When life throws a curve ball


It has been over a month since I’ve shared anything I have written and when I saw today’s prompt, “Curve”, I knew it was time.

When life throws a curve ball, we can back away in fear, freeze up and hope it flies by quickly with no pain, or we can plant our feet firmly, bend those knees and get ready to knock it out of the park.  I am certainly no baseball expert, but you get my point.

With that said, let’s back up to the end of March when my youngest daughter’s pregnancy was going along smoothly.   We had big plans for purchasing must have items, getting the baby room ready; you know… the normal things you do at this part of the journey.

Early April, she went for an ultrasound that indicated a problem with baby’s tummy, so she went to a specialist and found out she would likely be having a planned C-section and her baby would be having surgery to correct whatever the “bowel problem” was.  The goal was to have her reach at least 36-38 weeks.   This was our first curve ball and we all braced ourselves, thanked God that it wasn’t anything worse and re-evaluated plans.

As her little belly grew substantially due to the increase in amniotic fluid, she looked as though she would burst, and that she did at 32 weeks.  Well, I guess burst is a strong word but I got a call in the wee hours of April 13th, where her calm voice said, “Mom, my water broke, I guess we should go to the hospital”.   Second curve ball here, and I was a little concerned because the specialist had just said the day before, “What we don’t want to happen is for her water to break and cause a placental abruption (tearing placenta away from uterus), as this will cause more complications”.   Need I tell you exactly what happened?

Little Cali was born sporting a distended little belly not even an hour after arriving at the hospital via an emergency cesarean.  Hours later, I stood with friends and family and watched a helicopter lift off taking her to Miami Children’s Hospital as my daughter, having lost 4 units of blood, was receiving transfusions and already lamenting being apart from her firstborn.   The following day Cali had surgery and we breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God again when we received the news that she had done great.

Our daughter was having issues getting blood pressure down although she had never had a moment’s trouble with it before, more blood was needed and no one could see Cali except her mom or her dad.  There were times when I felt like I was on a spinning ride at the fair, nauseous and needing to get off, but there was no end in sight.  However, most of the time, I felt peace; wonderful, beautiful peace.

You see, I believe the entire bible and I know that the rain falls on the just and the unjust.  I know that God has a plan, whether I can see it or understand it and I have faith that He will be with me through the storms of life.  He has been for years.  Specific storms may cease, but storms in general will continue to show up in this life.  We all anxiously await a time when everything is comfy, cozy and peaceful forevermore and that won’t happen this side of heaven.  The sooner we realize that and come to terms with it; we will stop waiting for tomorrow and live in the present.

With God on my side, I can brace up against the storms of life, knowing I have an advocate.  Don’t bother questioning me about His faithfulness because I am a lifelong fan.  With Him on my side, I can face any curve ball that life throws me with the confidence that He will never leave me or forsake me.  Like my favorite song says, “Your love surrounds me in the eye of the storm”.

We have felt the love and hand of God in so many ways in the past few weeks.  We felt it as we held hands with our loyal and faithful Pastor as she led us in prayer, we felt it in the love expressed by family, friends and community, we felt it when doctors used the word “miracle”.  We have received monetary donations, cards, gifts, phone calls, messages, fundraisers lovingly set up by friends, hotel bookings, decals for our cars, flowers, food, house cleaning, baby crib and room finishing and most importantly lots of prayers!  I have probably forgotten something and if I have, I ask for mercy.  The outpouring of love has been overwhelming and our families will never forget it.

So, batter up – face that pitch – Thank you for your prayers for our baby Cali.  She is doing very well and we are trusting God for His will.


The pitcher has got only a ball. I’ve got a bat. So the percentage of weapons is in my favor and I let the fellow with the ball do the fretting.

— Hank Aaron

Fiddler crabs and tomato gravy


Good afternoon, friends.  I would like your help with something.  The following is an excerpt from what I hope might possibly become my first novel.  Can you take a peek and share your thoughts, please?  If you read below, would you want to read more?

Susie’s bare feet sunk into the soft, cool mud, as she chased the fiddler crab back into the hole she had watched it emerge from.   Her footprints made her think of the plaque on Granny’s wall.  Granny said the plaque reminded her that when things got tough, Jesus carried her.  Susie smiled as she thought of Jesus carrying Granny.

