Good Friends are Great Gifts to Ones Self

This is my friend Becki. She is magnificent. She is a good wife and mom, a dear friend,

and a true Christ-like daughter of our Heavenly Father. I admire this woman.

It's Officially The Holiday Season

Ron made our neighbors happy. He put up our Christmas lights yesterday. It was a sunny, warm, 60* day. Just right for putting up Christmas lights. And with only a week to go til Christmas... Hey, better late than never, right? Snow would enhance the look, but I'm good with no snow! Thanks honey, you did a great job!

A letter from Erin Brockovich? Really??

Some people lead double lives. My husband is not one of them. In his profession he could very easily have a split personality...a wolverine/lion/vulture in the courtroom and a much kinder, gentler persona at home. I've seen Ron in action several times on the job. He is brilliant. He is the same man you see in front of a jury as he is in front of a congregation at church. I think that is what makes him so darn attractive to me  successful and respected in his profession, even by apposing attorneys. He recently had a case where he had to defend a county employee for doing his job against a family whose religious beliefs didn't want the county employee to do his job. This family petitioned everybody they knew, literally, from the East coast to the West to contact Ron with their plea's, threats and opinions on the matter. He even received a letter from Erin Brockovich -not Julia Roberts, >HA! he wishes!< but the real Erin Brockovich expressing her opinion on the case. He takes it all in stride. While I'm all about turning into the Tazmanian Devil, and telling people how foolish and uninformed (I actually used the words stupid and ignorant), Ron deals with it much more diplomatically. I guess that's why he's the lawyer and I'm not. What a great example my husband is to me.

I LOVE MY HUSBAND MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE UNIVERSE!

I'm Dreaming of an Old Christmas

I love Christmas time. I love the music, the food, the lights, and the smell of a fresh Christmas tree. As a child I would dream of having the perfect Christmas tree. A perfect 'A' shape with just the right amount of flocking, twinkly white lights, and ornaments that all matched, or at least had a theme. But the kind of tree we always got was the cheap, misshapen,"Charlie Brown" kind that leaned against the fence at the tree lot. Every year we got the same kind, but that didn't stop my parents from driving to every tree lot in town to find "just the right one", while we kids froze our nose, toes, and fingers off. Really, who were they trying to kid? I knew the kind of tree we'd end up with, and I'm pretty sure they knew too. Almost everytime we'd bring the tree home and have to cut 2 feet off the trunk (ala Clark Griswold). Did they not remember that we still only had 8 foot ceilings, just like the year before and the year before that? Of course they did. Mom would say "we have to cut a little off to keep it fresh". Then they'd screw it into the tree stand that held a thimbleful of water, but never held the tree truly straight. The first thing on would be the lights....not the twinkly white lights, but the big, nightlight size bulbs. And they weren't white, they were every color of the rainbow including blue and orange. Really? Then the ornaments...no "theme", just one of everything that each of my six siblings and I had made from kindergarten through Jr. High, perhaps. Glass balls of every color and small bells made of bone china with little angels painted on them. Lastly, the dreaded tinsel...."icecicles" that would static cling on to you as you walked by the tree. Yes, our tree was really something. And you know what? I'd give anything to be transported back in time to share just one more Christmas with my parents and brothers and sisters decorating that "ugly" tree. I'd understand that my parents were creating family time by driving from tree lot to tree lot, looking at all the fancy houses with pretty lights. I'd appreciate the deliciousness of the cocoa my mom made from scratch while we decorated our tree. I'd listen more closely to the stories of Christmas's past and who made each of the decorations that adorned our tree year after year. I'd live in that moment, rather than dream of a life I didn't live. My grown-up self would understand that  "...Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!" I can't go back in time, but I can thank my Heavenly Father for giving me the life I've had. I appreciate every experience, both happy and heartbreaking, that has lead me to where I am. I am blessed.

Sweet temptation

I may need to enter a 12-step program after the holidays. I am addicted to these little Cuties!

A tiny orange ball of sweet perfection!