Good Morning!
It is Friday. Only three more sleeps before we fly to Holland! The suitcase is on the spare bed and every time I remember something I want/need to take, I fling it in the suitcase. Sunday night we will be packing and weighing seriously. I have made two Christmas cakes and they are flippin' heavy (full of brandy).
I'm joining in with Annie at A Stitch in Time for Friday Smiles, where we focus on the good and the positive.
Today I will (hopefully) make you smile with this postcard I received this week.
What a sweet kiss! It was sent to me by Irina from Tyumen City, Western Siberia. She writes that she has 'charged' it with "good luck and only positive emotions and happiness".
The stamps are really beautiful:
There is a bee, some gladioli and a 'pandion haliaetus' which in English is an osprey or a sea hawk. It is a fish eating bird of prey.
Now for a couple of Christmas funnies:
I'm making this into a Christmas card for a scrabble playing friend.
Our little cat is doing fine and growing. He's still very playful. It's just as well that we are going away this Christmas, so we haven't erected a tree. I don't know how we could have put up a tree with so many shiny and dangly things that cats love. I found the solution on the internet:
I came across a lovely story, that really gets the positive message of Christmas across. It moved me to tears. It's a bit long so I'll put it right at the end.
So if you haven't got time, you can stop right here and accept my best wishes for a peaceful Christmas and a very happy and healthy New Year.
Blessings
Lisca
Here is the (anonymous) story: (It's in the vein of Papa Panov by Leo Tolstoy. Don't know that one? Google it, and read it with your tissue ready.)
Grandma and Santa
Clause....
I remember my first
Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across
town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb:
"There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know
that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day
because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the
truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when
swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they
were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the
buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for
me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe
it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain
mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where,
Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon
bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in
town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its
doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who
needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of
Kerby's.
I was only eight years old.
I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything
all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to
finish their Christmas shopping.
For a few moments I just
stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy,
and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I
knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who
went to my church.
I was just about thought
out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and
messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby
Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess
during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he
had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he
didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing
excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and
he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the
counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I
replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me,
as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get
any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry
Christmas.
That evening, Grandma
helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked
it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From
Santa Claus" on it.
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to
Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever
officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept
noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a
nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get
going."
I took a deep breath,
dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door
and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited
breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and
there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed
the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby
Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa
Claus were just what Grandma said they were -- ridiculous. Santa was alive and
well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible,
with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.
May
you always have LOVE to share,
