A Girl Can Dream

Well, I tried. Even though I knew the tickets would be gone before they were even here, I tried anyway. Tickets are still available, but not through the Capitol Theatre box office. All the ticket brokers around scooped them up and now you have to shell out $200-$400 per ticket! Oh well. Maybe I'll come across some amazing deal. But most likely not (sigh).

Seperate note: My husband makes me laugh till I cry. Most of the time, I suspect it is not entirely on purpose that he sends me into hysterics, but maybe he is more sly than I think. The other night, upon hearing our new Young Women's theme at church, he deteminately told me (deadpan), "You are on the Top Ten Daughters of God of All Time list, for sure."

Oh dear. That one got me.

Sometimes. . .

Some days I look at my husband suffering in silence and think my heart just sinks. He's pretty good at hiding it, but there are some tell tale signs of the war his body is waging on him. Sometimes those rosy cheeks of his turn a certain shade of crimson, or his smile just isn't as close to the surface. Sometimes his voice just has a certain tone in it, or his laughter doesn't come. Sometimes I can tell it's hard for him to breathe, or the hot water bottle finds a permanent spot on the couch. But this is only sometimes, and it makes me grateful. And humble. Chronic pain - who knew?

Pain stayed so long I said to him today,
"I will not have you with me any more."
I stamped my foot and said, "Be on your way,"
And paused there, startled at the look he wore.
"I, who have been your friend," he said to me,
"I, who have been your teacher-all you know
Of understanding love, of sympathy,
And patience, I have taught you. Shall I go?"
He spoke the truth, this strange unwelcome guest;
I watched him leave, and knew that he was wise.
He left a heart grown tender in my breast.
He left a far, clear vision in my eyes.
I dried my tears, and lifted up a song-
Even for one who'd tortured me so long.
-Anonymous

Monopoly or Hoofball?

My tree has been calling to me from the depths of our crawl space for weeks now. How very impatient the tree was to come up this year! But I managed to wait until after Thanksgiving to give in to all things Christmas. I will admit that this year we had already been listening to 106.5 and 100.3 on the radio (they play Christmas music), but only in controlled amounts. Now I can listen to every rendition of Carol of the Bells with abandon. But with all that music listening, Brad and I are in a debate about Rudolph and which game he was so sadly left out of. I learned it as Monopoly. Brad. . . Hoofball.

Me: Hoofball? What the crap is that?
Brad: You know, football. But with hoofs.

Also I am wondering, as I do every year, how that song from The Sound of Music became a Christmas song? And what, I ask you, is Christmas without Andy Williams?

Did you notice that I actually have some presents under that glowing tree? That's right! For the first time I actually took a day off work at the beginning of December to try to get it done. And don't you think a tree just looks so much more festive with those wrapped goods? Not that I am completely done. I still have to make my hand made gift. Yes. Every year my family draws a name, and that lucky person gets a hand made gift. It amounts to procrastination, measurable amounts of stress, and many trips to Roberts to stroll the aisles glossy-eyed. But they always turn out and become the gift you most want to give. What are the holidays without some stress to keep you on your toes? But more importantly, what are the holidays without Traditions?

"It's the most wonderful time of the year. . . .