Yesterday morning I awoke to a lovely little story in my email Inbox, written by my father about the pain and joy of attending Christmas programs. It made me miss him. He has a knack for picking up things quickly, despite official training in anything. He's a woodworker, farmer, photographer, butcher, bird-watcher, weatherman - you name it - and now writer, I guess.
This will make me laugh, forever.
I am 63 years old and have gone through a number of grade-school Christmas programs over the years with 6 kids of my own, kids next door, and now grandchildren. Each one of them I always wanted to stay from - the reasons were many. No. 1 - The heat of the home felt so good. No. 2- Being tired from the day's work load. No. 3 - Needed to get to bed so I could get up in the morning to milk the cows. No. 4 - The car had no heater; it was colder than the barn. I ended up going because mom said the kids wanted us there and they did need a ride in. Many good songs were sung and poems were read. All was good and great but they key thing that made it happen in those cold and dark nights (and to this day I hope they will not let me down) is when that 4th grade band comes out and completely kills Jingle Bells. There is a 'ray of hope' / 'light at the end of the tunnel' , but those 4th graders are always so proud of what they had just done. And I am too. And by the way, the Brandon Valley 4th graders did not let me down Tuesday night. -Dad
I also picked up my last-ever vegetable box from the farm today. And oh my do I have a plethora of flora in the kitchen. I must give some away, immediately. I think I will bring some for my aunt when I visit her with scones on Monday morning. Anyway, here is a slice of the produce in my kitchen. (Notice how WHITE it is outside. Father Winter is showing no mercy to Minnesota this year!)
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1 comment:
Nice blog you haave
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