Happy Birthday to Mary-Kate

Happy birthday to my dear lovely daughter who turns 18 today. I can't believe that this day is here.
Watching you grow up every day has been an adventure and a pleasure.
You have so much to give to the world it is amazing that you are my daughter. Where did all of your talent come from? You play the piano and organ. You sing and are teaching yourself to play the violin.

You love horses and dogs and they regard you in return. You just seem to speak their language.
Watching you grow and mature each day has been a joy and a pleasure. What a wonder to behold.
When you were little you were a little imp and I often wondered if we would get through. You surely tried my patience many a time.
But then there were glimpses of the woman you would become. Such as your frequent decisions to have your hair cut and donated to Locks of Love. Such selflessness and love for others is a virtue that a parent wishes to see their child develop.
May you never lose your playfulness and you sweetness. May you continue in your generous nature and your thoughtfulness of others. Continue to grow closer to Our Lord and Our Lady and you will be always on the right path. Your father and I are proud of you and the woman that you are becoming. Our prayer for you is to follow God's will and to attain eternal happiness in heaven.

God bless you. I love you dear daughter.

Christmas Story

Here is the second installment of Ryan's Christmas Story.

Sunday, December 23, 2007
Christmas Story, continued.My mouth tastes like explosives. We had to crush up TNT to put in holes for a blast we did today, and the dust is all in my mouth and nose and sinuses. It has a bitter taste. It doesn't go well with nutri-grain bars either. Also, for my family, I've been trying to call home, but the phones around here won't cooperate for some reason, so I may not be able to call before Christmas. Tell Adam I said "Yo," and also "Merry Christmas."

