We enjoyed a yummy, yummy breakfast this morning.
And it was quick and easy to make.
Click here for the recipe. You won't be sorry!
And it was quick and easy to make.
Click here for the recipe. You won't be sorry!
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Pizza Making Party
We had friends over and each little girl got to make and eat her own little pizzas!
We had a pizza-licious fun time!
Directions for easy pizza-making directions can be
Friday, June 17, 2011
Recipe Blog
I love to cook!
But I haven't been so good lately at my "Meal of the Month" posts I used to do.
I love gathering and trying new recipes. I love sharing recipes with others. Which is why I started a recipe blog. I love having all my recipes accessible from anywhere and all together and organized. I invited my mom and my sisters Melissa, Brittany and Taylor to do this with me, as we all love to cook and I LOVE their recipes, too.
If you are ever looking for a new recipe to try, check it out!
With 173 recipes currently posted, and with us adding more as we find them, this should be a good resource for anyone looking for something new - or tried and true!
Sunday, April 10, 2011
FSA Regional Conference
Yesterday was the Colorado Families Supporting Adoption (FSA) Regional Conference. It was a really great day. We attended classes and panels taught by birth mothers, individuals who have been adopted, and parents of adopted children. We laughed, we cried, and we learned a lot. We met some wonderful new friends and enjoyed seeing old friends once again. But most of all we came away filled with appreciation for the blessing that is adoption and hopeful that we will adopt when the time is right.
I try to be positive about the adoption process, but the truth is some days are hard. Some days I don't want to wait any longer. Some days I feel angry or sad or just impatient. But then we have an experience, like we did yesterday, that reminds us that everything is going to be okay. Better than that - everything is going to be amazing. If we just wait. And remember.
One of the presenters that I listened to yesterday shared a beautiful essay. The essay was written to express what life is like raising a child with a disability, but it can also apply to what life feels like when you are trying to build a family through adoption. It really touched my heart. The title of the essay is "Welcome to Holland" and it was written by Emily Perl Kingsley.
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.
I also made a cake for the FSA Conference yesterday. Here's a picture:
Monday, March 7, 2011
A Party for a Princess
Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
Princess Katelee is turning
5
and you are invited to her Royal Birthday Party!
Don't forget your royal costume!
____________
Welcome to Katelee's Castle!
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young princess named Katelee. It was Katelee’s birthday, and so she invited all her princess friends to join her at her royal castle for a special princess party! Princess Chloe, Princess Sadie, Princess Claire, Princess Hannah, Princess Madelyn, Princess Issy, Princess Isabel, Princess Hailey and Princess Ella all came to the princess party!
When the princesses had all arrived, Princess Katelee invited her friends to join her in the royal gardens while they waited for the princess cake to arrive. While they were playing in the gardens, the little princesses met a talking frog!
“What are you doing in the royal gardens?” asked the frog. “Don’t you know that these gardens are enchanted? If anyone plays here who is not a true princess, they will be turned into a frog! Believe me, I should know!”
“Don’t worry, we are princesses!” giggled the little girls.
“But where are your crowns?” demanded the frog. “You don’t look like princesses without your tiaras!”
“Oh, dear!” cried the princesses! “We did forget our crowns!” The little girls all rushed back to the palace to retrieve their forgotten crowns.
(The party guests, creating their beautiful princess crowns!)
(Now we really look like princesses!)
After the princesses were wearing their beautiful crowns once again, they decided to go to the kitchens to check on the princess cake. But as they were crossing the castle's great hall on their way to the kitchens, they ran into a wicked witch, disguised as a peddler woman.
“Why, what lovely little princesses,” crowed the old woman. “Can I interest you in a juicy apple?” (Pull out an apple.)
Princess Katelee was feeling a little hungry, and so she took the apple the woman offered her and took a big bite. All her princess friends gasped! "On, no!" the cried as Princess Katelee fainted into a deep sleep!
(Playing Pass the Poison Apple)
Katelee’s Princess friends were very wise and quick. They knew the old peddler woman must have been a wicked witch, and they caught her before she could escape.
“You must tell us how to break the spell and wake up Katelee again,” demanded Princess Chloe.
“Tell us or we’ll never let you escape,” added Princess Hailey.
“Fine!” spat the witch. “I'll tell you, because you'll never be able to find the cure. The only way to break the spell is to find a golden dragon egg and eat the magical beans inside!” And with that information, the evil witch disappeared in a puff of smoke.
The little princesses looked at each other nervously. They knew that dragons lived in the woods just beyond the royal gardens.
“Let’s go find a golden dragon egg!” said Princess Hannah, bravely. They straightened their pink tiaras and marched bravely into the woods to help save their friend.
(Searching for the golden dragon egg. Found a pink one!)
The loyal princesses discovered a golden dragon egg and they each ate a magical bean. Then they fed a magic bean to Princess Katelee. Princess Katelee stretched and woke up, feeling well rested and as happy as ever. Just then the clock tower rang 7 o’clock!
“Oh, dear! We must hurry and get ready for the princess ball!” exclaimed Princess Katelee. “After the ball, we will have the princess cake!”
“Hooray!” the princesses all shouted as they skipped off to get ready for the royal ball. They went to the powder room, where Katelee had everything they needed to get ready.
"Wait just a moment," said Princess Katelee. "I think something is missing..."
(We had a platter with 10 princess things on it, and we took turns removing one item and figuring out what is missing. I think this game was probably the favorite! Now, on with the story...)
Once the princesses were all ready for the royal ball, they joined the other guests in the ballroom. Beautiful music was being played by the orchestra, and the princesses could hardly wait to begin dancing. But, just as they were about to join in the dance, a black puff of smoke appeared in the middle of the ballroom floor.
The evil fairy, Maleficent, stood in the smoke.
“Why was I not invited to the party?” she demanded. “Nobody ever invites me to the royal balls. Because nobody bothered to invite me, I will put a curse on this ball. Every time I say FREEZE every dancer in the hall will freeze in place and the music will stop! You will have no fun dancing when you are constantly interrupted like that!” Maleficent cackled with delight at her mean curse!
The music started again, and everyone began to dance, including Princess Katelee and her friends, but just as Maleficent said, they suddenly all froze into place!
(Playing freeze dance. Isn't it funny how everyone poses when it's time to freeze?!)
“Oh, dear!” sighed Princess Katelee. “Our ball is ruined if Maleficent continues to make us freeze like this. I wish we could do something ”
Suddenly, Katelee’s kind fairy godmother appeared at her side.
“Did I hear you wish for something, dearie?” she asked kindly.
Princess Katelee explained what had happened. “Oh, if only I could do something to break the spell, my friends and I could dance and enjoy ourselves!”
“Oh, but you can do something, if only you believe,” said her fairy godmother. “Now let me think. In order to break her spell, you and your friends will have to work together to create a wish come true. Here is a magical cape (pull out parachute) and here are some magical wishes that haven’t come true yet (pull out sparkly fuzzy cotton balls). All you have to do is keep at least one magical wish on the cape for an entire song. If you can do that, then you will break the spell!”
(This was another favorite game! The giggling never stopped!)
All the princesses worked hard together until they broke the wicked fairies curse. “Hip Hip Hooray!” they shouted, when the curse was finally gone. “Let’s celebrate!”
“But how?” asked Princess Madelyn.
“I know!” said Princess Ella. Let’s play a game of dancing limbo!
All the princesses cheered at this fun idea, and they lined up to play their favorite dancing game!
(Katelee plays limbo by bending forward. We thought it was funny, so we didn't correct her! Ha ha!)
“Phew, I’m exhausted” Princess Isabel said as she plopped down onto a cushion after playing limbo.
“Me, too,” agree Princess Sadie. “And hungry!”
“I think it’s finally time for princess cake!” exclaimed Princess Katelee!
“And birthday presents!” added Princess Issy.
And so the princesses sat down to enjoy a delicious piece of princess cake and then watched Princess Katelee open her gifts.
(The princess cake.)
(Making a wish and blowing out the candles!)
(YUM!)
(Pink lemonade, pink ice cream and pink cake - OH MY!)
(The royal present opening!)
(No matter how many times I said to back up and sit down, the little princess still ended up right next to Katelee. It was hilarious!)
Each and every princess had a great time at Princess Katelee’s birthday celebration. Even though there were some unexpected surprises, they learned that if they worked together and helped one another, they could make all their dreams come true.
And they all lived happily ever after!
I love you, Princess Katelee.
Friday, December 24, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 24
Carol: Joy to the World, Hymn #201
Tonight is Christmas Eve. Please find your scriptures; we read from the scriptures the real Christmas story.
Tonight is Christmas Eve. Please find your scriptures; we read from the scriptures the real Christmas story.
As Gordon B. Hinckley so beautifully explained it, "In each of us there is at Christmastime something of our childhood. We all revel in the fun of Christmas - of giving and receiving tinseled presents, of singing favorite carols, of feasting on goodies we never miss at other seasons, of gathering together as family and friends, all having a wonderful time.
But there is something else, something better, and that is to sit together as families and read again the fascinating store of the birth of Jesus, who was born in Bethlehem of Judea. It is a wondrous story told in language ever so simple and beautiful by the writers of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.
All of us have heard these readings since we were very young. They are a part of our lives, a very important part. Every child, certainly every child who regards himself or herself as Christian, should know and enjoy the story of our Lord, the Song of God, who came to earth and died for each of us."
Below are listed some of our favorite Christmas scriptures:
Luke 1:26-38, 46, 47
Luke 2:1-20
Matthew 2:1-14
3 Nephi 1:5-21
Isaiah 7:14
Isaiah 9:6
To all our friends and family - we love you!
Merry Christmas!
We hope your day is filled with love and happiness.
Love,
The Reynolds
Thursday, December 23, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 23
Carol: O Little Town of Bethlehem, Hymn #208
Scripture: Micah 5:2 But thou, Bethlehem, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall He come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel, whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.