Granny was standing in the mud a few feet away from her, the hem of her pleated skirt damp from their adventure.  Her silver hair was still tucked neatly in a bun and she was patiently watching Susie chase the crabs, as she dabbed at her face with her hanky.  That’s what granny called her embroidered handkerchiefs and she always had one in her pocket or her bible.

Granny never rushed Susie the way some grown ups did.  Most of the time, when Granny wasn’t “carrying a burden”, she acted just like one of the kids.  She was always willing to play games, dance, draw, sing or go on treasure hunts and she always made it fun and encouraged imagination.  Granny could turn her rocking chair into a pirate ship and Susie and her brother and sister would walk the plank on books with throw pillows masquerading as sharks waiting in the deep, murky water.

When it was nearly 5:00pm, it was time to get dinner ready.  Papa like to eat early, go to bed early and rise early.  Tonight, Granny was cooking pork chops and tomato gravy.  She had made a fruit salad earlier and left it in the fridge to chill.  Susie liked the sound of pork chops and fruit salad, but she would have to make sure she didn’t get a very big serving of the rice and tomato gravy.  She liked the taste, but the big chunks of the tomato were just too much.  She wished granny had made brown gravy instead.

Granny and Papa didn’t mind what you ate, but they sure didn’t like wasting.  Susie thought that in their book, a wasteful person must be as bad as a thief.  Mom said it was because they had lived during the Great Depression.  That was when banks closed and no one had much money, so they were very careful.  Mom and Dad didn’t like waste either, but it didn’t seem to bother them as much as it did Gran and Papa.

Susie didn’t care though; she just tried very hard not to waste.  She loved to be at Granny’s more than anywhere else in the world, although she felt a little guilty about that sometimes and would never have told her mom and dad.  There was a peacefulness at Granny’s that she just didn’t always feel anywhere else.

Adventures with Ayda


I needed desperately to squeeze those chunky legs, to hear that melodic laugh and to hold that tiny hand in mine.  It was time.  Nana had to see Ayda.  I made the arrangements with my eldest and drove through rain most of the day to arrive at the pre-determined meeting place.

After a late lunch, we transferred her belongings to my car and headed north.  She is only four so I was a tiny bit nervous that she would get upset when we pulled out of the parking lot, but she just said, “I’ll miss mommy and daddy” and that was that.  We chatted about pre-school and recent birthday parties and Christmas.  “Ayda, do you see the leaves?  Do you know about the fall season?” I asked.  She answered in what I thought was somewhat condescending tone and said, “Nana, are you talking about autumn, when the leaves turn beautiful colors like yellow and orange and brown and fall from the trees?”   Yes, my dear.  Yes, I was.

In a couple of hours, we were pulling into a hotel driveway, ready to stop for the night as our destination was Pigeon Forge, TN.  We were going to visit relatives and she was excited to get to spend time with some of her younger cousins.  She wasn’t sure about this whole idea of staying in a “cabin” though.  For some reason she thought all cabins were inferior dwellings.  As we passed barns and falling down sheds, she would ask, “Nana, is it a cabin like that?”  I assured her that it certainly was not and that she would be pleasantly surprised.

Nana forgot how time consuming it was to unfasten a car set, put shoes back on and wait for little slowpoke to crawl out of the back of my Mustang.  After we checked in, I realized that with my bag, her bag, her toy bag, her snack bag, her electronic game and dinner we had picked up, I was going to need a cart.  I grabbed one, loaded it and sat her on top of my bag before realizing I had to do something with my car.  After arranging the cart inside and loading her back into the car seat, I found a parking place and we were ready to go upstairs.

Pushing the cart was akin to maneuvering a side-ways driving Walmart shopping cart filled with groceries.  I finally managed to get it to the elevator without taking some drywall with me.  Ayda spotted the “fire sign” and wanted me to tell her what it said.  I read, “In case of fire do not use the elevator”.  Way to go, Nana.  Little did I know that every time we used an elevator for the rest of our journey she would ask quite anxiously if I was sure there wasn’t a fire and explain that maybe we shouldn’t ride the elevator.    Thankfully, a nice young man helped me get the cart onto the elevator and even got off at our floor and pulled it out for us.  I think he discerned that Nana was exhausted and I was sincerely grateful for his kindness.