Margaret's Christmas Present, cont.... Margaret was not the sort to let anything go. She always thought deeply about things that happened around her. Just then, her head was full of admonitions to be kind and generous and to give to the poor, and pre-Christmas stories about the little baby Jesus not finding room in the inn. To her it seemed that Dick had acted in a very un-Christian way. Her mind was still busily turning the event over and over at dinner that night, causing her to be unusually quiet. Her Grandfather noticed and asked her what was on her mind. "I saw a boy today, Grandpa." "One of your little friends from school?" "No, he was a poor boy who came up to the gate in the back. He said he was an orphan, and Dick chased him away." "Why did he do that?" Grandpa asked. "He said he was a bad boy, but I don't see how he could know that. He didn't even talk to him, he only just saw him standing there." "I'm sure he thought he was doing what was best for you." "But how could he know that. What if he was just a poor boy who wanted some food?" Her Grandfather sighed. "My dear, Dick may have been a little hasty, but be assured he was only trying to look out for what was best for you and your friends. He is right, there are some people who will do bad things, who will steal from others if they are given the chance. Dick may have been right about that boy." "But he may have been wrong, Grandpa." "I'm afraid, my dear, that grownups can not always afford to be as generous. He had you to think about. What if he had not told him to go away and he had tried to steal from us?" "I would give him some money gladly, if I had any. He needs it more." The old man sighed. He didn't know how to explain to his granddaughter how important it was to keep her safe. Her world was so black and white, and sometimes he wondered if she might not be right in some ways. She continued to eat her meal in silence, and he didn't know what to say to her. Perhaps she might have forgotten about it in time, but that was not to be. Thursday was washday at the house, and one of the little girl's chores was to help Martha take the clothes off the line and fold them in the basket. Accordingly, after school she was in the back yard helping the old housekeeper. They were almost finished when she happened to look up, and she saw Perry, once again leaning on the gate and looking in at them through the back yard. Martha, turning to see what she was looking at, saw him too. "Who is that?" she asked. "That is the boy that Dick chased away yesterday," Margaret explained, and briefly told the story. "Did he really, now?" Martha asked with her lips tight. She looked the boy over sharply, and he stared back at them, as they finished folding the last of the towels. When they were finished, Martha picked up the basket and set it on her bony hip, but instead of going back into the house she went to the back gate. Margaret stared after her in suprise for a few seconds before running after her. Perry had been looking away, watching the roosters in the chicken yard fighting, but when he turned and saw her he jumped like a startled fox and leapt away from the fence. He was running away when Martha's sharp voice caught him and stopped him in his tracks. "You there, boy, come back here. I want to talk to you." He froze and turned, slightly crouched and tense, as if he was ready to spring away at the slightest threat. His eyes glanced furtively from the old woman to the little girl. "You eat yet today, lad?" Martha asked, eyeing him sternly. "Yes," he answered. There was a pause of several seconds and he added as an afterthought, "Ma'am." "Where did you get the meal from, then?" she asked. The boy swallowed and didn't say anything, but his expression changed to one of sullen defiance. Martha clicked her tongue and pressed her lips together. "Well, you come inside here, and there'll be no cause for you to be stealing food this night." The boy stared, as if he was trying to make up his mind whether this old lady was telling the truth or not. "Well, are you coming or aren't you, then?" the housekeeper asked. "It's all right, we won't hurt you," the little girl reassured him. Perry started walking towards them, slowly and cautiously. Margaret opened the gate for him, and he hesitated. "Boy, come in here now, and get you something to eat," Martha ordered, in a tone that brooked no arguments. Perry did as he was told. Margaret got him a glass of cold milk from the dairy, while Martha cut him generous slices of cold ham, cheese and bread. When they were set before him on an earthenware plate his eyes grew wide as saucers in his skinny face and he began eating as quickly as he could. Margaret laughed as he crammed