This is going to make me sound really old but when I was in kindergarten we had pencil boxes.  All the other kids had yellow ones with school supply type things on them; mine was a King Edward’s cigar box.  I was never embarrassed; I loved the smell because it reminded me of my father.  There used to be a pipe store in the mall with the most wonderful aromas that were part of my earliest childhood memories.  They carry with them feelings of love and comfort.  Cigars are a rare indulgence for me but when I enjoy one it brings it all back.  I see big ash trays and remember watching Carol Burnett on Daddy’s lap.  I remember walking in restaurants where the first question was “Smoking or non?” and we always chose non-smoking because my father did not smoke cigarettes.  Interestingly, the word “cigarettes” comes from the French and was derived when peasants used to gather up tobacco discarded from the gentry.  They used to roll the remnants into “little cigars,” or cigarettes.  I love a cigar on a warm summer night but perhaps even more so on a crisp winter one.  Look at that plume of smoke in the background.  I limit myself to robustos these days (a shorter cigar) rather than Churchillls, the very long ones named after Great Britain’s former Prime Minister, who favored them.  Sir Winston Churchill once said:

“Smoking cigars is like falling in love.  First, you are attracted by its shape; you stay for its flavour, and you must always remember never, never to let the flame go out!”

On a primal level I suppose that’s part of why I enjoy them.  They bring back my daddy to me in those quiet moments filled with wreaths of smoke floating in the air and the rich scent of tobacco enveloping me like a warm blanket.  They remind me of huge, dark red hands, jet black hair, and the bluest eyes I have ever seen.  I will never, never let the flame go out; it brings the past present.

Welcome to Dallas, y’all.  I stopped when I saw this bad boy on my way in the mall and had to take a picture.  Like fine horseflesh, I also appreciate fine horsepower.  Just as I was snapping it but trying to look nonchalant, a mall security guy came by on a golf cart and asked if I liked his car.  We both just grinned, sharing a moment.  Even though I am not given to jealousy, I am glad to say although I love this car I would not want to have it even if I could.  We absolutely must get away from our dependency upon oil — both foreign and domestic.  Much like coal had its heyday in England, so oil must end as it is a finite resource anyway.  I am still praying for the Water Protectors at the sight of the unwanted Dakota access pipeline.  The horse transformed the lives of Native Americans and it has made my heart proud to see so many on horseback coming in to protest the black snake.  The Australian poet Pam Brown once said:

“A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves – strong, powerful, beautiful – and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.”

Maybe that’s why I admire it so … horsepower.

Growing up in one of the poorest parts of Dallas, one of the highlights of our Christmases in the ’70’s was driving around looking at all the lights in Highland Park, a wealthy suburb about one mile long.  They strung lights in enormous canopies over 100 year old trees and to say it was glorious would be an understatement.  Cars were bumper to bumper as we inched along and admired the elaborate displays of giant nutcrackers flanking majestic doorways, Santa Claus outside on his sleigh complete with all his reindeer, and candles illuminating every window in huge two and three story homes.  We were never jealous as we huddled in our station wagon with no heat; we were only grateful to all be together celebrating the season.  I always wondered about the families inside; I was sure they did not have a care in the world.  It is ironic that for YEARS we drove by my future husband’s grandmother’s house.  I wonder if we ever passed by each other as children.  How could I possibly have known that one day I would be a part of Christmases there?  I wonder if God wasn’t watching it all unfold with a smile.  The American Clergyman Roy L. Smith once said, “He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.”  I am so thankful to have more, but not to NEED it.  Isaiah predicted the coming of Christ and with His birth came the salvation of all who receive Him.  Nothing is greater than God’s gift to us, and no woman was greater than the Blessed Virgin Mary who answered God’s call without hesitation.  It was a Christmas foretold.

