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Welcome my dear friends. Enjoy your visit and share your thoughts. Thank you, much love

Friday, 26 December 2014

It's Frizzy Lizzy Time

Hi dear friends and followers. Today is Saturday, take five and join me on a visit with Frizzy Lizzy?  

Oh, Debra, it's so good to see you today! It's been a better Christmas than I ever thought it would be! How so? Well, grab coffee and pull up a chair. I have plenty of iced fruitcake and other things left from supper, and I'll share with you.

How was your Christmas? Was your mom doing better? Good, I'm pleased to hear that she's resting comfortably, but if I know her at all, she won't be sitting still for very long. What? She already wants to go to bingo and is ready to walk there? OK, then let her walk. Give her about a five-minute head start and "just happen to be driving by" and she will probably jump in the car without an invitation and ask for a lift and a ride home after bingo. The woman is a tough old bird, but even we tough ones need a rest.

Mine was more than I had bargained for. I became lots closer with my niece, her kids, and her mom. No, I didn't visit. They are a 7-hour drive from here, and I'm not ready for that. No, we did it all with pictures and postings on the web.

You know my grand nieces, yes, the twins. They are five, and I gave them all sorts of things so they can work with their mom in the kitchen. I sent them kid-sized aprons, chef's caps, oven mitts, cookie cutters, and a big chef's hat for their mom.

On Christmas Eve I got a photo on my Facebook wall showing the two girls in their new cooking things and their older brother who is 10, wearing the big chef's hat, making cookies! The smiles from those children were like nothing that I have seen! So much love among them and so much joy in having fun making cookies came through in that photo, it almost made me get all teary.

Their mom and her mom, that's right, Marianne, they dropped me a letter that they wrote together to tell me how much I am appreciated and how what I feel for the kids shows in what I send to them.

Well, Deb, it's hard to express the emotions in a hug over 500 miles, but I try to do it with gifts. Those and letters are two ways of telling the kids "I love you!"

Charlie and I had a very pleasant Christmas supper. We roasted a chicken and had mashed potatoes and gravy and a veggie, but we were so full so fast! I tell you, I must be slowing down!

After supper, we talked, and the subject of our careers came up. Now Charlie has worked at many different jobs and he loved them all. With his attention span, I can see why he never kept a job for very long. Me, I had a job in the same field for 30 years, with the same employer in Washington, DC for 20.

Charlie asked me what it was like to work in the place that some people think of as "the most powerful city in the world." I thought about what it was like to work for a government agency in downtown Washington and how much is just hype and inflated egos. And this is a story that I told to Charlie about my most memorable experience working in Washington.

I worked in an office that had constant contact with the public, so I dressed very well. I was a middle-aged, professional woman, and I looked the part.

One summer morning I wore a very dressy pants outfit to work because I was giving a presentation that day. I was to be in front of a group explaining charts and graphs and things, and I was dressed perfectly.

At about 0930 that morning I squatted down to pick up a paper clip from the floor and I split the seam in the seat of my pants! I did not need to feel around to find out how big the rip was. I could feel a draft on my ass.

But I was not upset. I knew of a menswear store up Virginia Avenue in a small shopping plaza and I discretely sat down at my desk and waited until after 1000 to walk up there.

I left the building, looking behind me to see how far away the closest person was and if they could see my white underwear sticking out of my dark pants. As I was walking up Virginia Avenue I started thinking of how funny it felt to be walking up this street, here in the land of the free and the home of the brave, as the anthem says, with the ass of my pants ripped out!

So I get to the men's clothing store, Jimmy Diaz, custom tailor. I don't care if he makes suits for chimpanzees. I need my pants fixed by Jimmy Diaz, tailor to the powerful!

I waited for almost an hour with my back to the wall in front of the shop. Whenever anyone who knew me walked by I would wave and chat a bit, but I would not tell them why I was there, nor would I step away from that wall!

After an hour of waiting I concluded that Jimmy Diaz was a wealthy man and was not opening that day, so I started walking towards the Watergate Apartment Complex (yes, *that* Watergate). It was about 10 minutes away. The day was getting warmer, but I got there with a tailwind and a breeze I felt from behind.

I walked about the shopping concourse and found the Watergate Valet Shop. If their tailor was in I had a chance of getting the rip sewn-up.