his cheeks as full as they could go, like a squirrel hoarding nuts, but Martha glared sternly. "Boy," she said, "Swallow that mouthful and say grace before you continue, and then take decent Christian sized bites. Chew each one ten times." Perry gulped, "Yes, Ma'am. What's grace?" "You don't know what grace is," Margaret asked in amazement. She realized that the boy in front of her was a heathen, a real live heathen, just like the brown children in Africa. She half expected Martha to send him away immediately. "Grace is when you pray before you eat," Martha explained. "What should I pray for?" The old housekeeper sighed and looked up to heaven for patience. "Boy, someone needs to take you in hand and Christianize you. Fold your hands and pray to the Lord, thanking Him for the food He has seen fit to put before you." "But God didn't give me the food, you did," Perry objected, his mouth finally empty.Martha eyed him sternly. "Sure and what were you expectin' boy, the miracle o' loaves an' fishes?" Her natural brogue began coming out, a sure sign that she was getting worked up for a lecture, as Margaret well knew. "The miracle of what?" The housekeeper sat silent for a few minutes watching the boy eat, her eyes twitching, and Margaret was braced for the tirade she knew was imminent. Martha's tongue was never unleashed in vain. However, to her surprise, the old lady's eyes grew soft and she only said, "Boy, maybe the Lord didn't work any signs and wonders before you to feed your skinny belly. But ye make sure, the food would not be here if it weren't for Him." Perry nodded, not entirely comprehending, but duly impressed nonetheless. Margaret plied him with questions while he ate, which tried him sorely because Martha would not let him talk with his mouth full and he did not want to pause eating. However the little girl learned that the boy's father was in prison for robbing a bank, that the prison was near Albany somewhere, and the boy had been working his way as on the river boats for a while, but that work was scarce in the winter and he was heading back to the city to look for work. "My father works in New York City," the little girl said. "Where at?" Perry asked with interest. "He's a solicitor at Patrick, St. James and Still," she answered, somewhat wistfully. "Oh, he's a swell," the boy said dismissively. "I worked at a meat packing plant for a while." "How would you like to work here, boy," Martha asked unexpectedly. "Doin' what, for how much," the boy called out promptly. "Whatever I tell you for bed and board," the old lady returned just as sharply. "Place to stay?" Perry asked. "Yes." "All the food I can eat?" "You can stuff yourself 'til ye burst," the housekeeper assured him. "Ye'll not get rich, but I'll put some meat on your bones at the least." "For how long." "That depends on whether you work out," the housekeeper answered. "Shoot, I'm a good worker. I may not be big but I'm damn strong," he flexed his skinny arm and nodded. "If you never use that language again, you may work here." "Oh, sorry. So it's a deal?" "It is," she answered. The boy spit on his palm and held it out to her. To say that her eyes were cold is to say that Antarctica is pleasantly chilly. Perry gulped and cringed, about to wipe his hand furtively on the seat of his pants. "Boy, go to the pump outside and wash your hand, and do not ever spit again. It is a filthy habit." True to his word, the boy turned out to be an excellent worker, and surprisingly strong for his size. He seemed bound and determined to prove that, and lifted, heaved and strained all afternoon. Martha always cleaned the house every year before Christmas, but she had not intended to start for another few days. However the boy's unexpected appearance and her soft heart, as Christian a heart as ever beat, under the prickles, combined to convince her to start right away. Accordingly the three of them, the housekeeper, Margaret and Perry, went up to the attic and started tearing it apart. Margaret was perplexed by this because usually they only cleaned the attic quickly and cursorily. Now they removed everything from it, including several large old pieces of furniture that the two girls would not have been able to move on their own. As it was, they both took one end, and Perry, veins popping out on his skinny neck but lifting it nonetheless, took the other. The old room saw such a dusting and sweeping and scrubbing and even mopping as it hadn't seen since the last of the boys, Margaret's uncles, had moved from there. It received several moppings, in fact, until the old hardwood planks that made up the floor actually looked close to the same shade of brown as the ones downstairs. The windows were