A Gift for All Time

My thoughts drifted as sleep beckoned. 

Stretched out on my couch, I contemplated 

these last three days of celebration ~ a gift larger than could be put in a box or bag. 

Too unwieldy to wrap in gold paper or the 

kind with snowmen on it. So the bow on it is the one in my memory. Grandchildren tearing open gifts with more toys, 

expressions of love from parents and family, playing with them for two seconds before going onto the next, while grandparents laugh, talk and admonish. Meanwhile the 

food spread on tables from this home to another, grazed on with groans of ‘I’m so full!’ 

while another bite of delicious fresh bread, pie 

or turkey disappears. Secular or religious, it is still a gift for all time.

“Each day provides its own gifts.”

~ Marcus Aurelius

An Afternoon Outing at Christmas

The Regina Newcomers group meets for lunch or dinner every month. But December’s luncheon is a more festive. Casual dress is replaced by dress up gilded casual. We met at the Saskatchewan Hotel - two tables of laughing, welcoming women, including several new members. I’ve been on hiatus from many of our activities, so was glad to see so many friends that welcomed me back to Regina in 2020. We each had tickets for the gifts that were handed out ~ mine was a bag of Indonesian Cappuccino candies! I didn’t see all of the others except a beautiful Christmas angel ornament, a bookmark and other sweet gifts. The menu satisfied and the food was delicious. It almost seemed an aside to this fun social gathering of strong women. 

“Being a strong woman is very important to me. 

But doing it all on my own is not.”

~ Reba McEntire

With Only Minutes

With hesitation and not a 

little annoyance I could see 

a middle aged man stop on 

the very sidewalk I needed 

to get to my appointment. He had 

stopped, looking intently 

at his cell phone. A business call perhaps. None of my business, 

except that he blocked my way. 

I had my cane, and could have 

tried to move him out of the way, 

but I’m not a violent person. 

And he was bigger and younger than me. 

Deciding to take the pathway on the neighbouring 

property that connected to my destination, 

I was greeted by these gorgeous prairie lilies 

nestled in the greenery. I must have done a little 

stop - start - stop as I only had minutes to spare. 

But the beautiful orange wings of prairie lilies 

have always captured my heart and my imagination. 

After all what could happen ~ would I be shown 

the door before I even got there? Not likely. 

I just don’t like to be late. I risked it anyway 

when these beloved prairie lilies shone on my path.

“People from a planet without flowers would think we must be

 mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.”

~ Iris Murdoch

Gifts we Give Ourselves

It could be hard to move forward when temperatures dip and crash unless there were books to read offering extensive vacations to far off lands, or instant time travel to other dimensions, or photos from past travels that spin backwards

to times of joy and laughter. 

In the ease of home, 

away from the biting cold 

there is much on offer

if we breathe, see and accept

gifts we have given ourselves.

“The home should be the treasure chest of living.”

~ Le Corbusier, Swiss-French architect

(1887 - 1965)

Rusty's Mission

Vowing to behave himself, he slipped a cookie into his pocket! Rusty only had four cookies left. He had decided to eat one a day to make them last. He had eaten five of them the day before. Not only could he not eat his supper, but his stomach hurt. He woke up from a dream in the middle of the night of pork chops and mashed potatoes. His favourite. Today it would be only one cookie, but he had never been good at hard and fast rules. 

Counting out all the change he had collected over the year, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get everything wanted, but he’d try. He was on a mission. Lucky school was out for the December Pro D day. This was something he had to do on his own. Despite his mother trying to teach him that there were no separate girl things or boy things, he didn’t always agree with her. He didn’t want any of his friends to catch him buying baking things. Not even Ben. Some of his friends would be ok with it. Frowning, he shook his head. There were those guys that would be teasing him about it for the rest of his life. He didn’t want Ben to have to stick up for him all the time. He had to do this on his own. Besides it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

~~~~~

Rusty’s mother, Madge, worried about her kids. More recently Rusty. He didn’t talk about it, but she had heard about the bullying at school. Mothers do have their own information line. When he left the house that morning, she had asked him where he was off to. He mumbled something about the Mall. “Are you meeting Ben?” Gruffly he said “Maybe, just for Christmas stuff. I’ll be back for lunch.” The door slammed behind him. Madge was relieved. She didn’t like him going off anywhere on his own, especially to the Mall. Ben seemed a responsible young man and she had to trust that they knew what they was doing. Rusty couldn’t tell his mom that he was going on his own, or she wouldn’t have let him. So he knew he’d better be back for lunch.