Into the shop I walked and the woman behind the counter said, "Buenas dias!"

Shit! I can't speak enough Spanish to ask for a glass of water, much less ask for a tailor! Many times in my life someone has told me that they would fix my ass. Where the hell are they now, when I need them?

I tried to explain to the girl behind the counter that I need to have my pants mended, but I was not making a connection. Finally, I turned around and showed her the torn ass of my pants.

There were three women in the shop: the woman in the front, one in the back, both of whom were rather young, and one elderly woman in the back, working on the sewing machine.

So I showed the one in front the hole in my pants by bending over and pulling it apart. She said something in Spanish to the girl in the back. All I understood was "pantalones." The one in the back told the old woman on the sewing machine. All I understood from her was "pantalones." It was then that I heard a laugh from the elderly woman. I have no idea in hell what was said besides the word "pantalones."

After establishing that I had to take the pants off to have them fixed I learned that there was neither a changing room nor a place to sit and wait while repairs were made. There was, however, an alcove with a pipe across it, upon which all of the clothes for mending were hung.

I pushed the clothes apart like a beaded curtain, got in the back of the clothes, took my pants off, and handed them to the woman from the front of the store. She walked in back with them. I heard more talking in Spanish and the word "pantalones" once more. And the old woman laughed again, too.

While waiting for my pants I peeked between the things on the rack and saw that all there was separating me and a lunchtime crowd outside was this rack of clothes and a plate glass window. If they looked-in, all they would see is this rack of clothes and a set of legs from the thighs down, wearing trouser socks and black 3-inch heels. The longer I thought of that, the funnier I thought it looked and I started to laugh!

A few minutes passed and a hand with my pants in it shot through the clothes on the bar. I put my pants on, paid the woman, bid them "adios," and walked out like nothing had happened.

I made my presentation, but I didn't pick up anything off the floor that day.

And that, Debra, is my best memory of working in the halls of power.

What did Charlie Give me for Christmas? Deb, he gave me a year of fine company and that, to me, is a wonderful gift.

Created by Cynthia ©

I hope that you have enjoyed this selection of Frizzy Lizzy. Thank you again for reading, and do share your thoughts with us. have a great Saturday
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Thursday, 25 December 2014

The Moon and the Morning Star - Wichita Myth

Hi dear friends and followers. Today we resume the Native American legends and myths.

If you go the the State of Oklahoma today you will find many Native American Peoples present there. There are Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Potawatomi, and Shawnee, to name a few, and none of them were present there prior the founding of the American republic. They are there because of the notorious campaign of Native American "resettlement" that is known as the Trail of Tears.

Today's map shows the territory occupied by those nations in the region before the white man got there. We shall examine the cosmogony of the Wichita People. It is a simple and beautiful creation story unlike any others that we have read earlier.

This story comes from the Wichita people of southern Oklahoma and eastern Texas. The story was told by the Wichita chief, Towakoni Jim, to George Dorsey, who compiled Wichita stories. The Wichita religion centered on worship of the heavenly bodies, as the conclusion of this story suggests.

The Moon and the Morning Star - Wichita Myth

In the beginning there were neither sun, nor stars, nor anything else that we know today. For a long time, the only man was Man-never-known-on-Earth. He created everything.

When he created the world, he created land and water, but they were not separate, and still everything was dark. Then Man-never-known-on-Earth created a man who was known as Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light and a woman named Bright-Shining-Woman. Everything that they needed, they dreamed of, and it was there when they awoke. Bright-Shining-Woman received an ear of corn and knew that it would be the food of generations to come.

Still there was nothing but darkness. Without knowing why, Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light began a journey to the east, moving slowly through the darkness. He came to a stranger who told him that there would be many villages and many people in the future, and that it would be up to Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light to teach them.

As they talked, a voice from the east called to this stranger to shoot a black-and-white deer that would follow a white deer and a black deer out of a stream nearby. Four times the stranger had to tell the impatient voice that he was preparing a bow and arrow to shoot the deer.

Finally he emerged from his lodge as the deer jumped out of the water, and he shot the black-and-white deer. This meant that the earth would turn, that the stars would move, and that there would be day and night. The stranger, whose name was Star-that-is-always-moving, went to follow the deer that he had wounded, but Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light stayed by the shore.