Finally, it was bedtime and Ayda and I lay in the darkness, the only light emanating from her Nabi which is NOT a computer, Nana.  It’s an electronic game that also has episodes of some of her favorite shows.  I wasn’t going to argue with her about watching one on our first night together, far from home.  We talked about our plans and said prayers and she was out like a light.


I decided the next morning to let her sleep in; partly because she needed it and partly because I love to watch her sleep, with her little brown tendrils floating across the pillow.  Before long her eyes opened wide and the first words out of her mouth were, “Why is that light on?”  You waked me in the dark and you are supposed to wake me in the light?”  I quickly rose from the chair I was perched on and opened the light blocking curtains.  She grinned when she saw that it really was daytime and then she snuggled in my lap while her little body finished waking up.

I dressed her and brushed her long curls carefully and reacquainted myself with pig tails and bows.  We went down to the continental breakfast in the hotel lobby where Ayda picked a muffin.  I looked up to see her with a horrible expression, somewhere between tears and disgust and discovered that said muffin had hidden berries.  I assured her she could spit them out and I got up to make a waffle for her instead.  The waffle was acceptable and I sat there and enjoyed my coffee, the grinning recipient of the “She is so precious” and like compliments, like grandma’s do.


We arrived at the cabin later in the day and she was thoroughly impressed, as was I.  There were stuffed bears and toys and snacks and a bunk-bed and the promise of soon-to-arrive children.  We enjoyed the time with family and I enjoyed time with her out and about in Pigeon Forge and through the Great Smokey Mountains.  She loved being with family and was not happy on Saturday, when it was time to go.


We travelled home towards South FL, because Papa had been unable to join us due to work and he was dying to see her, as were others in the family. We took a little longer route to go through the Smokies and stopped several times to pick up leaves and get pictures.  We stopped for ice cream in Cherokee and picked up taffy, pecan logs and a coloring book near the GA/FL line.  I have never seen a 4 year old travel so well.  She never complained; she sang, made me tell her stories about Jesus and played.  Every once in a while she would ask, “How much longer til Papa?”  Every once in a while, I would reach back to squeeze her leg and she would grab my hand and hold it for a few minutes.  Oh, the feeling of that little hand securely snug in my own!

After a week with Nana and Papa, assisted by Aunt Dee, since Nana had to work, we made the journey back to meet her mommy.  We stayed in another hotel and the next morning we found a pumpkin patch with a maze and then met mommy at a beautiful state park.


As my daughter strapped her in the car seat, she said, “I’ll miss you Nana”.  I told her not to cry and that it wasn’t goodbye just see you later.  I got in my quiet car, tears welling up in my eyes and my heart aching with missing her already.  With a song of praise and a prayer I encouraged myself and headed south alone, thankful for the precious time with her.

The lost laces

Shoe lace on a sneaker

Shoe lace on a sneaker (Photo credit: MoHotta18)

I began writing this on November 27, 2013 and about two paragraphs in, I got a phone call that my beloved Granny starring in this little story had gone home to heaven.  If you are a follower, you will know I have many posts starring the precious, Granny.  I hope you enjoy this one!


Granny lived in the yellow house across from the  K-12 school I attended during my elementary years.  Words would not begin to express the comfort that was derived from knowing she was so close, knowing that while I studied, she was in her rocking chair with the bible open on her lap, or visiting with one of her many friends, or maybe even baking my favorite chocolate pie.

One day in particular brings back another memory of a day Granny single-handedly turned my grey skies to blue.  It was a school day and on that day, I had P.E. as we called it back then, for physical education.  This meant I had to bring and wear the required hideous uniform which consisted of blue loose legged shorts which made my bony legs even more apparent, a white t-shirt, tennis shoes and white socks.  P.E. went well as far as I recall, except for Tommy calling me chicken legs, which always got him into trouble and upset me far more than I let on.

Afterwards, for some reason that eludes me, several of us had not only removed our shoes, but our laces as well.  When it was time to change and go back to class, I discovered that my laces were nowhere to be found.  This distressed me greatly and in retrospect, I have no idea why, but it provoked me to tears.  Granted, I was well known for losing or misplacing things and I was horrified at the idea of admitting that I had done it again.   This was also during a time in our lives when money was tight and I didn’t want to be the reason for another expense, albeit a small one, so perhaps this contributed to my extreme dismay.

