probably deemed useless. It gave me many lessons:
The main one is this, which is especially significant to me at this stage in my life: just because something is broken in some way, doesn’t mean it’s worthless, useless and has no meaning. On the contrary, it can have a very special and significant meaning. Lesson number 2: if you don’t have something greater than yourself to believe in and celebrate, you’re really missing out on a loving and comforting experience when times of trouble come your way. Lastly, just because something tangible is missing from something from the exterior view, it doesn’t necessarily mean that it isn’t there. It’s there if you believe in it.  Belief doesn't require anything tangible to attest to a fact, except for one's strong faith that something unseen is as ever-present as something that can be seen.
It’s just like that song I learned when I was a child: "I believe in the sun, even when it isn’t shining; I believe in love, even when there’s no one there. And, I believe in God; I believe in God; I believe in God; even when there is silence."
As we close out this Christmas season, I thought the story of the Jesus-less nativity was an important one to share. It’s such a profound example of reminding oneself what is important about this particular holiday: Jesus. As a Christian, this is the day when the Lord came to us to bring a bright promise for a better tomorrow – to be the light that led the world into eternal life where all the long-lasting good things await: - eternal peace, love, light, no worries, no sickness...Goodness and grace abound there. That’s what this holiday is about for me. Jesus came to be the shining, stellar example of said goodness and grace and show us how to live and be good, decent, loving people when others give us reason not to want to be loving, caring, decent people. Lord knows, he suffered his trials and tribulations as he journeyed here. Still, he taught us the greatest rule to live by: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Today is a day for Christian remembrance, reflection and celebration. I look at that nativity and am reminded of all those things. It’s nice to have the main player back in the stable with his mother and father.
It truly drives home the words to my favorite gospel song: Something About That Name:
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. There’s just something about that name. Master. Savior. Jesus. Like the fragrance after the rain.
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Let all heaven and earth proclaim. Kings and kingdoms will all pass away, but there’s just something about that name....

http://youtu.be/AM3bAXgApKo [Something About That Name/The Gaither Vocal Band]
http://youtu.be/CxymT2s5QDs [Angels We Have Heard On High/Joy to the World/Michael Crawford]

Merry Christmas Blessings to One and All...

The Santa Claus Express

"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. . . . Thank God! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."
"The Sun" Sept 21, 1897

http://youtu.be/Yb8EOhqe3hA [Jolly Old St. Nick/Eddy Arnold]