From where the voice had spoken, he now saw the sun rise for the first time. He returned to his home, but he traveled much faster now that it was light. That night he saw three stars in the sky, with another star nearby, and he concluded that they were the three deer and the man who followed them.

After there was light, villages and people multiplied, as the stranger had predicted. Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light and Bright-Shining-Woman went from village to village, teaching the people. Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light taught the men about bows and arrows, and he taught them to play the ball game and the shinny game.

Bright-Shining-Woman taught the women about corn, how to grow corn, how to feed the people with corn, how to offer some corn at each meal to Man-never-known-on-Earth, how take four kernels and rub them on their child as a prayer. She also taught them the double-ball game. She told them that, after she was gone, they could look at her face to tell when their monthly bleeding should occur, and by counting her appearances they could keep track of when their children would be born. Then she left them, and that night the first moon came up, because she was the Moon.

Man-with-the-Power-to-Carry-Light taught the men that they must offer some of the game that they caught to the Moon and to the stars and to the other supernatural beings. He told them that he would leave them, but that they would see him sometimes in early morning. When they saw him, they were to take their children to drink and bathe in the river, which would give them long life. Then he left them and became the Morning Star.

I hope that you have enjoyed this selection of the Native American Legends and Mythology. Thank you again for reading, and do share your thoughts with us. have a great 

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

Wednesday, 24 December 2014

The Gift of the Magi

Hi dear friends and followers. Today I have another short Christmas story called; The gift of the Magi. Composed by . O. Henry's 1906 short story collection. Thank you for being here, have a great read.
The Gift of the Magi

by O. Henry

This story was originally published on Dec 10, 1905 in The New York Sunday World as "Gifts of the Magi." It was subsequently published as The Gift of the Magi in O. Henry's 1906 short story collection The Four Million.


ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY-SEVEN CENTS. THAT WAS ALL. AND SIXTY CENTS of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 Bat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out of the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she cluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One Eight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick" said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 78 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please, God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was with out gloves.

Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet, even after the hardest mental labour.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. I his dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise-shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men-who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.


I hope that you have enjoyed these Christmas poems and short stories. My Merry Christmas to you. Thank you again for reading, and do share your thoughts with us. have a great Christmas day, Be happy 
(
❤ 


ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ



Christmas; or, The Good Fairy


Hi dear friends and followers. Today I have another short story Christmas; or, The Good Fairy, composed by Harriet Beecher Stowe. Thank you for being here, have a great read.

Christmas; or, The Good Fairy
by Harriet Beecher Stowe

"O, dear! Christmas is coming in a fortnight, and I have got to think up presents for every body!" said young Ellen Stuart, as she leaned languidly back in her chair. "Dear me, it's so tedious! Every body has got every thing that can be thought of."

"O, no," said her confidential adviser, Miss Lester, in a soothing tone. "You have means of buying every thing you can fancy; and when every shop and store is glittering with all manner of splendors, you cannot surely be at a loss."

"Well, now, just listen. To begin with, there's mamma. What can I get for her? I have thought of ever so many things. She has three card cases, four gold thimbles, two or three gold chains, two writing desks of different patterns; and then as to rings, brooches, boxes, and all other things, I should think she might be sick of the sight of them. I am sure I am," said she, languidly gazing on her white and jewelled fingers.

This view of the case seemed rather puzzling to the adviser, and there was silence for a few moments, when Ellen, yawning, resumed:

"And then there's Cousins Jane and Mary; I suppose they will be coming down on me with a whole load of presents; and Mrs. B. will send me something--she did last year; and then there's Cousins William and Tom--I must get them something; and I would like to do it well enough, if I only knew what to get."

"Well," said Eleanor's aunt, who had been sitting quietly rattling her knitting needles during this speech, "it's a pity that you had not such a subject to practise on as I was when I was a girl. Presents did not fly about in those days as they do now. I remember, when I was ten years old, my father gave me a most marvellously ugly sugar dog for a Christmas gift, and I was perfectly delighted with it, the very idea of a present was so new to us."

"Dear aunt, how delighted I should be if I had any such fresh, unsophisticated body to get presents for! But to get and get for people that have more than they know what to do with now; to add pictures, books, and gilding when the centre tables are loaded with them now, and rings and jewels when they are a perfect drug! I wish myself that I were not sick, and sated, and tired with having every thing in the world given me."