I vaguely remember making my way to the office, with one thing on my mind and that was to call my granny.  I dialed her number on the rotary phone and when that beloved voice answered, I whispered my dilemma to her looking away from the eyes peering at me from across the counter.  Granny told me to come right over after school and not to worry about a thing.

So, when school was out, instead of boarding the hot, smelly school bus, I ran across the street to granny’s house.

After making sure I was well fed and hydrated, Granny and I left for the local hardware store.  We lived in such a small town, I remember doubting we would be successful in our quest.  Granny swung open the door and I followed as it chimed a greeting to us and announced to the proprietor there were customers.  She marched straight up to the counter and asked for white shoe laces, without even mentioning my name, bless her heart.  And lo and behold, they had some.

Granny paid and we waited for the little brown paper bag holding the laces to be passed across the counter.  I gushed with relief and thankfulness and Granny just smiled and hugged me tightly to her.

Now, I don’t know all of the details and never did ask, but my mother showed up later that afternoon to pick me up and not a word was uttered about missed school buses or missing laces.

My heart still swells with love and gratitude when I remember how granny always made me feel like I was the most important person in the entire world.  It’s funny because if you ask my siblings or my cousins they would tell you the same thing.  She loved us all and made each of us feel like number one without slighting anyone.  Tonight I’m feeling very blessed and thankful for her highly valued presence in my life once again.

Digging up Memories

Reaching upward drinking in the rain

Reaching upward drinking in the rain

There is nothing more therapeutic in my opinion than digging in the dark soil, until it’s trapped beneath my fingernails, or pulling out the weeds around a plant or in a bed.  These sneaky imposters, sporting defiant root systems and a plethora of seeds would like to spread themselves far and wide, but not while I’m on guard.

There is also something to be said for the feeling of accomplishment when you stand, back aching and neck burning from the sun’s much too ardent kiss; and admire your work.

The desire to dig in the dirt goes back at least four generations on my mother’s side.  Most of my memories of my great-grandmother Hall are in her yard as I relentlessly peppered her with questions about what each planted was named.  I loved to hear the names roll off of her lips; “Why that’s night blooming jasmine, honey”, or “this is a hydrangea or sweet viburnum”.  The names sounded exotic and romantic.

Granny’s yard displayed much beauty due to her diligent care.  I can only suppose that it was her love for gardening that sparked an interest in my grandmother.IMG_3378

Many times, if you visited either of them you would find them outside.  I don’t remember ever seeing either of them in anything but dresses.   They may have worn something else, but not that I ever remember.  Of course that was when the length of dresses kept their “neathies” (as my mom liked to call anything that should be covered by clothes) unexposed.

My mother shared their green thumb and quickly transformed any yard we had into a well landscaped display of her talent.  She recruited us as often as she could to help her and most of the time I was pretty compliant.

I inherited the love as well, but unfortunately not the knack or skill; I fear my thumb is sorely lacking in green.  Thankfully, I’m getting better with age, but my kill quota was pretty high there for a while.  Maybe one reason I love it so much is due to the memories that I made with each of them.  Take some time to dig up some good memories of your own and relish them!


The day I became a Nana

Stop and smell the flowers

Stop and smell the flowers


Yesterday I was mom, aunt, daughter

A friend, cousin and wife.

Today I became a Nana

I never could have guessed the way I would feel

You changed my life on February 28th, 2010

The day I became a Nana

Those other grandparents tried to warn me

They spoke of a new and different kind of love

About how hearts turn to mush

But I just didn’t get it

Until the day I became a Nana


Happy 3rd Birthday to my baby girl 🙂


Nana and Ayda playing patty cake

Nana and Ayda playing patty cake

“I luff you Nana”, she said.  Now, I’m not entirely sure if she meant those words this particular time from the bottom of her nearly three year old heart, or if it was the overwhelming gratitude she felt at my latest promise.  I had just said, “Nana will send you the Peter Pan movie”.

For anyone who has the immense, incomparable pleasure of being a grandparent, it really doesn’t matter why they said it.  It melts your heart, liquefies it right into a puddle of love.  Those four little words make you feel like the most important person on earth.  They are coveted words and not always shared so freely by our independent little cherubs.

Before we were blessed with Ayda, I remember other grandparents and their endless pictures and chatter about their precious little ones, the most brilliant little people ever conceived.  I thought I understood.  I didn’t.  Not even close.