~~~~~

“Hi mom! I’m back! Is lunch ready, I’m starved.” Rusty came bursting through the front door. “You’re in a good mood. You and Ben must have had a good morning.” Madge had just finished putting sandwiches on the table. “Your dad’s at work and he called to remind me that we’re all going out to supper tonight. It’s his office Christmas party with all the families. What have you got there?” Rusty looked all around. “Where’s Annabelle? She can’t see this.” 

“She and Abby went to the roller rink. She’ll be back soon.” 

Rusty helped himself to the sandwiches and took a big drink of milk. “Ok I got this Christmas ornament for one of her presents. I want to get some baking things but didn’t really know what to get. I couldn’t find a clerk. So maybe you could help me make a list of things I can get at the Dollar store.”

 

“This one is a pretty good start, honey. It’s a cinnamon stick. Not one that Abby could use, but it works with the plan you have.” She paused, a tear in her eye. “You know, Rusty, I am very proud of you.” With his mouth full, her son said. “Why? Cause I got a good present?”

“No, honey. Because you’ve had a tough time at school and you’re just out there getting your sister’s gifts anyway. Hasn’t slowed you down at all.”

“Course not, mom. It’s not going to mess up my Christmas.”

“One’s dignity may be assaulted, vandalized, and cruelly mocked, 

but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.”

~ Michael J. Fox

Rusty's Christmas Surprises

“I’ve saved some for you, brother dear.” Rusty’s bed was made! And there was a box on the bed. With a note: “I’ve saved some for  you, brother dear.” He noticed the made bed first ~ he never made his bed unless his mother insisted, so she must have done it. He held the box up to his nose and took a deep breath. 10 year old Rusty was happy. He’d had a great weekend at his friend’s house. He came home to his room cleaned up and his bed made. And to top it off - there was a box of cookies on his pillow. Now he’d have to figure out what to do for Annabelle. Their mother had started them on it. Every year in December, they exchanged gifts. Not just on Christmas Day, but every day. Taking a big bite out of the first cookie, he looked in his closet for his change jar. He kept it hidden in the far corner on the floor behind his boxes of soldiers. Holding the half eaten cookie in his mouth he dumped the coins on his bed. Crumbs at the corners of his mouth he mumbled to himself  “What does Annabelle like to do? It’s getting harder every year to get all these things for her.” She had a whole collection of stuffed animals arranged around her bedroom from the last three years. She’d lost interest in them, so that wouldn’t work anymore. “I can’t get her one of her fancy cookbooks. That would take all my money for one gift! Then what will I do?”

Closing his bedroom door tight, and after eating his way through half of his cookies and hiding the rest in his bottom drawer under his T-shirts, he opened his laptop. The Dollar Store! He looked through all their ads. Cake decorating supplies!! “That’s it!! She’s always wanting mom to get her own supply of baking supplies!” Rusty had found exactly what would get him through to Christmas. He didn’t know what most of the stuff was but he’d talk to the clerks to help him. There were funny little plastic things, and things that looked like folded pieces of paper, and red and green sprinkles and special tools for smearing icing. Lots of stuff!” Now all he had to do was try and get something for tomorrow!

“Christmas is doing little something extra for someone.”

~ Charles M. Schulz

Sweet Creativity

Sweet Creativity

Annabelle had worked hard to bake the dozens of cookies and decorate them with sparkles. “When did I make my first cookies, mom?” They were just finished packing them. She fussed over each one she thought wasn’t perfect. “Well, honey, when you were old enough to get up on a chair to help. You didn’t make finished cookies that day, but did a great job of putting the flour in the mixing bowl. You looked so serious!” Madge laughed at the thought. It was a memory that always made her smile. “You wanted to make cookies everyday for the next two weeks, putting on a real pout when I said we had to wait. Your dad and little Rusty didn’t help. They would have loved to have fresh cookies every day.” 