"Well, Eleanor," said her aunt, "if you really do want unsophisticated subjects to practise on, I can put you in the way of it. I can show you more than one family to whom you might seem to be a very good fairy, and where such gifts as you could give with all ease would seem like a magic dream."

"Why, that would really be worth while, aunt."

"Look over in that back alley," said her aunt. "You see those buildings?"

"That miserable row of shanties? Yes."

"Well, I have several acquaintances there who have never been tired of Christmas gifts, or gifts of any other kind. I assure you, you could make quite a sensation over there."

"Well, who is there? Let us know."

"Do you remember Owen, that used to make your shoes?"

"Yes, I remember something about him."

"Well, he has fallen into a consumption, and cannot work any more; and he, and his wife, and three little children live in one of the rooms."

"How do they get along?"

"His wife takes in sewing sometimes, and sometimes goes out washing. Poor Owen! I was over there yesterday; he looks thin and wasted, and his wife was saying that he was parched with constant fever, and had very little appetite. She had, with great self-denial, and by restricting herself almost of necessary food, got him two or three oranges; and the poor fellow seemed so eager after them!"

"Poor fellow!" said Eleanor, involuntarily.

"Now," said her aunt, "suppose Owen's wife should get up on Christmas morning and find at the door a couple of dozen of oranges, and some of those nice white grapes, such as you had at your party last week; don't you think it would make a sensation?"

"Why, yes, I think very likely it might; but who else, aunt? You spoke of a great many."

"Well, on the lower floor there is a neat little room, that is always kept perfectly trim and tidy; it belongs to a young couple who have nothing beyond the husband's day wages to live on. They are, nevertheless, as cheerful and chipper as a couple of wrens; and she is up and down half a dozen times a day, to help poor Mrs. Owen. She has a baby of her own, about five months old, and of course does all the cooking, washing, and ironing for herself and husband; and yet, when Mrs. Owen goes out to wash, she takes her baby, and keeps it whole days for her."

"I'm sure she deserves that the good fairies should smile on her," said Eleanor; "one baby exhausts my stock of virtues very rapidly."

"But you ought to see her baby," said Aunt E.; "so plump, so rosy, and good-natured, and always clean as a lily. This baby is a sort of household shrine; nothing is too sacred or too good for it; and I believe the little thrifty woman feels only one temptation to be extravagant, and that is to get some ornaments to adorn this little divinity."

"Why, did she ever tell you so?"

"No; but one day, when I was coming down stairs, the door of their room was partly open, and I saw a pedler there with open box. John, the husband, was standing with a little purple cap on his hand, which he was regarding with mystified, admiring air, as if he didn't quite comprehend it, and trim little Mary gazing at it with longing eyes.

"'I think we might get it,' said John.

"'O, no,' said she, regretfully; 'yet I wish we could, it's so pretty!'"

"Say no more, aunt. I see the good fairy must pop a cap into the window on Christmas morning. Indeed, it shall be done. How they will wonder where it came from, and talk about it for months to come!"

"Well, then," continued her aunt, "in the next street to ours there is a miserable building, that looks as if it were just going to topple over; and away up in the third story, in a little room just under the eaves, live two poor, lonely old women. They are both nearly on to ninety. I was in there day before yesterday. One of them is constantly confined to her bed with rheumatism; the other, weak and feeble, with failing sight and trembling hands, totters about, her only helper; and they are entirely dependent on charity."

"Can't they do any thing? Can't they knit?" said Eleanor.

"You are young and strong, Eleanor, and have quick eyes and nimble fingers; how long would it take you to knit a pair of stockings?"

"I?" said Eleanor. "What an idea! I never tried, but I think I could get a pair done in a week, perhaps."

"And if somebody gave you twenty-five cents for them, and out of this you had to get food, and pay room rent, and buy coal for your fire, and oil for your lamp----"

"Stop, aunt, for pity's sake!"

"Well, I will stop; but they can't: they must pay so much every month for that miserable shell they live in, or be turned into the street. The meal and flour that some kind person sends goes off for them just as it does for others, and they must get more or starve; and coal is now scarce and high priced."

"O aunt, I'm quite convinced, I'm sure; don't run me down and annihilate me with all these terrible realities. What shall I do to play good fairy to these poor old women?"

"If you will give me full power, Eleanor, I will put up a basket to be sent to them that will give them something to remember all winter."

