MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HOHOHO ( Archived) (12)

To everyone here,I wish you the very best for the holidays.
I'm off to a friends for Christmas and will then take Morgan to her dad's ,so I probably won't be online much for the next few days.

I send huggs and kisses and tons of wishes to each and everyone of you.No matter where you are there's a kiss on it's way to you from me.


Enjoy yourselves but be safe,no drinking and driving,want to see all of you back kere when I get back.



Love always

Jen

may the travelling angels wrap their wings around you for protection for both you & your child.

have a Blessed & Merry Christmas.

Morning sis..i hope you have a great day today..i hope you enjoy ur holidays and tell me when you come back..I will miss you...and pls do take care...kisses and hugs

Have a safe and wonderful time. Happy Holidays and I hope you get many gifts

Best wishes to you and yours!

Thank you...Be safe and see you back here soon! Merry, merry Christmas to you and yours.

I hope you will have a great Christmas!!

Have a safe trip!!!

Merry Christmas and a very happy & prosperous New Year to you dear lady..

Be safe..

Pat

Thank you all for your warm wishes,gettting ready to head out soon,ma have a chance to pop in and say hi again before X-mas,but if not huggs and kisse to all.
Jen

’Twas the Night b4 Christmas

By Mary Marcdante


Two Decembers ago my dad called wanting to know what I wanted for Christmas. I mentioned a particular book and then interrupted myself and said, “No, what I’d really like is for you to put The Night Before Christmas on audiotape.”

There was this long pause and then Dad said with familiar stern emphasis in his voice, “Oh for God’s sake, Mary. What in Sam Hill do you want that for? You’re forty years old!”

I paused, feeling embarrassed yet determined, “Dad, I remember how good it felt when you used to cuddle us all up next to you on the couch when we were little and read The Night Before Christmas. I can still remember how strong your voice was, how safe I felt and how well you acted out all the different sounds. I’d really appreciate you doing this, since I live 2,500 miles away and I’m not coming home for Christmas. It would be nice to have you with me.”

Dad said, with a little more softness but still incredulously, “You mean you want me to read just like I did when you were kids, with all the bells and whistles and everything?!”

“Yaaaaaah, just like that,” I said.

Again, he paused a long time and then said, “I’ll get you the book.”

I heard the clarity of his decision in his voice and resignedly said, “Okay. Talk to you on Christmas.” We said our “I love yous” and hung up. I felt bad but tried to understand. I assumed it was too much sentimentalism for a seventy-six-year-old bear, and that in his mind it was a foolish request for an adult to ask. Maybe. Maybe not. All I knew was that each time I talked to Dad his voice sounded more tired, and I was beginning to accept that it was no longer if, but when, the day would come that I wouldn’t hear it anymore.

On Christmas Eve day, a small, brown, heavily recycled padded envelope with lots of staples and tape all over it arrived. My name and address were written out in my dad’s memorable architect’s lettering with thick black magic marker. Inside was a tape, with a handwritten label, “’Twas the Night b4 Christmas.”

I popped the tape in my recorder and heard my father’s words come roaring out. “’Twas the niiiiiiiiiiiiiight before Christmas when allllllllllllllllllllllllll through the howwwwwwse,” just like when we were children! When he finished, he went on to say, “And now I’m going to read from The Little Engine That Could. I guess Dad had another message in mind when he included one of our favorite childhood bedtime stories. It was the same story we read to my mom when she was dying of cancer three years ago.

He continued with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing “Silent Night,” our family’s favorite Christmas Eve song we sang together before bedtime. And then “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” . . . song after song until the tape ran out. I went to sleep safe and sound Christmas Eve, thanking God for giving me another Christmas miracle with my dad.

The following May, Dad passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. No more phone calls every Sunday morning, no more phone calls asking me, “What was the Gospel about today, Mary?” no more “I love yous.” But his voice lives on . . . and continues to remind me that I can do what I put my mind to and that I can stretch myself emotionally for someone else, even when it’s difficult. That’s the power of love.