It’s Christmas Eve, and my husband and I are enjoying the Christmas tree lights as we watch Miracle on 34^th Street. I told my puppies that Santa Claus was on his way, but he wouldn’t come until they were sleepy sound in their bed.  Guess where they are?
We took a drive earlier in the evening, and it got me to thinking back to other Christmases. I asked Tom about it. It brought to mind one special Christmas season. It's hard to believe it was 12 years ago that Tom and I boarded a train in Cumberland, Maryland called The Santa Claus Express. It was a steam engine train – one of the last few that runs in this country, I believe.
We had lunch on the train, while it meandered through the mountains and took us up to Frostburg, Maryland - to a little shop up there where we got to see Santa Claus.
Oh, it was an exciting trip! I remember the shop had an ice-cream store and a place to get hot cider, coffee and tea, as well as a bunch of little gift shops connected to it. I made my way throughout all the gifts shops looking for a special treasure, because there's always one to be found if you know how and where to look for them.  Then, I took my place inside to wait for Santa.  Tom stood on the sidelines for that part of the adventure.  The train ride up was the adventure part for him.  Not me.  I knew bigger and better things awaited us at the end of that coal run.
I’ll never forget the look on this little girl’s face when I got behind her in the line to see Santa. It was a funny look, like "what are you doing?" I gave her a big smile and told her how pretty she looked. She was wearing a festive red sweater. I, myself, had on a hot pink one bejeweled with a sparkling snowman on it. When you’re going to see Santa, after all, you must wear your Sunday’s best, even if it is on Saturday.   She couldn’t help herself. She looked around me, and seeing no child in tow asked again. "What are you doing?"
"I’m waiting to see Santa!" I told her cheerfully.
Her mouth fell open a bit in disbelief. I’m short, but I can’t be mistaken for a kid.  She wasn't buying my answer.
"YOU?" she said in a tone of utter surprise.
I nodded. "Sure!" I told her. "Aren’t you in line to see Santa Claus?"
"Yes," she stammered, "but I..."
My eyebrows rose as I leaned down to hear what else she was going to say.
She stopped mid-sentence as her brows came together. "You’re going to sit on his knee and tell him what you want for Christmas?"
"Of course I am!" I told her. "How else is he going to know I want a doll?"
Her eyes grew wider still. "A doll!?  YOU want a doll?" she hunched her arms back, not knowing if I was serious.
I nodded. "Don’t you like dolls?"
"Yes, but...." she hemmed and hawed.
My husband stood behind the line, his arms folded, watching this scene unfold – very amused.  I suppose, at times, having a wife who collects dolls can be an amusing thing. 
Back to the little girl. She thought I was pulling her leg. "You aren’t going to ask him for a doll!" she exclaimed.
"Why don’t you hang around after you’re done with him and watch me," I told her. "Because I am going to ask him for a doll," I pointed to my husband. "Ask him," I directed. "He’ll tell you that I will."
Her eyes wandered over to my husband.
"Tom," I called. "This little girl doesn’t believe that I collect dolls. Would you tell her that I do."
Tom nodded. "Oh, she collects dolls alright," he said, not as enthused about them as I was. "She must have a 100 by now."
The little girls eyes got wider still. "A hundred?"
"He’s pulling your leg," I replied waving the comment off, downplaying it. "It’s more like 80."
She looked back at me as if she wasn’t sure who to believe?
"You really collect dolls?"
I nodded. "I REALLY do."
She considered it for a minute. "So, which doll do you want this year?"
I smiled. "I want a doll that came out last year," I told her.  I felt the excitement come when I began to tell her about her. "She’s solid porcelain, and she has platinum hair and blue eyes just like I had when I was a little girl. Her name is Baby Miracles."
"Baby Miracles?" she said, as her brows came together. "I haven’t heard of that one."
"She’s a Marie Osmond doll," I said.
Her mother came back over to the line with a cup of hot cider.
"Mom," she said to the woman in an excited tone. "This lady collects dolls."
The lady looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.
"Lots of people collect dolls," she informed her daughter.
Just then, the man, Santa's Helper, called her up to get ready for her time with Santa.
"Good luck!" I whispered. "I hope you get what you want."
I watched as Santa pulled her up into his lap, and she told him that she’d been a good girl. She laughed and giggled as I watched her tell him all the things she wanted him to bring her. It made me smile as I listened to the interplay between the two of them.  She giggled.  He laughed.  It was a beautiful sight.
When she was finished, she moved down off his lap and made her way down the exit aisle and stood near my husband, as I made the walk up to Santa. If he was surprised by my presence, he didn’t let on. He patted his knee and I sat down.
He laughed a hearty, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" as I looped my arm around his shoulder.
"Have you been a good little girl?" he asked.
I guess when you’re an old man with a long white beard that every female looks like a little girl.
I nodded. "I believe I have,"  I replied, then pointed to Tom for confirmation. "He’ll tell you so."
Tom smiled at us but his smile told me he really didn’t want to get involved in this part of MY adventure.
I saw the little girl looking at me so I boldly stated my want without waiting for Santa to ask me.
"I want a doll," I told him. "She’s a beautiful porcelain doll with platinum blonde hair and blue eyes."
Santa listed intently, chuckling as we spoke. "And, what’s the Doll’s name that you want?" he asked.
"Baby Miracles," I told him. "But, she has to be the one from Marie Osmond’s doll line. THAT’s the Baby Miracles I want!"
He pulled his head back with a noted "Oh," and a nod that he’d gotten it. "Marie Osmond's Baby Miracles," he repeated."
"Yes, Santa! Thank you!" I replied. "Do you like eggnog?"
"I love eggnog!" he replied.
I smiled. "You bring me that doll, and I’ll leave you a glass of eggnog that’ll warm your heart, thaw your hands and put some jolly back into your holly!"
He Ho! Ho! Hoed me again after I told him that.
When I got off his lap and walked down the aisle, the little girl winked at me, and I winked back.
After we visited with Santa, we walked around outside to take in the mountain view with the crisp, delicious smelling air that only comes at wintertime. It was a gorgeous setting. And, what do you know....it began to snow....light, fluffy snow.
We laughed. We oohed and awed that on that day, of all days, we would be treated with the additional magic of snow. It was a perfect day - one of those days when the weather is beautiful and the encounters are better.
As we re-boarded the train to return home, the better encounters keep improving. Tom and I took our seat as we waited for the hot chocolate and cookies to be served. Once we got going, who do you think popped into the dining car but that jolly old soul in the red suit with the long white beard. He laughed and laughed and laughed some more as he stopped at each table and spoke to those sitting around it.
Before he left our table, he looked at me and said, "I’ll see what I can do about that doll!"
I nodded and said in complete seriousness. "I know you will, Santa! I have faith in you!"
Tom and I talk a lot about that trip - the magical beauty of that day and the fun-filled memory that we created.
You’re probably wondering if I got that doll?
Not only did I get that doll but I got number 813 out of the edition. As a believer in signs, it was a BIG deal. You see, 813 is my birth date. It was better, for me, than getting the number one doll of the edition. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay better.
Since then, I’ve taken that doll to Washington, D.C., where Marie hand signed her for me, and I took her to a doll gathering in Michigan where Sonja Breyer signed her too. She’s a treasure alright. A special doll like that....you’re probably wondering what she’s worth? I can’t really put a price tag on her because she’s just THAT special, but I’d say she’s worth every bit of a miracle or two...every bit.
Are you a believer? Do you believe in miracles? Do you believe in signs? Do you believe in Santa Claus? Can you still hear the ringing of a bell dangling on a long, red string? Do you really need to ask me if those question hold true for me?
Santa’s on his way. I know it’s true, sure as I’m sitting here typing. Merry Christmas, Everyone! May all YOUR dreams come true...and God Bless Us Everyone!

