“Deck the porch with artichokes and oranges! Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la la!”

On Wednesday our daughter Sara hung the Christmas wreath she made for us outside on the front porch. She’s a floral designer at a local flower shop and I’m always so thrilled with her unique creations.

When I went outside for eleven seconds on Thursday morning to take this photo, it was four degrees below zero with a slight wind. Even though winter doesn’t officially arrive for several more days, most of the Midwest apparently did not get that memo. Our views are white, our furnace is roaring, our hands are lizard-like and our resolve is firm. We can endure this until spring. At least Michael keeps telling me we can.

Here’s our wreath:

It may not have any boughs of holly, but if you look closely you’ll see a few unusual items in there with all the traditional balsam and cedar. Fresh oranges, pomegranates and artichokes make it interesting to look at. I doubt that anyone will see those from the street as they drive by, though.

What Christmas decoration do you have up/out that you really like? Send me a photo and I’ll put it on the blog so we can all enjoy it together.

Blessings,

Sometimes when a new month begins I like to ask readers what that particular month means in their lives. And since I’ve been a listmaker since the 1980s (but never, ever before that), I like to list the things that certain months mean to me.

To 99% of us, December means Christmas, it means the celebration of the birth of Jesus, it means shopping and carols and too many events to attend, it means spiced cider and Christmas cookie baking, and it means the smell of pine and the emptying of wallets. For many people, Christmas is a lonely season to get through as best they can, a time when good memories are scarce and the dysfunction they’ve grown up in still colors each day.

I’d like to know what a perfect December day would look like for you. What things, activities, people, music, food would be highest on your list? If you could, what would you cut out of your Christmas season? What would you add to it? Please take a moment to share, either one thing or several things in detail. I look forward to reading your thoughts!

For me, a perfect December day would include:

*Softly falling snow – huge fluffy flakes – no wind, and about 28 degrees. None of this hundred degree below zero stuff for which Minnesota is known.

*Tree lights glowing, carols playing softly on the intercom/stereo all throughout the house.

*One small but meaningful present under the tree for each person, with no focus or emphasis on those presents.

*Healing for Michael.

*The knowledge that the ice dam problem was solved once and for all.

*A savory something-or-other baking in the oven, a table set with candles.

*A small, stone neighborhood church within walking distance, where we would go for a candlelight service, carol singing and a message that would make our hearts swell with gratitude for what advent really means.

*The knowledge that something we did or gave or prayed made a difference to someone else in the world.

*A new and unique way to convey love and gratitude and motherly pride to my three precious daughters, Sharon, Carolyn and Sara.

*A flock of cardinals miraculously singing and feeding outside our kitchen window.

*A visit from friends, spiced cider to warm the hands, a fun game played with lots of laughter.

*Kisses and hugs from every grandchild.

*The story I never tire of, read aloud by my sons-in-law Chris and Jeremy, from the book of Luke.

*A knowing look between Michael and me, conveying a thousand memories and a profound, shared gratitude for what Jesus has meant in our marriage.

*Happy sledding near Birdinal Creek.

*Harmony, gentleness, kindness, respect and a deep, abiding love among and between every single family member.

*A lively crackling fire in the hearth.

*A walk in the snow after dinner.

*A short time of quiet prayer as a family, thanking God for giving us to each other, and asking for His help, guidance and strength to walk humbly with Him in the coming year.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

How about you? What would make a perfect December day for you?

Last May we went to the Wisconsin Dells for a little mini-vacation with the three gals we care for. We went at a perfect time — in the middle of the week right after the Memorial Day holiday — so the water park at our hotel was not in the least bit crowded, and on some days it seemed we almost had the place to ourselves. No lines, not much noise, just mile after mile of slippery slides and meandering “rivers” on which to tube. Our gals had a blast and so did we.

On the last evening there, we were all tucked away in our spacious adjoining suites; some were watching TV and I was reading. As I read propped up in bed, my heart did a funny flip-flop in my chest. It didn’t hurt but it was a strange sensation and it made me put the book down for a few seconds. I felt fine and kept on reading, but within minutes it happened again. And again. I stopped reading and counted — my heart would do a little unexpected two-second dance every couple of minutes. I told Michael about it and he did the first thing he always does: comforts me and then prays out loud in a way that makes me cry and feel so thankful for him.

