The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

 I love Elder Holland; I mean, I love them all, but he is one of my favorites.  I was actually thinking this morning about a few lines from one of his books, a Christmas book but still very relevant to the day.  "It is the life at the other end of the manger scene that gives this moment of nativity in Bethlehem its ultimate meaning.  Special as this child was and divine as was his conception, without that day of salvation wherein he would gain an everlasting victory over death and hell on behalf of every man, woman, and child who would ever be born-until that day should come-this baby's life and mission would not be complete.  Perhaps these parents knew even then that in the beginning of his mortal life, as well as in the end, this baby son born to them would have to descend beneath every human pain and disappointment.  He would do so, at least in part, to help those who also felt they had been born without advantage.  The true meaning, the unique and lasting and joyous meaning of the birth of this baby, would be in the life he would lead and especially in his death, in his triumphant atoning sacrifice, and in his prison-bursting resurrection." 

There's something about those middle years between being young enough that you actually look forward to being a year older and being old enough that you're impressed with how far you've made it.  During those in-between years birthdays become a trial of patience which you try to endure well but generally just try to ignore altogether.  I reached that stage when I turned seven or somewhere thereabouts.  (It's kind of like Woody Allen said, "My mother always said I was a cheerful kid until I was five years old, and then I turned gloomy."  Even though I'm no fan of Woody Allen, that's still funny.....)  Anyway, this yearly trial has recently rolled around again even though I could swear up and down it just happened six months ago.....But this time was a little different.  I received one of the best birthday gifts of all time.  Now, my mom is the master at coming up with great gifts so I've always gotten really good loot, but this year my niece outdid everyone.  She gave me a Barbie.  Belle from Beauty and the Beast, to be exact.  My sister and I did play with barbies as kids, but we never got into the obsessive collector's mindset about them that some kids do, it was more of an occasional past-time.  My Belle barbie, however, sits proudly on display in my room because it was bought with the hard earned money of a five year old who saw it in the store and remembered our conversation about Disney princesses when I said that Belle was my favorite because she liked to read.  You can't beat that.  It made me think of another birthday present I'll never forget.  I was in about second or third grade and my birthday fell on a weekday.  We were on the playground, I was on the monkey bars, when another student came running up and told me Mr. Jones wanted to see me.  Mr. Jones was one of the janitors at the school that both my sister and I attended, and where my mom worked as a teacher's assistant.  I couldn't imagine why he wanted to see me, and felt a little anxious as I couldn't help but think that I might be in trouble, even though I couldn't imagine what I'd done.  (Apparently I've always had some anxiety about being summoned before any sort of authority figure....)  I still remember what the empty gym looked like as it came into focus as my eyes adjusted after being out in the bright sun for so long.  Mr. Jones was standing by the stage with one of those long push-brooms in one hand.  I didn't really know what to say as I walked up since I still didn't really know why I was there and "Hey, Mr. Jones" didn't seem very respectful or appropriate, and I was even less chatty then than I am now, believe it or not.  As I walked up, he said, "I heard today was your birthday."  I kind of did a half shrug and nod, a little embarrassed by the flush of pride I felt that, at least today, something made me different and maybe a little bit special, and wondering how he even knew it was my birthday.  He reached into his pocket and took out two dollar bills, "I guess you need something for that, then," and handed over the two bills that I knew, even then somehow, that he worked very hard for.  "Alright, go on back out and play, but just don't tell everybody where you got that," he grinned.  Knowing that this wasn't a privilege everyone got made it even more special, and suddenly I felt even more shy.  I think I mumbled something along the lines of a thank you and smiled at the floor before running back out to the playground.  But even all these years later, I still remember those two dollars, not because it was flashy or expensive, but because of the effort that went into earning them and the kindness they represented.  I have a feeling that, years down the road, I'll remember this barbie for the same reasons.   

This is what envy looks like

This has always been one of my favorite pieces.  Along with this and Chopin's "Fantasie Impromptu" it has been one of those "You-Know-It'll-Never-Come-True" dreams for me.  I want to be able to do this.  On one piano.  At all.  Ever. 


And this is one of my absolute most favorite hymns.  The world really is such a beautiful place, when you stop and look.  It's like my niece once said when she was still just a little thing, "You know it is going to be a good day when the birds sing."

The weather here has been fantastic the past couple of days, so I decided to do a little exploring.  Then, this weekend, my mom came to visit and we spent the day in some gardens in this area.  The day was kind of chilly and overcast, but not bleak, because everything was so colorful and smelled so fresh and alive.  Let's just say, the weather and the gardens so did not make me not want to move to England/Ireland.  Right now.  Ship my stuff later.....and send tickets for my family to come visit soon, since I've learned I have a rather difficult time being too far away from them for too long......But, you know, for England/Ireland, I think I could learn.  Then we went to the annual festival for the town I live in.  It was alright, but after about two seconds of being walled in by people on all sides, I felt I'd experienced all I needed to experience.  But, the good thing of all of it was that there was a guy on the sidewalk outside of an "Irish pub" playing the bagpipes.  I took a few pictures, but frankly, I think it weirded him out a little that I was sticking a camera in his face and taking more than one shot.  But you know, 1. he's playing the bagpipes-not something you see around here frequently.  2. it was during a festival-there were approximately five gazillion people milling around-somebody's going to take a picture (or five) 3. you're wearing a kilt. not to be confused with a skirt, the kilt is a solidly manly piece of clothing.  girls like musical manly men.  the end.