Story: Excerpt from In Search of the Christmas Spirit by Thomas S. Monson
As we lift our eyes heavenward and then remember to look outward into the lives of others, as we remember that it is more blessed to give than to receive, we, during this Christmas season, will come to see a bright, particular star that will guide us to our precious opportunity.
Such was the experience of a Sunday School class some years ago when a wise teacher placed aside the manual one Sunday morning as Christmas approached. With her class members listening in, she telephoned me. I was serving then as the bishop of a large ward situated in the central part of Salt Lake City.
The family I had in mind had recently emigrated from war-torn Germany and had rented a humble, older home in our area. The children were new to America, and, while they were learning to speak our language, they were shy and reluctant to mingle with others. Their personal possessions were few; they had lost so much during the war.
In a private telephone conversation with the teacher, I suggested an appropriate evening when her class could accompany her to our ward meetinghouse and together we would journey to the home where the Mueller family lived. Again the teacher stated that she wanted her choice class to remember the true meaning of Christmas. I responded, “Could I suggest, then, that each child bring with him or her a gift that has a special meaning to the individual; a gift the person treasures and would rather keep for himself.”
Just four days before Christmas, the class journeyed to our ward. Several adults brought them in large, expensive automobiles. Such an array of wealth had never before graced the parking area. We then walked to the Mueller home, singing carols along the way. The laughter of the children and the hurried pace of their steps reflected the anticipation of Christmas.
It was at the Mueller home, however, that the frills of Christmas became the spirit of Christmas. I watched as one girl looked into the eyes of one of the Mueller children, a girl about her age, then tenderly handed her a beautiful doll she had received on her own birthday, a gift she herself loved. She anxiously told her newly found friend how to dress the doll and hold it ever so tenderly in cradled arms. I observed a normally rowdy boy take from his left hand his genuine leather baseball glove, which bore the replica signature of Joe DiMaggio, and place the glove on the left hand of a German-speaking boy who had never seen, far less worn, a baseball glove. He then explained how to catch the baseball in the special pocket of the glove, which he had hand prepared hour after hour with a particular oil. Such was the experience of each child with each gift.
As we left the Mueller home and walked back to the meetinghouse, not a word was spoken. One could hear the crunch of the newly fallen snow as young feet, guided by happy hearts, made the two-block journey. We entered the building, there to have donuts and apple cider. In the blessing that was asked upon the food, a beautiful girl, her voice choked with emotion, described the feelings of all as she prayed, “Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for the best Christmas we have ever had.” That night, as children who had found the real spirit of Christmas filled the automobiles, left the parking lot, and disappeared into the darkness, I recalled the meaningful words from the hymn “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
And so He had. The quest for the Christmas spirit had been rewarded.
Recipe: Pomegranate Salad
pomegranates
fruit cocktail, drained
grapes, sliced
apples, diced
bananas, sliced
whipping cream, whipped and sweetened with sugar
In a bowl, combine the desired amounts of fruit. Add the whipping cream until the salad is the correct consistency. Chill or serve. (Note: You can make this as a fruit salad with any fruit you want.)
Scripture: Micah 5:2 But thou, Bethlehem, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall He come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel, whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.
Story: Excerpt from In Search of the Christmas Spirit by Thomas S. Monson
As we lift our eyes heavenward and then remember to look outward into the lives of others, as we remember that it is more blessed to give than to receive, we, during this Christmas season, will come to see a bright, particular star that will guide us to our precious opportunity.
Such was the experience of a Sunday School class some years ago when a wise teacher placed aside the manual one Sunday morning as Christmas approached. With her class members listening in, she telephoned me. I was serving then as the bishop of a large ward situated in the central part of Salt Lake City.
The teacher inquired, “Are there any poor in your ward—people who need a sub for Santa?” She then described her own neighborhood as one of affluence and mentioned that she wanted her class to remember this particular Christmas. I responded that our members had the necessities of life but mentioned a family that would welcome a special experience—one that would also greatly benefit her young class members.
The family I had in mind had recently emigrated from war-torn Germany and had rented a humble, older home in our area. The children were new to America, and, while they were learning to speak our language, they were shy and reluctant to mingle with others. Their personal possessions were few; they had lost so much during the war.
In a private telephone conversation with the teacher, I suggested an appropriate evening when her class could accompany her to our ward meetinghouse and together we would journey to the home where the Mueller family lived. Again the teacher stated that she wanted her choice class to remember the true meaning of Christmas. I responded, “Could I suggest, then, that each child bring with him or her a gift that has a special meaning to the individual; a gift the person treasures and would rather keep for himself.”
Just four days before Christmas, the class journeyed to our ward. Several adults brought them in large, expensive automobiles. Such an array of wealth had never before graced the parking area. We then walked to the Mueller home, singing carols along the way. The laughter of the children and the hurried pace of their steps reflected the anticipation of Christmas.
It was at the Mueller home, however, that the frills of Christmas became the spirit of Christmas. I watched as one girl looked into the eyes of one of the Mueller children, a girl about her age, then tenderly handed her a beautiful doll she had received on her own birthday, a gift she herself loved. She anxiously told her newly found friend how to dress the doll and hold it ever so tenderly in cradled arms. I observed a normally rowdy boy take from his left hand his genuine leather baseball glove, which bore the replica signature of Joe DiMaggio, and place the glove on the left hand of a German-speaking boy who had never seen, far less worn, a baseball glove. He then explained how to catch the baseball in the special pocket of the glove, which he had hand prepared hour after hour with a particular oil. Such was the experience of each child with each gift.
As we left the Mueller home and walked back to the meetinghouse, not a word was spoken. One could hear the crunch of the newly fallen snow as young feet, guided by happy hearts, made the two-block journey. We entered the building, there to have donuts and apple cider. In the blessing that was asked upon the food, a beautiful girl, her voice choked with emotion, described the feelings of all as she prayed, “Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for the best Christmas we have ever had.” That night, as children who had found the real spirit of Christmas filled the automobiles, left the parking lot, and disappeared into the darkness, I recalled the meaningful words from the hymn “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
And so He had. The quest for the Christmas spirit had been rewarded.
Recipe: Pomegranate Salad
pomegranates
fruit cocktail, drained
grapes, sliced
apples, diced
bananas, sliced
whipping cream, whipped and sweetened with sugar
In a bowl, combine the desired amounts of fruit. Add the whipping cream until the salad is the correct consistency. Chill or serve. (Note: You can make this as a fruit salad with any fruit you want.)
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 22
Carol: Christmas Bells, Children’s Songbook pg. 54
Scripture: Isaiah 9:6 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and this name shall be called wonderful, Counselor, the might God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
Story: The Promise of the Doll by Ruth C. Ikerman
When I met my friend on the crowded street, she held out her hand to me and said, "I hope you can help me. I’m desperate." Wearily she explained, "I’m about to cry and it’s all over a doll. I simply have to find a doll for my granddaughter."
As tears filled her eyes, I remembered the terrible shock we all had felt over the death of her daughter who had been such a vivacious young mother until stricken several months before. The young husband was doing a fine job with the little girl, but it was on the grandmother that much of the burden of planning for good things remained . And this explained her Christmas errand.
"I blame myself entirely," she told me, "for not starting earlier, but I never thought it would be a problem to find one of these special dolls. There is not one of this variety left in town!"
I asked her, "Well, why can’t you settle for another kind of doll?"
She shook her head. "One of the last things my daughter said to me before the pain got so bad was how sorry she was that she had refused to buy this doll for her little girl. She told me that she had thought the child was too young for such a doll, and had refused to buy it for her birthday, supposing there were lots of occasions ahead when she could get it for her."
Then she told the rest of the story. The little girl had come to her mother’s bedside and asked whether the doll might arrive at Christmastime. The young mother grasped the tiny hand in hers and said, "I promise you this for Christmas." Then she had asked her own mother to do this one thing. "Just make sure that my little girl gets that doll this Christmas."
Now my friend was about to fail in her mission. "It’s all my fault," she kept repeating. "I waited until too late. It will take a miracle now."
Secretly, I agreed, but I tried to keep up a polite facade of courage. "Maybe the child has forgotten, and will be happy with something else."
Grimly my friend replied, "She may forget, but I won’t." We parted to go our separate ways.
With my mind only half on my shopping, I found the ribbon a neighbor wanted to finish a baby blanket she was making. A few minutes later I stopped at her door to leave the package and was invited inside.
Her two little girls sat on he floor, playing with their dolls. As I sat down, I noticed that one of the dolls was the same kind my friend was seeking. Hopefully I asked, "Can you remember where you bought that doll?"
My neighbor gave me her warmhearted smile. "That’s not a doll," she said, "She’s a member of the family. As near as I can see she probably was born and not made. She came to us by plane from a favorite aunt in the East."
So I told her that I had a friend who was searching frantically for such a doll for the little girl whose mother had passed away during the year. Apparently unaware of us, the two children played happily. The mother and I spoke in adult words about facing a loss at the holiday time, and how much we wished we could help my friend.
Later, when I got up to leave, the two little girls followed me to the door.
"Dolly is ready to leave, too," They told me. Sure enough, she was dressed in a red velveteen coat and hat with a white fur muff.
"Where is Dolly going?" I asked.
They laughed happily. "With you, of course! You know where the lady lives, don’t you—the one who needs the doll so badly?"
I started to tell them that of course I couldn’t take this doll. Then I looked at their faces, happy in the moment of giving. Something in my heart warned me that if I said the wrong thing, I could ruin their joy of giving for the rest of their lives. Silently I took the doll, fumbling with my car keys so that they could not see the mist over my eyes.