Since I felt well and had no pain or lightheadedness I just decided to do nothing about this until I got home. Who wants to go to an unfamiliar emergency room in a city hours from home while your loved ones are forced to sit and wait for three to four hours while you finally find out your heart is okay except for an occasional cartwheel it performs? Not I.

When we returned home I made a doctor’s appointment and got in fairly fast. Our family doctor is a wonderful, compassionate man who takes time with his patients and is so swamped it’s hard to get in to see him. Funny how mentioning the words “irregular heart rhythm” causes the person who makes the appointments to put you right at the top of the list. Next time I have a sore knee I think I’ll just sort of mention as an aside that when my knee hurts my heart goes into an irregular rhythm. Then I won’t have to wait three months to see my doctor.

I’d been having these little flip-flops many times a day by the time I saw Dr. M. But of course when I saw him, he couldn’t hear anything unusual. He listened to my heart a long time. And then he patiently listened a lot longer, but the acrobat in my ventricles was napping at the time. Nothing. So Dr. M. ordered a Holter heart monitor for me, and I was sent down the hall to have one fitted right away.

A nice nurse hooked up many wires and electrodes to my body (it seemed like more than the five shown here) and she showed me how to punch a little button on the top of the device every single time I felt my heart act weirdly. The Holter heart monitor was a bit larger than a deck of cards, and was clipped to the waistband of my jeans. It would take a continuous EKG of my heart’s activity for at least twenty-four hours, and a cardiologist at a special heart clinic in Minneapolis would then assess things, paying special attention to the times I had hit the button to point out when my heart was misbehaving.

So now I had to constantly be in tune to what my heart was doing, and quickly push the button each time I felt it do its odd jump and a brief but sharp thud against my ribcage. It’s strange how when one has to focus on something, what was once barely noticeable in the background now steps to the front of the line and screams, “Ten-HUT!”  I was so intent on making sure that I hit the button whenever my heart flipped around, I got to the point where I could feel the odd rhythm coming on before it actually jumped. It was a strange pause in my heartbeat, always followed by the disconcerting thud. It never hurt, never caused any other alarming symptoms, but it sometimes gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I felt the thud. I’m pretty sure that was mental rather than physical.

I left Dr. M.’s office and as I walked to the van my heart flipped. I quickly reached down and fumbled under the hem of my shirt so I could hit the button. It took longer than I expected and I wondered if the person at the heart center in Minneapolis who would eventually read this strip of paper would be able to tell when the incident had happened since the button was pressed a full ten seconds after the heart misfired. This anxiety probably caused another misfiring and by the time I reached my vehicle I had hit the button three or four times already. This is interesting, I thought. Oh, and did I mention I was supposed to be keeping a nice little journal along with all the button punching I was going to be doing for the next day or so? Each time I felt something amiss with my heart I was to hit the button and then record in my little diary what I was doing at the time. You see where this is going. They wanted to see if the malfunction was related to anything in particular, such as extreme physical activity (ha), or after eating a certain food or drinking a caffeinated beverage, or talking with a certain “irregular” person on the phone, or while concentrating on a stressful subject. This way, diagnosis would be simpler and the recommendations obvious: “Ma’am, your heart misfires when you have your morning Cappuccino Cooler – please stop drinking your morning Cappuccino Cooler.” Or, “your heart misfires when you are talking to the Foster care licensor at the state capital – please tell her you are no longer allowed to speak with her per order of your cardiologist.” Or, “your heartbeat was erratic when you were cooking dinner, we strongly recommend that you retire from cooking and begin dining out seven nights a week.” And so on.

But with me it was not to be so simple. My previously normal heart did its flip-flops like a fish on the dock, so many times in that one twenty-four hour period it was astounding. I pushed that button at least 20-30 times each waking hour. I just did my normal tasks all throughout the day with one hand at the ready, hooked near the waist of my jeans. I looked like a female John Wayne. I even started talking with a slow drawl and walking slightly sideways.

