We've lost Baby Jesus!! We've looked in every bin, tote, dilapidated box, and closet shelf, and He's nowhere to be found. It's not that we have no nativity sets; we have six or seven. Alas, the Baby Jesus we're looking for belongs to a large set that's to be our window display this year. The three kings kneel reverently, offering their gifts to...the floor. Mary and Joseph sit looking adoringly down at...empty space. Tom says it's a sign!! A poignant Christmas message..a parable.. about forgetting Christ in Christmas
It is a commentary that we feel such a loss. It's really just a plastic replica...a THING...after all. We have firm testimonies of the presence and reality of Christ in our lives. We try to emulate His teachings and practices. Yet, we're experiencing a rather traumatic vagueness about all of our other preparations. Our trees are up, but the other decorations are scattered here and there throughout the house, waiting to be arranged, polished, hung, USED. It's December 20, and I'm just now writing my Christmas letter. I HOPE I'll have my Christmas gift packages in the mail today...as long as there are 54 hours between now and the mailman's arrival at 5 I should make it.
Vale, our grandson, spent time helping me try to get my mojo on before he flew home to be with his mom for Christmas. We made lots of Christmas candy for the packages. We've made at least two broiler pan batches of fudge, which have already disappeared and not into Christmas boxes!!
We have a substitute! Since we thoughtlessly placed the Nativity set in the very spot our dog, Astro, calls his, we find that he has taken up a lonely vigil in Baby Jesus' spot. He's looking too!
Our year has been somewhat in keeping with the restlessness of our days without the Baby Jesus where he belongs!! We've had lots of ups and downs, highs and lows this year. Nothing specific, traumatic, or terrible...just life-changing. We'd settled into a retirement life of service, church and community, remodeling, genealogy, quilting, visiting. Nice, comfortable...Ho hum. Then, we received this subtle little email: Hey Mom. So, we just found out that the housing that we want to get in to...is pet free. No Astro. Of course Harmony is devastated. Christy can't take him because she already has 3 dogs. What would you guys think about taking him? I know Dad was at one point thinking about getting a dog. Anyway, no pressure, just let us know what you think ok? How could we resist?? A dog after all these years! He's a Corgi...a herd dog who herds Tom everywhere, including the bathroom. A few weeks later, our grandson, Vale, took up residence with us so he can spend his eighth grade year in White Salmon. My oh my!! We'd put homework, music practice time, video games, eighth grade angst, zits, sports, etc, etc completely out of our minds years ago. Now, they're back. We need that missing Baby where he belongs!!
We hope all is well with all of you!! We have loved and appreciated friends and family all year long through visits, emails, facebook entries, and phone calls. We're happy and reasonably healthy, and...at 3am this morning, while I was setting out our Christmas village, I found the little Nativity piece way down in the corner of a bin....Ahhh...I placed Him reverently and ceremoniously into His spot and remembered the phrase: Wise Men Still Seek Him. Oh that we'll be wise and always seek Christ's presence in our lives!! Love to All. Happy Holidays.

DO DREAMS COME TRUE?

I have a favorite wedding card which I buy as often as I can when I can find it. The card is all- white with an embossed picture of Cinderella stepping into her magic chariot. On the inside is the comment: Dreams Really Do Come True.



Dreams seem, often, to come true around Christmastime. A long-awaited toy becomes a bird in our hand; a visit from a friend or a dream trip seem to resolve themselves into magical moments. My thoughts have been on dreams coming true.



When our son, Tom, was a teenager, to our chagrin, he lived only to hang-out in the local parks with his friends and ride skateboards. There wasn't really a decent skate park or safe place for them to ply their craft, and they were often a menace to local drivers, merchants, and law enforcement. For most of his high school years, Tom tried to get a nice skatepark built at the park. He wrote petitions and requests, went to local town meetings, etc. Then he grew up and left home, but he never gave up on skateboarding and takes time to skate almost every day. A few days ago, in town for a few days, he remarked with pride, "Eighteen years after I started the ball rolling, there's a fantastic skatepark down in Bingen. Dreams do come true."



Steve, our Coast Guardsman, helped a young man with MS fulfill a dream when he helped him drive a Coast Guard boat and visit the Bodega Bay Station where Steve is assigned.