http://youtu.be/vDoRPbsfJE0 [Believe/Josh Groban]

http://www.wmsr.com/attraction.php?attraction=275&category=90 Link to Western Scenic Maryland Railroad

* In case you're wondering about the eggnog,  I refer you to Evan Williams Southern Blended eggnog.  It's one of many good things we know how to do well and right in the south! ;-)

The Friendship Cake

Sheri Soulis Jenkins

December 21, 1963-November 22, 2002

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." ~Carl Jung
　
Do you believe in signs? I know I’ve asked this question before, but for those who are new to the blog, it bears repeating, as does my answer. I am a BIG believer in signs. Messages come to us from beyond~from loved ones, if we are open to receive them. That’s my belief anyway. I have my proof, and that’s all I need.
That being said, today’s blog post is about my best junior highschool friend, Sheri Soulis Jenkins. Today would have been her 48^th birthday. Happy Birthday, Sheri!!!!
For those of you who are new to my blog and don’t know this aspect of Sheri’s story, she died on November 22, 2002 after a brave and valiant year-long fight against cancer. She was 38. She left behind a husband and daughter, her parents and a brother and countless friends, like me, who loved her and celebrate her still.
When we were kids, Sheri was my sleep over buddy. I stayed at her house some Friday nights and she stayed at mine on others. We considered ourselves both Mama and Daddy’s girls but, we talked a lot about our fathers. Her father was a big, strapping Greek guy, and my father was a short, albeit larger than life southern one. Both could instill fear in children when needed, but both, at the heart of the matter were marshmallow guys where their kids were concerned. We laughed about that. Both had important jobs-did important work, and we were very proud of them.
The first Christmas after Sheri passed, I was in a Cracker Barrel meeting my friend, Peggy, for a holiday get-together lunch, and I found a marshmallow ornament hanging on one of the trees. Coincidence? I knew not. I bought it and sent it to Sheri’s Daddy for Christmas. It meant a LOT to him. Trust me when I tell you that, because I told him the story about Marshmallow men from when we were kids.  And, whenever I see him, that's what I remember.
We had a lot of fun when we were kids in school. We worked on a lot of extra-curricular activities together. We were on the debate club.  I'll never forget when the teacher gave Sheri the topic of cats and me the topic of dogs. We had to debate which made the best pet. It was the first and only time that the teacher called a draw. She never pitted us against the other again. We were always on the same team, because we were two "convincers" as I like to say. The amazing thing about that was that most times, when you’re in competition, you want to win. I didn’t want to beat her, and she didn’t want to beat me. We were supporters of the other, so it was nice when that "draw" was handed down.
We were on the student faculty together. Sheri was a cheerleader, and I was President of the Pep Squad. She had better legs than I did, and you couldn’t have paid me to wear that flitty little cheerleading outfit. Another thing we laughed a lot about. [When you've got good legs, you don't mind showing them off.]
She thanked me every year when school ended for Christmas break because I gave her two presents: one for her birthday and one for Christmas. 
"You always remember both," she said.  "Sometimes, I don't like being born at the holiday because everyone is busy getting ready for the big day."
"I can understand that," I said.  "But, think of it this way: the entire world is decorated and cheery.  Not everyone can say that.  [I gave this same sentiment to my father once]
"Yeah," she agreed.  "But, we're on break and I have to wait to have a party with my friends."
"I get that," I said, truly understanding.  "My birthday is in August, remember?"
She laughed.  "I remember.  It's nice to have someone who understands."
"I understand," I assured.  And I did.
We had other bonds: like having our parents work at the school we went to.  Can you imagine?  It's hard to pull typical kid-shenanigans with that kind of scenario, but we managed to pull a few.  We pulled a few good ones as I recall, but those are stories for another day.
My mother was Administrative Assistant at the school we went to, and Sheri’s father was the Assistant Principal. We stayed after school a lot waiting to ride home with our parents, but we put the time to good use.  We talked and talked some more. About two blocks over was a 7-11, and we’d walk up there every afternoon and get an Icee and candy bar or Jolly Rancher hard candy.  Mr. Soulis always gave us the 20 cents.  Yeah, you heard right.  That was back when slurpies and candy cost a nickle each. Most people would probably think that was the good part of the afternoon, but, for me, it was the talks we had as we walked up and back to the store. We talked about school, teachers we liked–those we didn’t, we talked about boys, those we liked–those we didn’t. And, we talked about our parents, our siblings....any and everything under the sun was fair game for our talks. Sometimes, we’d go over to the playground and swing after we’d had our snack. That’s the place where we spoke about our dreams–what we wanted to be and do when we grew up. Motherhood was at the top of both of our lists. Fate was cruel to both of us regarding that dream. Sheri got to mother her daughter for only five short years; I didn’t get to mother either of my babies. Still, I know the five years she had with Aliya, she chock-fulled as much love and love and love into those years as she was able.
At that point in our lives, Sheri wasn’t really certain what she wanted to do. For her, she only knew motherhood was a dream. For me, I always knew I wanted to write as well as be a mother. I remember saying to her when she asked what else I wanted to do, telling her that I didn’t want to say because I thought she might laugh.
"Tell me!" she urged. "I won’t laugh. I promise."
I told her.
She didn’t laugh.
"That doesn’t surprise me," she said. "I’ve never seen anyone who reads as much as you – or likes books as much as you do for that matter."
She was right. I’ve always been an avid reader and journaler.
"You really think I could become a writer?"
"Knowing you, Jhill," she said with certainty.  "I believe you could."
I never forgot that or how much it meant to me at the time and now, thinking back on it.
Years later, part of my dreams came true. I was a technical writer working for a rail labor union.  I loved my job - that one of my dreams had been realized. It was during that time period that I learned of Sheri’s cancer diagnosis and her prognosis. It was not a great foretelling. It was a devastating one.