wiped until the cold December sunlight sparkled through them as if it meant to. The rats were sure the end of the world had come. Margaret was terribly afraid of rats, but Perry found a nest of them in an old chair and showed her how fat ugly rats start out as naked pink little midgets, blind and about the size of peanuts. After that she didn't mind the grownup rats so much. All in all it was a productive afternoon. Martha was exacting, demanding that everything be done right, and in the end it was dark before they got the furniture back. The attic was not yet wired for the electric lights, so Martha told them they would finish it tomorrow. Margaret wanted Perry to eat with her and her grandfather, but Martha would hear none of it, so after a brief but cordial introduction to the old man, he was whisked away to eat in the kitchen. For the next week and a half, Perry worked for Martha cleaning the house from top to bottom. Margaret also helped, running home from school to be a part of the effort. The work was slow and thorough, thorough as it had not been for many a year that the old housekeeper had had to do it alone, or with only a little girl for help. As the young boy proved himself and earned the housekeeper's trust, he was also allowed to spend part of his evenings with the little girl and her grandfather in the study, although Martha was invariably there to keep an eye on him. The first sunday morning he spent with the family was very nearly the last. Martha had purchased a suit of clothes, cheap and plain but of good material and solid workmanship, a few sizes too big so that he would have room to grow. She even bought him a pair of stout boots that pleased him no end for his own were too small. He was very thankful for the gifts until he found that the housekeeper expected him to wear them to go to church with the family. A clash of wills ensued, and Margaret, have been banned from the kitchen for the duration of it, never learned how it went. Neither Martha nor Perry ever spoke of it again, but somehow or other a very subdued Perry in a fresh suit of clothes and highly washed face went to service with them, and sat almost perfectly still for the entire thing. Later that afternoon, it being Sunday, Margaret was reading in the library when the boy poked his head in. "Watcha doin'?" he asked. "Reading," she answered. "What about?" For answer she held up the book so he could read the title. "Shoot, I can't read that," he scoffed. "Why not?" she asked, looking up over the cover. "I can't read," he answered defiantly, hands thrust in his pockets. "You can't read?" Margaret asked in horrified shock. "Nope," he replied. "Never went to school." "But that is terrible. Every American child has to know how to read," she insisted. "Well, I don't." "Then I'll teach you," she told him in a determined voice. "It's easy, all you have to do is know your alphabet, which is..." "Yeah, I know my letters," he assured her, as if only a fool wouldn't know his letters. He rattled off the alphabet rapidly and correctly." He had a quick ear and mind, and he learned rapidly. Before the afternoon was over he knew his short vowel sounds and his consonant sounds and was reading short words like "fat" "cat" and "rat". "See," he boasted. "Nothing to it. Always knew I could read if I wanted to, just never tried before." And so the evenings in front of the fire became reading lessons. Martha watched her little charge, with barely disguised pride, as the little girl taught the boy to read. He was sharp, and soon became so excited about his new ability that he forgot to boast. During the workday he was always stopping to read something, whether it was a newspaper used to pack the good china, or even a label on a medicine bottle, he had to read it. As much as she approved of his new fascination with literacy, Martha was forced to be stern with him. No reading until his work was done, and later, when he set his bed clothes on fire, she forbade him taking books to bed with him and trying to read by candle light. They finished cleaning the house four days before Christmas. With the extra hands and a strong young back to help her, Martha had made the project far more ambitious than usual, cleaning from the top to the bottom, room by room, floor by floor, never permitting the children to move on until each room was spotless. Perry took the brunt of the work. The housekeeper expected him to lift the heaviest objects, do all the climbing, dust all the hard to reach places, and do most of the running, and she frequently scolded Margaret for attempting to do what she had marked out as Perry's work. The boy didn't mind a bit, and even got angry himself whenever the little girl tried to