Well, another year has come to a close. This 2009 has been a tough year for us but it's also been filled with many blessings.
"I will seek elegance rather than luxury, refinement rather than fashion. I will seek to be worthy more than respectable, wealthy and not rich. I will study hard, think quietly, talk gently, and act frankly. I will listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with an open heart. I will bear all things cheerfully, do all things bravely await occasions and hurry never. In a word I will let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious grow up through the common."
~~William Ellery Channing
Happy New Year!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
December Cruise
Last February, two of my married kids found a great cruise deal online that they booked, which would take place in December. It would remain inexpensive because we could all drive to San Diego together. So I went ahead and booked it too. Unfortunately, since that time many things have changed, and it turned out that Ed and I were the only ones who were able to go.
We got to see Grampa Hanson on the way there and even attended a ward in Beaumont that is the home ward for the son of a neighbor here in Utah. Boy is the world small.
The cruise was to Catalina Island and to Ensenada, Mexico. We'd been to Ensenada last January and didn't want to go again, so we stayed aboard on that day. It was a nice break, but Holland America (our January cruise) really spoiled us for Carnival. It was okay, but really paled by comparison. I doubt we'll ever do a Carnival cruise again.
The ship was decorated for Christmas and was very festive.
Catalina is fairly large, but the development is limited to one mile. It's filled with all kinds of cute little shops. It was VERY clean! Avalon Harbor is a fun name because it always makes me think of King Arthur.
Ed made friends with some birds.
We went on a glass bottom boat tour and watched a bunch of fish. Makes me want to see that Doris Day movie "The Glass Bottom Boat" again.
We got to see Grampa Hanson on the way there and even attended a ward in Beaumont that is the home ward for the son of a neighbor here in Utah. Boy is the world small.
The cruise was to Catalina Island and to Ensenada, Mexico. We'd been to Ensenada last January and didn't want to go again, so we stayed aboard on that day. It was a nice break, but Holland America (our January cruise) really spoiled us for Carnival. It was okay, but really paled by comparison. I doubt we'll ever do a Carnival cruise again.
The ship was decorated for Christmas and was very festive.
Catalina is fairly large, but the development is limited to one mile. It's filled with all kinds of cute little shops. It was VERY clean! Avalon Harbor is a fun name because it always makes me think of King Arthur.
Ed made friends with some birds.
We went on a glass bottom boat tour and watched a bunch of fish. Makes me want to see that Doris Day movie "The Glass Bottom Boat" again.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
A Christmas Story
My daughter Erin shared this with me, and I loved it so much I had to share it too.
A Simple White Envelope
“For the Man Who Hated Christmas”
by Nancy W. Gavin
It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas --oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.
Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears.. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.
Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, 'I wish just one of them could have won,' he said. 'They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.' Mike loved kids -- all kids -- and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse.
That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.
On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition --one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
A Simple White Envelope
“For the Man Who Hated Christmas”
by Nancy W. Gavin
It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas --oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.
Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears.. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.
Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, 'I wish just one of them could have won,' he said. 'They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.' Mike loved kids -- all kids -- and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse.
That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.
On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition --one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
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