"O, certainly I will. Let me see if I can't think of something myself."

"Well, Eleanor, suppose, then, some fifty or sixty years hence, if you were old, and your father, and mother, and aunts, and uncles, now so thick around you, lay cold and silent in so many graves--you have somehow got away off to a strange city, where you were never known--you live in a miserable garret, where snow blows at night through the cracks, and the fire is very apt to go out in the old cracked stove--you sit crouching over the dying embers the evening before Christmas--nobody to speak to you, nobody to care for you, except another poor old soul who lies moaning in the bed. Now, what would you like to have sent you?"

"O aunt, what a dismal picture!"

"And yet, Ella, all poor, forsaken old women are made of young girls, who expected it in their youth as little as you do, perhaps."

"Say no more, aunt. I'll buy--let me see--a comfortable warm shawl for each of these poor women; and I'll send them--let me see--O, some tea--nothing goes down with old women like tea; and I'll make John wheel some coal over to them; and, aunt, it would not be a very bad thought to send them a new stove. I remember, the other day, when mamma was pricing stoves, I saw some such nice ones for two or three dollars."

"For a new hand, Ella, you work up the idea very well," said her aunt.

"But how much ought I to give, for any one case, to these women, say?"

"How much did you give last year for any single Christmas present?"

"Why, six or seven dollars for some; those elegant souvenirs were seven dollars; that ring I gave Mrs. B. was twenty."

"And do you suppose Mrs. B. was any happier for it?"

"No, really, I don't think she cared much about it; but I had to give her something, because she had sent me something the year before, and I did not want to send a paltry present to one in her circumstances."

"Then, Ella, give the same to any poor, distressed, suffering creature who really needs it, and see in how many forms of good such a sum will appear. That one hard, cold, glittering ring, that now cheers nobody, and means nothing, that you give because you must, and she takes because she must, might, if broken up into smaller sums, send real warm and heartfelt gladness through many a cold and cheerless dwelling, through many an aching heart."

"You are getting to be an orator, aunt; but don't you approve of Christmas presents, among friends and equals?"

"Yes, indeed," said her aunt, fondly stroking her head. "I have had some Christmas presents that did me a world of good--a little book mark, for instance, that a certain niece of mine worked for me, with wonderful secrecy, three years ago, when she was not a young lady with a purse full of money--that book mark was a true Christmas present; and my young couple across the way are plotting a profound surprise to each other on Christmas morning. John has contrived, by an hour of extra work every night, to lay by enough to get Mary a new calico dress; and she, poor soul, has bargained away the only thing in the jewelry line she ever possessed, to be laid out on a new hat for him.

"I know, too, a washerwoman who has a poor, lame boy--a patient, gentle little fellow--who has lain quietly for weeks and months in his little crib, and his mother is going to give him a splendid Christmas present."

"What is it, pray?"

"A whole orange! Don't laugh. She will pay ten whole cents for it; for it shall be none of your common oranges, but a picked one of the very best going! She has put by the money, a cent at a time, for a whole month; and nobody knows which will be happiest in it, Willie or his mother. These are such Christmas presents as I like to think of--gifts coming from love, and tending to produce love; these are the appropriate gifts of the day."

"But don't you think that it's right for those who have money to give expensive presents, supposing always, as you say, they are given from real affection?"

"Sometimes, undoubtedly. The Savior did not condemn her who broke an alabaster box of ointment--very precious--simply as a proof of love, even although the suggestion was made, 'This might have been sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor.' I have thought he would regard with sympathy the fond efforts which human love sometimes makes to express itself by gifts, the rarest and most costly. How I rejoiced with all my 

heart, when Charles Elton gave his poor mother that splendid Chinese shawl and gold watch! because I knew they came from the very fulness of his heart to a mother that he could not do too much for--a mother that has done and suffered every thing for him. In some such cases, when resources are ample, a costly gift seems to have a graceful appropriateness; but I cannot approve of it if it exhausts all the means of doing for the poor; it is better, then, to give a simple offering, and to do something for those who really need it."

Eleanor looked thoughtful; her aunt laid down her knitting, and said, in a tone of gentle seriousness, "Whose birth does Christmas commemorate, Ella?"

"Our Savior's, certainly, aunt."

