A view from the sky tram in Jasper on a family holiday
As I was growing up, I was often given the opportunity to sing in church, a wedding or two and at various other places. As I enjoyed singing, I found this quite satisfying. As a result, I often received many compliments. One such time was after a church service, when I was in my late teens. I believed I had sung, “My Testimony” which was a favorite of mine. I felt it had gone quite well, because it was something I really believed, and I was able to sing it with feeling. Afterwards, I was enjoying a few compliments from appreciative listeners. At least, that is where it seemed to be heading.
One conversation in particular stands out in my mind. I was passing by a couple of fellows that I knew slightly from one of my classes. One of them, a young Walton came from a musical family and seemed to appreciate music. The conversation went something like this. To me he said, “That was wonderful.” He turned to his friend and said, “Wasn’t that great, Andy?” To which his friend replied without hesitation, “I never did care for Margery’s singing”. His unexpected comment took us by surprise, but I couldn’t help but admire his honesty. It still makes me laugh thinking about it. To each his own.
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Some years ago I was privileged to teach a small group of friends a mini-class on writing. One of these was Trudi Gray, who had come from England and had become a close friend of mine. She wrote these two stories at the time and I always felt others might enjoy the opportunity to read them.
A Christmas Visitor by Trudi Gray I grew up in a small English village. When I was about ten years old, there was a rash of petty crimes. Stones were thrown through windows attached to a note signed ‘The Phantom Avenger’. Nearby was a mental institution from which occasionally escaped, an inmate. He always wore white sandshoes and became known as ‘Sandshoe Joe’, stalking lone walkers and frightening people. It was Christmas Eve. My mother was sitting sewing doll clothes for my younger sister who was asleep in bed. I, being the eldest, was permitted to stay up and was reading, ‘A Christmas Carol’. The chains of Marley’s ghost rattled vividly in my imagination. A loud knocking on the back door broke the silence in our home. Mother looked at me expecting me to answer it. I didn’t want to because the mental rattling of Marley’s chains had filled me with fear. Reluctantly, I left the comfort of the well-lit living room and opened the door a little, slamming it shut, shouting, “Mother! Mother! There’s a man at the door with a gun. Stand back,” I said, “he will fire through the door. It must be ‘The Phantom Avenger’ or ‘Sandshoe Joe’.” “I don’t know why he bothered to knock. The door isn’t locked,” commented Mother. Another knock sounded, accompanied by “A Merry Christmas.” The voice was my grandfather’s. Opening the door, Grandfather had a goose under his arm and was holding the legs as one would hold a gun. Being slightly inebriated, he had swayed toward me in the darkness, when I first opened the door. He had won the goose in a raffle at his club and had come to present it to us. Mom said that when we went back into the living room my face was green. I never did finish reading that book. A “White” Christmas by Trudi Gray The next day Grandfather’s goose lay on the bench with its fine array of white feathers, posing a problem of how to remove them. “There’s a sturdy hook in the living room ceiling. We will tie the legs together and hang them over the hook,” directed Mom. She put a large zinc bath under the goose. We gathered as a family and vigorously started plucking, putting the feathers in the bath. We were almost finished, pleased with our efforts. My youngest brother picked up his cat and threw it into the bathful of feathers. The living room looked as though a vicious snowstorm had passed through. It took hours for the whole family to collect the feathers and make the living room presentable again for Christmas. *************************** May God's choicest blessing be upon all of you at this time and in the coming year. I want to take this time to express my love for my Heavenly Father who loves all His children, including even me, and for our Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ and for the Holy Ghost who is our Comfortor and witness of all truth. I feel so blessed. I am grateful for my family and friends. You are an added strength and support to me in my journey through this life. Thank you all. Everyone is hustling about backstage as we get ready. At six, it is my first Christmas Concert in our small town school. Shepherds and Wise Men and sheep trip over each other jostling for position and shushing each other. They needn’t worry about being heard; the clatter of sliding chairs and conversation drown them out as guests find their seats in the auditorium. All are anxious to see their little ones perform.