Recipe: Holiday Fruit Slush
6 c. water
4 c. sugar
5 oranges
2 lemons
5 bananas
2 quarts pineapple juice
7-up
Boil water with sugar; set aside and cool. Add the juice of the oranges and lemons. Mash bananas and mix in. Stir in the pineapple juice. Put in Tupperware containers and freeze. Chop up and mix up with 7-up.
Scripture: Isaiah 9:6 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and this name shall be called wonderful, Counselor, the might God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
Story: The Promise of the Doll by Ruth C. Ikerman
When I met my friend on the crowded street, she held out her hand to me and said, "I hope you can help me. I’m desperate." Wearily she explained, "I’m about to cry and it’s all over a doll. I simply have to find a doll for my granddaughter."
As tears filled her eyes, I remembered the terrible shock we all had felt over the death of her daughter who had been such a vivacious young mother until stricken several months before. The young husband was doing a fine job with the little girl, but it was on the grandmother that much of the burden of planning for good things remained . And this explained her Christmas errand.
"I blame myself entirely," she told me, "for not starting earlier, but I never thought it would be a problem to find one of these special dolls. There is not one of this variety left in town!"
I asked her, "Well, why can’t you settle for another kind of doll?"
She shook her head. "One of the last things my daughter said to me before the pain got so bad was how sorry she was that she had refused to buy this doll for her little girl. She told me that she had thought the child was too young for such a doll, and had refused to buy it for her birthday, supposing there were lots of occasions ahead when she could get it for her."
Then she told the rest of the story. The little girl had come to her mother’s bedside and asked whether the doll might arrive at Christmastime. The young mother grasped the tiny hand in hers and said, "I promise you this for Christmas." Then she had asked her own mother to do this one thing. "Just make sure that my little girl gets that doll this Christmas."
Now my friend was about to fail in her mission. "It’s all my fault," she kept repeating. "I waited until too late. It will take a miracle now."
Secretly, I agreed, but I tried to keep up a polite facade of courage. "Maybe the child has forgotten, and will be happy with something else."
Grimly my friend replied, "She may forget, but I won’t." We parted to go our separate ways.
With my mind only half on my shopping, I found the ribbon a neighbor wanted to finish a baby blanket she was making. A few minutes later I stopped at her door to leave the package and was invited inside.
Her two little girls sat on he floor, playing with their dolls. As I sat down, I noticed that one of the dolls was the same kind my friend was seeking. Hopefully I asked, "Can you remember where you bought that doll?"
My neighbor gave me her warmhearted smile. "That’s not a doll," she said, "She’s a member of the family. As near as I can see she probably was born and not made. She came to us by plane from a favorite aunt in the East."
So I told her that I had a friend who was searching frantically for such a doll for the little girl whose mother had passed away during the year. Apparently unaware of us, the two children played happily. The mother and I spoke in adult words about facing a loss at the holiday time, and how much we wished we could help my friend.
Later, when I got up to leave, the two little girls followed me to the door.
"Dolly is ready to leave, too," They told me. Sure enough, she was dressed in a red velveteen coat and hat with a white fur muff.
"Where is Dolly going?" I asked.
They laughed happily. "With you, of course! You know where the lady lives, don’t you—the one who needs the doll so badly?"
I started to tell them that of course I couldn’t take this doll. Then I looked at their faces, happy in the moment of giving. Something in my heart warned me that if I said the wrong thing, I could ruin their joy of giving for the rest of their lives. Silently I took the doll, fumbling with my car keys so that they could not see the mist over my eyes.
Recipe: Holiday Fruit Slush
6 c. water
4 c. sugar
5 oranges
2 lemons
5 bananas
2 quarts pineapple juice
7-up
Boil water with sugar; set aside and cool. Add the juice of the oranges and lemons. Mash bananas and mix in. Stir in the pineapple juice. Put in Tupperware containers and freeze. Chop up and mix up with 7-up.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 21
Carol: Oh, Hush Thee, My Baby, Children’s Songbook pg. 48
Scripture: 1 Nephi 13:18 And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white. And he said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Song of God, after the manner of the flesh.
Story: Someone Missing at the Manger by Elizabeth Starr Hill
It was two days before Christmas, and Marcie was troubled. She sat on the floor in the glowing fan of warmth from the fire, over a dozen books stacked by her, and flipped through one until she came to a manger scene. In the picture, shepherds had come to visit the Baby Jesus. The Kings were off in the distance, but plainly on the way. Even a cow and a donkey stood nearby in the stable.
It was just as she had thought. Marcie shut the book with a snap, and picked up another. The manger scene in this one was a bit different. The Kings were kneeling in front of the Crib. A boy goatherd stood behind them. A couple of cherubs hovered over the shepherds. But, except for some animals, there was no one else.
Marcie looked through every Christmas book she owned. She found tall and short shepherds, fat and thin Kings, black sheep and white lambs. She found boys 'with crutches and crooks, and even one dressed like a choirboy.
But, in each story, someone was missing from the manger. There was no little girl. Not one.
Marcie went into the kitchen where her mother was feeding Kevin, her baby brother. "Mom, when the Baby Jesus was born, how come no little girl went to the stable to see him?"
Her mother spooned some mashed potatoes carefully into Kevin's mouth, and smiled up at Marcie. "Are you sure no one did?"
"Have you ever seen a picture of a little girl at the manger?" Marcie demanded.
"Why, I guess not," her mother answered, her hazel eyes thoughtful. "Unless you count angels. Some of them look as though they might be little girls."
Marcie shook her head emphatically. "You can't count angels. They're too--too angelic. I mean plain, ordinary girls like me."
"I never thought of it before," her mother admitted, "but you are right. It is odd."
Marcie's older brother, Tod, came bursting in, bringing a rush of cold air with him. "I'm starving." he announced, seizing an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table and crunching into it.
"I'll start lunch. Marcie, will you finish feeding Kevin? And this afternoon," her mother said, you and I must finish up the pageant costumes."
Marcie beamed, thrilled by the reminder of how soon the pageant was. She had been looking forward to it for days and days--in fact, for a year, because she had been sick with a bad cold last Christmas, so she and her mother had stayed home from church.
The pageant was going to be tomorrow, Christmas Eve. This year, Marcie's mother had been chosen to play the Mother of Jesus. Her father was one of the Kings, and Tod was a shepherd boy. Marcie's name would be on the program, too, for helping with the costumes.
She could hardly wait to see how everybody looked. Probably the most beautiful costume of all was the Herald Angel's. It was white and so heavenly. Marcie had helped make it.
She wondered if she would ever get to be the Herald Angel. This year the part had gone to Dorothy Cooper. Dorothy was a senior. She had an irritating manner and crooked teeth, but she could play the trumpet, so she was ideal for the part. Her trumpet could lead the carol singing.
Marcie sighed. About the only thing I'd be ideal for, she thought, is a plain, ordinary little girl. But, of course, there was no role like that.
As though reading her mind, her mother said, "Tod, Marcie and I were wondering why no little girls are ever shown at the manger, in Christmas scenes. Why do you suppose that is?"
"Because it's a man's world, what's why," Tod said cheerfully. He tramped away, whistling.
Furious, Marcie wanted to yell after him, "It is not! It's a girl's world."
But underneath, she had her doubts. Sometimes it seemed to her that boys had the best of everything and not just at Christmas, either. Tod could run faster that she could, skate better, climb trees higher. He was allowed to stay out after dark and to play rough games. When he tore his clothes or got them dirty, people said approvingly that he was a "real boy," but when she acted wild, she was scolded for being "unladylike."
Kevin couldn't do much, of course, but he certainly got away with a lot. No one minded that he had terrible table manners. Even now, he was dribbling his mashed potatoes. And everybody waited on him. And people thought he was so cute-adorable, they said--for no better reason than that he had red hair, only two teeth, and dimples.
In her heart, Marcie feared that she herself was reflected in the pane of the kitchen window: just a usual kind of little girl, with long brown pigtails and a freckled nose. She was in- between, nobody special.
She pushed the last of the potatoes into Kevin's reluctant mouth, washed his plate and spoon, and went back to sit by the fire. She curled up on the rug, one arm under her head, and gazed into the warm orange and yellow flames.
She imagined it was nearly two thousand years ago, and that she lived in a little town called Bethlehem, near Judea. She was the daughter of a shepherd, and one night she went out with her father to help tend the sheep.
As they watched in the dark fields, a mysterious light appeared in the sky, and grew brighter, and brighter still. Then they saw it was an angel; a real, actual angel, coming to speak to them. They were terrified. They thought it might be the end of the world. But the angel said, "Don't be afraid. I've come to tell you a Savior has been born. He is Christ the Lord. You'll find Him wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."
Then the angel pointed the way to where the Christ Child was, and a brilliant Star shone in the East to guide anyone who wanted to visit him. Marcie cried out to her shepherd father, "Oh, please, I want to see the Baby! Look, everybody's going!"
It was true; following the glorious light, the other shepherds took up their crooks and walked toward the Star, their faces full of wonder.
'Well, I don't know," her father said doubtfully. "It is His birthday and I'd like to take a present to the Child. Suppose I could take a baby lamb for Him to play with. But you, Marcie, what could you take?"
"I could make cookies," Marcie suggested. "They're always good to have, when you've got company coming. Don't forget, He may have to entertain Kings.
So she and her father hurried home. Marcie baked cookies and wrapped them in gold paper. Then they set out to join the other shepherds, and follow the star.
As they walked across the silvery, light-struck fields, a sense of miracle was upon them all. The sound of the wind was like a rush of angels, the very trees seemed to whisper with the voices and the promises of angels.
Soon the Star led them to a stable. Marcie was about to step inside when--
"Marcie! Set the table!" her mother called from not cute at all. She could see herself right now the kitchen.
She jumped at the sound of her name and the day dream faded away.
Late that afternoon, the whole family went to the last pageant rehearsal. Marcie carried Kevin, and promised to mind him and to take him home if he fussed. She waited with the baby in the church while the rest of the family went off to change into their costumes.
