How fortunate

I have found a new mantra.  It came to me on a Saturday morning when after going to the Farmers’ Market, loading up the car with goodies, my husband heard a noise while we were backing up the car.  Dutifully, I got out and started to look around the car but I could not see anything that we might be backing over.  So happily we went on our way to our house, five minutes away to drop off some of the produce, plums, yellow and white kernel corn, little orange cherry tomatoes, green beans, dark purple grapes and melons.  When we got home, I prepared a box of the vegetables and fruits for my husband’s mom and we were off again without a worry.

Once at her house another five minutes away, we unloaded the vegetables and fruits, loaded ourselves into our white Toyota and headed away from her house to go grocery shopping which is our weekly routine on Saturday.  Not today. Just a block away, there was a thumping, a bumping and we stopped the car to see that we had a right front tire flatted by a large silver screw.

We called the repair shop and decided that my husband would put what he calls the donut tire on and that I would walk his ninety-two year old mother back to her house.  After I walked back to the car, I watched my husband changed the tire, using my body and hat to try and keep the sun off of him while he worked. After a bit of thinking, we decided that we would go grocery shopping after church on Sunday as the prospect of getting the tire repaired might take some time. I told my husband how fortunate we were that we were so close to his mother’s house and how fortunate for us that it was not raining and how fortunate we were not driving on Highway 101 with all of the summer traffic. 

We limped down the hill when there was more bumping and my sweet husband explained that he didn’t think that he had tightened the lug nuts on the wheel for the final time after he had taken the car off of the jack to lower the wheel back on the road.  He checked and sure enough, the lug nuts holding the tire were easing themselves off.  Once again, I thought how fortunate we were that we had not driven further and lost the nuts, the tire and ruined the new front brakes on the car.

My husband limped the Toyota on the back roads to our local tire shop after dropping me at home on the way and after waiting a couple hours, they told him that the tire could not be repaired and replaced it with a brand-new tire free of charge.  When he returned home and told me, once again we thought how fortunate that the flat tire was one of the older tires and not of the brand-new tires that he had put on the car two weeks earlier.

How fortunate, just two words but what a wonderful way to whisk your thinking quickly, painlessly into a moment of thoughtfulness, a spot of unexpected tranquility, a held breath of satisfaction.  How often, something unexpected happens to us without warning, a broken heel on a pair of favorite black shoes, a jar that cannot be opened so you have to change what you are planning for dinner, a favorite blouse that you cannot lay your hands on while getting ready for work so you reach for something else.  These are small things, the circumstances of my broken tooth over a month ago for me was a big, big thing but how fortunate that it broke off and fell into the sink while I was home, brushing and flossing in the comfort of my home.  How fortunate that my dentist was able to cemented back in on a Saturday.

After having experienced oral surgery this week, I can say once again how fortunate I am to have a doctor and his staff so well trained to take care of me, how fortunate that I was so well-drugged that I don’t remember a bit of the long drive home. As I sit here, typing waiting for myself to heal, I think again how fortunate I am in so many ways.  How fortunate, just two words but they might be just the ones you need today. 

Behind the Doors

Months ago while I was visiting a cousin in Idaho and was wandering about there with her, we went to a house to pick up a quilt that had been quilted by the woman that lived there.  It was a quilt made by my cousin’s mom for my cousin’s daughter who was getting married.  Due to the great size of quilt and time left for the project, the wedding quilt was taken to a quilting artist to do her magic.  My cousin’s mom who made the quilt would be finishing the edges.

I was surprised, delighted with the lovely quilts that were here and there on the backs of chairs, heaped upon the table which might have served as a dining table if the surface could be found beneath the swatches of fabric, threads and the various quilts.

I admired the various cotton colored fabrics that had been wrapped on a paper roll with the vast quantity of their companions now made into quilting art pieces. Ah, heart, slow your wild thumping in my chest and excuse me while I drool. Space and time to do all that you want to do, dream on, dream on.  

As an artist, I stink, as a quilter, I am a babe in the woods and the quilts I have made are simple log cabin patterns, simple blocks of color which I have made into warm articles to cover our beds.  I made a quilt for my son when he was quite young, I think that he was five or six years old at the time. I took him with me to select the fabric, explaining the need for a red color for the heart of the pattern. He was very solemn when he picked out the colors for his quilt.