As I’ve previously written, I began writing to her weekly – if not weekly, every 10 days. I sent her little memories from our childhood because I knew she was putting together a book for her daughter. I just wanted her to know that sometimes, when we need them the most, a hand reaches out from our past and offers itself up again with love and support. It doesn’t matter the time that’s past. It just matters that the love is still there and willing to do all that is necessary to assure a frightened heart that you are there in spirit-in mind-in thought. I know it meant a lot to her. It meant a lot to me to do it.  It meant more than I can tell you that we reconnected across the miles. It meant alot for me to do what I'd hope someone would do for me if I found myself in her position: offer me constant words of support, hope, comfort and a laugh or two.
I suffered three losses of loved ones within a six week period of time in 2002: two aunts and Sheri. The loss of Sheri is one that has been the hardest to deal with and accept. I’ve thought a lot about the reasons for that fact. I think it’s because she was my first, close-confidant friend to transition from this life. She was my age. It made mortality very, VERY real. It made me realize that tomorrow isn’t something that any of us are promised, so we better get all our living and doing into today. It taught me that we need to make the most of the time in which we’re living, because we never know where the road is going to take us or when the road we're traveling is going to lead to an end street with nowhere else to go in this lifetime. The last year of Sheri’s life taught me so, so much about life and a having a great*full heart – appreciating time with family and friends. It wasn’t a lesson lost over time. If anything, it resonates more.
I posted last Thanksgiving, that the day Sheri passed, our radio station had begun to play Christmas songs. One came on the radio, and I had to pull over because the words of the song, which I’d heard a thousand times before, suddenly had meaning to me. I heard that song for the first time that day – really heard it. I’ll attach it at the end of this writing so that all of you can hear it too. It’s no longer known to me as Celebrate Me Home; it’s known to me as Sheri’s song.
God sends us messages if we are open to receiving them. Even in the most trying, darkest hours–moments of our lives, a message can come to us clear as can be. That was the message that was sent to me on November 22, 2002: Celebrate Me Home! Celebrate Me Home! Celebrate Me Home! I didn’t do a very good job of doing it that year because, well....I’m sure you can understand that losing someone, no matter how strong your faith, isn't something that initially strikes that chord within us.  But, that song is such a comfort to me now when I hear it.
It was as if God was saying to my heart: I’ve got her. She’s mine. She’ll be fine. She’s at peace. Celebrate her coming home to me.  She's at peace.  Remember that.
My heart knew that. My mind also had its own thoughts: she was only 38 years old; her daughter is five. She has a husband. She has parents, a brother and friends. She has a job she liked. This sucks! Life isn’t fair and don’t tell me "that’s life"! I don’t want to hear that! And, I cried. I cried buckets. I cried until my eyes were swollen up like mini baseballs. My heart hurt so bad with all the crying. I cried until I didn’t think one tear was left in me to cry. Then, I cried some more. Being the kind of person I am who has open, honest dialogues with God and am not afraid to tell him what I think or feel at any given moment, I said without hesitation over the upset and, if totally honest, anger I was feeling.  "You're asking a LOT here, God!"
I have to admit, I’ve never celebrated her leaving, and I pray about that. I know God takes each person when God is ready for them to come home, because we are never ready to let go of anyone. I was raised to believe in a life everlasting, and that others who go before us are just waiting in the next place for us to arrive and join them. Still, there are some things that, even with the passing of time, don’t feel alright to me. Losing Sheri so young will always be one of those things for many reasons.
That being said, I remember praying the day of her funeral that she’d send me a sign to let me know she was okay. I’m open to them, signs that is, and I recognize them when they come. The week after she passed, a friend gave me a book with a card that said, "Thinking of you. I hope this book will bring a smile to your sad heart."
The book was called The Friendship Cake. The weekend after her death, I laid on my sofa, curled up under a blanket, with my cat, Rhiannon, sleeping on top of me and read that book. My husband was in our back bedroom where we kept the computer working on something having to do with his master's degree, when I finished that book.
Here is what he heard:
"Oh my God! Oh my God!"
It was said in exclaimed disbelief, giddy relief with happy tears and the laughter that comes when you realize that a prayer has been answered.  The tone was high-pitched like a woman who'd just opened the front door to find Publisher's Clearing House standing there with a GINORMOUS check.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, running to me to see what was going on, not certain if I was hurt or what....
I looked at him as tears poured from my eyes and said over and over. "Sheri is in the friendship cake!"
He looked at me as if I’d landed from another planet. "What?"
I remember putting my hand to my mouth and nose as a fresh wave of tears came, trying to explain it. I held up the book and showed him the recipe. "Sheri. Look," and I pointed to the recipe. It called for cream Sherry. "She’s okay. I asked for a sign to let me know she’s alright, and the recipe for Friendship Cake calls for Sherry.  She's okay!  She's okay!  She's okay!"
He sat down and took my hand.
"Of all the things I could read," I told him. "Of all the recipes I could receive, and THIS is the one that comes to me: Sherry [Sheri] is in the Friendship Cake."
"Wow," he said. "That’s something, isn’t it?"
"It’s amazing.  It's something else!"
"Do you feel better?"
I sniffed. "Some."
"That’s good," he replied. "Maybe you should make that cake."
I nodded. "I  think I will."
And, I did. I went and bought a bottle of cream Sherry, and I made the Friendship Cake for her birthday that year and took it into work to share. It was delicious.  I saved two slices of it for Tom and I to share that night over coffee.
Nine years later, I’m passing on the story and the recipe. I hope you’ll try it, and think of Sheri when you do.   Thoughts of Sheri are a good thing.
I celebrate her today as I will continue to do every year on this day until my time in this life comes to its end. I will listen to her song and take comfort, and I will eat her cake and feel satisfied and grateful for the years she was a part of my life, because she came and touched me in ways that I cannot adequately express, and her imprint went deep.  Endless kind of deep.
I don’t know what her role is in heaven? I don’t know if she’s an angel or a beautiful flower. I like to think she’s with my father and grandparents giving all her mother-love to my children. That thought makes me very happy. Whatever she’s doing, this much I know: she has added beauty and grace to her forever home...
　
http://youtu.be/5taCcK4-ZD0 [Celebrate Me Home/a.k.a. "Sheri’s song"/Kenny Loggins]