Recently, I was helping Vale with an assignment in his Pacific Northwest history class. He is doing a project on the Oregon Trail, which is living one's history, since we live in the area of the Trail and because Vale's great-great grandfather, Peter Franklin Clark, came to the Salem, Oregon area on the Oregon Trail. Frank Clark was an exceptional man--a man for all seasons. He worked the family farm in Missouri as a young boy, searched for and found gold during the gold rush, fought in the Civil War, commanding a local unit, Company A, Eleventh Missouri Cavalry, traveled the Oregon Trail and became a successful farmer in Zena, Oregon, served as justice of the peace, postmaster, veteran representative, and a deacon in the Baptist Church in there, and produced several journals and diaries. Only some of his journalistic efforts still exist. As I searched through Clark's journals, I found this gem in Clark's diary: "Here I must relate how old Uncle Ellis trapped me. We were talking about California and the demoralizing effect it had on young men, when I remarked that it was my firm belief that no one could stay in the California mines for a year without swearing, drinking, or gambling or even cosorting with prostitutes. 'Ha, ha, ha, now I have you, my boy,' he said. 'Did you not tell us a short while ago that you had done none of these things? So you had better own up.' But I would not.


So things went on, and I prayed in secret and persuaded myself that I could be a Christian out of the church as well as in it. When the war broke out, I went into it with all my energy, sometimes almost forgetting that there was a God. But I never wholly relapsed. I always came back when I got in a tight place, that is until August 21, 1864. In the hottest of the fight, I always asked God to protect me. But on this day, while the bullets were flying thick, it occurred to me: why should God protect me when I refused to know Him and by confessing, I then and there promised Him that if He spared me until I got home, that then I would do my duty. Very shortly afterward I received a letter from my wife, informing me that she had withdrawn from the Protestant church. Soon after, on the third Sunday in November 1864, I was baptized by the pastor of Pisgah, Reverend Henry C. Sollan, into the Baptist church. The following fall my two daughters were converted and baptized. About this time I was made church clerk, and so remained until 1874, when we all took letters before leaving for Oregon.

I have always regretted that I did not make public profession in 1846, for I believe today, February 15, 1905, that God, for Christ's sake, at the mourner's bench in Illinois, pardoned my sins. Since then, my sorrows have been many, my joys and blessings more than I deserve. But verily I believe that if I had come out on the Lord's side boldly, my sorrow would have been less and my joys many more. I therefore counsel you, my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who read this after I am gone, to at all times, and in all places, be ready to profess your faith and to acknowledge He who has saved you. But alas, if you're not saved, seek it now, never give over until you can say, "Jesus is mine."

I wonder if we, his many descendants, have made Frank Clark's dreams come true?

WHAT HAPPENED TO SEPTEMBER

A look at my latest blog entry brought on the immortal question: What happened to September? Well, here's what happened to September:





Grandson Vale, now 14, moved in to the spare bedroom downstairs. All memories of our "little" grandson were banished when this fourteen year old eighth grader walked off the plane. Suddenly, we're once again parents...demanding homework be done, supporting Scouts, PTO, and trying to understand video games, youtube, iPhones, et all.





Tom's energy has gone into a complete overhaul of the exterior of the house, all new siding and a new paint job, done solely by Tom. The new exterior also includes two beautifully finished decks, a fully enclosed back porch/workshop, and a gazebo which matches the house. In addition, we now have a neat little downstairs kitchen area.


have been sewing. Totes, an apron and a bag for a silent auction, and Welcome bags for new sisters moving into our ward. Today I was proudly shown one the green bags by a sweet little girl who told me it's her special bag for her scriptures.

I survived being mc for our fiftieth class reunion. A fun evening. When you're our age, all the pretense is gone. You no longer care who's gone bald or fat or had five marriages, and you really don't remember or care about the glory days of high school. Mostly you mourn the loss of those who've died, pass around pictures of grandchildren, hobbies, travel pictures, and wonder that you are one of the survivors.

Astro has found a lovely little girlfriend whom we call Daisy, since we don't really know her name. Daisy lives across the street but thinks she lives here, since she knows how to get our front door open, where to find the dog food dishes, and all about the dust bunnies under our bed!!

The frost is on the pumpkin now. Vale seems to be making his adjustment to a smaller school, the tremendous amount of homework he seems to have, scripture study, family prayer, new friends, school dances, etc., etc. Tom is laying in our supply of wood for the winter and planning an indoor project of finishing his personal history and doing research on some family names. I am musing over this little gem which I found on a quilting blog:

First quilter: "Are you busy making Christmas gifts? What are you making? How long 'til Christmas you ask? 77 days 14 hours. 44 minutes."

Second quilter: "I'm making a noose and hanging myself. I'll never get everything done in 77 days."

We love you all and are looking forward to Thanksgiving this year and our summer reunion with family. I'll try to keep up my blog better than I have and not lose any more months. Love from here. Mom

Some people change their ways when they feel the light. Others when they feel the heat.