"Yes," said her aunt. "And when and how was he born? In a stable! laid in a manger; thus born, that in all ages he might be known as the brother and friend of the poor. And surely, it seems but appropriate to commemorate his birthday by an especial remembrance of the lowly, the poor, the outcast, and distressed; and if Christ should come back to our city on a Christmas day, where should we think it most appropriate to his character to find him? Would he be carrying splendid gifts to splendid dwellings, or would he be gliding about in the cheerless haunts of the desolate, the poor, the forsaken, and the sorrowful?"

And here the conversation ended.

"What sort of Christmas presents is Ella buying?" said Cousin Tom, as the waiter handed in a portentous-looking package, which had been just rung in at the door.

"Let's open it," said saucy Will. "Upon my word, two great gray blanket shawls! These must be for you and me, Tom! And what's this? A great bolt of cotton flannel and gray yarn stockings!"

The door bell rang again, and the waiter brought in another bulky parcel, and deposited it on the marble-topped centre table.

"What's here?" said Will, cutting the cord. "Whew! a perfect nest of packages! oolong tea! oranges! grapes! white sugar! Bless me, Ella must be going to housekeeping!"

"Or going crazy!" said Tom; "and on my word," said he, looking out of the window, "there's a drayman ringing at our door, with a stove, with a teakettle set in the top of it!"

"Ella's cook stove, of course," said Will; and just at this moment the young lady entered, with her purse hanging gracefully over her hand.

"Now, boys, you are too bad!" she exclaimed, as each of the mischievous youngsters were gravely marching up and down, attired in a gray shawl.

"Didn't you get them for us? We thought you did," said both.

"Ella, I want some of that cotton flannel, to make me a pair of pantaloons," said Tom.

"I say, Ella," said Will, "when are you going to housekeeping? Your cooking stove is standing down in the street; upon my word, John is loading some coal on the dray with it."

"Ella, isn't that going to be sent to my office?" said Tom; "do you know I do so languish for a new stove with a teakettle in the top, to heat a fellow's shaving water!"

Just then, another ring at the door, and the grinning waiter handed in a small brown paper parcel for Miss Ella. Tom made a dive at it, and staving off the brown paper, developed a jaunty little purple velvet cap, with silver tassels.

"My smoking cap, as I live!" said he; "only I shall have to wear it on my thumb, instead of my head--too small entirely," said he, shaking his head gravely.

"Come, you saucy boys," said Aunt E., entering briskly, "what are you teasing Ella for?"

"Why, do see this lot of things, aunt! What in the world is Ella going to do with them?"

"O, I know!"

"You know! Then I can guess, aunt, it is some of your charitable works. You are going to make a juvenile Lady Bountiful of El, eh?"

Ella, who had colored to the roots of her hair at the expose of her very unfashionable Christmas preparations, now took heart, and bestowed a very gentle and salutary little cuff on the saucy head that still wore the purple cap, and then hastened to gather up her various purchases.

"Laugh away," said she, gayly; "and a good many others will laugh, too, over these things. I got them to make people laugh--people that are not in the habit of laughing!"

"Well, well, I see into it," said Will; "and I tell you I think right well of the idea, too. There are worlds of money wasted, at this time of the year, in getting things that nobody wants, and nobody cares for after they are got; and I am glad, for my part, that you are going to get up a variety in this line; in fact, I should like to give you one of these stray leaves to help on," said he, dropping a ten dollar note into her paper. "I like to encourage girls to think of something besides breastpins and sugar candy."

But our story spins on too long. If any body wants to see the results of Ella's first attempts at good fairyism, they can call at the doors of two or three old buildings on Christmas morning, and they shall hear all about it.

I hope that you have enjoyed these Christmas poems and short stories. My Merry Christmas to you. Thank you again for reading, and do share your thoughts with us. have a great Wednesday

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ


Monday, 22 December 2014

Christmas Miracles




Hi dear friends and followers. today I have two short and beautiful Christmas myracle stories. Christmas Miracles. Thank you for being here, have a great read.


Christmas Miracles


Every time someone finds a lost puppy or snags a local lottery win in December, the media breathlessly describes it as a “real-life Christmas miracle.” In other words, stuff that happens every day of the year suddenly becomes news just because it happens near the holidays. So you can forgive us for feeling a wee bit skeptical about such things, especially since an actual miracle requires suspension of the laws of chance or physics.

