I visit this topic every year. There’s always a big hullaballoo every year about what to say when greeting others around the holidays. It seems like there are just WAY too many perceived offenses surrounding this subject. There are those offended by “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings”. There are some who are not necessarily offended by “Merry Christmas” but who wish to be more inclusive. Sometimes the debate gets heated and we forget what the whole thing is all about in the first place. Love. The kind of love that transcends all other love.

The first year of widowhood, absolutely everything was totally overwhelming. I cried my way through the grocery story. I was filled with angst over making decisions as small as getting my hair cut while I easily went out on a three month trip in my little camper. Work was difficult and I made mistakes. I sat through family holidays literally biting the insides of my cheeks to keep from screaming. It was so hard.

I lived in England in 1973 and 1974. My first husband was in the Air Force and stationed over there. When he was transferred stateside to his next duty station, my baby and I flew to West Virginia to spend Christmas with my family. When I flew over to England, I traveled commercial. But when I came home, I flew military transport.

There were several people from the base he was stationed at who were traveling with me. Another mother with her two little ones. Two young Airmen. We traveled for three days before I arrived…exhausted…at my mom’s house. The first day was spent driving in a small VW van to a base up north. The second day was spent waiting…waiting…waiting for a plane to be ready. Once we boarded, we sat on the tarmac for six whole hours before we took off.

How many Christmas cards did you get last year? Not too many, huh? Yeah…me either. Maybe it’s because I lived on the road for a couple of years. Maybe it’s because Mr. Virgo died. Maybe it’s because the “old guard”…the older generations…are passing on. Maybe it’s because I stopped sending them. Whatever the reason, the giving and receiving of Christmas Cards seems to have fallen to the wayside with the likes of the “Thank You Note” and the “Handwritten Letter”.

The night before Thanksgiving, I hit a deer in Mr. FixIt’s truck. Yesterday, we went to get the estimate for repairs. Gulp! All I can say is, thank goodness for comprehensive insurance! I was waiting in the truck while the guy was assessing the damage when I saw them. Hedge Apples! They’re really the fruit of the Osage Orange. They were planted in the ‘30s in rows as windbreaks in the Midwest. The trees have thorns and are often planted at fencing around pastures to keep animals in and predators out.

It was December 4th, 2013. It had been 267 days since the love of my life died right in front of me. It was 267 largely sleepless nights. I had made myself put one foot in front of the other…day after miserable, lonely day…for 2-6-7 long $&@#%€* days. I was tired. I was broken. But I was trying.

On this day, I went to work. It was normally an hour commute each way, but on this particular day, the skies opened up and snow started falling at an alarming rate. The further west I drove heading home, the deeper the snow became. When I finally pulled up in front of my house, there was nearly 18” of heavy, wet snow in my driveway. I slogged up the drive and got my snow shovel out. You know…the one with MY name on it…not Mr. Virgo’s. He was gone. Two-hundred-sixty-seven days of…gone.

Mr. FixIt came home yesterday! happy dance Doggone it…we really miss each other when we are apart. I always say, “But, I still need my space. I have to have time to recharge!” And I do. About four days and I’m good. After that, I’m ready to see that happy smile on Mr. FixIt’s face. It is a good thing to miss your love when you’re apart. It means you’ve got it goin’ on, right?

When Daughter #2 was born, I had the luxury of being a stay-at-home mom. Her sister, and only sibling, turned sixteen and got her driver’s license just a few months after she was born. So, I had a lot of time on my hands to devote to the baby. I knew this would be my last child so I read all the parenting books and nurtured her learning from the get go. As a matter of fact, I placed headphones on my tummy and played Mozart and Beethoven to her in utero. Yes, I was “one of THOSE” moms.

I have been on such a nostalgia kick lately! Here’s one I know you all will remember and you probably had (still have!) one of these bad boys. My mom had one that she made in a ceramics class. As a matter of fact, I think I might have made one somewhere along the way. I seem to remember painting on the glaze that puffed up like snow and gluing the little ornaments in the holes. Wow…that’s like opening the top of your head and reaching WAY back in the memory banks!

I have this friend. She’s one of those wonderful shining stars that God places on this earth to be a guardian of animals. I am convinced she is an “angel unawares”. I met Aimee through a high school friend. They were talking at a conference once and Aimee told her about this great group of women campers she belonged to called…Sisters on the Fly. Diane couldn’t wait to hook us up. And I am so glad she did. I don’t get to spend nearly enough time with Aimee. As a matter of fact, I believe we have only seen each other in person two or three times. But it’s always “old home week” when we greet each other like long lost friends.