The Friendship Cake

1 box Duncan Hines butter cake mix
1(3 ½ ounce) package instant vanilla pudding
½ cup oil
½ cup water
½ cup cream sherry
1 cup pecans, finely chopped
4 eggs

Boiled dressing:

3/4 cup sugar
6 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons sherry wine
3 tablespoons water

Place cake ingredients in a mixing bowl - ½ cup of pecans; I use the other half to sprinkle around the bottom of the Bundt pan.

Mix on slow speed with electric mixer for 1 minute, then on medium speed for 3 minutes or until well-mixed.
Pour into a greased and floured tube pan (or Bundt pan).
Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour (Test to see if done with a toothpick). Let cake cool then turn onto cake plate just to make certain the cake comes out completely.  Put the cake back into the Bundt pan,
Boil dressing ingredients for 2 to 3 minutes. I take a knife and cut a circle around the Bundt cake’s bottom to open it up, then pour the boiled dressing into it.
Let it cool completely in pan before turning it out onto a cake plate.

Serve with a cup of tea and make certain a friend is nearby to share it with. Enjoy!!!









Happy Birthday, Sheri! Love you and Remember you always.....　

The Legends of the Mistletoe & the Poinsettia

http://youtu.be/_FvE-z8xV1g [The Holly and the Ivy/Loreena McKennitt]

Where did the ritual of kissing under the mistletoe at Christmas time come from and what's so special about it?   Have you ever wondered about that?