I was quite surprised when my little son kept coming into the room where I worked on sewing his quilt in his grandmother’s house before going back out to play checkers with his grandfather or to read with his grandmother. I complained to my husband about his lack of interest and enthusiasm in what I was doing while working on the quilt for our son; meanwhile his son was checking on his mamma quite frequently. Thinking back on it, my son was continually asking when the quilt would be done whenever he came into the room as he was at the age of asking us frequently, ”Are we there?” Or, “Can we go a different way?” during our driving around town on errands or on long trips. I wondered if he still has the quilt as it went to New York with him so many years ago along with a blue knitted afghan made by his grandmother for his bed.

 

I started this little blog in September 2015 and today it is the beginning of August 2016.  Where has all of the time gone? I can look in my mirror for one of the answers, it went to getting more gray in my hair (I have stopped coloring it, though I only just started about two years ago coloring just for the novelty of it), I am getting closer to retirement and I have a great sense that maybe just maybe, I should adjust to allowing myself more time to relax, to breathe, to mediate, write and simply be.

  

Which is precisely what I am doing today.  I am taking vacation time off to spend the afternoon at home to do whatever my mind might choose to do.  Apparently, working on this blog is one of the items on the unpublished list in my cerebellum. As well as cooking up some garden peas and pasta for dinner. Ah, but back to this blog and the title “Behind the Doors”.  Curiosity is a gift and wondering about the world is part of that gift.  Behind every door is a wonderful or dreadful existence that so few of us can have a glimpse, a notion or a grasp of.

I have often thought about writing about the stories behind the doors or my idea of the life behind the stained glass door, the stark red door in the side of a blue house, the door hanging on one hinge banging in the wind. So many souls coming and going in this day upon day.  I know that when I was younger, I felt closer to the infinite divine presence which seems for the most part lost in my present day to day living.

Here is the story behind my door, I exist. I walk out the door, open another door into my car, drive away to still another door which I open with a wave of my badge to open yet other doors to walk into my office to greet other door openers who exist.

I can talk about the doors in my mind that open and close to reflect my mood, to contemplate what is going on around me but the other doors that are constantly opening and closing as well around me, I can never imagine.  But what a glorious spectacle is unfolding, what a miracle it is to be part of it.  Yes, most of the time I forget that part,that behind the doors is a miracle and I am still part of that miracle. 

             

Back in the Routine

Back in the Routine

“You either need to come and get me or I need my house key.”

I was in the kitchen getting a drink of water when the phone rang. My son who was visiting us from Brooklyn, New York was calling from a friend’s house. It was close to midnight.

“I have to get dressed and then I can pick you up.” I replied.

“Cool,” was the answering reply and my son hung up.

I donned my mommy’s hat, got dressed and removed my oral retainer.  I listened to the snores of my husband as I slipped out the front door.  I was thankful that I had left the car out of the garage and it was not raining buckets as it had been throughout the day.

I told my 31 year old son that he was lucky that I had been in the kitchen getting a drink of water and that I had had several hours of sleep so that I should be able to drive.  Fortunately for us, it was only an 8 minute drive back to our house as we live in a small town.  After I had crawled back into my bed still warm despite my absence, I realize how easily I had fallen back into my role as a full time mommy. 

I had spent a great deal of my time lately as a wife, a caregiver and grieving sister in the last couple of months.  The last was helping my husband after his surgery as his caregiver.  So it was only a matter of time before I lapsed into being a mommy again.  Somehow, once you have a child you never lose that aspect of your being.  It hides in your womb, it lingers in your heart and it nestles in the four chambers that beat sending blood throughout your body, the very same blood that once coursed through the growing mass that became a bouncing baby boy after a really great fun time in the hospital.

I am still waiting for the next stage in my life.  I am waiting for the writer to come forth, the one that will work without waiting for inspiration throughout the long night, the writer searching for her cup of coffee to help enabled the body and mind to continue putting words to a page hour after hour because she must.