After over a day of pushing a little button on a little device clipped to my clothes, I went back to the doctor’s office to have it removed. I was told that it would take at least ten days to two weeks for the results to come back. From what Dr. M. had told me, they would be looking especially for signs that the misfires were one right after another with no rest in between, because those kinds of beats could cause blood clots to form, and most everyone knows blood clots have never been highly regarded by the medical community.

When my results finally came in from the heart center in Minneapolis, my doctor called me. He told me I’d been having PVCs. Pre-Ventricular Contractions, and apparently this condition is not “malignant,” meaning life-threatening. The flip-flops didn’t occur one immediately right after the other, so they aren’t too concerned about clots. He said it’s fairly common, especially as people age. He said I could take a medication if I wanted, if I felt the acrobatics my heart was doing were bothersome enough to me. The medication would be a beta-blocker, a high blood pressure med (which I don’t need) that would slow things down and force a more stable heart rhythm. Never an avid pill-taker, I opted to forgo the medication for now.

In the meantime, I’m learning to live with my Pre-Ventricular Contractions. I notice them often enough, but not as much as when I had to focus on them and punch a button and journal about them all the livelong day. I’ve only noticed one thing that seems to significantly increase the jumping and bumping of my now-errant heart. It jumps and bumps frequently still, but if I drink a Pepsi, the rhumba turns into a tango. I’m not much of a soda pop drinker, but sometimes at SAGs when we’re at a restaurant I’ve been known to have a Pepsi with dinner. I don’t imbibe as often now. Interestingly, other caffeinated drinks don’t have the same effect on my heart as a Pepsi does. Any ideas about that?

This whole ordeal has raised many questions for me. What brought this on? Why did my heart just start misfiring in May? While we were on a fun vacation? There are obviously more questions than answers, but being so attentive to my physical heart has caused me to ponder the state of my spiritual heart. The analogies are many, and hopefully not lost on me.

What would happen in my life if I paid as much attention to the malfunctions of my spiritual heart as I have my physical heart these past months? What if each time my spiritual heart misfired, I could feel an instant, definite flip-flop and then press a button and write in my journal what I was doing at the time? What insight would I gain? I think I would learn that I was not taking the following verses seriously enough.

Proverbs 4:23 — Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.

Philippians 4:6-8 — Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

Psalm 73:26 — My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

When I guard my spiritual heart, life is so much better on every level. When I pray and take the things that so deeply concern me to the feet of my Savior and give them to Him, peace is so much more tangible. And when I remember that truly God is my strength and hope in all situations, that He is my best portion, then rest comes.

The problem is, I don’t always pray right away when needs and fears arise. I don’t always focus on Him in the midst of the clamoring worries that surround us. Sometimes I forget that He is my portion and that nothing satisfies like Jesus.

But now that I have a heart condition, it’s reminding me more and more of my other heart condition. It’s helping me pay attention to what I allow into my life and how I can guard my heart and my mind more consistently.

It’s not like I have to turn into a vigilante and get all militant now. It’s more like a relaxed way of making choices that contribute to the peace and joy God intends for me. Fretting and prayerlessness do not contribute to peace and joy. Have you found that to be true? I’ll bet more than a few of you reading understand this very well.

So, I had to wear a heart monitor for a little over a day, and it helped diagnose a problem with the function of my physical heart. I also have another heart monitor, and if I listen to Him, He diagnoses problems with the functions of my spiritual heart. I can’t see or touch this latter monitor, but if I’m paying attention, I can most definitely sense when He’s telling me something isn’t right. This spiritual heart monitor is the Holy Spirit, and the longer I walk with God the more clearly I sense His loving direction.

He nudges me when I’m quick to judge someone I don’t understand, and because He loves them so tenderly, He asks me to pray for them.

He lets me know that fudging the truth is not the way to live in His light and freedom.

He asks me to go the extra mile for people, even when I would prefer others to go the extra mile for me. He’s had a lot of experience in that Himself.

He whispers to me to restrain my urge to sigh impatiently or to press my point because I want to be right.

He prods me to pray and to trust Him in the dark instead of fretting and crying so much.

He bids me to come up higher in areas where I’ve been quite content to live in the ditches.

He lifts my chin to show me the way of hope rather than the path of despair.

He lets me know in a myriad of ways when my heart is not working just as it should. And He graciously provides the remedy each time I seek Him for it.