Before there were any Christmas trees, the custom to kiss beneath the mistletoe more than likely originated in pre-Christian Europe, where it was believed that Mistletoe also possessed life bestowing properties and was associated with fertility.  If that wasn't enough praise, mistletoe had a couple of valuable uses such as: it was used as an aphrodisiac and, it was also used as an antidote to poison. Additionally, there is a custom of hanging mistletoe over a doorway to ward off evil spirits from crossing over into your threshold.   It truly seems to be a magical little plant.
It's identified with the winter solstice because of its early ties to Norse mythology.  Ancient Romans also used the plant in its festival of Saturnalia, which is celebrated in mid-December.  In Scandinavia, mistletoe is associated with the pagan goddess Frigga who is married to Odin.  In case you don't know, Odin is the BIG Kahuna of all the Norse Gods.  Back to Frigga, his wife.  She is the Norse goddess of love and the mother of Balder, god of the summer sun.  Within this aspect of the story is where mistletoe's association to Christmas is most likely to have begun as it parallels with certain aspect of the Christian tradition.
The legend goes something like this: One night, Balder had a nightmare in which he foresaw his death. The following day, he told his mother about the his terrible omen.  She became greatly alarmed.  The death of her son didn't have solemn repercusions just for her.   If Balder died, so would life on earth.  Darkness would fill the place that once the earth inhabited.
Immediately, Frigga, who took her son's dream very seriously, went into action to ward off that catastrophe.  She elicited from the elements: fire, water, air, and earth, as well as from all known animal and plant wildlife a vow that no harm would come to Balder because of them.
Unbeknownst to Frigga, her son had one enemy, Loki, the god of evil.  He knew of one plant that Frigga had overlooked in her rush to keep Balder alive and save earth from darkness.  One plant had not given Frigga a vow not to harm Balder. That plant was the mistletoe that grew as a vine on both apple and oak trees. Knowing of Frigga's oversight, Loki made an arrow with a tip wrapped and hewn from the mistletoe.  With malice aforethought, he gave the arrow as a gift to the blind god of winter, Hoder.  Hoder, not knowing of Loki's evil plan, released the arrow without realizing where and who it was aimed at and shot Balder dead.  Just as Frigga feared, the earth was plummeted into darkeness, as all of the earth's creatures wept for her son.
Yet, miraculously, Balder was brought back to life. Frigga overcome with joy, wept happy tears which fell on the mistletoe, magically creating its characteristic white berries.  From that day foreward, Frigga decreed that mistletoe would no longer be seen as anything but a symbol of love and peace and decreed that all gods and humans should kiss beneath its boughs to commemorate her son's return.
This Norse lore celebrates love and rebirth over death and destruction.  It's easy to see how this legend thus made its way into European Christianity.  The lore of Balder's rebirth is akin to the Christmas celebration of the world's renewal and emergence into "light" with the birth of the Christ Child.  Thus is the legend of the mistletoe.

*Compiled from information gathered from the Farmer's Almanac and other sources.

Legend of the Poinsettia

There are many stories about the legend of the Poinsettia, but the following one is what I’ve always been told. I share it now with you:
　
This particular Christmas story is about a young girl named Maria, who lived on a family farm in a small village in Mexico. The family was very poor. Within the village, it was a practiced custom to exalt the meaning of the Christmas season as the villagers celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ. The piazza in front of the church and the church itself was festively decorated for the event. Everyone took part.  Even children made gifts to offer to the Baby Jesus on Christmas Eve.
Legend has it that Maria wanted to make a very special gift for the Christ Child. She tried to weave a colorful blanket on a loom, but she was just a young girl, not an experienced enough crafter.  She wasn't able to create her gift. The yarns became entangled, and she wasn't able to finish the blanket. It made Maria sad. She had wanted to march in the procession with the other village children on Christmas Eve, but she didn’t have a gift to give to Jesus. So, she remained on the sidelines and watched.
When Christmas Eve finally came, the villagers gathered in the piazza.  Some whispered that they had heard angels singing as candles were lit and the processional from the piazza into the church began. Joyful music played as beautiful singing filled the air.
Maria was not among the procession. The devastated young girl stood in the shadows of the church, as she watched the townspeople making their joyful noise unto the Lord.  Tears came as she realized that she had nothing to present to Jesus.
"I tried," she whispered "I really tried to make something beautiful, but I ruined it and have nothing to give the Savior."
Suddenly, Maria heard a voice. She looked up and saw a bright star in the sky. It was directly above the church.  Its light shown brightly over the entire church.
"Child," a voice said to her. "Your heart is pure; your love is pure. The baby Jesus will love whatever you give. Love is what makes every gift have meaning.  It is what makes your gift special – because it came from your heart."
Upon hearing that, Maria stepped out from among the shadows, considering this thought. Nearby she noticed tall green weeds growing beside the church. She rushed over and quickly filled her arms with the weeds. She wrapped them in her cape, then ran to the church.
When she arrived, the candles were lit-shining brightly, as the children began singing songs of praise and joy - walking down the aisle carrying their special gifts to give to the baby Jesus.
The priest placed the figure of the baby Jesus in the manger, with the childrens' gifts surrounding them.
Maria felt out of place and a little afraid when she saw everyone dressed in beautiful clothes. Her clothes were dirty and tattered. She tried to slip behind one of the pillars, but the priest saw her and called to her.
"Maria, come! Bring up your gift."
Maria was hesitant. She didn’t know what to do? She wanted to run away. She didn’t think her gift was good enough, no matter how much love she’d offered along with it.
The father saw her hesitation. "Maria, come up here and see the baby Jesus," he gently coaxed. "There is room for one more gift."
Maria walked down the aisle, cradling her cape.
"What do you think Maria is carrying beneath her cloak?" the villagers whispered.
The priest stepped down from the altar and took Maria’s hand, leading her to the Christmas creche. Maria bowed her head in prayer then opened her cape and laid the weeds at the foot of the Baby Jesus.
Voices gasped in astonishment. "Look at those beautiful flowers!" they exclaimed.  "Where did she find such a glorious gift?"
Startled by the commotion, Maria opened her eyes. She too was surprised. At the end of each weed was a beautiful bright, red flower in the shape of a star.
Outside, the weeds where her hands had touched, that spread all around the church, had become the same beautiful red flowers.
Maria’s love for the Baby Jesus had created a miracle, and proven that all things, when given and offered with love and a pure heart, are bright and beautiful...