do his work for him. Margaret was inclined to resent this but the housekeeper explained knowingly, "Let him work. Men are never happy unless they are doing something they think we can't do. He needs the self-respect of working for a living, and it won't hurt him to be a gentleman, willy nilly." Margaret didn't understand, but she obeyed. After the cleaning inside, Perry was sent outside with Dick to collect greens. The two did not trust each other, but they operated under a sort of truce, even competing to see who could bring in the most greenery for the decorating. Dick won, of course, and rather lorded it over the younger boy, who would have been inclined to play some sort of trick on the groundskeeper to get even, except that he was on his best behavior. The house was decked with great glee. Perry professed not to have much use for Christmas, and Margaret was shocked by this but Martha paid him no mind, and try as he might, he could not help getting sucked into the festivity in spite of himself. The last sunday before Christmas, Perry found Margaret once again in the library, this time writing a letter. "Next you'll have to teach me to write all fancy like that," he commented, refering to her rather balloon shaped cursive. When she didn't answer he asked, "Watcha writin'?" "It's rude to look over people's shoulders," she said primly. "Well la-de-da," he scoffed, balancing on the back of a chair. "Watcha writin'?" She sighed and laid down the pen. "Why can't you go away?" "So why can't we work on sunday?" he asked. "If I had work to do I wouldn't be bothering you." "We can't, it's the Lord's day." "Well, the Lord ain't never done nothin' for me, why should I do anything for Him?" "Perry!" Margaret cried. "Take that back." "Shan't either," the boy grinned. "Take that back, or you'll go to hell when you die." "Poo, so will most of the people I know." "I won't. Grandfather and Martha won't." "Well, send me a letter and tell me how heaven is." "Perry, you mustn't joke about such things," the girl cried earnestly, almost in tears. "God hears you." "No He don't either." The boy was suddenly almost angry. "If God listened, then why'd me old Dad end up in jail?" "I thought you said he robbed a bank?" the girl said. "Yeah, but he was hungry and he needed to feed me somehow." "God had a reason, Perry, but I will pray for your father. Maybe God will let him out." "I bet God always answers your prayers. He always answers good people's prayers. You never had to steal to eat so He does whatever you ask. It ain't fair, I tell you..." suddenly he stopped short in the middle of his rant. Margaret was sitting with her head bowed, her curls over her face, and something about the way she sat told him that he was crying. As much as he could care for anyone in his selfish, boyish heart, he cared for her, and his conscience smote him at the thought that he had made her cry. He heard her whisper something, but he couldn't make it out. "Look," he said, uncomfortably. "Don't cry, I didn't mean it like that. It's not your fault you always got everything, and I know you'd give it all away if you could. You're not like most Christian folks, and neither is Martha. Don't cry, Margaret." He had to bend his head very close to hers to catch what she was saying. "God didn't give me everything I wanted. He took my parents away too." Perry awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean it like that," was all he could think of to say. "Every Christmas I pray extra hard, and I promise to be extra good, if only Daddy will come home, but he never does. I always forget and I do something naughty, and that ruins it." "No you don't," Perry yelled fiercely. "You never do anything even close to bad, I bet. It isn't your fault your old man is an ass." Margaret looked up at the boy, not crying, but with tears in her eyes. "He went away when Mama died. She died when I was born." "Yeah," the boy said. "Dick told me. But that isn't your fault." Margaret shook her head. "I'm not worried about me. I'm worried aobut you because you're almost a heathen." "Well it isn't my fault I never had no upbringing," he said sullenly. "Perry, I want you to promise me something." "Sure," the boy said, nonchalantly. "I want you to promise me that you will say the Lord's Prayer every day. I know you know it, because Martha taught it to you, and I heard you saying it along with us at service." "Aw, Margie, don't worry about me. I was only joking." "Promise me," she commanded inexorably. Her dark brown eyes, still filled with tears beseeched as much as her voice commanded. As much a boy as he was, there was already something of a man in him. Perry could not say no, and he promised. He meant it, too.