Eager children, adorned in costumes for their various numbers on the program, struggle to contain their excitement. Just wait until we show our parents what we have learned. A few are repeatedly pulled away from the curtains as they peek to see if their Mom or Dad is here yet. Hosts of smiling girls, dressed in white, look radiant in their shimmering angel costumes. Wings outlined with tinsel match the silver halos above their heads. How beautiful they look. I don’t know why the teacher wouldn’t let me be an angel. I can’t imagine anything lovelier. She insists she has something special for me to do; a recitation about a little black girl. I did so want to be an angel. It will be a whole year before I can try out again. We have rehearsed my performance until the words jump to my lips on her mark. She takes me through it one more time, making sure the expressions and accents are in exactly the right places. Maybe it will be alright. But I am not prepared for the rags she puts on me. I am still adjusting to the clothes, as she blackens my face and hands. I stare in shock at my bedraggled reflection in the mirror. I did not look anything like my friends dressed in white. Where have my dreams of an angel gone? Somewhere under the rags and paint, I have lost myself. This isn't how I have imagined this night. How can I go out and face the audience like this? Tears slip from my eyes as sadness overflows my heart. “It’s time,” she says. She gently guides me to center stage as the curtains open just enough for me to step out. Alone, and miserable, I look out into the darkened hall. She whispers to me to begin. I hesitate, and then one line follows another just as we practiced. Applause bursts through the air as I take my bow. To my amazement they love it. All thoughts of my appearance vanish as I bask in the adulations. I am hooked for life. I have discovered the stage. ======================= This was 1948. The term "political correctness" hasn't been created yet. I don't remember the words of the recitation, but judging from the reaction I received, I imagine it was positive and delightful. One of our sons was born at a time in my life when I had learned a bit about nutrition and was trying to incorporate it into my life. I was operating a “Diet Center” out of our home for the year before he was born and a half year afterward. It was also the time that other health related information came into my life. I started taking whole food supplements during my pregnancy. I joined La Leche League, which gives support to nursing mothers. This time I was going to do everything better.
He wasn’t introduced to solid foods until he was ten months old and then I watched his diet very carefully. As he became older, I taught him the value of choosing good foods that can make you strong and healthy. Christmas was approaching and the question of chocolates came up. They had been a part of my husband’s tradition and he wondered if we were going to include them this year. Deciding that it was only fair that I make them available to those who wanted some, I put them out. Our son was now three and a half years old and seeing this new treat, he started to ask questions. “What are these? Do they taste good? Are they good for you? Do they make you strong and healthy? Then he asked the big question that I had been dreading. “Can I have one?” “These are called chocolates", I replied. "I think they taste good, but some people don’t like them. No, they aren’t good for you." (I have since learned more and modified my judgment.) "No, they don’t make you strong and healthy" and the big one, "Yes, you may try one for yourself.” This was an important moment in his life. Occasionally he was served a sugary treat in a nursery class, but not at home. As he bit into his first chocolate, a very interesting look came on his face. He commented that he thought it tasted good. “But they aren’t good for you, are they?" I replied that no, they aren’t. For several days this subject occupied his thoughts, interrupting his play as he sorted things out in his mind. “Apples are good for you, right? They make you healthy and strong?” “Yes”, I would answer. He would go back to playing. A little later he would inquire about another item. “Is it good for you or is it junk food? Junk food isn’t good for you, is it? It doesn’t make you strong.” The chocolate had produced a dilemma. About the third day he came to me with great enthusiasm and a big smile on his face. “I’ve got it. I figured it out,” he said. “Good food makes you strong,” he announced with confidence, “but junk food makes you H A A P P Y!!” Written Mar 2006 December is a time of celebration. Love fills the air. Christians chose December 25th to celebrate the birth of Christ. Jews celebrate Hanukkah or the Festival of Lights this year between December 24th and January 1st. It celebrates the miracle of the burning of the candle for eight days when there was only enough sacred oil for one day. Muslims celebrate the birthday of Muhammed on December 12 or the 17 if they are Sunni. There are probably more celebrations going on that I don’t know about.
Then, of course, there are birthdays; a son's, a granddaughter’s and friends'. Our family celebrates Christmas. Amid all the hustle and bustle, we try not to lose sight of what the birth of the Savior means to us. Family and friends are an important part of it as well. It seems there is so much more music available around this time of year and more concerts to enjoy. Many malls are full of music and certainly colorful decorations and we mustn’t forget Santa. Whatever your beliefs are, why not use this time to seek out family and friends and draw closer? Why not do what you can to make this world a better place, even if it is just by adding a smile? No matter what situation you are in, there is always something to be found in it for which you can be grateful. Keep your sights on the good things life has to offer. My prayer is that you will be blessed to see the good things all around you. Merry Christmas |
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