I’ve had two heart monitors in my life. One was about three inches by five inches, was powered by a battery and I wore it on my jeans for a little over a day. The Other has dwelled inside me since I was about twelve years old. He is bigger than the universe (Ephesians 4:10), is the source of all power (Colossians 1:17), and (perhaps most remarkable because of the two previously listed attributes), He loves me (Romans 8:39, John 3:16, Ephesians 2:4-5).

And, in case you didn’t know, He also loves you.

For His patience, for His love, and for His faithful monitoring of my heart, I’m thanking Jesus today.

I love the precious things my grandchildren say. And sometimes what they say is so funny I have a hard time keeping a straight face because their comments and questions are so off the wall. I try to take them seriously, though, because they’re often so solemn and earnest when they speak in the philosophical ways they do.

So, recently my four year-old granddaughter Vivienne was sitting on my lap. She studied my face intently and then posed this question: “Grandma why do you have stripes on your face?”

I tried not to chuckle at her innocent query. After all, what does a four year-old know about aging skin? Not a thing.

Before I tell you what I told Vivie, here are the “stripes” of which she spoke:

Stripes up close

Stripes from a distance

I could have responded with any number of answers, all of which are true. I could have said:

1. “Because I have a lot of Irish and Scottish blood in me, and my ancestors were most likely fair and freckled like I am.”

2.  “Because when I grew up in Southern California I used to go to the beach often with my friends and we would slather ourselves with baby oil and foolishly lay in the sun until we roasted.”

3.  “Because I’ve had at least ten blistering sunburns in my life.”

4.  “Because if you average one smile per day (which is much too conservative, of course), I have smiled at least 19,000 times in my lifetime.” It’s probably closer to 157,000 times, though. 🙂

5.  “Because I don’t belong to the Joan Rivers Society of Friends.”

6.  “Because I only moisturize my skin about four to six times a year.”

7.  “Because I’m one of the few who thinks Botox use is almost as noticeable as wrinkles.”

What I did say to Vivie was, “Because Grandma is getting older, and sometimes older skin gets stripes on it. Most people call them wrinkles.”

She listened intently, then reached up and patted my stripes very gently.

Then she hopped off my lap and trotted off to draw some flowers with her crayons.

Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might be found more suitable mates.

But the real soul-mate is the one you are actually married to.

J. R. R. Tolkien

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Last summer Michael and I went away for a much needed weekend of rest and play in Bayfield, Wisconsin. I wrote about it and posted a lot of strange photos here. We enjoyed ourselves so much we vowed to start taking more weekend trips whenever possible. We aren’t taking as much time off as some people in our profession do, but recently we went away for a quiet weekend to Grand Marais, MN and once again it was just what we had hoped: restorative, restful and fun.

Grand Marais is a sleepy little town on the north shore of Lake Superior, and through an internet search I found a place with three tiny cottages right on the edge of the big Lake. We stayed at Croftville Road Cottages, and we loved it so much we plan to return someday. Our little two-bedroom cottage was clean and bright, and the owners were friendly and helpful.

Here’s Cottage #2, the one we stayed in. It actually was much larger inside than it looks on the outside.

It had a great kitchen, a living room with a wolf theme, a spotless bathroom, and the main bedroom had a small stove for heat. Through the sliding glass door was an up close and personal view of the Lake. So yes, one can lay in bed and read while the cozy fire literally warms your feet, and the waves of Lake Superior pound rhythmically just yards away. The wooden muscles in my neck seemed to loosen within minutes.

We didn’t do any cooking, but I can definitely picture us coming back for a longer stay and bringing some groceries to make simple meals.

The stove in the living room heated up the cottage in minutes, and we sat in companionable silence and read, watched the Lake, and listened to a CD I bought in a gift shop downtown.

Celtic Loon was the incongruous name of the CD – are there loons in Ireland? Loons are the Minnesota state bird and I love their haunting call, but pairing the softly yodeling sound of loons with instrumental Celtic music and the sound of lapping waves seemed a little odd. Nonetheless, the music was soothing and we listened to it a lot while playing cribbage, reading and resting. There was a television in the cottage, but no TV reception (thank you God) and we didn’t bring a movie to watch, so in my opinion this just added to the peace.