She looked around the church, her brown eyes wide. The altar was covered with red and green poinsettias. Pine branches with red ribbons decorated the choir stalls, and everything smelled like pine, like candles--like Christmas. For some reason she could not understand, Marcie's throat closed up, and she felt like crying.
"Nnh-nnh," Kevin complained, squirming in her lap. She just hummed Jingle Bells to soothe him and he quieted down a little.
Across the aisle, not far from where Marcie was sitting, a creche had been set up. Marcie looked at the small wooden figures with a familiar annoyance. No little girl anywhere.
There was plenty of room for one more. And cookies might have come in very handy.
Kevin began to whimper again. Marcie wished everybody would hurry up and get their costumes on. The baby was getting fussier by the moment. "Hey, cheer up," she urged him. But he whimpered all the more and finally he began to cry.
She realized she would have to take him home. Once he got in a bad mood, he didn't come out of it too easily. She told herself: Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Anyway, it might be better to see the pageant all at once, when it was perfect. The baby was staying with a neighbor tomorrow.
She skipped home, jogging Kevin and singing lustily, Dashing through the snow...in a one- horse open sleigh... Overhead, the first stars of evening blazed down.
Next morning, Marcie woke up early, bursting with anticipation. It was Christmas Eve. She ran to the window. The day was brilliantly clear, and all the town seemed decorated for Christmas: the giant fir tree out front glittered with its burden of snow; glowing icicles hung from every roof and sill of every house; whitened streets reflected the sun with a magical brightness.
The hours of the day seemed to fly by. There were last-minute presents to wrap, popcorn balls to make, celery and onions to be chopped for stuffing the turkey.
In the afternoon, Marcie and her mother wrapped one of Marcie's favorite dolls in swaddling clothes. The doll was to be the Baby Jesus in the pageant. Marcie felt very proud that her beloved doll was to be used. She washed the doll's face carefully after it was dressed, to be sure it looked its best.
Everyone's eyes were bright with excitement, but Marcie's more than all. She raced upstairs and changed into her red velvet dress, and tied red ribbons on her pigtails. Then she went to Kevin's crib to dress him in his snowsuit, but suddenly noticed he looked strange. He had some bumpy spots on his face, and he was unusually hot to the touch.
Alarmed, Marcie called her parents. Her mother took one look at the baby, and groaned, "Chicken pox!"
"I'm afraid so," Marcie's father agreed after a moment. Marcie remembered 'when she and Tod had chicken pox. Yes, they had looked just the way Kevin did now.
After taking Kevin's temperature, her mother phoned Mrs. Carter, the neighbor who had planned to take care of Kevin. She explained about the chicken pox, and asked if Mrs. Carter's three small children had had it. The answer was no; Mrs. Carter was awfully sorry, but of course she couldn't under the circumstances, take Kevin.
Her mother called two more neighbors to baby-sit, but without success.
"We've got to get somebody," Tod said. "We're late already. And what are they going to do if we don't show up? What good is a Christmas pageant without the Baby Jesus? And His Mother? And one King and one shepherd?"
Marcie swallowed hard. It was true that the whole pageant would be ruined without her mother and father and brother. But, she thought, there was one person who would not be missed--who, in fact, was always missing--a plain, ordinary little girl with no place at the manger.
Still, it was hard to say the words. Marcie's voice sounded husky as she volunteered, "I'll stay with Kevin."
But they all knew that time had run out. After giving Marcie a comforting hug, her father phoned the doctor and asked if it would be all right to leave Kevin with Marcie for an hour or so. The doctor said yes; if Marcie had any trouble, she could call him up, but the best thing for the baby was sleep.
Marcie held back tears until after her family had hurried off to the pageant. But then she flung herself across her bed and sobbed. She had imagined just how it would be; her mother, so beautiful in a blue robe; her father, every inch a King in scarlet and gold; and Tod, the handsomest of the shepherds. She pictured the angels, her doll as Baby Jesus...
And she wouldn't see any of it. She was going to miss it all...
There was to be a short procession first, around the outside of the church, 'with everyone singing and Dorothy playing. Marcie Heard the music start. She ran to a window. She could not see the church, but she could hear the singing better with the window open: Silent Night, holy night...
Even from this distance, Dorothy's trumpet sounded strong and fine. So did the voices: All is calm, all is bright...Through the ache of her disappointment, the words touched Marcie's heart. It 'was a calm and bright night. She loved carols and she hummed along, as verse after beloved verse followed.
Then the trumpet took on a summoning note. The tune changed to Marcie's favorite: Oh, come, all ye faithful...
Something seemed to answer: a memory, right at the edge of her mind. At first she couldn't quite catch hold of it. Then she remembered: it was what the leader of their church had said to their mother last year when they had to stay home.
All at once she heard his words, as clearly as though he were speaking now, to her: "'When you want to see the Christ Child and duty keeps you at home, wait in peace and faith for He will surely come to you.
Sing, choirs of angels...sing in exultation... the voices chorused. Church bells began to peal. The procession was nearly over.
Marcie shut the window. She could still hear the singing, and the triumphant notes of the trumpet. And, for today and for always, the words.
For suddenly she knew, in a crystal moment of understanding, why there were never any little girls at the manger. Girls were needed at home. They could not be spared.
Kevin cried faintly. Marcie hurried to his crib. And in the frosty Christmas air, the bells rang joy to all the little girls in the world.
Recipe: Peppermint Dessert
1 pint whipping cream
1 1/2 c. peppermint candy, crushed
28 large marshmallows, cut fine
graham crackers, crushed
Whip the cream. Stir in the peppermint candy and the marshmallows. Spread a layer of crushed graham crackers on the bottom of a 9x9-baking dish. Spread the cream mixture on top. Put another layer of graham cracker crumbs on top. Let stand in the fridge at least 8 hours.
Scripture: 1 Nephi 13:18 And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white. And he said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Song of God, after the manner of the flesh.
Story: Someone Missing at the Manger by Elizabeth Starr Hill
It was two days before Christmas, and Marcie was troubled. She sat on the floor in the glowing fan of warmth from the fire, over a dozen books stacked by her, and flipped through one until she came to a manger scene. In the picture, shepherds had come to visit the Baby Jesus. The Kings were off in the distance, but plainly on the way. Even a cow and a donkey stood nearby in the stable.
It was just as she had thought. Marcie shut the book with a snap, and picked up another. The manger scene in this one was a bit different. The Kings were kneeling in front of the Crib. A boy goatherd stood behind them. A couple of cherubs hovered over the shepherds. But, except for some animals, there was no one else.
Marcie looked through every Christmas book she owned. She found tall and short shepherds, fat and thin Kings, black sheep and white lambs. She found boys 'with crutches and crooks, and even one dressed like a choirboy.
But, in each story, someone was missing from the manger. There was no little girl. Not one.
Marcie went into the kitchen where her mother was feeding Kevin, her baby brother. "Mom, when the Baby Jesus was born, how come no little girl went to the stable to see him?"
Her mother spooned some mashed potatoes carefully into Kevin's mouth, and smiled up at Marcie. "Are you sure no one did?"
"Have you ever seen a picture of a little girl at the manger?" Marcie demanded.
"Why, I guess not," her mother answered, her hazel eyes thoughtful. "Unless you count angels. Some of them look as though they might be little girls."
Marcie shook her head emphatically. "You can't count angels. They're too--too angelic. I mean plain, ordinary girls like me."
"I never thought of it before," her mother admitted, "but you are right. It is odd."
Marcie's older brother, Tod, came bursting in, bringing a rush of cold air with him. "I'm starving." he announced, seizing an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table and crunching into it.
"I'll start lunch. Marcie, will you finish feeding Kevin? And this afternoon," her mother said, you and I must finish up the pageant costumes."
Marcie beamed, thrilled by the reminder of how soon the pageant was. She had been looking forward to it for days and days--in fact, for a year, because she had been sick with a bad cold last Christmas, so she and her mother had stayed home from church.
The pageant was going to be tomorrow, Christmas Eve. This year, Marcie's mother had been chosen to play the Mother of Jesus. Her father was one of the Kings, and Tod was a shepherd boy. Marcie's name would be on the program, too, for helping with the costumes.
She could hardly wait to see how everybody looked. Probably the most beautiful costume of all was the Herald Angel's. It was white and so heavenly. Marcie had helped make it.
She wondered if she would ever get to be the Herald Angel. This year the part had gone to Dorothy Cooper. Dorothy was a senior. She had an irritating manner and crooked teeth, but she could play the trumpet, so she was ideal for the part. Her trumpet could lead the carol singing.
Marcie sighed. About the only thing I'd be ideal for, she thought, is a plain, ordinary little girl. But, of course, there was no role like that.
As though reading her mind, her mother said, "Tod, Marcie and I were wondering why no little girls are ever shown at the manger, in Christmas scenes. Why do you suppose that is?"
"Because it's a man's world, what's why," Tod said cheerfully. He tramped away, whistling.
Furious, Marcie wanted to yell after him, "It is not! It's a girl's world."
But underneath, she had her doubts. Sometimes it seemed to her that boys had the best of everything and not just at Christmas, either. Tod could run faster that she could, skate better, climb trees higher. He was allowed to stay out after dark and to play rough games. When he tore his clothes or got them dirty, people said approvingly that he was a "real boy," but when she acted wild, she was scolded for being "unladylike."
Kevin couldn't do much, of course, but he certainly got away with a lot. No one minded that he had terrible table manners. Even now, he was dribbling his mashed potatoes. And everybody waited on him. And people thought he was so cute-adorable, they said--for no better reason than that he had red hair, only two teeth, and dimples.
In her heart, Marcie feared that she herself was reflected in the pane of the kitchen window: just a usual kind of little girl, with long brown pigtails and a freckled nose. She was in- between, nobody special.