But then there are the stories that are harder to dismiss. Stories where something so unlikely, unexpected or just plain heart-warming happened that our inner Grinch simply melts away. Here are some Christmas miracles that prove prayers sometimes do get answered:


Santa Answeres aPpoor Girl's Letter


At the age of five, most of us probably understood family finances just enough to throw a tantrum if we didn’t get the presents we really wanted. That’s because most five-year-olds are both kinda stupid and kinda prone to acting entitled. But not Helen Berence Reyes Cardenas. When her mother told her they were going to have a frugal Christmas, she simply wrote out a letter asking Santa for a doll and some shoes, and sent the letter to the North Pole via balloon. Since a balloon isn’t the most precise method of delivering mail, the letter inevitably got knocked off course and ended up landing in California – about as far from Santa’s Workshop as you can get.

Now here comes the good bit: A woman named Julie Sanders found the letter and realized it came from a dirt-poor girl in need of some Christmas cheer. So, armed only with a scrap of paper that had flown across the whole of America, she tracked down little Helen and made sure she had a nice big bundle of presents to open come Christmas Day. In short: Julie Sanders is a woman who can literally claim to have saved Christmas.


The Internet Saves a Family's Home



There are a couple of sure-fire ways of proving to the world that you don’t have a soul, one of which is to foreclose on a family’s home at Christmas. In 2008, some Grinch did exactly that to the Sampson family, probably while simultaneously kicking puppies and laughing at orphans. See, the Sampsons weren’t exactly living the high life: Dad was sick, Mom was pregnant, both were out of work, and their kids were now looking at a Christmas spent in a succession of shelters. Tired, stressed-out and miserable, the Sampsons did what any of us would do, and unburdened their worries to a friend.

In return, the friend posted their story up to her blog, perhaps hoping to spread the misery. And then an amazing thing happened. Strangers began commenting on the story and asking if they could make donations. So the friend opened a Paypal account. Then more people commented. And more, and more. Suddenly, donations were flooding in. Within five days, this one blog post had raised $11,032 – enough to save the Sampson home. In a burst of seasonal goodwill, the Internet spat in the face of holiday-hating mortgage brokers everywhere, and saved a family from the streets. And in a world characterized by hatred as much as the Internet, that’s gotta count as a miracle.


http://www.toptenz.net/top-10-amazing-real-life-christmas-miracles.php

I hope that you have enjoyed these poems and short stories. My Merry Christmas to you. Thank you again for reading, and do share your thoughts with us. have a great Tuesday

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ




Sunday, 21 December 2014

The Christmas Tree

Hi dear friends and followers. today I have a wonderful Christmas poem for you composed by jon gutmacher. The Christmas Tree. Thank you for being here, have a great read.


The Christmas Tree


by jon gutmacher

They didn’t have much money.
He’d been out of work three months.
The kids wore clothes the shelter gave,
but every night they ate.

Around a table that was so old
but sturdy, none-the-less,
t’was food for all, but meager fare
to them it was the best.

For while some things were really tough
and the world not always kind,
they had each other every night,
their love the thing that binds

And just before they ate their meal
they all held hands and prayed
to thank the Lord for what they had
through Him
each one was saved

And when the Christmas season . . .
came joyfully to the year
they pooled their meager money
for a tree to bring them cheer

And then the lights came out the box
one string – they could afford
but each light shined
and brought them joy
and closer to
their Lord

One night the lights did flicker
all over on that tree
and each of them was worried 
until their mom did see

an angel looking through the glass
of a window covered with snow;
and a tear rolled down the angel's face
and suddenly they knew

that God would never leave them,
and as bad as things could be,
He would always make sure
things were right,
if only just a tree.

And suddenly the lights on the tree
shone bright beyond compare!
And the angel smiled at each of them
and warmth was everywhere!

And on the next day following 
a letter came by mail;
the job dad sought was finally his
he’d be back working without fail.

It wasn’t much for many folks
but for them it was so great
a salary to help pay the bills
even if he had to work late.

And a bell rang on the tree
just then, like magic, if that be.
And the angel smiled
from far away
at the beauty of the tree.

I hope that you have enjoyed this poem. My Merry Christmas to you. Thank you again for reading, and do share your thoughts with us. have a great Monday
ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ



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