As a matter of habit Michael always tries out the bed first thing, anywhere we go. So don’t invite us over to your house anytime soon, or he might just quietly disappear from view and be found minutes later testing the comfort of your bed. Take a close look at this photo. Here you find a dependable equation: Michael + comfy bed + warm fire + pounding Lake outside = smiling face.

Here’s the back of our cottage – there’s a picnic table, a BBQ and several chairs to pull up around the fire-pit. The nice folks at Croftville Road Cottages replenish the firewood on your porch anytime they see it’s needed. It was too late in the year to spend a lot of time outside, but we did have a wonderful fire late the first night we were there.

The leaves had fallen and the low gray clouds were a portent of winter, but we still ventured outside several times to sit at the edge of Lake Superior in this swing a little ways from our cottage. When was the last time you bundled up and sat on an old swing on the edge of a huge lake in the waning days of autumn? I highly recommend it.

We woke on Saturday morning to this view. The gray skies gave way to blue, and the sunrise over the Lake was lovely. We decided to drive into town for breakfast. We visited so late in the season that many of the eateries were closed down for the winter. We ended up going to the most crowded place, which can sometimes be a good sign. I’m not sure it was in this case. 🙂 I had an okay wild rice omelet and Michael had the meal he would live on three times a day if he had no wife to cook for him: two eggs over-easy, hash browns, link sausage and whole wheat toast with peanut butter.

One of the landmarks of tiny Grand Marais is the Ben Franklin store, which is cram-packed with almost every item you would ever need for life in the great north woods. I remember when I moved from Southern California to Northern Minnesota in 1981. Michael brought me to Grand Marais and this store completely reinforced the culture shock I’d experienced over and over. Woolrich, Pendleton, Sorrell, Minnetonka, Carhartt, Acorn, Hudson Bay – these were all brands that I’d never heard about before moving to American Siberia.

The aisles in the Ben Franklin are overflowing not only with shoes, boots and suitable clothing for the bitter cold, but if you need a Lefse, venison or wild rice cookbook, a hula hoop, some Wigwam socks, some art supplies and a pound box of chocolates, this is the store for you.

After breakfast and browsing we strolled down the the lake shore and breathed in and breathed out. What a luxury to have nothing special to do for an entire weekend! We knew how blessed we were and said so many times.

Here’s Michael, who is a true north woods man at heart. See the longing expression on his face as he looks out across the morning horizon and the fish lake calls his name?

I have no idea what this little flower is, but they were blooming in abundance even though I thought blooming season was finished.

Yet another swing to sit on. This was right at the edge of Lake Superior.

The morning sun was bright and we were so aware of the blessings God has given us. Each other. Our family. His presence. Short trips away. Peace in our home. And of course, so much more.

I personally think this sign is a blatant example of false advertising. Why would the world’s best donuts be available in Grand Marais, MN? We weren’t able to ascertain this for ourselves, because like eighty per cent of the other restaurants, the donut stand was closed for the season.

Most people in Minnesota have heard of Sven and Ole’s Pizza. It stays open all year and is the place where people hang out during the long dark winters when the moose come out of the woods and stroll around downtown. As Dave Barry says, I am not making this up. Grand Marais claims to be the Moose Capital of Minnesota.

This is a giant walleye (I think) stuck in the corner of a building.

After breakfast and some shopping and strolling, we headed back to our cottage for a nap. I ended up not being able to sleep –  I have never been a napper even though I’d earnestly like to take up this hobby soon – so I read. It started to get cloudy and windy again, so it was time for another fire in the stove. After Michael woke up we walked down to the Lake and sat together in the swing.

We found that a rustic but well-maintained swing on the rocky shore of Lake Superior is a perfect place to hold hands and to praise God out loud together, and to pray for our children.

When did my handsome groom (whom I’d met only once before marrying) turn so gray? When did my face become an epidermal grid? It must have happened while we were busy living these past twenty-eight years. *Sigh*

There were still a few fall colors left, even though most of the trees were bare by this time.

Later that evening, we were fortunate to find a nice restaurant still open and we dined at Chez Jude. I use the word “dine,” because it was a fancy enough establishment to preclude the use of the word “ate.” No one eats at Chez Jude. People dine at Chez Jude.