I was there when she was born.  After my nervousness for the safety and health of my eldest throughout the process, I was blissful to see the little dark haired head make its entry on the scene.  The thrill of her first cries upon encountering this big, bright world overwhelmed me.

I remember my first trip back out to California after they had been to visit for an extended period.  Her daddy had been in Afghanistan serving his country, so they stayed with us during his tour of duty.  She wasn’t very old and it had been a few months since I’d seen her.

My daughter picked me up from the LA airport, in the early evening and we enjoyed catching up on the drive back to Temecula.  Ayda was playing at a friend’s house and we stopped by there to pick her up.  She sat in her car seat and jabbered all the way home.  I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her but I wasn’t sure she would welcome being held.

I will never forget getting out of the car at their apartment and her little arms reaching out for me, just like those months between visits had never passed.  And oh, the feeling when those chubby little arms hugged me ever so tightly.  I still get tears in my eyes thinking about it.  She remembered!

Am I smitten?  Totally!  In love with her?  Absolutely!  And don’t even begin to think you can understand, unless you’re one of the proud, the elite, the grandparents!!

The day fingernails won me over

I was a jealous little girl and I couldn’t bear the idea of not getting the lion’s share of the attention from any adults I might spend time with.  This was such a problem with me that I would plot and plan evasive little schemes to get to have my granny all to myself.  If my brother and sister wanted to go stay with her I would remind them that granny didn’t have television and they would miss their favorite programs.  Or, I would pretend that I wasn’t going after all and tell them what fun we would have, only to sneak out and go to her house before they had time to realize I was going.  I was often a sneaky, deceitful child in my dealings with them.

I remember one time granny seriously considered adopting a young girl and I was absolutely devastated and I let her know it.  Looking back, I realize how incredibly selfish and self-centered I was, but at the time I guess I didn’t realize that granny had enough love to go around.  There is no justification for my feeling this way; I was surrounded by people who loved me and let me know it daily.  However, I strive to be transparent here, and this is just the way it was for a long time.

You can just imagine my dismay when I learned that my uncle, who at the time was away at college, was bringing his girlfriend home.  A girlfriend?!?  Are you kidding me?  This just couldn’t be.  I could not allow this to happen.  My uncle had been one of my babysitters when I was young and he held a special place in my heart.   There just wasn’t room for another woman in the picture.

Somehow, in spite of my objections to her very presence on earth, much less with MY uncle, I managed to ride to the airport to pick them up on her first trip home to meet the family.  My little heart was pounding, and my mind was whirling with ideas of how dreadful she would be.  I don’t remember the exact details but I do remember that I ended up sitting next to her in the car on the ride home.  She was tiny and had quite the southern accent.  She had beautiful bouncy brown hair, a tiny splash of freckles and the most beautiful naturally long fingernails I had ever seen.  She let me play with her nails all the way home and looking back, I wonder if that drove her crazy at the time, if she hated it that I sat there pulling, probing and picking at her nails.

Needless to say, before we even completed the hour drive home, she had won my heart and has been carving out her own private place in it ever since.  Not long after that (I don’t think they were married when we first met, but my memory may fail me on that point) she became my aunt.  She has always shown me unconditional love and taught me a lot about marriage and family and my life is richer because she has been a part of it.  I know everyone in my family would agree.

It’s funny because her son and his family were visiting me this past weekend and during church one of his girls sat in my lap and begin to play with my fingernails and it brought back such a flood of fond memories. And you know what?  I didn’t hate it at all; it was precious.

Digging to China

My sister, brother and I


I am always silently thankful when I see a parent explaining something tenderly and patiently to a child instead of demeaning them or yelling at them.  It grieves me when I see adults talking to children in a belittling or humiliating way, in a way that causes the child to lose their confidence.  Don’t get me wrong, I am completely opposed to rebellion from children and wholeheartedly believe that children should be obedient and respectful.  I’m referring to those times when a child is just being a child; they spill something or they ask a simple innocent question; or they can’t sit still for very long.  These aren’t reasons for yelling and screaming and treating them like imbeciles.

When my sister, brother and I were kids, my paternal grandparents lived in a wood frame house, but the support structure underneath wasn’t one huge slab of concrete.  From what I remember they were more like columns of concrete.  It wasn’t on stilts, but it was high enough off the ground that we could crawl under there and sit down very comfortably with plenty of room overhead to spare.   I should know.  My brother, sister and I spent enough time under there playing.  There was some type of lattice around the base of the house and we could look out and spy on people, another favorite past time.  This particular memory took me back to a time when had been outside playing and decided that we could probably dig our way to China if we worked together.

