I have an idea....

As the mother of five children ages 28 down to 9, I've had a lot of years to think about Santa and Baby Jesus and how to present them to my children. I gave my life to Christ at age 6, a very solid, real decision, and this has colored much of my understanding of Christmas and other holidays.  I remember the shock of looking out my bedroom door and finding my dad wrapping Christmas presents, but all it really did was confirm my suspicions. I don't remember how old I was when that happened, but I must have been pretty young. It certainly didn’t shake my faith in Christ, though.  With my own children, Santa has always been a fun part of Christmas, but not the focus. I’ve always told them that I discuss their presents with Santa because he can’t bring a gift I don’t approve of, and that he really doesn’t see them when they are sleeping but God does, but I admit to telling them that I’m going to the North Pole when I’m really out shopping late at night. This year was the first th...

Wednesday, July 25 at the International Quilt Festival in Long Beach, CA Today I rode on a tour bus. Met a fabric designer in her chic little store named French General on the corner of Allesandro and Riverside in Los Angeles. Had coffee with her mother in the alley behind the shop. Toured the Alexander Henry design offices and shipping warehouse in an old Coca-Cola bottling factory located in Burbank, CA.  Watched the artists work on designs for fall and winter of 2013. Watched the history of a line a fabrics called the Ghastleys from the first sketches to the finished products. Had a shift in perspective towards whimsical, holiday or children-oriented fabric. Never realized how much artistic design and hands-on work went into light-hearted themes. Ate lunch at Phillippe’s, home of the French dip sandwich (unfortunately, this did not mean au jus.) Ate lunch at red linoleum topped table while seated on a stool. Enjoyed chatting with other quilters. When they left I ...

I’ll buy my own house and paint it pink. I ‘ll have a small Christmas tree and a huge family table  and as many friends as the house will hold until they spill out onto the lawn. I will sew and read and bake and smile. I will have women for lunches, families for parties,  and students for all the meals they can eat. I’ll serve grits and eggs,  sausage and biscuits,  tea and hot chocolate  and popcorn. I will celebrate my children’s lives,  and welcome their friends into my home. And when I am through with the past,  I will walk into the future.

To clueless on the cellphone walking her dog I saw you coming with your prissy dog and I moved my solid dog twelve feet away from the sidewalk  where you'd pass by  knowing that  we'd be less likely to cross paths. But you came my way anyway. Y ou brought your little sofa dog  three feet away from us  and upset mine.  He jumped without warning,  wrapped his leash around my knee, sliced the tender back of it  with the nylon webbing, threw me into the tree that stopped  him from running after you. Did you even take the cell phone away from your ear? Hey, hey! Watch where you're going with that dog! "Not my problem!" you yelled back. Right. Next time, my dog won't give way to your expensive rug rat. Next time, you can fall into the bushes. Not my problem.

When I finish reading, could you not do that old beatnik thing where you snap your fingers to show your appreciation? How about you hold your breath while you digest words and then let it out slowly with an ever so softly mouthed "wow..." Dont just listen to the words. Inhale them as you might the fragrance of fresh cut grass on the hottest day. Or breathe the words in, then spew them out as though you've driven through the musky sweet fog of dead polecat  two days old. 

I’ve written words since I found out that those graphite sticks  could form them and wrote my name on the top of a kleenex box  when I was four. I’ve written words since I learned that each one  held a meaning I could hear in my head. I’ve written words since I realized that writing releases them from my mind, so that I can hear myself think. I’ve written words because numbers run away from me, just out of grasp, teasing me with  their teamwork and rigid cooperation and parenthetical expressions. I’ve written words never read by anyone, words which embarrass with their frankness words which I’ve burned thinking they would die. I’ve written words which I longed to share because they fit together better than numbers and made my skin crawl with their deliciousness. June 27, 2012 7:30 AM

old checkbooks sales receipts gas bills insurance cards love letters college transcripts repair estimates project ideas garden plans teaching certificate resignations copies of copies greeting cards collection letters red light ticket pencil drawings broken dreams rental agreement prescriptions church bulletins life