This was the crusty bread, whipped butter and different kinds of olives that were brought to our table after we were seated. Not being an olive fan, I thought the best thing to do was take their picture.

This was one of the most delicious salads I have ever eaten. It had spring greens, ripe pear slices, spiced pecans, pickled ginger, crumbled Roquefort cheese, and a lemon/thyme vinaigrette that made one involuntarily close one’s eyes when tasted. There was also a wedge of ripe fig on the plate – a first for me. I had to drive to Grand Marais, MN to have my first taste of fig.

Michael’s French onion soup was so delicious we both thought we could eat it every day for a month and be quite content.

Ever the fish lover in every way imaginable, Michael ordered the walleye cooked in parchment, with some kind of mouthwatering sauce and delicately sliced vegetables that spilled out once the paper was torn open.

I ordered a French chicken and potato dish, but forgot all about taking a photo until halfway through enjoying it. Somehow a half-eaten plate of food doesn’t look very appetizing on a blog. You’ll have to take my word for how exquisite it was in taste and presentation.

We returned to our cottage after our wonderful meal, cranked up the fire and played cribbage. We read, we laughed, we exhaled. We knew we’d have to leave in the morning and it seemed like only hours since we’d arrived, but we were both rested and refreshed.

The next morning we had some fruit for breakfast and slowly packed things up before driving away from our little cottage. We decided to stop for lunch at the Lutsen (pronounced LOOT-sen) Resort, nineteen miles south of Grand Marais.

I’ve always loved this place on the Lake. It was another cloudy day with a brisk wind, so the beach was empty. If you look closely at the photo below you can see the covered bridge and the Adirondack chairs lined up by the water’s edge.

After the Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup the Lutsen folks are famous for, we headed back for the van and drove south toward home. We loved our time up the shore, short as it was, and we hope to be able to take a little trip like this every couple of months.

We are still talking about our little cottage of repose.

I love Thanksgiving. I love that it’s about the gathering of family, I love that it’s not about giving and receiving presents, and I love that it’s about intentionally setting apart a day to give thanks.

Our Thanksgiving celebrations are usually very traditional and predictable, but yesterday there were a few things out of the ordinary that I thought I’d chronicle and share on the blog. I also want our daughter Sharon and her family to be able to peek into our day (hi Sharon – we missed you all so much!), as they were celebrating at home in Maryland. Having them with us would have made the day perfect. But I think near-perfect is enough to shout over.

The first departure from our ordinary was a gorgeous centerpiece. Our youngest daughter Sara is a floral designer for a shop in town, and she arrived with a couple of bags and soon set up a workspace on the kitchen table. She laid out newspapers to work on, searched around for a suitable vase, and set to work on a Thanksgiving centerpiece to bring even more beauty to our day. As if warm November weather in Minnesota, grandchildren and abundance wasn’t beautiful enough.

So just use your imagination here for a minute or two. Picture all these items in your mind, all piled together on a table: a dark blue serving bowl, a peony, a turnip, some cedar branches, a persimmon, a giant radish, a drying, shriveled apple, a rose, two pomegranates, a large leek, a clementine, some unripened blackberries, an artichoke, some toothpicks, tape, and lots of other various greens and stems.

Put them all together with deft hands and a visionary, artistic imagination, and what do you get?

What I would get would be a pile of fruit and leaves that looked like nothing more than a pile of fruit and leaves.

What Sara got was our Thanksgiving centerpiece:

Isn’t it wonderful and unique? I hope it lasts until the new year. If it does I might have to call the folks at Mayo to see if they’re running low on the ingredients to manufacture a potent new broad-spectrum antibiotic.

The next thing that was out of the ordinary for our Thanksgiving was an appetizer I made. It has all of two ingredients, and I’m very enthusiastic about two-ingredient baking and cooking these days. If any of you have any two-ingredient recipes, send them my way. (My oldest daughter Sharon told me that she actually made mouthwatering biscuits for their Thanksgiving dinner that had only two ingredients, so maybe we have the beginnings of a best-selling cookbook here.)