I am definitely delusional as generally I head to bed soon after seven or eight o’clock in the evening, yawning, drooping and searching for my toothbrush and dental floss which at this moment has become a great feat of concentration.  Due to a crowned tooth breaking off at the gum line, I pay a great deal of attention to the flossing of my pearly whites while arming myself with my eyeglasses (all the better to see what I am doing) and all of the lights on in the bathroom and determination not to pop the tooth out again.  My dentist cemented it back in and said it was tentatively in.  Fear of smiling with my tongue poking through a gap in my tooth line has placed me in a very conservative state of mind.  Though my time with no tooth was very short and only overnight, I gained several insights.  I marveled at how soft the inside of my upper lip was.  It has been a stranger for most of the time as I have only explored the inside of my mouth with a quick swish of my tongue to check for left-overs. I found that the hole in the front of my mouth only looks good on a five or six year old. Having said that, I have become almost Zen like in my approach to food, carefully cutting up my egg sandwich so that I can shove it into the back of my mouth past the wounded warrior at the gate.  Each bite carefully chewed as my tongue guides and controls everything away from THE TOOTH.

I am definitely living in the moment.  It is quite like the slide back into the mommy mode that I experienced whenever our son is at home.   I enjoyed the mommy-ness. The doing that goes on, cooking, baking, sharing times of board games with my son and husband. It is the caring, the knowing that I am here for him, my moment with him is all that I have so I pay close attention.

The same goes for while I am eating I am enjoying the moment, savoring the flavors, the texture of everything while concentrating on guarding the tooth from further harm.  I instinctively do that with my son, catering to the possible wants and needs of his immediate world in our house during his brief stay.  I only have a short time to get it right, as his stays with us are brief.  As for the tooth, its stay could be brief as my dentist told me, “It is tentative. “  So I am back in the routine or at least another routine of really practicing being in the moment, remembering that a wrong step or in my case a wrong bite will leave me smiling at you with my tongue waving through the hole in the wall.

Back in the Routine

Back in the Routine

“You either need to come and get me or I need my house key.”

I was in the kitchen getting a drink of water when the phone rang. My son who was visiting us from Brooklyn, New York was calling from a friend’s house. It was close to midnight.

“I have to get dressed and then I can pick you up.” I replied.

“Cool,” was the answering reply and my son hung up.

I donned my mommy’s hat, got dressed and removed my oral retainer.  I listened to the snores of my husband as I slipped out the front door.  I was thankful that I had left the car out of the garage and it was not raining buckets as it had been throughout the day.

I told my 31 year old son that he was lucky that I had been in the kitchen getting a drink of water and that I had had several hours of sleep so that I should be able to drive.  Fortunately for us, it was only an 8 minute drive back to our house as we live in a small town.  After I had crawled back into my bed still warm despite my absence, I realize how easily I had fallen back into my role as a full time mommy. 

I had spent a great deal of my time lately as a wife, a caregiver and grieving sister in the last couple of months.  The last was helping my husband after his surgery as his caregiver.  So it was only a matter of time before I lapsed into being a mommy again.  Somehow, once you have a child you never lose that aspect of your being.  It hides in your womb, it lingers in your heart and it nestles in the four chambers that beat sending blood throughout your body, the very same blood that once coursed through the growing mass that became a bouncing baby boy after a really great fun time in the hospital.

I am still waiting for the next stage in my life.  I am waiting for the writer to come forth, the one that will work without waiting for inspiration throughout the long night, the writer searching for her cup of coffee to help enabled the body and mind to continue putting words to a page hour after hour because she must.

I am definitely delusional as generally I head to bed soon after seven or eight o’clock in the evening, yawning, drooping and searching for my toothbrush and dental floss which at this moment has become a great feat of concentration.  Due to a crowned tooth breaking off at the gum line, I pay a great deal of attention to the flossing of my pearly whites while arming myself with my eyeglasses (all the better to see what I am doing) and all of the lights on in the bathroom and determination not to pop the tooth out again.  My dentist cemented it back in and said it was tentatively in.  Fear of smiling with my tongue poking through a gap in my tooth line has placed me in a very conservative state of mind.  Though my time with no tooth was very short and only overnight, I gained several insights.  I marveled at how soft the inside of my upper lip was.  It has been a stranger for most of the time as I have only explored the inside of my mouth with a quick swish of my tongue to check for left-overs. I found that the hole in the front of my mouth only looks good on a five or six year old. Having said that, I have become almost Zen like in my approach to food, carefully cutting up my egg sandwich so that I can shove it into the back of my mouth past the wounded warrior at the gate.  Each bite carefully chewed as my tongue guides and controls everything away from THE TOOTH.