There was a porch by the back door and we would get under there to hide while playing hide and seek or to make mud pies, or if we were hiding a new stray kitten from Poppy.  We had noticed that we could keep crawling and get to a rather large (or so it seemed at the time) area near the front/center of the house.  This is where we decided to begin digging.  I can still remember the smell of dirt and the musty, dark, coolness under the house.

Now, before you ask why in the world we would go under a house to dig to China, please remember we were quite young.  However, we also felt we wouldn’t be discovered this way so we could dig to our hearts content without getting into trouble.  We lived in a very safe neighborhood and had free rein to run all over the place so we knew granny wouldn’t come looking for us for quite some time.

We began to dig with our spoons, sticks, toy shovels and we may have even found an adult size shovel in the backyard.  We dug until we were filthy and bored with it and then went on about our business doing something else.  I don’t remember how many days we continued to pursue our efforts, but we were bound and determined.  I’m not sure how we thought we would communicate if and when we got there.

If my memory serves me correct, as the event loomed ever closer (reaching China, of course), we finally ended up nearly bursting with excitement and had to tell granny about our wonderful plan.  If you’ve read prior blogs about my granny, you will understand why it was so easy to tell her and then so natural for her to insist on coming under the house to inspect our project.  Granny never yelled.  She never told us that our ideas were ludicrous or made us feel stupid in any way.  She merely explained that it was more likely for the house to cave in than it was for us to reach China.  And she explained it in such a funny, simple way that it all made sense and somehow we ended up almost feeling like it was our decision to stop the excavation.  Thus, it became a sweet memory and not one filled with shame and embarrassment.

I’m thankful for the adults in my life that took time to explain things and showed me so much love.  There was the occasional offender but for the most part I was very blessed to be surrounded by loving, compassionate, kind people;  the type of people who saw the innocence and joy in the eyes of a child and wanted to bring their dreams to life instead of raining on their parade.  Praise and encouragement really should be lavished whenever possible, especially on children.

Slow down, have some fun

I’m sitting here with heavy eyelids looking at all the Christmas decorations scattered all over the place.  I had good intentions, I really did.  I was going to have the inside of my house completely decorated today.

I got up early this morning, did my devotions, enjoyed my coffee and started off with a bang.  Seven boxes later, tree up and the remaining mountain of merriment covering my dining room table and floor, I lost my momentum.  Then my daughter said, “Let’s go to the movies”.  That was the end of it, so here I sit at 10:00pm surrounded by nutcrackers, snow men, greenery, angels and scented candles galore with no energy left at all.

But, I will have to say, I’m very proud of myself.  Normally when I put my mind to something, there is nothing that can stop me.  I tend to be a very resolved, stay with the program, planner or some might say more like a rigid, unbending, fanatic.  It’s unlike me, out of character to just drop everything on a whim, just to go have fun.

This felt good though; more quality time with my daughter and her friend and I got to see a movie I’ve been wanting to see, not to mention the peppermint chocolate chip milkshake from Chick Fil A.  Honestly, I look back and wish I could say that I had done this a lot more often, especially when my children were younger.  The house might not have been as clean and maybe I wouldn’t have felt as “in control”, but we would have had more fun. I’ve heard it asked before, “What will our children remember?  A clean house or the priceless memories we shared with them?”  Thankfully, I was blessed with lots of good memories and I’m sure my children were as well.  However, I know there were times when I was too busy, or just too devoid of flexibility to mix things up a bit for the sake of frivolity.

If you have young children, don’t hesitate to stop whatever you’re doing and embrace those moments.  They are gone all too quickly.  Sometimes I think that is why grandparents are so amazing; because they have learned this and will more often make the time to make a memory.

If God has blessed you with a child, grandchild, niece, nephew or any other child you spend time with, share your knowledge with them, lead them, guide them, but take care to just stop what you are doing sometimes and have fun!  Play in the water hose, make pictures out of the clouds, play that game and listen with your heart.  You won’t regret one minute of it!

Good night; I’ll be dreaming that elves come in and finish my decorating by morning….

Mitch Teemley

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