I made a cheese-filled pastry thingy that oozed cheese as it baked. It wasn’t as pretty to look at as the photograph in the recipe, but the taste? There are no words. The two ingredients were Brie cheese and puff pastry sheets. I thought about editing out the part of the picture that shows the leaking cheese, but decided to keep it in, because somehow there’s a deep and profound symbolism about my life in a stark photo of leaking cheese.

We cut this thing into small wedges and served them on little plates about an hour or two before the turkey was done. I’ve never seen so many eyes roll back into their heads at one time.

Here’s a sweet photo of four year-old Vivienne. Does she look like she has something to say to the world, or what?

She later sang for us her rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and showed us how sashaying by the fireplace is done.

Our dinner consisted of a 17-pound turkey filled with sage and onion bread stuffing, garlic mashed golden potatoes and gravy made by Carolyn, who makes the best of both I’ve ever tasted, a tangy marinated vegetable salad, rolls with butter, cranberry sauce, a relish tray with olives and various veggies, pumpkin pie with whipped cream, and chocolate peanut butter fudge. No one named Atkins is allowed in our house. Next year I plan to make Jeremy’s favorite sweet potato casserole, and no year do I plan to make green bean casserole.

Another new thing that happened on Thanksgiving was that our Christmas tree went up. Sara set up the tree, Michael brought up all the decorations from the basement, and soon the grans were happily placing the ornaments while carols played on the house intercom/stereo (yesterday’s selections were “The Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas,” Amy Grant’s “A Christmas to Remember,” an old favorite of Julie Andrews with the Andre Previn orchestra, and Fernando Ortega’s new “Christmas Songs.”)

Here are Sara and Vivie adding more ornaments to the crowded tree. I love an ornament-crowded tree.

Elijah and Clara were very happy about being able to help decorate the tree too.

And mama Carolyn is helping little Audrey (almost two years old) add to the beauty. Although I must say with a bit of motherly bias that if Carolyn and Audrey are in a room, there isn’t much need to add to the beauty. It’s already there. 🙂

Daddy Jeremy lifted Clara high to put the dark red spire on top to complete the trimming of the tree.

Clara had a feather in her hair and Elijah wore a black construction paper pilgrim hat to add to the historical roots of the day.

Here’s Jeremy sketching possibilities for a mantel/fireplace surround for our living room.

He can always figure out how things work, how to make them work if they’re not working, or design something himself that works better. At least that’s my opinion of my dear son-in-law.

As the sun began to set we sat in the living room and played a fun game called Whoonu? where players choose cards and earn points based on what they know (or guess) to be a fellow player’s favorite and least favorite things. Of course we knew that Jeremy loves construction sites, Carolyn loves ballet and Sara loves broccoli, but Whoonu that Jeremy doesn’t like glitter, Carolyn doesn’t like the scenic route and Sara doesn’t like brownies with nuts?  🙂

After everyone went home last night, Michael and I did a little cleanup. I decided to take one last photo of the tree before we went up to bed. Which, by the way, felt a little strange when we realized that he and I were alone in the house at night for the first time in almost a year.

We wondered aloud what we were going to do with the unusual opportunity. (Due to the nature of our business, we are almost never alone.)

As Thanksgiving of 2009 drew to a close, it was just Michael and me, and Schnauzers Edith and Millie, rattling around in this big old house.  After a minute’s discussion, we both agreed.

We would try to sleep in really late until at least 6:30 the next morning.

What was new or out of the ordinary about your Thanksgiving? What new dish was served? What new person attended? What beloved person was missing? What old dish did you leave out? What one thing will you remember?

Michael. Sharon. Carolyn. Sara. Buffy. Daphne. Chris. Jeremy. Bob. Joe. Clara, Elijah, Vivienne, Audrey. Cullen, Eleanor, Margaret. Two big brothers, Larry and Steve. Two cherished sisters-in-law, Christy and Debbie. Savannah, Lauren, Spencer. Our Fosters. Sight. Mobility. Warmth. Plenty. Mercy. Music. Employment. The SAGs. Friends. Schnauzers. Books. Flavor. Water.

A home. Working vehicles. My own teeth. A good mattress. Two ovens. G.T. and the Halo Express. Community Bible Study. Parents who loved me. Unseasonably warm weather in November. Birdinal Creek. The gift of prayer. The promise of His presence. Scrapbooks. Hope. The security of faithfulness. Old hymns played on massive pipe organs. A beloved friendship that lasts 45 years.