I am definitely living in the moment.  It is quite like the slide back into the mommy mode that I experienced whenever our son is at home.   I enjoyed the mommy-ness. The doing that goes on, cooking, baking, sharing times of board games with my son and husband. It is the caring, the knowing that I am here for him, my moment with him is all that I have so I pay close attention.

The same goes for while I am eating I am enjoying the moment, savoring the favors, the texture of everything while concentrating on guarding the tooth from further harm.  I instinctively do that with my son, catering to the possible wants and needs of his immediate world in our house during his brief stay.  I only have a short time to get it right, as his stays with us are brief.  As for the tooth, its stay could be brief as my dentist told me, “It is tentative. “  So I am back in the routine or at least another routine of really practicing being in the moment, remembering that a wrong step or in my case a wrong bite will leave me smiling at you with my tongue waving through the hole in the wall.

The Stuff that Dreams are made of

We don’t expect our dreams to fall into our waking moments however this morning when I woke up part of my dream followed me out with my foot.  I had been in the yard of my house, well, my dream house which had a large fence around it. A large wolf had gotten into the yard and I with the aid of my husband, we had been trying to chase it out of the yard.  I was kicking my foot out to shoo the animal away and that is when I woke up.  No, I didn’t connect with the wolf but with the wall of my son’s bedroom where I was sleeping as my husband was sleeping in the front room of our house after his surgery to be closer to the large bathroom.  I, in turn, was sleeping our son’s room to be close to my husband and the bathroom just in case he needed me.

Ouch, fortunately, my kick had been small and I didn’t even get a bruise from the close encounter with the wall.  When I told my husband, he asked me if I had put a hole in the wall of our son’s room. Hmm, am I wrong to worry about his concern about the wall?  Well, in the process of waking up, I also scraped the side of my nose with a fingernail.  Hazard to myself? Yes, there is a reason why my fingernails are so closely clipped. Otherwise, I will have to take to wearing mittens as the newborns do with their razor sharp nails.  Still, it might not be a bad idea as I could lotion my hands up at the same time.

Dreams are like opportunities, they are fleeting.  Moments lost, no, not really, as with some of mine they come back to haunt me sometimes.   When we were traveling to the valley to see my husband’s doctor for his ten day check-up, I missed an opportunity to take a picture of the train that was holding up traffic on the road so you will have to stay with me and just listen to my story. 

To begin with it, it wasn’t much of a train, but the barriers were down and all of the cars and trucks, etc. were stopped to wait until it was ready to pass by. In truth, it was just a large orange-red engine that had just come out of a large lumber yard on the right handed side of us.  A woman who was wearing a yellow caution vest and loaded down with a utility belt was busy with the wire fence gates, padlocking them together.  When she was done she headed for the engine and she must have gotten onto the far side of the engine because it soon started up and moved out of road and railroad barriers moved out of the way leaving us free to go. 

I mentioned to my man that it had been a lost opportunity to snap a picture that we could have posted on Facebook with the caption of “Our Long Train Wait”.  Which brings me to the commentary that we watched on CBS’s Sunday Morning today, March 6, 2016.   It was about selfies and how many people died each year from not paying attention of their surroundings as they strive to document whatever they happen to be doing at the time.  The woman giving the story commented how she missed what was happening with her daughter at a petting zoo because she was too busy trying to get the perfect angle and picture of her child’s adventures instead of just enjoying the moment. This is what opportunities are for, to experience something that we can in turn share at a later time.  She missed that with her child and will be unable to share the real experience of her day with her little girl at the petting zoo with other family members, friends and her daughter when she grows up and asks what things did I do, where did we go when I was with you when I was young.

My husband who is wise in the way of the world commented to me one day while we were watching the sunset off of our beautiful coast that we would miss the moment if we were too busy taking the perfect picture so we watched in silence, absorbing it all with our eyes, letting it be swallowed in the heart of our mind. Perhaps, in our memories, the exact position of clouds, the light and dark of the colors will be shadowed by time but if we hold still, we can remember the awe of the miracle. 

Taking the First Step

It isn’t always easy taking the first step but when things take a change in your life, you often have to step up to the plate, take a deep breath and try not to holler or scream.

When the man of my life was preparing for surgery, I was faced with the inevitability that I would be driving home.  I know that I am a good driver with years of experience but years of being married to a man who drives us most of the time everywhere plus the fact that I suffer from double vision when my eyes grow tired left me a bit anxious and concerned about the traveling home with a man under the influence of good drugs.