http://youtu.be/brmRUlKbF7g [What Child is This/Josh Groban]:

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Legend~Lore

　
　


Have you ever heard a Christmas carol and wondered "what in the heck is THAT song is all about?" Or "what on earth does THIS have to do with Christmas?" Well, I’ve always thought that about the song The 12 Days of Christmas and wondered just what those things we were singing about actually meant! It’s never made sense to me why Lords were Leaping, Maids were a Milking, or what calling birds had to do with anything? Likewise, I didn’t understand why all the birds were listed in this song to begin with. What did they have to do with Christmas? It was a mystery. Then, several years ago, I found out from a friend of mine who was studying to be a Catholic Priest what this song truly means. He explained that beginning in the 16^th Century and going until well into the 19^th Century, practitioners of the Roman Catholic faith in England were not permitted to practice said faith openly because its beliefs conflicted with the teachings of the church of England. During that period of persecution someone wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics to learn about the faith and for practicing Catholics to celebrate it.

It has been said that the song had dual meanings – one is the surface meaning; the other is a hidden meaning known years ago only to/by the members of the church. Each verse in the carol has phraseology which is code in word~meaning for an aspect of their religious faith, which they could remember through symbolism presented in the song. The breakdown is as follows:

* The partridge in a pear tree represents Jesus Christ.

* Two turtle doves were for the two books of the Bible: the Old and New Testaments

* Three French hens are for faith, hope and love.

* The four calling birds represented the four gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.

* The five golden rings recalled the Torah's Law, the first five books of the Old Testament: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers & Deuteronomy.

* The six geese a-laying stood for the number of days it took God to create the world.

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

* The eight maids a-milking stood for the eight beatitudes.

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

* The ten lords a-leaping signify the ten commandments.

* The eleven pipers piping embodied the eleven faithful disciples.

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

There is much more history that surrounds this song, but these are the basic facts. If you are so inclined to continue research into it, please post your additional findings. The song, however, takes on an entirely different meaning for me now, knowing the secret language of The Twelve Days of Christmas. I’ve included the song here for your enjoyment! Blessings!

http://youtu.be/gtjsOHrV3R0 [The 12 Days of Christmas/Roger Whittaker]

Christmas Tea & The Leader of the Band...

The Jefferson Hotel

December 16, 2007

Photo by Paul Hughes

Friends at Christmas Tea

The Jefferson Hotel/December 16, 2007

Daniel Grayling Fogelberg

August 13, 1951-December 16, 2007

Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas. ~Peg Bracken
　
http://youtu.be/Ulk49B0Mdl0 [What Child Is This/Dan Fogelberg]