Victor Borge on Sesame Street

He's Gone Back

Yesterday was our last day with Adam. After going to morning Mass and having a holy hour, Adam packed his bags and left for the long drive to Norfolk. Everyone was sad to see him leave. He only had a week at home. But we were all greatful to God for the time that He gave us to spend with Adam.
Please pray for our sailor and our soldier while they are out doing their duty and defending our freedoms.

A New Christmas Story Part 1

What follows is the first installment of a Christmas story written by my second son Ryan who is currently stationed in Afghanistan. He posted it on his Xanga site. I think it is very good (of course I would, I'm his mother.)

Saturday, December 22, 2007
A Christmas Story: I always fell like writing a Christmas story around Christmas, and this year I did. We got in from a mission to a strange FOB, and I went and sat down at the computer for about three hours and finished this. I wrote it several years ago in Korea, and then it was lost in a computer crash. Lately I started it again, saving it on yahoo.com so that I would be able to access it no matter which FOB I was at. I finished it, but it is too long to post all at once, so I will post it serially. Hope you like it.

Margaret's Christmas Present

"Grandpa, tell me again, how old our house is," the little girl asked.
"I'm sure I've told you many, many times before, my Dear," the old man said, smiling fondly.
"Yes, but tell me again," she pleaded, her brown curls turning gold in the firelight and her eyes turned up to him in the look that he could not possibly have resisted.
"Well, Margaret, it is nearly a hundred years old."
The little girl wrinkled her nose as she tried to comprehend such a vast expanse of time. She knelt at her grandfather's feet, marching her tin soldiers across the lap of his dressing gown, and the old man thought, for the millionth time, that she looked more like an angel than a human girl.
"That's even before you were little, Grandpa."
"Yes, a great deal before that." He laughed a little.
"And you had to wear a dress when you were a little boy?"
"All little boys did back then."
"I can't imagine you as a little boy. Did you wear glasses?"
"No, I didn't wear glasses until I was getting old and my eyesight started to go."
"And these are your toy soldiers." It was more of a statement than a question. She knew very well that they were his toy soldiers. She pushed a miniature cannon up over the mountain of one of his knees and marched a rifleman without a bayonet up the other.
"Yes, I molded and painted them when I was a boy. Your mother and her brothers used to play with them as well."
"But Mama liked the dollhouse best, right? The one you made for her when she was my age?"
"That's right."
"And the china Angel Doll with the blue eyes?"
"That very one," the old man nodded, tears filling his eyes. He wished his daughter could be here now.
"Now Mama's with the real angels, right Grandpa?"
"That is true, my Dear."
"I wrote Papa a letter yesterday," she said. "Do you think he will come home for Christmas?"
The old man frowned. He wished he were young and strong again so he could go to Manhattan and knock some sense into his son-in-law. He didn't like the way she continued to write to him, no matter how many times she was disappointed when he never replied or came home. "I don't know, little one. But even if he doesn't we will be happy together, won't we?"
Margaret sat back, curling her bare feet under her and leaning back against her grandfather's leg. She chewed on her lip, her little face sad with a sadness that had no business anywhere near an eight year old girl. "But he will come this year, Grandpa, I know he will."
The old man cursed his age and wished he could reach down and pick her up, set her on his lap and hold her close as he used to when she was smaller and he was stronger. Back then a man got out and did what he could to fix the problems that were hurting his loved ones. Now, crippled, consumptive and useless, he reached down with one paper thin hand to ruffle the curls on her head. She hugged his leg and said nothing.
"All right then, young Missy. It's time for bed," Martha the ancient housekeeper/nurse/confidant bustled into the room. She was nearly as old as the old man, but instead of age weakening her and withering her away it had merely sharpened, pinched, shriveled and wrinkled her until she was a dry, tough, bright little woman with a needle sharp eye and tongue and a heart the size of the ocean.
The little girl quickly put her toy soldiers in their box in the china cupboard, and ran over to her grandpa, tiny white feet twinkling under her nightgown as she jumped up and put her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and held her smooth fresh face against his old, gray, wrinkled one. "Bless me, Grandpa," she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head and prayed:
"Angels of God, I pray you keep,
Your watch over her, and guard her sleep,
Through the night be beside her, and gently guide her,
Through beautiful dreams of quiet and peace.
Let silence enfold her and day's clamor cease.
If nightmares should wake her, then do not forsake her.
Let your love be around her, may it fill and surround her.
Ward off the devils that trouble the night,
And hold her and bless her, until morning's light."
"Does Mama like it when you pray her prayer over me?" Margaret asked.
"Of course she does. I blessed her with that prayer when she was in her cradle, and now I bless you with it. She is watching over you every bit as much as the angels."
"That she is, to be sure, Missy." Martha unfolded her arms and clapped her hands. "Now kiss your Grandpa goodnight and it's off to bed with you."
"Goodnight, Grandpa," Margaret kissed him lightly on the cheek and ran to Martha. She put her hand in the housekeeper's and allowed the old woman to lead her away to bed. The old man watched after her until she was out of sight, and then breathed a sigh. Tomorrow he would write another letter to Tom and try to reason him into coming home. He doubted it would do any good, but it was all he could do.