“Let’s go, we’ve got to meet the others at the Senior’s Residence in a half hour.” Madge had been keeping an eye on the clock. “Is that box coming too?” There was one box left on the table with a note on top. “No, mom. That’s the one for Rusty. I’ll take it up and put it on his bed so he’ll find it when he comes home from Mr. Sampson’s.” She put her coat on and looked out the front room window for her brother. “Good. He’s not coming.” She raced up the stairs with his early Christmas gift. “I’ll be right out, mom!” 

Madge was proud of her daughter’s creativity and was amazed at how curious her daughter was about baking. She had read all her mother’s cook books for cookie and cake recipes, loved going to her grandma’s to help with her Christmas baking and was happier browsing in a fancy bake shop than going to a movie. In a library, she could be found in the Cooking Section when other friends were in the Graphic Novel section. Madge tooted the horn. Annabelle locked the front door and ran to the car. As she got in, she glanced in the back to see that her packages were safe. “Ok, mom, I’ve got my seat belt on. I hope my cookies will be all right.” Madge smiled and patted her daughter’s shoulder. “They are beautiful, honey, and delicious.” She backed out of the driveway and drove down their tree lined street to meet with their friends. 

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”

~ Maya Angelou

A Birthday Poem

Birthdays are special

Birthdays are sweet

Markers of the day

When each year is replete

I could say I’m sad

I could say boo hoo

I’m a little old lady

Without living in a shoe

But each year that passes

I’ve gathered more gifts

Of family and friendships ~

Without a birthday, t’wd be missed.

“Every birthday is a gift. Every day is a gift.”

~ Aretha Franklin

Travellers through Life

 

A birthday party for a four year old

with presents, pretty paper and family

snacks, balloons and cake!!

A fun surprise evening with family

 ~ when we scatter, 

we can all return for a visit.

“Rejoice with your family in the beautiful land of life.”

~ Albert Einstein

Sunrise

After the world sleeps,

'ere troubles have receded, 

sun-washed colour drifts 

across the sky in a caress

gifts of time to open our eyes.

“Rest but never quit. Even the sun has a sinking spell each evening, 

But it always rises the next morning. At sunrise, every soul is born again.

~ Mohammed Ali

Children’s Book Review: Just Right for Christmas by Birdie Black and Rosalind Beardshaw

How does one roll of beautiful soft red cloth make five Just Right Christmas gifts? All the way from the King who bought the soft red cloth to the tiniest mouse that lived in a tree! Precious gifts for Christmas were made from soft red scraps snipped and stitched by many hands and paws.

Beginning in a market, this sweet story with beautiful illustrations takes us through each step from a princess’s cloak to a mouse’s scarf. The illustrations create a fun picture book. For beginning readers the text is easily readable.

“Jenny, the castle maid, had finished work for the day. What should 

she see on her way home but a big bundle of beautiful red scraps?”

~ Just Right for Christmas 

by Birdie Black and Rosalind Beardshaw

Title: Just Right for Christmas

Authors: Birdie Black and Rosalind Beardshaw

First published 2011

Text Copyright: Birdie Black 2011, 2019

Illustrations Copyright: Rosalind Beardshaw 2011

Publisher: NosyCrow Ltd

Type: Children (3yrs to 5 yrs)

Format: Hard cover picture and text book

ISBN: 978 0 85763 855 7

**Authors note: This is my first attempt at a Children’s Book Review. A genre I have been neglecting, I do hope to do many more. Children in my life again have certainly encouraged me to do more!

Easier

It would be so easy 

to walk past 

all the gifts of my life.

It would be so easy

to give only a casual nod 

to their presence in my life.

It is always easier

to slow down, breathe

and take time for gratitude.

“Life is a long lesson in humility.”

~ J.M.Barrie, The Little Minister

Sun Shade

        Integrity, 

like sun-dappled shade,

      saves us from

the brilliance of our gifts.

“A quiet conscience makes one strong!”

~ Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

Every Child's Soul

Every child listens and learns 

     the gifts and dance,

     twists and turns 

in the heat of their culture.

“A nation’s culture resides in the hearts 

and in the soul of its people.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

Chapter One, Episode 149 - Gifted - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update

In my review, the theme underscoring the revisions was pretty broad. Too many words here, not enough there and once case of a duplication of the word 'to'. Once more, when I think of the stacks of books in libraries and book stores, I applaud the copy editors of this world that let us read fiction or non-fiction, children story or history with relative ease. 