So I talked myself out of it.  I know that this does not work for some people who may need a lot of good medications to help their anxiety.  Fortunately for me, a good talking to generally does the trick.  Not to say that I did not toy with the idea of asking various friends to drive us or to come and pick us up after everything was done.

When we were driving home the next day after the man’s surgery, I told him that I was thinking of a blog.  His response, “It is not going to be about me, is it”.  I assure him that it might be a bit about him, meanwhile, I was thinking that it was going to be more about me and the battle of my various little minds fighting to get control of another event in my life.

Recently, I told a friend in the supermarket that I was at the point of just wanting to get off the world and let someone else take care of things.  It has been a busy, somewhat difficult couple of years. Not only for me but for various members of my family which in turn affected me in some various fashion.    

With the loss of our two cats, two sisters, a husband undergoing surgery, and new tasks at work, it is no wonder that I am tired. One of my sisters left quite quickly on her way to feed the chickens while a younger sister finally passed after a long illness.  I have been left injured but looking at my list, it is certainly a small one.  For some individuals, it could be considered a relative small list with simple things on it.  After all, we are born, we live and we die.

It is after all, how we handle it, how we react, how we respond to those in our circle, to those who are experiencing the same event.  Getting back to driving home after my husband’s surgery, my question was how I going to react and respond to the responsibility of getting us home safely.  Wisely, my sweetheart arranged for us to spend the night knowing that everything takes longer to get done than generally what is expected.  He was right, about after not being able to leave the hospital until dark. It was pitch black when I drove us to the lodging on the hospital campus.  I sighed thankfully when I checked in and saw two twin beds in our private room and a common living room and kitchen/dining area for all to use in the rest of the building.  Things were looking up.

 After my husband was settled in one of the twin beds, I parked the car, hauled in the luggage, the cooler with ice packs, grabbed my turkey sandwich and went to sit in dining room with a tall glass of water, and my cell phone. Ah, life in the fast lane. I unloaded the ice packs into the freezer of one of the refrigerator, placed sandwiches, muffins and four oranges, two bananas in our food bin as well. That was the relaxing part of my evening.

I can’t say that the rest of the evening and early morning was a blur nor did it go quickly. I set my cell phone alarm on for every four hours to administer the pain meds.  I would mention to friends later that it was like having a new baby as I would have to get dressed (to go out into the common room) about every twenty minutes to the ice packs in the freezer  so we could continue the icing per doctor/hospital orders.  Silly me, I had put on a gown for sleeping when I should have remain completely dressed for the duration of our stay.

Up and down, up and down all night.  Lucky me, poor little husband who wasn’t really sleeping either with the all of the icing of his wounds and taking his pain meds.  We survived and with lots of coffee for me we headed out in the morning.  Thank you, God, Goddess, Angels for the sunshine and dry roads home was all I had to say. 

I don’t drink coffee, I don’t like coffee but coffee was my friend that morning. My bosom buddy, my drug of choice and it certainly helped to quiet the various little minds that were trying to help me on the road.  Really, you are going to drive all the way home?  How much sleep did you get? I hope that your husband is able to direct you out of town.  Once out of town, another cup of coffee which I could not drink until I stopped at the rest stop when it was lukewarm and I downed it all down.  Yes, I am one of those people who cannot pat my head and chew gum at the same time.  I am unable to drive unless I have both hands firmly on the wheel, eyes ahead or checking my mirrors.  So hence, I had to wait until I stopped at a place where I could devote all of my attention to the cup of coffee turning colder in my hands. Ugh, coffee is really bad when it is getting cold.  But for a brain that it would make more alert, I was willing to drink it and then we were on our way.

Hooray, we made it home.  The man is healing, I slept that night 14 hours and let him deal with the pain meds to be taken every four hours. Taking the first step was letting him be responsible for self-care while I recharged.  Taking the next step may be harder, allowing myself to cry when I need to, to say uncle when I have had enough, to realize that I really can do it. 

As for the various little minds in my head, I told them to take a holiday. For I found that taking the first step was all I needed to do.

Sleeping Under the Stockings

It has been a while since I have put pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard. No excuses except perhaps that life has gotten in the way of doing things.  Wanting to pay bills, so we work, wanting to share what we have with our son and others so we work. I will admit to being tired, cranky at times when I can't get around to doing things that I like to do.  So on this Christmas eve, I give you this small gift, a short story of magic, faith and hope.  It was written many years ago.  Enjoy and Merry Christmas to everyone or a least have a good day.  