Every year, my husband and I go to The Jefferson Hotel at the holiday season. Sometimes, we have lunch. Other times, we meet friends and have Christmas tea. It is an experience! It is magnificent to see the decorations and the tree–that gorgeous tree that goes from floor to ceiling, dead center in front of the Gone With the Wind staircase. I highly recommend if you’re anywhere in the Richmond area at the holidays, to make this one of your stops. It is a sight to behold.
Sunday, December 16, 2007, my husband and I met a group of our friends at the Jefferson for Christmas tea. We were seated in a private alcove that overlooked that glorious tree. It was a spectacular sight! We "oohed" and "ahhed" as we savored a feast of finger sandwiches, mini ham biscuits, and sweet treats spread out before us on a tiered stand, with a backdrop of a delicious selection of teas to choose from. There is nothing better at the holidays than gathering with friends - taking time to remember the season and one another - taking time to enjoy each other’s company and laughing over stories. In our case, it was doll collecting, [I brought my husband along for the ride-he enjoys my Doll*Friends] but we didn’t just speak of dolls. We talked about jobs, life, children, aging parents, vacations...the doll collecting was the common denominator which brought us together. The love and laughter are what has bound us. I love these friends. They are a unique bunch, because it doesn’t matter if we’re 30, 40 or 50+ years, we maintain the wonder-the childlike wonder of this season.
After about three and a half hours of fun and fellowship, we knew it was time to relinquish our seats and head home, wrapped in the warmth of the memories which we had just created.
On the drive home, our radio station, which begins playing holiday songs non-stop from Thanksgiving week through Christmas day, played a song that always makes me a little melancholy, but I love nonetheless. However, at the end of the song’s playing, the DJ came on and said that Same Auld Lang Syne has been played in memory of Dan Fogelberg who had lost his battle with cancer earlier that day.
The news made me cry.
I grabbed Tom’s arm and gasped, "Oh, NO!"
Dan Fogelberg wasn’t just any entertainer or singer for me. I always called him my birthday buddy, because that was a special connection I shared with him. I always knew on my birthday, that Entertainment Tonight would list Dan Fogelberg as having a birthday on that day too. [We also shared the day with Alfred Hitchcock] Dan, had been battling cancer for a few years, but I didn’t know it had taken a turn. I knew he had stopped touring, but I thought it was more to gather his strength and spend time with family and friends. So, it was surprising and saddening to realize that the world had lost him. It put a somber note on an otherwise silly-special day. Still, when I went to bed that night, I thanked God for all-in-all a wonderful day. I thanked him for allowing me to create a beautiful memory that day, and I asked for Dan’s eternal peace.
Memories are the greatest gifts you can give yourself because they last a lifetime. They never go out of style. They don’t get stale or musty. You are never too old, too large or too small to savor them. We had created a special memory that day, and even though it was tinged with sorrow, it still has not lost it’s glow and warmth that fills my heart when I remember that day spent with friends – laughing and talking as we shared delicious food and fellowship together. Within the warmth of that glow, I, also, remember Dan and look for the blessing that I associate with his name: we were gifted to have such a wonderful entertainer for 56 years. I’m grateful for that, and that’s what I celebrate today, four years later...
Several weeks ago, I got the Christmas newsletter from The Jefferson Hotel. It made me smile. It made me remember all the teas and lunches and a wonderful brunch that we’ve had there the last few years. I recalled the meals I’ve shared with my husband, my mother, the brunch I shared with my sister-in-law and her significant other, and the glorious teas that I’ve shared with friends. And, I remember that one very special Sunday afternoon, when a group of friends and I shared tea on the day when Dan Fogelberg became the leader of the band in heaven. No one can ever say that God doesn’t have exquisite taste!
Special times–special memories–special friends– on the Gratitude Scale, December 16 gets a 10.
I’ve attached some photographs for your enjoyment and The Jefferson Hotel’s famous eggnog recipe. We’re going over next week for our annual holiday treat there. I’ll let you know how it goes, but I can tell you this much right now: it’s going to be magical. My challenge to you today is to find something to do that provides just that sensation for you: magical.
Have a blessed day! There is much for which to give thanks.

Eggnog Recipe from The Jefferson Hotel:
3 whole eggs
1 cup of heavy cream
1 QT of whole milk
1 ½ cups of bourbon or Rum *My tip at the end
3/4 cup of sugar
Fresh Nutmeg or Cinnamon for taste
* A capful of vanilla [my addition]

~Separate the eggs into two medium bowls; whisk ½ the sugar with the yolks until thick.
~Whisk the egg whites until medium peaks form the fold in the remaining sugar.
~In a large bowl, whip the heavy cream to medium peaks; fold in egg white’s mixture then yolk mixture.
~Add Liquor {Here’s my tip: do a southern blended version: ½ cup bourbon; ½ cup brandy; ½ cup rum or any combination thereof to make 1 ½ cups]; then add whole milk until desired thickness and the vanilla. Chill thoroughly for several hours. Transfer into a beautiful punch bowl and grate with nutmeg, cinnamon or a little of both. Add a dollop of whipped cream in the center of each cup. Enjoy!

http://youtu.be/OYIWeow6W14 [Same Auld Lang Syne/Dan Fogelberg]