Margaret was the only child in that old house. It was not a mansion by any means, but it was big for a town house and full of odd rooms that didn't seem to belong. The little girl was raised by her Grandfather, though in reality Martha did most of the raising. The Old Man would have spoiled her if it hadn't been for the housekeeper's stern and often heavy hand. The other two men on the place, James Marsh the manservant and his son Dick the part time groundskeeper, worshipped the little girl and would likewise have spoiled her. They considered her a little angel, and thought that Martha was much too hard on her, since she was after all as sweet a little girl as ever you saw. The housekeeper only told them they were big soft ones and kept at it. Despite her prickly appearance she loved the little girl like her own daughter. She had never married and she poured out her missed maternity on Margaret. She loved the little girl, far too much to let her be spoiled. So it was the housekeeper who saw to it that she went to school and made friends, rather than stay at home with the private tutors her father would gladly have provided. It was Martha who gave her daily chores to do and saw to it that she did them and did them well, and kept James and Dick from helping her at them. It was Martha who shooed her out of the house to play out of doors instead of sitting and reading all day as the little girl would gladly have done. And it was the old housekeeper with her worn leather bound Bible and Book of Common Prayer under one clawlike arm and Margaret's hand in the surprisingly gentle hold of the other, who marched the little girl to Church every sunday. The little girl was a pensive child who thought deeply and often non-plussed the old lady with her questions, the answers to which could not be found in the catechism. Many was the time she thanked her stars that she was a second cousin some few times removed from the Episcopal minister. Whenever her small store of knowledge ran out, she fell back on her inexhaustible and childlike faith until she could consult with the elderly reverend gentleman. The two of them would laugh or shake their heads in amazement at the little girl's innocence and perspicacity, and then the Reverend would give his thoughts, and the old lady would take her new found wisdom back to feed Margaret's curiosity. So, while Margaret loved her Grandfather best of all living people in the world, Martha was the closest thing to a mother she had ever known, and she loved the old lady from her prickly attitude all the way to her warm, boundless heart.
It was Martha's doing that Margaret was not a solitary child. Fearing that she would come to be lonely and knowing that she needed companions of her own age, she saw to it that the little girl met the families of a few good neighbors who had little girls her age. The house was always open to any of her friends, after she had done her chores, and sometimes, on very rare and memorable occasions, Martha even unbent the rule about not eating except at meal times and allowed the children to have a cookie or one of her famous tarts.
It was a thursday, a few weeks before Christmas, and Margaret and two of her friends, Annie and Jessica, were playing tag in the back yard, which was of a very decent size, an acre and a half. They were so intent on their game, running back and forth and shouting, that they didn't notice at first that they were not alone. It was Jessica who saw him first. She had made it to "safe" which was at the corner of the old stable. Pausing to catch her breath she looked out to the hedgerow that separated the yard from the moor. At a break in the hedge there was a gate and standing at the gate, leaning over it with a casual air, was a boy.
He was older than any of the girls, he looked to be about twelve or thirteen. He was scrawny and tall with carrot red hair and freckles startlingly bright against his pale skin. His toes were sticking out of his boots and his clothes were raggedy, and he was supremely dirty. The girls stared at him in horrified fascination, never having imagined that any human creature could look so disreputable. He stared right back with an air of casual superiority, but there was a keen, interested look about him.
"Who are you?" Margaret queried. It was, after all, her yard and it fell to her to do the honors.
"Perry," the boy answered laconically.
"Perry who?" Annie asked.
"Just Perry," he replied.
"You don't have a last name?"
"Stanton," he supplied, "That's my old man's name."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Stanton," Margaret bobbed politely. "I'm Margaret St. James, and this is Annie and Jessica Farmer."
"You're a bit swell, aren't you," the boy remarked with a grin. "I ain't 'Mr. Stanton' I'm Perry."
"Do you live around here, Perry," Margaret asked.
"Naw, just passing through. On my way to the city, see?"
"Are you lost then?" Annie asked, innocently. "The train stop is on the other end of town."
"Not taking the train."
"Do your parents have an automobile?" Jessica asked.
The boy laughed scornfully. "Don't have no parents."
"No parents?" the three girls gasped together.
"Well, least no mother. She run off when I was a kid, and Dad's in prison, so he ain't much help. He isn't driving no automobiles, that's for sure."
"So you're practically an orphan," Margaret said.
"If you like," he shrugged cheerfully.
"Does that mean you live at an orphanage?"
Just then, Dick, the groundskeeper came around the corner of the house with a garden rake over his shoulder. "Here, you be off. Don't be bothering these young ladies, or I'll give you something to take with you."
The boy jumped back and laughed impudently before darting off across the fields.
"He wasn't bothering us, Dick," Margaret protested.
"Oh, he isn't the right sort to be around you, Missy Margaret, not the right sort at all. His sort would steal the pennies off a dead man's eyes."
"But how do you know?" she asked.
"Missy Margaret, you're too young and innocent to know about such likes. Just let him go and don't worry about it." He went off whistling about his work.