She pushed the last of the potatoes into Kevin's reluctant mouth, washed his plate and spoon, and went back to sit by the fire. She curled up on the rug, one arm under her head, and gazed into the warm orange and yellow flames.
She imagined it was nearly two thousand years ago, and that she lived in a little town called Bethlehem, near Judea. She was the daughter of a shepherd, and one night she went out with her father to help tend the sheep.
As they watched in the dark fields, a mysterious light appeared in the sky, and grew brighter, and brighter still. Then they saw it was an angel; a real, actual angel, coming to speak to them. They were terrified. They thought it might be the end of the world. But the angel said, "Don't be afraid. I've come to tell you a Savior has been born. He is Christ the Lord. You'll find Him wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."
Then the angel pointed the way to where the Christ Child was, and a brilliant Star shone in the East to guide anyone who wanted to visit him. Marcie cried out to her shepherd father, "Oh, please, I want to see the Baby! Look, everybody's going!"
It was true; following the glorious light, the other shepherds took up their crooks and walked toward the Star, their faces full of wonder.
'Well, I don't know," her father said doubtfully. "It is His birthday and I'd like to take a present to the Child. Suppose I could take a baby lamb for Him to play with. But you, Marcie, what could you take?"
"I could make cookies," Marcie suggested. "They're always good to have, when you've got company coming. Don't forget, He may have to entertain Kings.
So she and her father hurried home. Marcie baked cookies and wrapped them in gold paper. Then they set out to join the other shepherds, and follow the star.
As they walked across the silvery, light-struck fields, a sense of miracle was upon them all. The sound of the wind was like a rush of angels, the very trees seemed to whisper with the voices and the promises of angels.
Soon the Star led them to a stable. Marcie was about to step inside when--
"Marcie! Set the table!" her mother called from not cute at all. She could see herself right now the kitchen.
She jumped at the sound of her name and the day dream faded away.
Late that afternoon, the whole family went to the last pageant rehearsal. Marcie carried Kevin, and promised to mind him and to take him home if he fussed. She waited with the baby in the church while the rest of the family went off to change into their costumes.
She looked around the church, her brown eyes wide. The altar was covered with red and green poinsettias. Pine branches with red ribbons decorated the choir stalls, and everything smelled like pine, like candles--like Christmas. For some reason she could not understand, Marcie's throat closed up, and she felt like crying.
"Nnh-nnh," Kevin complained, squirming in her lap. She just hummed Jingle Bells to soothe him and he quieted down a little.
Across the aisle, not far from where Marcie was sitting, a creche had been set up. Marcie looked at the small wooden figures with a familiar annoyance. No little girl anywhere.
There was plenty of room for one more. And cookies might have come in very handy.
Kevin began to whimper again. Marcie wished everybody would hurry up and get their costumes on. The baby was getting fussier by the moment. "Hey, cheer up," she urged him. But he whimpered all the more and finally he began to cry.
She realized she would have to take him home. Once he got in a bad mood, he didn't come out of it too easily. She told herself: Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Anyway, it might be better to see the pageant all at once, when it was perfect. The baby was staying with a neighbor tomorrow.
She skipped home, jogging Kevin and singing lustily, Dashing through the snow...in a one- horse open sleigh... Overhead, the first stars of evening blazed down.
Next morning, Marcie woke up early, bursting with anticipation. It was Christmas Eve. She ran to the window. The day was brilliantly clear, and all the town seemed decorated for Christmas: the giant fir tree out front glittered with its burden of snow; glowing icicles hung from every roof and sill of every house; whitened streets reflected the sun with a magical brightness.
The hours of the day seemed to fly by. There were last-minute presents to wrap, popcorn balls to make, celery and onions to be chopped for stuffing the turkey.
In the afternoon, Marcie and her mother wrapped one of Marcie's favorite dolls in swaddling clothes. The doll was to be the Baby Jesus in the pageant. Marcie felt very proud that her beloved doll was to be used. She washed the doll's face carefully after it was dressed, to be sure it looked its best.
Everyone's eyes were bright with excitement, but Marcie's more than all. She raced upstairs and changed into her red velvet dress, and tied red ribbons on her pigtails. Then she went to Kevin's crib to dress him in his snowsuit, but suddenly noticed he looked strange. He had some bumpy spots on his face, and he was unusually hot to the touch.
Alarmed, Marcie called her parents. Her mother took one look at the baby, and groaned, "Chicken pox!"
"I'm afraid so," Marcie's father agreed after a moment. Marcie remembered 'when she and Tod had chicken pox. Yes, they had looked just the way Kevin did now.
After taking Kevin's temperature, her mother phoned Mrs. Carter, the neighbor who had planned to take care of Kevin. She explained about the chicken pox, and asked if Mrs. Carter's three small children had had it. The answer was no; Mrs. Carter was awfully sorry, but of course she couldn't under the circumstances, take Kevin.
Her mother called two more neighbors to baby-sit, but without success.
"We've got to get somebody," Tod said. "We're late already. And what are they going to do if we don't show up? What good is a Christmas pageant without the Baby Jesus? And His Mother? And one King and one shepherd?"
Marcie swallowed hard. It was true that the whole pageant would be ruined without her mother and father and brother. But, she thought, there was one person who would not be missed--who, in fact, was always missing--a plain, ordinary little girl with no place at the manger.
Still, it was hard to say the words. Marcie's voice sounded husky as she volunteered, "I'll stay with Kevin."
Her mother protested, "No. I know how much you've been looking forward to the pageant. There must be something else we can do.
But they all knew that time had run out. After giving Marcie a comforting hug, her father phoned the doctor and asked if it would be all right to leave Kevin with Marcie for an hour or so. The doctor said yes; if Marcie had any trouble, she could call him up, but the best thing for the baby was sleep.
Marcie held back tears until after her family had hurried off to the pageant. But then she flung herself across her bed and sobbed. She had imagined just how it would be; her mother, so beautiful in a blue robe; her father, every inch a King in scarlet and gold; and Tod, the handsomest of the shepherds. She pictured the angels, her doll as Baby Jesus...
And she wouldn't see any of it. She was going to miss it all...
There was to be a short procession first, around the outside of the church, 'with everyone singing and Dorothy playing. Marcie Heard the music start. She ran to a window. She could not see the church, but she could hear the singing better with the window open: Silent Night, holy night...
Even from this distance, Dorothy's trumpet sounded strong and fine. So did the voices: All is calm, all is bright...Through the ache of her disappointment, the words touched Marcie's heart. It 'was a calm and bright night. She loved carols and she hummed along, as verse after beloved verse followed.
Then the trumpet took on a summoning note. The tune changed to Marcie's favorite: Oh, come, all ye faithful...
"I wanted to," Marcie whispered to herself and to the Baby Jesus. "I couldn't, that's all."
Something seemed to answer: a memory, right at the edge of her mind. At first she couldn't quite catch hold of it. Then she remembered: it was what the leader of their church had said to their mother last year when they had to stay home.
All at once she heard his words, as clearly as though he were speaking now, to her: "'When you want to see the Christ Child and duty keeps you at home, wait in peace and faith for He will surely come to you.
Sing, choirs of angels...sing in exultation... the voices chorused. Church bells began to peal. The procession was nearly over.
Marcie shut the window. She could still hear the singing, and the triumphant notes of the trumpet. And, for today and for always, the words.
For suddenly she knew, in a crystal moment of understanding, why there were never any little girls at the manger. Girls were needed at home. They could not be spared.
Kevin cried faintly. Marcie hurried to his crib. And in the frosty Christmas air, the bells rang joy to all the little girls in the world.
Recipe: Peppermint Dessert
1 pint whipping cream
1 1/2 c. peppermint candy, crushed
28 large marshmallows, cut fine
graham crackers, crushed
Whip the cream. Stir in the peppermint candy and the marshmallows. Spread a layer of crushed graham crackers on the bottom of a 9x9-baking dish. Spread the cream mixture on top. Put another layer of graham cracker crumbs on top. Let stand in the fridge at least 8 hours.
Monday, December 20, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 20
Carol: Once in Royal David’s City, Hymn #205
Scripture: Psalms 24 “Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is the King of Glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of Glory.”
Story: A Brother Like That
Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.
“Is this your car, Mister?" he asked.
Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas." The boy was astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn't cost you nothing? Boy, I wish..." He hesitated. Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.
“I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."
Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?"
“Oh yes, I'd love that."
After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?" Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again.
“Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car. "There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn't cost him a cent. And some day I'm gonna give you one just like it...then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I've been trying to tell you about."
Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.
That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when he had said: "It is more blessed to give..."
My Holiday Wish for the World Is That We all Could Be Brothers Like That.
Recipe: Peanut Brittle
3 c. sugar
1 c. water
1 c. corn syrup
1/4 cube butter
2 3/4 c. raw peanuts
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla
Scripture: Psalms 24 “Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is the King of Glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of Glory.”
Story: A Brother Like That
Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.
“Is this your car, Mister?" he asked.
Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas." The boy was astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn't cost you nothing? Boy, I wish..." He hesitated. Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.
“I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."
Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?"
“Oh yes, I'd love that."
After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?" Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again.
“Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car. "There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn't cost him a cent. And some day I'm gonna give you one just like it...then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I've been trying to tell you about."
Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.
That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when he had said: "It is more blessed to give..."
My Holiday Wish for the World Is That We all Could Be Brothers Like That.
Recipe: Peanut Brittle
3 c. sugar
1 c. water
1 c. corn syrup
1/4 cube butter
2 3/4 c. raw peanuts
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla
Combine the sugar, water, corn syrup, and butter. Mix well and boil to 230 degrees or softball stage. Add the peanuts and cook until 310 degrees or hard crack stage. Remove from heat. Immediately add the salt, baking soda, and vanilla. Mix well. Pour into a well-greased shallow pan. When cold, break up into pieces and serve.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 19
Carol: Silent Night, Hymn #204
Scripture: Jeremiah 23:5 Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous branch, and King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth.