I love Christmas lights … particularly on trees.  I do not believe there is anything quite more magical.  Putting them up, however, is a completely different story.  I remember one year I tried to do it alone.  I decided while I was at it to treat myself to my favorite “cup of cheer” (a 7 & 7 with a lime) and the lights were looking terrific!  When I got cold I would go in and refill my glass.  After a total of around four my work was finished and I stood back, looked up, and admired my handiwork.  The lines were so meticulous, so straight; so precise.  The OCD part of me rejoiced.  I had wrapped our thick trees out front to perfection with nary a hitch.  In fact I was not even cold anymore.  I decided to call it a night feeling very proud of all I had accomplished.  The next morning I went out to survey my hard work.  <long, stunned pause>  Well, the bottom of the trunks were indeed perfection, strung tightly and evenly across the rough bark.  But as I began to look higher I noticed with no small amount of chagrin they were lopsided and loose; it was as if some drunk had strung them.  Horrified, I decided perhaps it might be better if we called upon professionals to string the lights the next year.  So my rule now is sticking to “Christmas cheer” within the warm confines of our home while deft men with high ladders get the job done of making the outside of our home look like the holidays.  The English poet Thomas Tusser once said, “At Christmas play and make good cheer, for Christmas comes but once a year.”  God bless you whatever your faith may be, one and all.

Looking at this stained glass at a memorial for a dear friend, I have been thinking how it resembles life.  We are all made up of a complex mosaic of experiences and people we have encountered.  Some pieces are bigger and take up more space; others may be small but their color shines brightly.  Some are easy to forget and others never leave.  Some people we encounter in life are givers; others are takers.  Some you can count on and others you cannot.  Some wish you well and some don’t.  Some always bring the sun, allowing your colors to shine brighter.  Others always seem to carry dark clouds, trying to making your light gloomy.  Some hold you together and some can crack you to pieces.  And some we take for granted until it’s too late.  We get so busy with our own lives and we tell ourselves we’ll visit tomorrow.  Then tomorrow comes and we still do not make the time.  This woman whose celebration of life and faith I was attending was a true friend.  I am ashamed to say I do not believe I was as good of a friend to her.  I did not mean to stop visiting; I had an ailing mother and newborn baby plus my work and I was overwhelmed.  Now I am writing this and she will not get to see it.  I witnessed a chapel full of loving friends who laughed at her candor, admired her adventures, and loved her for her genuine warmth and hospitality.  The wonderful thing about faith is the belief that we will see those whom we love again one day.  The American author Leo Buscaglia said, “Death is a challenge.  It tells us not to waste time … it tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other.”  I resolve to become more caring of others and follow in her example.  I want to be like her; a treasured piece in someone else’s mosaic.

When I was little there was nothing I loved more than carting tiny toy animals around.  To this day I still have my little plastic turtles I got from the tops of cupcakes.  Oh how I loved them — and still do.  My little one has just discovered the joys of pocket pets which her daddy bought her.  They come in a “blind bag” (to force you to buy a gazillion if your kiddo wants to collect them) and with a tiny little pet carrier.  As fate would have it, she got an Alaskan Malamute named Yukon and a very sneaky Spaniel named Sadie.  She had them less than an hour when Sadie broke free from her carrier, landing somewhere in the yard.  Of course it was dark by then.  My beloved used his iPhone flashlight trying to find her but with no luck.  Our little one cried herself to sleep and we promised her it would somehow be OK.  Early the next morning I got up to look for the runaway Spaniel.  Marrying a man who would lose his own appendages if they were not attached to his body has taught me a thing or two about the need for patience.  Growing up my daddy infused a type of methodicalness in my every day life that I employed out of habit.  I began making a careful sweet from up to down and left to right.  My Baby Doll came outside in the windy chill and asked anxiously if I had found her.  “Not yet” I said with my head tucked down.  She then asked if we could pray as she pressed her little hand in mine.  We said a short simple prayer and I told her to go back inside while I kept looking.  JUST as I was about to give up, I saw my little one’s precious toy.  There she was nestled among the leaves staring straight at me with her bright blue eyes.  The Canadian writer Douglas Coupland said:

“There are three things we cry about in life, things that are lost, things that are found, and things that are magnificent.”

For my little one, this tiny pet qualified as all three.  See if you can spot the little Spaniel pictured above.  I swung my baby doll around and around as she giggled with glee.  Sadie had spent the night out in the cold but seemed glad to be reunited with Yukon and home safe; lost and found.

Two years and two days ago I lost my best friend, and the most beautiful woman I have ever known; my mother.  Oh how I miss her.  She wore the same mantle of gentleness about her my grandmother carried as well.  I am thankful she at least got to live to see the man I would marry (whom she ADORED) and spend three years with her precious namesake, our daughter.  One of our shared stories was that after Daddy passed she and I continued the tradition of driving to Santa Fe every year.  And every year, like clockwork, I would invariably get pulled over coming home; ahem, several times.  My daddy had warned me tiny Texas towns were speed traps and to always slow WAY down.  But it is an all day drive from Santa Fe back to Dallas; when you’re on an endless stretch of road and it’s not night so you don’t have to worry about animals …  Mama and I were in a hurry each year to get to Medicine Mound for dinner at this restaurant we loved before they closed.  We always went home on Memorial Day and yes, I see the recipe brewing.  The same darn cop pulled us over EVERY SINGLE TIME.  One would think I would have known better but nope; I just kept getting busted.  We were so familiar to him that one year I had changed cars from a Trans Am to a Land Rover and he not only asked what happened to the other car, he wanted to know how I got that one.  So my mother shoots off, “We STOLE it!” and the officer leaned his blond head into her window and said, “What did you say?”  I will never forget my little mother stuck her head in like a turtle and then said again, only much more quietly and ending on a question, “We stole it?”  The officer just laughed while he issued us our annual ticket.  After we drove off I told her we could have wound up in some type of country jail with no one to help get us out.  Mama said she just couldn’t help it because he’d made her so darn mad.  She was something.  She was sweet but sassy, hilarious, and incredibly smart.  The American writer Dr. Seuss once said, “Don’t cry because it’s over.  Smile because it happened.”  My mother had the most serene smile and I will never forget my delight in college upon learning that her first name meant “The Smiling One” in Aleutian.  No name could have been more fitting.  When I close my eyes I can still see her tiny, freckled hands and hear her soft voice.  My beautiful mother; The Smiling One.

I am borrowing this from a pedicab driver we had in France.  He said he had the best job in the world because all of Paris was his office.  And he was right.  I snapped this at a stop sign on my way to my first round of the morning.  The sun was just rising which is why the light is faint.  My car is my office.  I have worked on Black Friday every year since I was fifteen.  The difference is I now have the privilege and pleasure of visiting with and caring for animals.  I love my job and do not resent working essentially every day of the year.  Some days are more stressful than others but then that is just life.  Growing up we never had any money to spend so Black Friday just doesn’t mean shopping to me.  I do not like the crowds, the battle for parking, and the frenzied feel of it all.  The Scottish singer Annie Lennox once said, “I will go out of my way to avoid the shopping crowds and the extreme consumerism – I hate all that.”  For those who love to hit the stores AFTER Thanksgiving day, enjoy!  As for me, I am going to try and relax a little, and I will be spending some of my time admiring the view from my office.

I can no longer wear contacts and I have not worn glasses in years.  I remember my first pair were 1970’s huge and I had my initials on the bottom right corner of one of the lenses.  I have never liked glasses and in fact there is only one pair of sunglasses I have ever found that I like.  Now I have actually found a pair of peepers I really, truly like!  First, I can SEE (I need them for distance) and second, they actually make me happy.  They are my favorite, beloved shade of blue, and I do not mind wearing them.  And I can see!  Did I mention that?  I am so grateful for my eyesight and once again I have been reminded what a tremendous blessing it is, not to be taken for granted.  The famous American author Helen Keller, whom I have always greatly admired, said, “Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.”  I think that is incredibly profound coming from a woman who spent her entire life blind.  There will always be shadows in life, but one can choose where they place their focus.  I choose to face the sunshine.

Oh the joys of the park.  I have just realized as I write this the only time I can recall going to the park with my folks was when we went to White Rock Lake.  Otherwise I just ran wild between two playgrounds with a pack of kids in our apartment complex.  But times have changed.  So now I am instructed to put down my iPhone and come and play.  Literally being on the see saw again makes me feel like a little kid.  Only in the ’70’s it was a red wooden board and you just held on and prayed you wouldn’t fall off.  Now they have handles and springs to make sure one doesn’t go too high.  Speaking of high, my little one braved climbing the caterpillar and then became afraid of coming back down.  I remember doing the exact same thing.  I shot this picture before I helped her toes reach terra firma again.  She was so proud!  The great South African revolutionary Nelson Mandela said:

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.  The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

So take courage!  Whether it’s believing in yourself, or taking a ride on a caterpillar.