Puppy Dog Tales and Other Wild Adventures

As the summer winds down and our grandchildren have started filling their backpacks with school supplies, a quick review of the past weeks' adventures tend to bring us to our new lives as owners of an active, adventuresome Cardigan Welsh Corgi named Astro. Grandpa, soft touch that he is, agreed to take Astro when Marie's family found out that pets were not welcome in the Navy housing they would move into. We've now had Astro 2 1/2 months on our own, and he's managed to kill seven of our beloved squirrels, a wild rabbit and a bird or two; enrage our neighbor with a four hour stint of barking and howling while we were gone; jump out of our car when we were going about 15 mph so he could chase a deer that caught his eye, and fall out the pickup window. Tom is definitely the alpha male in our little pack; Astro shadows Tom everywhere, even waiting patiently at the bathroom door. I've had to fight for my place as the beta "male" in the pack, often having to gently push him off "my" spot on the couch or through the door. We've loved it when he seeks shelter from flies, the vacuum, or pesky visitors by crawling under our bed!! Astro has forced us into good habits; we walk every morning at the marina which is an adventure in and of itself. When we return, Astro makes a quick circuit of our entire yard and our neighbor Michelle's yard. The picture doesn't do justice to his ability to become airborne as he flies around his circuit. We've purchased a small cow bell for his collar to signal unwary victims that flying Astro is on his way.

(See his tail just at the edge of the bed skirt?)

My last few weeks have been concerned with catching up on some sewing projects; just yesterday I was banned to my sewing room for the day because professionals were shampooing the carpet. A fate worse than you know what!!
Aunt Joan and I volunteered to contribute some items for a silent auction that will help defray the cost of our upcoming (gulp) fiftieth high school reunion. So you see the totes, clutch purse and apron that are headed off to the auction. If someone doesn't take pity on me and buy them at the auction, one of you may find them in your Christmas package!! I've also started #9 and #10 of the grandkid quilts.

These are the first two blocks of Kobe's quilt which will be a red, white, and blue blue jeans quilt. In honor of my Grandmother Ethel Chase, who had none of the fancy gadgets or patterns that I have access to, I'm going to design Kobe's quilt in the style of a 30's quilt. Designing is really the most fun part of making a quilt. Brenna had the opportunity to choose the colors of her quilt, and she found a pattern style that she liked--flowers, buttons lace, etc. I'm handquilting her quilt so I can sit in the evenings in MY place on the couch beside Dad and fend off Astro.

As for Dad, being Dad......Yes...I tried to tell him....No...he didn't listen. Any problems? No...not yet anyway. The gazebo is beautiful.

Hope your summer has gone as well....Love from Mom...who, on days like that hides in the sewing room with the blinds down!!

"An optimist is someone who figures out that taking a step backward after taking a step forward is not a disaster; it's a cha-cha."

Love to you all.

A QUILT STORY

This is the story of a quilt. Once upon a fairy tale, my long-time friend, Dottie, was searching through the homemaking closet at church for a project to get her through the long hours of winter. She found twenty quilt blocks that had been cut out about 40 years earlier by an older lady who never had the chance to sew them together. The lady had cut up her old dresses, aprons and feed sacks, so these were truly vintage quilt blocks. Dottie wiled away the winter hours by completing the blocks into a quilt top. The quilt top came my way, and I knew just how I wanted to finish the quilt and to whom I would give the final product. The old-fashioned, flowered stars reminded of the many flowers in my mother's and grandmother's gardens, so I envisioned vines whirling and swirling around them. I thought of all the winter evenings that I would spend hand quilting this flower garden!!

THEN....REAL LIFE SHATTERED THE DREAM. There have been those real life moments when the quilt was:

Ignored while other projects took precedence:

Held for ranson by the thread bandit

Slept on

Bled on




Marked on and spilled on
Permanently scarred by a bleach belching washing machine

This much abused vintage quilt is finished, and the recipient of quilt number eight of the Grandkid Quilt Project is Tobin, who, I know, will allow this special vintage quilt to live out its life in a rocking chair.

The quilt you see is a part of me

In your hand is the sum of my parts.

My mind, my body, and a piece of my heart.

Are quilted into its seams.

Wrap in it. lie on it, cry and dream dreams.

Cherish it, share it, and take this part of me

As a tribute to our love!!

THE AFTERMATH

I've been describing the wild rumpus which lasted for about six weeks, and now, we're experiencing the downward curve of the winding down scene. Two grandchildren are still here, but there is mostly quiet....well....sort of. We've inherited our grandchildren's dog, Astro. Astro is a "boonie" dog which the kids bought in Guam. He's called a "boonie" dog because, when his masters found out the cost to ship him back to the states, they merely took off his collar and abandoned him to roam in the boondocks of Guam. Fortunately for him, he was captured and placed in an animal shelter then adopted by our kids. He's been a delight for the most part. The retriever in him is thriving on the "beasts" who call our yard home--deer, squirrels, quail, birds, raccoons, and neighborhood dogs and cats. He managed to kill a squirrel or two, but now the managerie is wise to him and he spends fruitless hours sniffing, running, scaling the rock wall. The birds even mock him by swooping down constantly to steal his dog food.