Story: Silent Night: How it Came to be Written
On Christmas Eve, 1818, in the little Alpine village of Oberndorf in northern Austria, it was snowing hard. The people of the little town had long before gone to bed and all was quiet and still. But there was one light still burning. It shone from the study window of the young priest, Joseph Mohr.
Joseph Mohr had not been able to go to sleep that night and he had been pacing up and down his study, pausing now and then to look out of the window at the silent, snow covered scene before him. He was deeply worried. Christmas, a day of music and rejoicing, was almost there and as yet he had seen no way to overcome the disappointment he knew was in store for his congregation.
The truth of the matter was that the church organ was in need of repair and there was no
repairman in the town of Obenrdorf and the heavy snows had made it impossible to get one from anywhere else.
He was thinking of this and at the same time was remembering a conversation he had had
the preceding summer with his friend, Franz Gruber, a school teacher in the town of Arnsdorf not far away. Gruber was also an accomplished musician and played the organ in the village church. One day, as was their custom they had been sitting in the pastor's garden singing together to the accompaniment of Gruber's guitar. Suddenly Gruber had stopped in the middle of a hymn and turned to his friend.
"Father," he had said, "do you realize that of all these Christmas songs we've been singing none expresses the real Christmas spirit? "
"You are right, my friend," the priest answered. "Perhaps one day someone will write a song that will tell simply the meaning of the Holy Night. "
"Why should not that someone be you ? " asked the schoolmaster. Joseph Mohr had laughed. "And will you write the music if I do? " "Of course," Gruber replied. "And I'm quite serious about this. I'm sure you can do it. "
In the weeks that followed this conversation, Joseph Mohr had tried to write that song. But
somehow, try as he would, the words simply didn't come; and now on Christmas Eve he felt a little sad as he thought of the service the next evening with no organ and no new song to sing to his people as he had planned.
As he stood at his window now, lost in thought, he suddenly realized that someone was
struggling through the deep snow toward his house. He rushed to the door and went out to help his exhausted visitor into the warmth of his fire. It was a woman, too breathless to speak for some moments, but at last she was able to tell her story.
She had come over the mountain from the cabin of a friend of hers who that night had given
birth to her first child, a son.
"And Father, " the woman concluded, "her husband , who is a young woodcutter, is very anxious that you come and bless the new mother and the babe this very night. "
"Of course I'll go. " the priest answered.
"But the snow is getting very deep down," the woman protested. "I came as I promised him I would, but I'm sure he'll understand if you wait until morning. 'Twas not snowing hard like this when I left their house. "
"I don't mind the snow. And the walk will be good for me," Joseph Mohr answered. "I'm feeling too wakeful to go to bed anyway. You stay here until you're rested before you go home."
Bundling himself up in his warmest clothes and taking a stout cane to help him, the priest started out. It was several miles to the woodcutter's cabin and the heavy snow made it difficult to walk, but when he arrived and opened the door he caught his breath at the scene before him. It was one he would never forget.
There was the new mother in her bed smiling happily at her husband, who was kneeling in
adoration before a crude wooden crib in which lay his newborn son. It seemed to Joseph Mohr that he was looking at a scene that had taken place in Bethlehem of Judea many ages before.
The young woodcutter felt the sudden draft of cold air and rose quickly to his feet. "Welcome, Father, " he cried. "I didn't expect you to come when I realized how hard it was snowing; but I'm grateful you're here. "
Proudly he led the priest over to the cradle where the child lay and Father Mohr admired the baby and then gave him and the mother his blessing.
Although the woodcutter wanted the priest to partake of some refreshment before he left,
Father Mohr replied that he must be on his way. Bidding goodbye to the happy parents, he set out for home - but this time the way didn't seem quite so hard. The snow was no longer falling hut the branches of the pine trees bent low under their heavy white mantle. The stillness in the forest was awe-inspiring. As he plowed through the drifts the pastor kept thinking of the little family he had just left. Truly this had been a holy night.
At home, he could hardly wait to take off his coat and warm his stiff fingers. Then he sat down at his desk and began to write. It was early morning before he finished and fell exhausted upon his bed for a little rest.
But he didn't stay there long. Soon he arose, ate his breakfast and hurried out again. This time he went in the direction of Arnsdorf where his friend Franz Gruber lived. When Gruber opened his door Joseph Mohr handed him the manuscript containing the words he had written in the early morning hours.
Recipe: Homemade Chewy Caramels
1 c. sugar
3/4 c. dark corn syrup
1/2 c. butter
1 c. light cream
1/2 c. walnuts
1/2 T. vanilla
Combine sugar, syrup, butter and 1/2 c. of the cream. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Add the remaining 1/2 c. cream and cook slowly until at the firm ball stage. Remove from heat and add nuts and vanilla. Pour into a greased pan to set.
Scripture: Jeremiah 23:5 Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous branch, and King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth.
Story: Silent Night: How it Came to be Written
On Christmas Eve, 1818, in the little Alpine village of Oberndorf in northern Austria, it was snowing hard. The people of the little town had long before gone to bed and all was quiet and still. But there was one light still burning. It shone from the study window of the young priest, Joseph Mohr.
Joseph Mohr had not been able to go to sleep that night and he had been pacing up and down his study, pausing now and then to look out of the window at the silent, snow covered scene before him. He was deeply worried. Christmas, a day of music and rejoicing, was almost there and as yet he had seen no way to overcome the disappointment he knew was in store for his congregation.
The truth of the matter was that the church organ was in need of repair and there was no
repairman in the town of Obenrdorf and the heavy snows had made it impossible to get one from anywhere else.
He was thinking of this and at the same time was remembering a conversation he had had
the preceding summer with his friend, Franz Gruber, a school teacher in the town of Arnsdorf not far away. Gruber was also an accomplished musician and played the organ in the village church. One day, as was their custom they had been sitting in the pastor's garden singing together to the accompaniment of Gruber's guitar. Suddenly Gruber had stopped in the middle of a hymn and turned to his friend.
"Father," he had said, "do you realize that of all these Christmas songs we've been singing none expresses the real Christmas spirit? "
"You are right, my friend," the priest answered. "Perhaps one day someone will write a song that will tell simply the meaning of the Holy Night. "
"Why should not that someone be you ? " asked the schoolmaster. Joseph Mohr had laughed. "And will you write the music if I do? " "Of course," Gruber replied. "And I'm quite serious about this. I'm sure you can do it. "
In the weeks that followed this conversation, Joseph Mohr had tried to write that song. But
somehow, try as he would, the words simply didn't come; and now on Christmas Eve he felt a little sad as he thought of the service the next evening with no organ and no new song to sing to his people as he had planned.
As he stood at his window now, lost in thought, he suddenly realized that someone was
struggling through the deep snow toward his house. He rushed to the door and went out to help his exhausted visitor into the warmth of his fire. It was a woman, too breathless to speak for some moments, but at last she was able to tell her story.
She had come over the mountain from the cabin of a friend of hers who that night had given
birth to her first child, a son.
"And Father, " the woman concluded, "her husband , who is a young woodcutter, is very anxious that you come and bless the new mother and the babe this very night. "
"Of course I'll go. " the priest answered.
"But the snow is getting very deep down," the woman protested. "I came as I promised him I would, but I'm sure he'll understand if you wait until morning. 'Twas not snowing hard like this when I left their house. "
"I don't mind the snow. And the walk will be good for me," Joseph Mohr answered. "I'm feeling too wakeful to go to bed anyway. You stay here until you're rested before you go home."
Bundling himself up in his warmest clothes and taking a stout cane to help him, the priest started out. It was several miles to the woodcutter's cabin and the heavy snow made it difficult to walk, but when he arrived and opened the door he caught his breath at the scene before him. It was one he would never forget.
There was the new mother in her bed smiling happily at her husband, who was kneeling in
adoration before a crude wooden crib in which lay his newborn son. It seemed to Joseph Mohr that he was looking at a scene that had taken place in Bethlehem of Judea many ages before.
The young woodcutter felt the sudden draft of cold air and rose quickly to his feet. "Welcome, Father, " he cried. "I didn't expect you to come when I realized how hard it was snowing; but I'm grateful you're here. "
Proudly he led the priest over to the cradle where the child lay and Father Mohr admired the baby and then gave him and the mother his blessing.
Although the woodcutter wanted the priest to partake of some refreshment before he left,
Father Mohr replied that he must be on his way. Bidding goodbye to the happy parents, he set out for home - but this time the way didn't seem quite so hard. The snow was no longer falling hut the branches of the pine trees bent low under their heavy white mantle. The stillness in the forest was awe-inspiring. As he plowed through the drifts the pastor kept thinking of the little family he had just left. Truly this had been a holy night.
At home, he could hardly wait to take off his coat and warm his stiff fingers. Then he sat down at his desk and began to write. It was early morning before he finished and fell exhausted upon his bed for a little rest.
But he didn't stay there long. Soon he arose, ate his breakfast and hurried out again. This time he went in the direction of Arnsdorf where his friend Franz Gruber lived. When Gruber opened his door Joseph Mohr handed him the manuscript containing the words he had written in the early morning hours.
Recipe: Homemade Chewy Caramels
1 c. sugar
3/4 c. dark corn syrup
1/2 c. butter
1 c. light cream
1/2 c. walnuts
1/2 T. vanilla
Combine sugar, syrup, butter and 1/2 c. of the cream. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Add the remaining 1/2 c. cream and cook slowly until at the firm ball stage. Remove from heat and add nuts and vanilla. Pour into a greased pan to set.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 18
Carol: The Nativity Song, Children’s Songbook pg. 52
Scripture: 1 Nephi 10:4 “Yea, even six hundred years from the time that my Father left Jerusalem, a prophet would the Lord God raise up among the Jews – even a Messiah, or, in other words, a Savior of the World.”