Sometimes the amount of excitement was so strong, that no coaxing could convince the children to crawl between the blankets.  It was after all, the magical night, the night before Christmas. Tired parents placed cozy blankets around the three children as they sat close to the glory of the dazzling tinseled tree.  There was no fire in the fireplace tonight for the children had begged for the jolly elf’s sake.   The house was warm for the fire had burned brightly all day.  In a second room, a pot-bellied black stove was banked and it would warm the house throughout the night.

            Stockings were hung on sturdy nails that were driven into the mantel.  Each one had been carefully knitted by grandmother with loving hands.  A plate of tempting molasses popcorn balls were placed on a three-legged wooden stool which sat close to the slowly cooling fireplace.  Carrots and apples sat on the floor, ready for the magical spirit to take to his waiting reindeer. 

The mother and father kissed their beloved little girl and two boys, wishing the nodding heads sweet dreams.  The gas lights on the walls were turned down.  The soft remaining light gave the silvery clad tree a mystical beauty.  A beauty that seemed to grow and fill the room.  The sandman quickly took the children to the perfect dreamland. 

            Emily was first to awaken in the stillness of night.  She gazed at the beautiful tree and looked to see that the popcorn balls were safe on the wooden stool.  The room was glowing softly from the feebly burning gaslights on the walls.  The moonlight shone gently through the wooden pane windows to rest on the floor and rugs.  Emily stared at the moonlight coming in the windows and suddenly she sat up and rubbed her eyes with wonder.  In the moonlight, sitting on the floor was a small angel.

            Emily reached over to her right and pinched Ben awake.  Then she turned over to her left and pinched Shawn to wake him.   When that did not work, she pulled on his arm to shake him.  Both boys were groggy.  Emily whispered to them to be quiet and she pointed to the angel who was still sitting on the floor.

            The angel was glowing.  As the angel glowed the room became brighter and brighter until it was nearly as bright as the day. The angel was humming, softly as a light breeze through the tall lilacs that stood by the side of the house.  Standing up, the angel started to pirouette about the room and in the soft moonlight.  The children were entranced by the lightness of the angel’s movements and without knowing it they began to dance by the side of the heavenly being.  Their hearts were so light and filled with happiness that without knowing it, the children started floating in mid-air.   

 They continued to dance for quite some time until the angel stopped with a sigh and sank into a graceful pile on the floor.  The children collapsed breathlessly next to the glowing creature of heaven. Carefully, Emily reached out her hand to touch the cheek of the angel.  The blessed being, laughed and stood up.  Then bending over, the angel kissed each of the children on the tops of their heads.  Placing a finger on its lips and nodding its head, the angel beckoned to the children to follow across the room to where the nativity scene was displayed on a low table by the window.  The lovely presence pointed to glowing display which sat in the moonlight.

Before the children’s eyes, the tiny figures became alive.  The figures started to grow until the room was filled and Emily, Ben, and Shawn watched with joy as Mary held in her arms the holy child.  Joseph, stood by her side, and welcomed the three wise men with their gifts.  In the stable, the soft lowing of cows and the bleating of the goats and sheep echoed the joy of the angelic choir that was softly singing Hallelujah.

It seemed to the children that the room had disappeared and that they were truly at the stable where the child slept peacefully in the manager where his mother Mary had placed him.  As they looked to the sky, the children saw the glory of the shining star of Bethlehem above the stable where the child was born. They kneeled in the straw with the angel at their side and gave the pure prayers of children in worship to God.  Their little hearts were filled with the holy love and joy of God.  The heavenly choir’s songs of joy grew louder and filled the children to the brim with peace.

The scene before the children grew dim, the holy figures grew small, and the nativity display sat once more upon the table in the soft moonlight.  The angel led sleepy children back to their beds on the floor and gently placed blankets about them.  Quickly, the little ones fell back to sleep and the angel kissed each one upon their foreheads. 

The divine angel stood up, and glowing into a brilliance that flooded the room began to fade away.  As the loving being faded away, the angel turned to the fireplace and winked at red clad gent who was leaving his wares beneath the tinseled tree and to those who were sleeping under the stockings.