Tom found respite from the noise and happy tumult by continuing to work outside on the siding and air conditioning installation. I managed finished Connor's quilt, which turned out huge due to my inability to measure properly. I also managed to write my autobiography for my upcoming 50th class reunion:

"What have I done in the fifty years since we walked down the aisle on that warm June day in 1960? The first thing I did as line leader at graduation was lead my line into the wrong row! Not a very auspicious beginning for the rest of my life. The first few months were dark indeed; I was without my soul mate--my twin sister. I managed to perk up, float my own boat, and: graduate with a bachelor's degree from BYU; teach for almost 40 years at nearly every grade level from fifth to law school and on aircraft carriers, in jails, mental institutions, Quonset huts, a five million dollar mansion, and regular classrooms; marry the man of my dreams in the Mormon temple in Idaho Falls and remain married to 39 years and counting; give birth to six children and see them into their early thirties through their schooling, marriages, births of their children, divorces, careers, etc; rear a fine young stepson; bury a six week old baby daughter; mourn the loss of both parents, two fathers-in-law, one brother-in-law, and a brother; earn a master's degree from the University of Portland, graduating with honors; serve voluntarily in every auxilliary, as a president or teacher, in our church; write, edit, distribute 10 or so newsletters of one kind or other; write an unpublished novel and many journals, essays, talks, and letters; maintain and decorate a beautiful home; crochet, cross-stitch, quilt, or sew hundreds of items for gifts to friends, family, or charitable organizations; accumulate a 5,000 name genealogical file of Kennedy/Whitby lines, and remain rather sane. I've never again been a line leader though."

This is a cute little scene I found one day after I'd gone exploring to find out why my car alarm had gone off and the locks kept clicking on and off. The setting is under our kitchen table which is three year old Wyatt's hideout!! The book is his favorite--Star Wars, the white stuff is salt from the full salt shaker, the wrappers are gum--which had been chewed and swallowed, bag of chips, string cheese, and my car keys.
The aftermath.

OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES

It has certainly been a fun month--filled with eating, video games, rain, sewing lessons, eating, rain, Lego building, running, rain, eating....and more. 11 bodies have been crammed into a house that normally seems large and accommodating and suddenly became almost too small for all the wild energy that sparkled and snapped and rolled through it for a month.

HARMONY (10) was the only girl in our group. Here's her agenda for one day: "Make ipod case for Emily. Make purses for Jessica, Mellisa, and Kiara. Make Nana and Jessica a book cover for their books. A few pillow cases for fun. Some book covers for me." Since it was only her second venture into the world of sewing, we managed to make the ipod case for Emily. Later we completed another purse. Harmony found my sewing/computer room to be her sanctuary from all the boys.

Ethan (9) was our go-to-guy. He helped all of us with electronic devices large and small. At one point, he said to me, "I like your Kennedy name, Grandma." I responded with, "Do you know that our name means "Ugly Head?" His rejoinder was, "But it isn't ugly for YOU."

CONNOR (8) is our Bob the Builder. Quiet and shy, with eyelashes any woman would kill for, Connor's favorite spot was the Lego table in the family room or any clear spot where something could be built. When they first arrived, I showed Connor the top for his quilt and explained that I wasn't finished yet. That evening, with a rainy evening and 47 degree weather, Connor inquired, "Did you finish my quilt today? I'm sure it's going to snow tonight!!"

KAHLIL (5) is reading a book about Knights and Castles, his passion. He explained that he needed to read the book in time for school (Kindergarten). One evening, he headed downstairs and when asked where he was going said, "I'm going to our bedroom to tell myself something that no one else can hear."

IVAN (5) and WYATT (3) are our stand-up comedians. My journal for this month has been filled with quips from these two little guys. One day I was patiently trying to explain to Ivan that we were going to have a planned power outage, and he needed to plug in his Nintendo DS so it would be charged up during the outage. "But, Grandma," he said, "It's green!!" No amount of reasoning would change his mind.
WYATT (3) has pestered me constantly to make him a knight suit. He works the suit into every conversation. I can make a knight suit, and Grandpa can make a "sord." Also, when I've finished a knight suit for him and one for Kahlil, he would like me to make a princess dress for his friend, Olive, who just had a birthday.

Although Mason was thought by the "experts" in Guam to be developmentally delayed, someone should tell Mason. He's been a busy little boy--emptying out cupboards, clearing the fridge of food, crawling into, through, and on top of everything, and imitating every sound he hears.

Alas, the rumpus has died down. Marie and family are in California, and Tom and his boys are in Portland for the weekend. Dad and I aren't sure what to do with all this quiet except to celebrate our 39th anniversary with a porterhouse steak and a long nap......ZZZZZZZZZ. Love to All. Mom

If you stop long enough, you can hear your own music. W.H. Auden