Story: The Night Before Christmas by Clement Clark Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow,
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
”Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Recipe: AMAZING Chocolate Peppermint (or Mint) Brownies
These truly are the best brownies I've ever had. And they make a great treat to leave out for Santa!
Brownie layer:
1 cup butter
5 Tbsp cocoa
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tbsp peppermint flavoring (you could also substitute mint extract instead, if you have a preference.)
Melt the butter and cocoa together. Sir in eggs and sugar. Add flour, salt, and peppermint. Bake in a greased 9x13" pan at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. Cool completely.
Mint Frosting:
2 cups powdered sugar
2 Tbsp evaporated milk
6 Tbsp butter
1/2 tsp peppermint (you could also substitute mint extract instead, if you have a preference.)
4 drops green food coloring
Mix all frosting ingredients until creamy and spread onto brownies. Refrigerate for one hour.
Glaze topping:
6 Tbsp butter
1 cup chocolate chips
Melt together and then pour gently over green frosting. Refrigerate again.
Scripture: 1 Nephi 10:4 “Yea, even six hundred years from the time that my Father left Jerusalem, a prophet would the Lord God raise up among the Jews – even a Messiah, or, in other words, a Savior of the World.”
Story: The Night Before Christmas by Clement Clark Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow,
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
”Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
Recipe: AMAZING Chocolate Peppermint (or Mint) Brownies
These truly are the best brownies I've ever had. And they make a great treat to leave out for Santa!
Brownie layer:
1 cup butter
5 Tbsp cocoa
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tbsp peppermint flavoring (you could also substitute mint extract instead, if you have a preference.)
Melt the butter and cocoa together. Sir in eggs and sugar. Add flour, salt, and peppermint. Bake in a greased 9x13" pan at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. Cool completely.
Mint Frosting:
2 cups powdered sugar
2 Tbsp evaporated milk
6 Tbsp butter
1/2 tsp peppermint (you could also substitute mint extract instead, if you have a preference.)
4 drops green food coloring
Mix all frosting ingredients until creamy and spread onto brownies. Refrigerate for one hour.
Glaze topping:
6 Tbsp butter
1 cup chocolate chips
Melt together and then pour gently over green frosting. Refrigerate again.
Friday, December 17, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 17
Carol: When Joseph Went to Bethlehem, Children’s Songbook pg. 38
Story: Trouble at the Inn by Dina Donahue
For many years now, whenever Christmas pageants are talked about in a certain little town in the Midwest, someone is sure to mention the name of Wallace Purling. Wally's performance in one annual production of the nativity play has slipped onto the realm of legend. But the old-timers who were in the audience that night never tire of recalling exactly what happened.
Wally was nine that year and in the second grade, though he should have been in the fourth. Most people in town knew that he had difficulty in keeping up. He was big and clumsy, slow in movement and mind. Still, his class, all of whom were smaller than he, had trouble hiding their irritation when Wally would ask to play ball with them or any game, for that matter, in which winning was important.
Most often they'd find a way to keep him out but Wally would hang around anyway not sulking, just hoping. He was always a helpful boy, a willing and smiling one, and the natural protector of the underdog. Sometimes if the older boys chased the younger ones away, it would always be Wally who’d say, "can' they stay? They're no bother."
Wally fancied the idea of being a shepherd with a flute in the Christmas pageant that year, but the play’s director, Miss Lumbar, assigned him to a more important role. After all, she reasoned, the Innkeeper did not have too many lines and Wally's size would make his refusal of lodging to Joseph more forceful.
And so it happened that the usual large, partisan audience gathered for the town’s early extravaganza of beard, crown, halos and a whole stage full of squeaky voices. No one on stage or off was more caught up on the magic of the night than Wallace Purling. They said later that he stood in the wings and watched the performance with such fascination that from time to time Miss Lumbar had to make sure he didn’t wander on stage before his cue.
Then the time came when Joseph appeared, slowly, tenderly guiding Mary to the door of the Inn. Joseph knocked hard on the wooden door sat into the painted backdrop. Wally the innkeeper was there, waiting.
"What do you want?" Wally said, swinging the door open with a brusque gesture.
"We seek lodging."
"Seek it elsewhere,” Wally looked straight ahead but spoke vigorously. "The Inn is filled."
"Sir, we have asked everywhere in vain. We have traveled far and are very weary."
"There is no room in this Inn for you." Wally looked properly stern.
"Please, good Innkeeper, this is my wife, Mary. She is heavy with child hand needs a place to rest. Surely you must have some small corner for her. She is so tired."
Now, for the first time, the Innkeeper relaxed his still stance and looked down at Mary. With that, there was a long pause, long enough to make the audience a bit tense with embarrassment. "No! Be gone!" the prompter whispered from the wings.
"No!" Wally repeated automatically, "Be gone!"
Joseph sadly placed his arm around Mary and Mary laid her head upon her husband’s shoulder and the two of them started to move away. The Innkeeper did not return inside his Inn, however. Wally stood there in the doorway, watching the forlorn couple. His mouth was open, his brow creased with concern, his eyes filling unmistakable with tears.
And suddenly the Christmas pageant became different from all the others.
"Don't go, Joseph,” Wally called out. "Bring Mary back." And Wallace Purling's face grew into a bright smile. "You can have my room!"
Some people in town thought that the pageant had been ruined. Yet there were others.... many, many others...who considered it the most Christmassy of all Christmas pageants they had ever seen.
Recipe: Pumpkin Waffles with Butter Syrup
4 eggs separated, whip whites until stiff, save yolks
1 1/2 c. milk
1 c. pumpkin
3/4 c. soft butter
1 T. vanilla
2 T. baking powder
1 T. cinnamon
1 T. sugar
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. coriander
1/4 tsp. salt
2 c. flour
Recipe: Pumpkin Waffles with Butter Syrup
4 eggs separated, whip whites until stiff, save yolks
1 1/2 c. milk
1 c. pumpkin
3/4 c. soft butter
1 T. vanilla
2 T. baking powder
1 T. cinnamon
1 T. sugar
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. coriander
1/4 tsp. salt
2 c. flour
Mix together the egg yolks, milk, pumpkin, butter and vanilla. In a separate bowl, mix together the baking powder, cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg, coriander, salt and flour. Add the two mixtures together. Fold in the whipped egg whites. Cook on a hot waffle iron. You can cook any extra batter and save the waffles and syrup in the fridge then just pop them into the toaster the next day and they are ready to eat. Serve with Syrup.
Syrup for Pumpkin Waffles
(Or any kind of waffles or pancakes!)
1/2 cube butter
1 c. sugar
1/2 c. evaporated milk
1 tsp. Karo Syrup
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla
In a big pan (when you add the soda it foams up quite a bit) cook the butter, sugar, evaporated milk, and Karo Syrup. Bring to a boil. Remove from heat and stir in the baking soda and vanilla.
Syrup for Pumpkin Waffles
(Or any kind of waffles or pancakes!)
1/2 cube butter
1 c. sugar
1/2 c. evaporated milk
1 tsp. Karo Syrup
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. vanilla
In a big pan (when you add the soda it foams up quite a bit) cook the butter, sugar, evaporated milk, and Karo Syrup. Bring to a boil. Remove from heat and stir in the baking soda and vanilla.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
24 days of Christmas - Day 16
Carol: Picture a Christmas, Children’s Songbook pg. 50
Scripture: 3 Nephi 1:19 And it came to pass that there was no darkness in all that night but it was as light as though it was midday. And it came to pass that the sun did rise in the morning again, according to its proper order; and they knew that it was the day that the Lord should be born, because of the sign which had been given.
Story: The Christmas I Remember Best by Rheuama A. West
It should have been the worst, the bleakest of Christmases. It turned out to be the loveliest of all my life. I was nine years old, one of seven children, and we lived in a little farming town in Utah. It had been a tragic year for all of us. But we still had our father, and that made all the difference.
Every year in our town a Christmas Eve Social was held at the church. How well I remember Dad buttoning our coats, placing us all on our long, homemade sleigh and pulling us to the church about a mile away. It was snowing. How cold and good it felt on our faces. We held tight to one another, and above the crunch of snow beneath Dad’s feet we could hear him softly whistling “Silent Night.”
Mama had died that previous summer. She had been confined to bed for three years, so Dad had assumed all mother and father responsibilities. I remember him standing me on a stool by our big round kitchen table and teaching me to mix bread. But my main task was being Mama’s hands and feet until that day in June, her own birthday, when she died.
Two months later came the big fire. Our barns, sheds, haystacks and livestock were destroyed. It was a calamity, but dad stood between us and the disaster. We weren’t even aware of how poor we were. We had no money at all.
I don’t remember much about the Christmas Eve Social. I just remember Dad pulling us there and pulling us back. Later, in the front room around our pot-bellied stove, he served us our warm milk and bread. Our Christmas tree, topped by a little worn cardboard angel, had been brought from the nearby hills. Strings of our homegrown popcorn made it the most beautiful tree I had ever seen—or smelled.
After supper, Dad made all seven of us sit in a half circle by the tree. I remember I wore a long flannel nightgown. He sat on the floor facing us and told us that he was ready to give us our Christmas gift. We waited; puzzled because we thought Christmas presents were for Christmas morning. Dad looked at out expectant faces. “Long ago,” he said, “on a night like this, some poor shepherds were watching their sheep on a lonely hillside, when all of a sudden…”
We learned that loving someone was far more important than having something. We were filled with peace and happiness and joy. When the story was ended Dad had us all kneel for a family prayer. Then he said, “Try to remember, when everything else seems to be lost, the greatest thing of all remains: God’s love for us. That’s what Christmas means. That’s the gift that can never be taken away.”
The next morning we found that Dad had whittled little presents for each of us and hung them on the tree, dolls for the girls, whistles for the boys. But he was right; he had given us our real gift the night before.