To be continued....

Adam is Coming Home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He's coming home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! His ship got into port and he is in his car and driving home as we speak. We haven't seen Adam since April when we drove down to Norfolk to see his ship dock after being out to sea for 6 months. He hasn't been home since his Grandfather's funeral in September 2006.

Everyone here is very excited. Almost as excited as his mother is. We are doing everything except killing the fatted calf for him. (only because we don't have one)
What a wonderful Christmas this is going to be. The only other thing I want for Christmas I can't have so I guess I am very contented.
God is truly good. Thanks be to God!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Christmas and the Spoiled? Youngest Child?

Here is something to contemplate, the youngest child and how to raise him without spoiling? him. My oldest have commented at various times that I am getting soft and that Matthew is spoiled. That I am not as firm with him as I was with them. Maybe, maybe not. I don't know. I know that personality wise he is a totally different child and that age wise I am a different person. (does that make sense?)

Anyway, last night I had reason to think about all of this as we went door to door on our street and through the town delivering plates of cookies and Christmas treats to neighbors and friends. It was icy out so Doug wouldn't let Mary-Kate or I get out at several houses. So the plan was for the two of them to trade off going to the door and leaving the plate, say a few words and wish the family a Merry Christmas. Matthew was reluctant to say the least. His first comment was that he was only going to the houses of the people that he knows. Well he knew everyone on the list so that was a useless comment. Then he was only going to the houses of those that he chose. Well, he was being a brat, may I say about the whole thing, when we made the first stop at the home of an old lady down the street. Her husband has recently been put into a nursing home. All of my boys have taken care of her in some way since she moved in down the road. From helping with the building of her house to taking care of her lawn and gardens they have done for her for all the years that she has lived in this house. Well we made Matthew go to her door because he is currently her "man of all work" since he is the only boy left at home. She had tears in her eyes when she came to the door, as she usually does. She was so thankful for the attention and the caring that the plate of cookies represented. When Matthew came back to the car he no longer made any comments about where he would go and wouldn't go. He accompanied his father to all the doors and even expressed a bit of disappointment over the houses where no one was at home.
So, maybe I am not as firm, maybe not. But my spoiled? youngest is learning important lessons that will carry him through life and I hope that the sight of this dear old lady with tears of gratitude in her eyes will stay with him for all his life. You can watch movies with touching plots and important lessons but these things are best taught with experience. I think that Matthew is more differently raised than spoiled. I think that he is benefitting from more maturity on my part that his siblings didn't enjoy and for this I am sorry.
For this reason I will continue providing Matthew with experiences like he had last evening to build his character and make him the kind of person that God expects him to be.

This and That

Santa Dad spent some of Sunday decking the halls of our home in preparation for Christmas and the homecoming of two of our sons. Then Ryan called and so we had to stop everything and talk to him. What a treat.
Dad sure looks pleased. But he has a tendancy to hog the phone!!!!!!
Then in preparation for the neighbors coming over Mary-Kate changed the everyday display so that they would feel special. She added some pictures of the neighbor kids and the other neighbors horses.
While the neighbor kids where over they decorated gingerbread men. Good job girls.
They did such a good job that the men had to sample the treats. (Don't worry about the mistakes, they will dispose of them too!!!!)

Home Sweet Home in Central New York

We had two days of snow and ice and the school kids had a snow day and here we are with nice clean snow to cover all the dirt and grime from the summer and fall.
Lupus likes to nip at the snow and bark at it when it comes sliding off the steel roof of the pig barn.
It was so good to get outside yesterday and take a walk around the farm. With the wind chill it wasn't long, though before I had to go back inside and have a cup of hot chocolate and wrap up in a warm quilt.
Mary-Kate and Lupus and I made a visit to the pigs to see how they are doing. We have piglets due on Christmas day. Everyone in the pig barn is growing well. They are warm and snug.

Carrying on a Family Tradition

Yesterday I made the doughs for the nut roll that my family enjoys for Christmas each year. Ever since I was a little girl my father has been making this treat for us for Christmas. This is the only time of the year that we have it. I think that is what makes it so special.
Since I have to rest my back Matthew and Doug have gotten in on the act. After supper they got the table cleaned up, rolled up their sleeves, and got to work. Choose your rolling pin and sprinkle that flower on the table and get to work.
Matthew is even dressed for the job. A lot of flour flew but they soon got the hang of what they were doing and then they got serious.
Here are the first rolls ready to go into the oven. They sure will taste good on Christmas morning when we get up and have breakfast.
Thank you Daddy for a lovely and tasty tradition. I love you.