Tag Archives: holidays


Here’s to free time


Sometimes I think I should bag this whole blogging bit for the remainder of the year–try it again next year.

But then I’d miss you.

So it is I rarely pop in and am woefully inept at answering comments.

But I’m determined this too shall pass. Things are already looking up. Why, just this weekend I’m facing three whole days free of work and pressing deadlines. Dare I say it? I may have time to catch up on a few things.

Also, be it known: September 6 (that’s Sunday, in case you’ve lost track) is Read a Book Day. No, I did not make that up–though I probably would have if it were not already so.

Needless to say, I intend to celebrate to the fullest by reading every chance I get; of course, it will be interspersed with the likes of watching balloons rise, playing in the dirt, hanging out with friends. Who knows, I may even take in a movie. What would that be like? I cannot possibly know.


Whatever your plans, I hope they’re all your own . . .



A day to remember


Here in the U.S. we’re headed for a long weekend—Memorial Day weekend, to be precise. Considered by many to be the kickoff to summer, it tends toward a celebration of campouts and BBQs, family to-dos and laughter with friends.

Of course, it’s so much more.

For Memorial Day began as Decoration Day—a day set aside to decorate the graves of those who died in the American Civil War. There were 750,000 of them, you know—seven hundred and fifty thousand sons and brothers, husbands and fathers who never came home.

That’s one war, alone.

Needless to say, I hope the coming days find you free to do as you please. I also hope you take a moment to remember the sacrifice of those who paid the highest price for that freedom—both the men and women who gave their lives and those they left behind.

For we dare not think where we’d be without them . . .



Here’s to 2015

happy-new-year-currier-ives_800pxHere we are, at the first of a new year. Three hundred and sixty-five blank calendar squares lie before us!

That’s three hundred and sixty-five days to do as we please . . .

To celebrate big moments and small. To make new friends and strive to maintain old friends. To learn a thing or two; to go on an adventure or two. To travel–abroad and in our own backyard. To laugh (and chortle). To sing and dance–paying no mind to the talent we have or haven’t. To create something–to at least try.

Of course, even in years where everything’s coming up roses, there’s sure to be the occasional thorn. Thankfully, there’s three hundred and sixty-five days of grace for those moments, too.

So here’s to you. May the coming days find more laughter than tears; more happy memories than sad. And years from now, when you look back on these three hundred and sixty-five calendar squares, may you find them altogether lovely.

Happy new year, dear friends–here’s to making it one to remember!


A hint of perfection


Quiet and charming, that’s Christmas 2014.

It came in as it’s sure to go out (as I write, it’s but the 5th day of Christmas you know): with very little fanfare.

No, it wasn’t the likes you’d find in the pages of a magazine. There were few of us to celebrate. But we rallied nicely. We ate and drank and laughed and otherwise partook of holiday festivities.The pie I saved until the last minute–resulting in a hurly-burly attempt at pie crust. In a fit of despair, I tossed my attempt in the waste basket; I dug it back out moments later. Ultimately, I decided the idea ill-advised. We may have eaten a ready-made pie crust, but we had eggnog pie all the same.  It wasn’t exactly a white Christmas; but snow fell Christmas Eve, just as Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas. It snowed just enough to add a layer of white–but not enough to require shoveling the driveway and sidewalks on Christmas Day.

And we mustn’t forget the gifts.

You know, it seems as though we spend a lifetime wondering what gifts will be bestowed by family and friends–what Santa might leave us. Yet when all the paper lies crumpled in a heap, boxes rise precariously high, and fanciful ribbons and bows are little more than cat toys, what did we receive? We’re hard pressed to recall . . .

Thankfully, the older we get, the more gift receiving takes something of a backseat. As a matter of fact, my own gifts were the least of my concerns. When friends asked what I’d love for Christmas, my mind drew a blank.

So wouldn’t you know, this would be the year I’d receive gifts the memory of which will last a lifetime.

They came from my mom, you see: a pen and notebook; bubble gum (’tis true–chewing gum serves my thinking device); soft sweatshirts and a string of pearls (a few months back–after coming home from work one day and throwing on an old zippered sweatshirt before getting ready for a party–I proclaimed a soft sweatshirt and pearls to be my writing uniform of choice).

She gave me gifts with a writing bent; but more importantly, she gave me a pass to continue dreaming . . . to tell my stories . . . to do what I’ve always loved, no matter what it takes . . . to write.

Why yes, I did shed a tear, however did you know?

All in all, imperfections considered, I’d say the holiday held a hint of perfection.


Merry Christmas


December 22nd comes a close, even as I write this note. I’ve still work to attend, cookies to bake, a few stray presents to wrap. I’ve also decided a last-minute-DIY project is in order. Me, of all people, Doing-It-Myself. Let’s just hope for a Christmas miracle, shall we?

And yet, we said goodbye to another friend from “the home.” Our sweet, witty Evelyn Zoe died this morning. Surely, if she were still with us, she’d be quick to remind what’s important. After all, Christmas will arrive whether we’re ready or not. And sometimes the “merry” arises from the imperfection.

So to you dear friends, I wish the merriest of holidays. I hope you’re surrounded by those you love most; I hope your days are filled with delight.

And if your Christmas is a little bit blue, I pray extra love to you . . .