All this happened long ago, but to this day it all comes back to me whenever I hear “Silent Night” or feel snowflakes on my face, or—best of all—when I get an occasional glimpse of Christ shining in my 90-year-old Father’s face.
Recipe: Pretzel Salad
Crust
2 c. crushed pretzels
3 T. sugar
3/4 c. melted butter
Cream Cheese Layer
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 c. sugar
8 oz. whipped topping
Gelatin Layer
2 small packages raspberry or strawberry gelatin
1 – 2 c. frozen or fresh berries (strawberries, raspberries, or the frozen berry mix are all good)
2 c. boiling water
Mix crushed pretzels, sugar and melted butter. Press into a 9x13 glass-baking dish. Bake at 400 degrees for 5 minutes. Cool. Mix cream cheese and sugar. Add whipped topping. Spread over top of pretzel crust. Mix Jell-O with 2 c. boiling water. Add the berries. Let the Jell-O set until partially jelled. Pour over cream cheese layer. Chill until set.
Scripture: 3 Nephi 1:19 And it came to pass that there was no darkness in all that night but it was as light as though it was midday. And it came to pass that the sun did rise in the morning again, according to its proper order; and they knew that it was the day that the Lord should be born, because of the sign which had been given.
Story: The Christmas I Remember Best by Rheuama A. West
It should have been the worst, the bleakest of Christmases. It turned out to be the loveliest of all my life. I was nine years old, one of seven children, and we lived in a little farming town in Utah. It had been a tragic year for all of us. But we still had our father, and that made all the difference.
Every year in our town a Christmas Eve Social was held at the church. How well I remember Dad buttoning our coats, placing us all on our long, homemade sleigh and pulling us to the church about a mile away. It was snowing. How cold and good it felt on our faces. We held tight to one another, and above the crunch of snow beneath Dad’s feet we could hear him softly whistling “Silent Night.”
Mama had died that previous summer. She had been confined to bed for three years, so Dad had assumed all mother and father responsibilities. I remember him standing me on a stool by our big round kitchen table and teaching me to mix bread. But my main task was being Mama’s hands and feet until that day in June, her own birthday, when she died.
Two months later came the big fire. Our barns, sheds, haystacks and livestock were destroyed. It was a calamity, but dad stood between us and the disaster. We weren’t even aware of how poor we were. We had no money at all.
I don’t remember much about the Christmas Eve Social. I just remember Dad pulling us there and pulling us back. Later, in the front room around our pot-bellied stove, he served us our warm milk and bread. Our Christmas tree, topped by a little worn cardboard angel, had been brought from the nearby hills. Strings of our homegrown popcorn made it the most beautiful tree I had ever seen—or smelled.
After supper, Dad made all seven of us sit in a half circle by the tree. I remember I wore a long flannel nightgown. He sat on the floor facing us and told us that he was ready to give us our Christmas gift. We waited; puzzled because we thought Christmas presents were for Christmas morning. Dad looked at out expectant faces. “Long ago,” he said, “on a night like this, some poor shepherds were watching their sheep on a lonely hillside, when all of a sudden…”
His quiet voice went on and on, telling the story of the Christ Child in his own simple words, and I’ll never forget how love and gratitude seemed to fill the room. There was light from the oil lamp and warmth from the stove, but somehow it was more than that, we felt Mama’s presence.
We learned that loving someone was far more important than having something. We were filled with peace and happiness and joy. When the story was ended Dad had us all kneel for a family prayer. Then he said, “Try to remember, when everything else seems to be lost, the greatest thing of all remains: God’s love for us. That’s what Christmas means. That’s the gift that can never be taken away.”
The next morning we found that Dad had whittled little presents for each of us and hung them on the tree, dolls for the girls, whistles for the boys. But he was right; he had given us our real gift the night before.
All this happened long ago, but to this day it all comes back to me whenever I hear “Silent Night” or feel snowflakes on my face, or—best of all—when I get an occasional glimpse of Christ shining in my 90-year-old Father’s face.
Recipe: Pretzel Salad
Crust
2 c. crushed pretzels
3 T. sugar
3/4 c. melted butter
Cream Cheese Layer
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 c. sugar
8 oz. whipped topping
Gelatin Layer
2 small packages raspberry or strawberry gelatin
1 – 2 c. frozen or fresh berries (strawberries, raspberries, or the frozen berry mix are all good)
2 c. boiling water
Mix crushed pretzels, sugar and melted butter. Press into a 9x13 glass-baking dish. Bake at 400 degrees for 5 minutes. Cool. Mix cream cheese and sugar. Add whipped topping. Spread over top of pretzel crust. Mix Jell-O with 2 c. boiling water. Add the berries. Let the Jell-O set until partially jelled. Pour over cream cheese layer. Chill until set.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 15
Carol: Far, Far Away on Judea's Plain, Hymn #212
Scripture: 1 Nephi 11:20-24 And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms. The angel said unto me: behold the Lamb of God, yea even the Son of the Eternal Father! And I looked and I beheld the Son of God going forth among the children of men; and I saw many fall down at His feet and worship Him.
Talk: Excerpt from The Gifts of Christmas by Howard W. Hunter
We should strive to give as He gave. To give of oneself is a holy gift. We give as a remembrance of all the Savior has given.
Christmas is a time for giving. Someone once said he couldn’t think of what to give for Christmas. The next day in the mail he received an anonymous list which read:
Give to your enemy forgiveness,
To your opponent tolerance,
To your friend your heart,
To all men charity, for the hands that help
are holier than lips that pray,
To every child a good example,
and to yourself—respect.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would give Him a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man,
I would do my part,—
But what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again.
Christmas is a celebration, and there is no celebration that compares with the realization of its true meaning—with the sudden stirring of the heart that has extended itself unselfishly in the things that matter most.
Never did the Savior give in expectation of receiving. He gave freely and lovingly, and His gifts were of inestimable value. He gave eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, and legs to the lame; cleanliness to the unclean, wholeness to the infirm, and breath to the lifeless. His gifts were opportunity to the downtrodden, freedom to the oppressed, forgiveness to the repentant, hope to the despairing, and light in the darkness. He gave us His love, His service, and His life. And most important, He gave us and all mortals resurrection, salvation, and eternal life.
We should strive to give as He gave. To give of oneself is a holy gift. We give as a remembrance of all the Savior has given.
Christmas is a time for giving. Someone once said he couldn’t think of what to give for Christmas. The next day in the mail he received an anonymous list which read:
Give to your enemy forgiveness,
To your opponent tolerance,
To your friend your heart,
To all men charity, for the hands that help
are holier than lips that pray,
To every child a good example,
and to yourself—respect.
All of us need to follow the example of the Savior in giving these kinds of gifts. From Christina Rossetti we read:
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would give Him a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man,
I would do my part,—
But what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again.
Christmas is a celebration, and there is no celebration that compares with the realization of its true meaning—with the sudden stirring of the heart that has extended itself unselfishly in the things that matter most.
Recipe: Gingerbread Men
I've never really found a gingerbread man recipe that I liked until this year. This recipe is from a woman in my ward, and it's wonderful. The cookies are really easy to make, and I love the butterscotch pudding in here. The cookies come out very sweet and delicious and just the right amount of crunchy. Lovely! Katelee and I had a great time making these, and I was surprised at how quickly they went. Try them!
3/4 c. butter, softened
3/4 c. brown sugar
1, 4 oz. package of instant Jell-O butterscotch pudding
1 egg
2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 T. ground ginger
1 1/2 tsp. cinnamon
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Beat the butter, brown sugar, pudding mix, and egg together. (Don't make the pudding, just pour the powder in.) Then gradually add the rest of the ingredients. Roll out on a clean countertop (no flour needed! That's my favorite part!) and cut into gingerbread men shapes or whatever shapes you want. Place on an ungreased cookie sheet, about 2 inches apart, and bake for 10-12 minutes. (I even took some of my batches out at 9 minutes.) Cool. Frost, if desired, or serve plain. Delicious!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 14
Carol: Angels We Have Heard on High, Hymn #202
Scripture: Luke 2:12-14 “And this shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”
Story: The “W” in Christmas
Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.
Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment - songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title.
Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song.
As the class would sing, “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.”
The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down - totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.
The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.
Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:
“CHRISTWASLOVE”
And, I believe, He still is.
Recipe: Pretty Party Chocolate Trifle
1 chocolate cake mix, made
2 small boxes instant chocolate pudding
1 large container Cool Whip
6 Skor or Heath bars
Scripture: Luke 2:12-14 “And this shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”
Story: The “W” in Christmas
Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.
Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment - songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title.
Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song.
As the class would sing, “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.”
The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down - totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.
The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.
Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:
“CHRISTWASLOVE”
And, I believe, He still is.
1 chocolate cake mix, made
2 small boxes instant chocolate pudding
1 large container Cool Whip
6 Skor or Heath bars
Prepare cake as directed on box. Crumble up one half of the cake in a trifle bowl or punch bowl. Prepare 1 box of chocolate pudding and spoon over the cake. Spread one half of the Cool Whip on the mixture. Crush 3 Skor bars and sprinkle on top. Repeat.
Monday, December 13, 2010
24 Days of Christmas - Day 13
Carol: With Wondering Awe, Hymn #210
Story: The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far.
Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
Recipe: Peanut Butter Kiss Cookies
It wouldn't feel like Christmas without a batch of these cookies!
1/2 c. sugar
1/2 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. shortening
1/2 c. peanut butter
1 egg
1 1/4 c. flour
3/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
bag of Hershey’s Kisses
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Mix sugars, shortening, peanut butter, and egg. Stir in flour, soda, powder, and salt. Roll into balls and flatten the tops with the bottom of a fork. Bake on ungreased cookie sheet 8 – 10 minutes. While still warm, press a chocolate kiss into the center of each cookie.
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