Gifted

Carrie was restless. Heavily sedated, she was unaware of where she was. Beginning to breath on her own, nursing had recommended to the physicians that the respirator be removed. “At least that’s what’s been reported to me.” Emelina and Dez, allowed up to the sixth floor and accompanied by Miss Campbell, the social worker were filled in on the patient's condition. 

When they arrived at Carrie's room, the three women stood at the observation window to her room. Once more, Emelina was 16 years old. She shuddered and shrugged her shoulders, bringing her back to reality. This was not a nursery window, and she was not looking at her baby. Instead, Carrie, a grown woman, pale, frail and restless, showed none of an infant’s innocence. Emelina turned away, leaning on Dez. “I thought I had recovered from the shock of it all, Dez.” She looked up at her sister with sad eyes, her face drawn. Numbly, she handed a sealed envelope to the social worker. “Miss Campbell, here is the note I wrote last night. I wanted it here today. I plan to write one each day, but truly am not certain.” The Social Worker, a charming woman with a kind smile, clipped it to her folder. “I'll be keeping in touch, but if you have any questions, please call. I have a meeting I have to get to, so must leave. You know your way out of the hospital?” She looked up at Dez. “Yes, miss. I’ll take care of her. She's still pretty shaken.” Miss Campbell’s beeper buzzed. “Oops, I’m late and they’re tracking me down. Both of you take care. I’ll get this note to Mrs Tyler after my meeting.”

Dez took advantage of the Social Worker's departure as a cue to leave the hospital.“Emmie, come on. Lets us get going as well. We’re both just running on coffee and a little bit of toast. We’re going out to the Estate. I’ve already contacted Cook and she’ll make us some breakfast. You don’t need to be in here and stewing over it all. There’s nothing you can do but write her letters - you can do that from your home. Get them in Digby's morning mail. You can write her about little things on the estate? And you’ll need to talk with Brigitte about plans you already have and decide whether to keep on with them. Enough talk - let’s get going. Have you heard from Jeremy yet?” While Dez was talking she was steering Emmie down the hall, into the elevator and out to the parking lot. She thought that if she kept talking, it might distract her sister enough to pry her away. “No, Dez. I haven’t and I really don’t want to hear from him while I'm this way. And I think you’re right. Being in town is just going to keep my head in a mess. At least on the Estate, I’ll have things to do. Even if it’s just walking in circles on the track.”

Dez grinned. “Oh no you don’t. That’ll just match the whirlwind in your head. We’ve got work to do in the orchard. Joey and Steven have been great at picking the apples, but there’s still a lot of work to do.” Dez didn’t know exactly what work needed doing, but she would find some or make some if she had to. “I’m driving, Emmie.”

“Dez, did I ever tell you that you can be quite bossy? I am your older sister and deserve some respect.” Emmie actually smiled. “Actually after what I’ve put you through in the last 24 hours, you’re the one that deserves my respect. Getting you up at a ridiculous hour, dragging you to the hospital with me to see Carrie, sleeping in your bed……..I don’t believe this has all happened.” Emmie seemed lost in thought for a moment. Watching the ripening fields go by, she said suddenly “What’s happening with the bees, Dez?” Turning to face her, she said “Are we going to have any this fall?”

Trying to maintain Emmie’s drifting thoughts, Dez kept up the discussion. “My order never did get processed, so I’m actually trying to attract a feral swarm, but I don’t think it’s going to work. Too late in the season. The meadow, from the orchard to the stream, is full of beautiful fall wild flowers that I don't want mown down. Full of bees, you’d think that there’d be a swarm around looking for a home..”

~~~~~

Carrie did get a note or a letter from Emelina every day while she was in the hospital. The first week, she was not able to read them herself. The Social Worker had a volunteer sit with her and read the letters to her. Still very weak, she began to try to read them herself. The first time, even the paper was too heavy and she had to ask the volunteer to help her. Emelina would tell her what she had done in a day. She told her about where she lived, her sister, the smell of the apple orchard in the evening, the warmth of the people that worked at the estate and of course, the delicious food that came from the garden and into the kitchen. Carrie always dozed and rested easily after the letters. Letters that were bound wth an elastic band and carefully put away in her bedside table.

“Not for ourselves alone are we born.”

~ Marcus Tullius Cicero