Mere Christianity, At Home in Mitford, All Creatures Great and Small, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, A Severe Mercy, Miss Suzy, Peace Like a River, The Robe, Reaching for the Invisible God, The Goodnight Book, Les Miserables, The Hawk and the Dove, No Compromise, The God I Love, Anne of Green Gables, The Pink Motel, Expecting Adam, Knowing God, Of Whom the World Was Not Worthy and The Hiding Place.

Michael’s kind eyes. A neck massage. An ankle scratch. My grandchildren’s voices. Blogging, and the happiness of a handful of readers. Honeycrisp apples. W.W.G. Some sunshiny California memories. True fellowship with friends. Dead leaves. Huge snowflakes. Cardinals outside my window. Calligraphy. Hydrangeas. Kind neighbors. Acorn slippers. Drives up the north shore of Lake Superior.

A friend who will love me through thick and thin. Cabins in the woods. Green macaroni and cheese. Christmas Eve. The passing of January. The coming of autumn. A huge computer screen. A church to attend freely and expectantly. Hearty soup and crusty bread, together. Zero visits to the mall all year.

God’s love and faithfulness in the life of a fragile, sometimes unstable little girl…His intervention time and time again…His sparing of my life…His patience with my sin…His hope and blessing for 52 years…His lavish love poured over me…the constant awe and amazement that He would choose me to be one of His daughters…Jesus has truly made my life worth living.

These are some of the things I’m thankful for today.

How about you?

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows we have had a difficult time with getting some bird prints framed recently. You can see photos, laugh, and read about the first part here and the next (apparently funnier) installment here.

My youngest daughter Sara suggested that we take the third goldfinch print (with the largest frame) to a local framing gallery and ask if they could cut down the mat and also make the frame the same size as the smaller cardinal and bluebird.

So I called a local framer and he said it would be an easy fix (imagine that! easy!), so I brought them in. He casually and confidently measured the two that are the correct size, took the enormous one, and said it would only take him a day to fix. It didn’t even take a day; he called within hours to say it was done.

So we finally have our little flock. I’m sure three birds don’t make up a flock, but as I’ve said, I like alliteration so that’s what I came up with: The Final Flock.

Here’s what they look like, hung side by side on a wall in our living room, over a deacon’s bench.

All the same size, all looking like I had originally envisioned them and ordered them to look like…many goldfinch prints, phone calls, and FedEx deliveries ago.

My friend Becky just reminded me that while I may not have all my ducks in a row, I now have all my birds in a row.  🙂

Phew. Finally.

I would like to share a blog with you that I think is worth perusing. I became familiar with this young blogger because the same company that designed my blog designed hers. I spent some time reading through Sarah Markley’s writings one afternoon, and was struck by her candid sharing. She has taken a great risk to write about a very painful part of her marriage, and I’m including the link to her story below. I asked her permission to share it on my blog, and Sarah immediately granted it.

There are many parts to her blog, but I’m including a direct link to the part of her story I’m referring to.

I honestly believe there are parts of our stories we need to be courageous enough to tell, at the right time and in the right setting. I believe there is power in sharing our testimonies – we can experience a deeper level of freedom when we do, the hearer can take hope when they see that God really does reach in and pull people from their miry pits (and sometimes those pits are where we’ve been dwelling even as Christians), and the Lord can be given all the credit and praise for the impossible work that He alone has the power to do.

They overcame him
by the blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony;
they did not love their lives so much
as to shrink from death. Revelation 12:11

I think back on what I might have been and done without Jesus in my life. I think back to the things I have done, even with Jesus in my life, and marvel at His mercy and love through it all. Truly my life would have been one of the most destructive ever, had not my Savior intervened time and again.

Take some time soon and see how Sarah Markley and her husband Chad got through the circumstances that the devil certainly intended to use to destroy them.

(Once you click on the link below, you’ll see some one-word links on her site that tell the Markleys’ story in increments. If you want you can also see a video of them talking about the drastic steps they took to allow God to heal their marriage.)

http://www.sarahmarkley.com/story/

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *