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The packages are gaily wrapped
And placed beneath the tree.
Sparkling in the candle light,
For everyone to see.
The friendly glow of Yuletide logs
Reflect good will and cheer
So much a part of Christ,
At this Holy time of year.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
At Christmas play and make good cheer
For Christmas comes but once a year.
~ Thomas Tusser.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ A Merry Xmas Greeting!
By Mrs. Clyde Fiscus
When I was shopping for Xmas cards,
I saw some for Sister and Brother
The teacher, the milkman and Postman
And such beautiful ones that said Mother
Some for an Uncle and some for an Aunt
And even for Mother-in-law.
Some that said Father and some that said Dad
And one I saw simply said Pa.
But none did I find for the women and men
Who must stay on the job Xmas Day
To render a service on which we depend
A service far greater than their pay.
There's the policemen, firemen, and hospital staff
And the girls at the switchboard so kind,
The only bells they hear Xmas Day
Are the ones that ring in on the line.
The ambulance driver stands ready to run
At the slightest emergency call--
And so many more that I can think of
There's not room to mention them all.
So to all of those who so faithfully serve
On the days and nights that we rest
May your Xmas be cheerful if not very gay
And your New Year be one of the best!
~~ <> @ <> ~~ A Solution to My Problem
By Mrs. George Dostal (a poem for gift card tags)
'Twas two weeks before Christmas
And all through the stores
I wandered and looked and
Still looked some more.
My head was aching
And so were my feet
And I almost passed out
From the store's terrific heat.
Should I buy this
Or should I get that
But all my ideas
Were soon falling flat.
At last I decided
The best thing to do
Was to roll up some "green stuff"
And send it to you.
So without a moment
Or second to spare
I wrapped up this package
With the greatest of care.
Please take it and shop
With care you can choose
A gift you will like to wear or to use.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ They Call Me Just a Housewife
By Mrs. Elliot Dunn
They call me just a housewife
And I'm proud to bear the name;
You may never see me listed,
On the Honor Roll of Fame.
Career women look with pity
At my apron, brush, and mop,
But, I wouldn't trade them places,
For the things their money bought!
They call me just a houswife--
And I'm surely glad, indeed,
That, God thought I'd be successful,
In this work of love and need;
As I polish floors and windows,
Stylish ladies pity me,
But, I wouldn't trade them places,
If their mansions were all free!
Some folks are quite successful--
Kings of Finance--So they say!
And they seem to find their glory
Gathering gold along the way,
Let them have their golden moments
I'm not jealous of their life,
For I feel just like a Princess
When my husband calls me wife!
Yes, they call me just a housewife!
But I'm more--much more! You see
I am keeper of a household,
Which is Home, Sweet Home to me.
I am rich in Love and loved ones,
And I'm free from strain and strife,
I'm so glad God thought me useful,
Being just a plain "Housewife!"
I love to let my heart roam free
And wander back in time
In fancy I can see them there
As they stretch out in a line.
I ride the wagon train across
A rough and wild terrain
I grit the dust between my teeth
And feel the summer rain.
I sit around the camp fires light
And hear the cowboys song
I hear the wailing cry of coyotes
As the howl the whole night long.
I would love to travel all the way
Out to the golden gate
But chores are calling me just now
So dreams will have to wait.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
When I ran across this little poem, it reminded me of the mustache stamps that are so popular right now. I can just picture this poem on one of Tim Holtz's long tags . . .
The Little Black Mustache
Once I had a charming beau,
I loved him dear as life,
I thought the time would come
When I would be his wife.
Gold watch and chain, and diamond ring,
He cut quite a dash,
Coal black eyes and curly hair,
And a darling black mustache.
He came to see me on Sunday eve
And stayed till almost three,
He vowed he never loved a girl
As well as he loved me.
Every time I looked at him
My heart beat quick and fast,
I longed to kiss those dear sweet lips
And the darling black mustache.
There came along a sour old maid
Just worth her weight in gold,
She had false teeth and wore false hair
And was forty-five years old.
And carelessly he deserted me,
It was for the old maid's cash,
If you must know, I've lost my beau
With the little black mustache.
When to the flowers so beautiful
The Father gave a name,
There came a little blue-eyed one--
So sheepishly it came--
And standing at the Father's feet,
And gazing at His face,
It said with low and timid voice,
And yet with gentle grace,
"Dear Lord, the name thou gavest me,
Alas, I have forgot."
The Father kindly looked on him
And said, "Forget-me-not."
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Flowers may wither,
Flowers may die.
Friends may forget you
But never will I.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ That Old Oaken Cradle
By B.W. Blanchard
One day while I pondered, my eyes fondly wandered,
To my dear mother's picture which hung on the wall;
With thoughts quite ecstatic, I went to the attic,
And roamed all alone through Memory's hall.
And there in confusion were toys in profusion,
Rag dolls, broken drums, tin soldiers forlorn,
But the dearest old treasure, beloved beyond measure,
Was my old oaken cradle all battered and worn.
That old oaken cradle, that old fashioned cradle,
The bark which I sailed over babyhood seas;
While the unclouded skies of my mother's blue eyes
Formed the beautiful heaven that hovered o'er me.
And I thought of the wildwood, where I roamed in my childhood,
And the deep sparkling spring at the end of the lane;
The old barn unpainted, the milkhouse untainted,
The hives full of honey, the fields rich with grain.
And those dust-covered treasures, linked with babyhood pleasures
Soothed my heart like sweet perfume from rose garden borne;
And in spite of my sadness, my soul thrilled with gladness,
And the sight of that cradle old-fashioned and worn.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ School Days
School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days
Reading and Writing and 'Rithmetic,
'Taught to a tune of a hickory stick
You were my queen in Calico
I was your bashful barefoot beau
And you wrote on my slate
"I love you Joe"
When we were a couple of kids.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
God grant that I may live and fish
Until my dying day,
And when my final cast is made
I then most humbly pray.
When in the Lord's safe landing net,
I'm peacefully asleep,
That in his mercy I be judged
As good enough to keep.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ Fanci-Unwork
By Fay D. Uptain
My "someday" closet is a fright
Only I know what's within,
All its treasures are out of sight,
Waiting for fingers to begin.
Books of needlework squeezed in place,
Bottle-caps for hot-mat sets,
A hank of ribbon, one of lace
Stuffing for some gingham pets.
Hooked-rug patterns, ready-stamped,
Quilt batting for a baby's bed,
A tangled bag of floss now cramped
Beneath wound odds and ends of thread.
Material pieces plastic-sacked
Appliques both big and small;
Hot-iron transfers closely packed,
Pot-holder squares rolled into a ball.
Knitting needles, steel and bone,
Crochet hooks from 1 to Z;
A button box, contents unknown,
Yarn skeins waiting to be free.
Someday I'll open up the door,
And sort the things in awe and dread,
But now I'll do just as before,
Ambitiously buy more instead.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
The Heavenly Weaver deftly weaves,
Upon his loom each day,
The pattern of our lives takes form
In an often puzzling way.
Dark threads and light are intertwined
In ways that seem unwise;
But when its done, a masterpiece
Unfolds before our eyes!
~~ <> @ <> ~~ Poem for a Parrot Coffee Potholder
May I sit on your coffee pot handle
And guard you from the heat?
I won't even ask for a cracker,
I'll just sit and watch you eat.
The covered bridge across the stream
Is a treasured thing to me;
I causes me to pause and dream
Of times that used to be.
Its creaking voice I love to hear
In mellow tones, so soft and slow
Bringing back to me, with hearty cheer,
Fond memories of long ago.
It tells of glad, unhurried years
And friends of other days;
Of hopes and fears, of joys and tears
And good old-fashioned ways.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ Pen Pals
By Annie M. Moravetz.
It's rather wonderful I think,
When friends are made with pen and ink--
A piece of paper, blue and white
Someone decided that she will write
To one whom she has never seen,
Who lives where she has never been.
A pen becomes a magic wand,
Two strangers start to correspond
Not strangers long but soon good friends
It's truly beautiful, I think
When friends are made with pen and ink.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ Life's Weaving
By Father Tabb
My life is but a weaving --
Between my God and me.
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be,
For He can view the pattern,
Up on the upper side,
While I can see it only,
On this--the underside.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow;
Which seemeth strange to me
But I will trust his judgement
And work on faithfully;
'Tis He who fills the shuttle,
He knows just what is best,
So I shall weave in earnest
And leave with him the rest.
At last when life is ended,
With Him I shall abide,
Then I shall view the pattern
Upon the upper side.
Then I shall view the pattern
Upon the upper side.
Then I shall know the reason
Why pain and joy entwined,
Was woven in the fabric,
Of life that God designed.
~~ <> @ <> ~~ Note: For your enjoyment. Last I heard, chain letters sent through snail mail were illegal. Anybody know different?
By Gladys M. Robinson
Chain letters seem to be the fad again,
Remember years ago, the chain letters, when
They asked you to remove the first name
At the top, and add yours to the bottom, was the game.
Of course, send a dime or a tea towel to a friend,
Whose name was at the top, and you'd get hundreds in the end.
O, how true you felt this must be,
So you followed the instructions, just to see,
And of course, you sent the tea towel or a dime;
Then all you got, was your name on the last line.
Now the fad is a chain of a different kind.
It's not asking for anything, but you find,
You'll have "bad luck," there's no doubt;
So copy this "prayer," and again send it out,
To someone else so they can share,
All the good fortune, that's lurking there!
But I'm not superstitious of these chains,
So "bad luck" will surely be my gain;
But that leaves all the blame on me,
Because you've already sent, your copy, you see!
~~ <> @ <> ~~ sayings for hot chocolate package
My old, old teakettle sits on the range,
I'm sure a new one would seem very strange,
Its song is so peaceful, comforting, too,
I never, would never change it for new.
New teakettles all shiny and bright,
Whistle away with all of their might.
They speak of industry and the world's mad RUSH,
But they never say be thoughtful--or hush.
My old teakettle is singing to me,
The words are these, "Make tea, make tea,"
As I sit alone this dark stormy night,
The song it sings is so bright, so bright!
~~ <> @ <> ~~ The Uh Oh Bucket (found on Pinterest, Author Unknown)
You left it out,
I picked it up.
I've got your stuff,
You're out of luck!
To get it back
You must do a chore
And again it's yours
Just like before.
A girlfriend sent me this poem, knowing I like poetry:
Merry Christmas To My Female Friends
If I were' Santa, you know what I'd do
I'd dump silly gifts that are given to you
And deliver some things just inside your front door
Things you have lost, but treasured before.
I'd give you back all your maidenly vigor,
And to go along with it, a neat tiny figure.
Then restore the old color that once graced your hair
Before rinses and bleaches took residence there.
I'd bring back the shape with which you were gifted
So things now suspended need not be uplifted.
I'd draw in your tummy and smooth down your back
Till you'd be a dream in those tight fitting slacks.
I'd remove all your wrinkles and leave only one chin
So you wouldn't spend hours rubbing grease on your skin.
You'd never have flashes or queer dizzy spells,
And you wouldn't hear noises like ringing of bells.
No sore aching feet and no corns on your toes,
No searching for spectacles when they're right on your nose.
Not a shot would you take in your arm, hip or fanny,
From a doctor who thinks you're a nervous old granny.
You'd never have a headache, so no pills would you take.
And no heating pad needed since your muscles won't ache.
Yes, if I were Santa, you'd never look stupid,
You'd be a cute little chick with the romance of a cupid.
I'd give a lift to your heart when those wolves start to whistle,
And the joys of your heart would be light as a thistle.
But alas! I'm not Santa. I'm simply just me,
The matronest of matrons you ever did see.
I wish I could tell you all the symptoms I've got,
But I'm due at my doctor's for an estrogen shot.
Even though we've grown older, this wish is sincere,
Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year.
It was my class reunion, and all through the house,
I checked in each mirror and begged my poor spouse
To say I looked great, that my chin wasn't double,
And he lied through false teeth, just to stay out of trouble.
Said that 'neath my thick glasses, my eyes hadn't changed
And I had the same figure, it was just a mite rearranged.
He say my skin was still silky, although looser in drape,
Not so much like smooth satin, but more like silk crepe.
I swallowed his words hook, sinker and line
And entered the banquet feeling just fine.
Somehow I'd expected my classmates to stay
As young as they were on that long-ago day
We'd hugged farewell hugs, but like me, through the years,
They'd added gray to their hair, or pounds to their rears.
But as we shared a few memories and retold some class jokes,
We were eighteen in spirit, though we looked like our folks.
We turned up hearing aid volumes and dimmed down the light,
Rolled back the years, and were young for the night.
~~ <> @ <> ~~
Accentuate the Positive http://youtu.be/MFs3aKqJcus
Music by Harold Arlen and words by Johnny Mercer, @ 1944.
Sung by Patti Page and Jo Stafford, 1958.
Jo: "Something I've noticed,
everyone seems so gloomy,"
Patti: "It's the weather, Jo.
You know the sun hasn't come out here
since it saw the deserted bleachers at
Ebbets field. (ie. Brooklyn, New York)"
Jo: "Well, that's the wrong attitude.
Look at it this way,
you haven't lost a ballteam,
you've gained a parking lot!
See the similarity there?"
Patti: I sure do!
Shall we pass it onto the people?
Everybody, gather round me,
while I preach some
Feel a sermon coming on
The topic will be sin
And that's what I'm again.'
If you wanna hear my story,
Then settle back and just sit tight
While I start reviewin'
The attitude of doing right.
You've got to accentuate the positive
Eliminate the negative
Latch on to the affirmative
Don't mess with Mister In-Between.
You've got to spread joy up to the maximum
Bring gloom down to the minimum
Have faith or pandemonium is
Liable to walk upon the scene.*
"To illustrate*my last remark
Jonah in the whale, Noah in the ark
What did they do,
Just when everything looked so dark?
"Man," they said, "*we better
Accentuate the positive,
Eliminate the negative,
Latch on to the affirmative,
Don't mess with Mister In-Between."
repeat: "To illustrate*my last remark,"
*No, No, No, Don't mess with Mister In-Between."
When I was asked to make this page
I took it gladly and didn't hesitate
I thought I'd make this page real nice
Cute, pretty, funny or nice
But once I sat down once to try
I just couldn't think, I don't know why!
My mind got blank, my fingers got numb
I chewed my pen instead of my gum
I pulled my hair and chewed my nails
I wished I was doing something else
And I didn't know what to write on it
I was almost at the end of my wit.
I thought so hard--my brain got hot
And singed my hair a little on top
I pulled my ears and blew my nose
Took off my shoes and wiggled my toes
I bit my fingers, unscrewed my pen
Got up, turned around, sat down again.
And when I looked at my still empty page
I nearly flew into a rage.
I cleaned my glasses, put them back on
But still couldn't think of a cute little poem.
So I thought, and thought and thought in vain
Till at last I decided to sign my name!
Proverb = People put off writing letters partly because they unconsciously strain to make every letter a masterpiece of completeness and wit. A prompt reply on a card is better than a six-page letter sixty days later.
--------------- The Artwork of Life
Each morn I have a canvas,
Canvas clean without a spot;
Waiting for an artist's hand
To scribe the work of deed and thought;
What an opportunity
To hand in at each eve
A goodly piece of workmanship,
Of kind and Christian deed.
At the Critic's meeting, someday,
All my paintings I'll turn in,
Whether masterpieces of righteousness
Or faded scenes of sin,
My stand through all eternity
Will rest upon the art
I'm painting now, and always
In the workshop of my heart.
Pansies always stand for thoughts
At least that's what folks say
So this was made to remind you
We are thinking of you today.
--------------- Get Well Wishes
If wishes made folks better,
You're much improved this minute,
Because this special message,
Has heaps of them tucked in it.
Just dropping by like a touch of spring
With a wish that soon your days,
Will be the kind that are sunny thoughts
And as nice as bright bouquets.
May you find the days that lie ahead,
Filled with health and happiness too,
For only the finest and best things in life
Are wished for a friend like you!
May the Lord strengthen you day by day
And bless you in His loving way.
May today be a very good day
for you and
May God keep you in His care until
You are completely well again.
--------------- Cheery Birds and Wishes
These bright cheery birds are winging your way,
To bring sunny messages to you today,
And with them are coming, best wishes to you.
That in a short time, you'll be feeling like new.
Sending this to say Hello
And to keep your spirits high,
And help to make the hours
More pleasant as they pass by.
--------------- A Prayer for You
May God's own blessing cheer your heart
Every day and everywhere
And may you always safely be
Enfolded in his care.
--------------- A Comforting Thought
There is peace within a sunset,
For, although the light has gone,
Just ahead there waits the promise,
Of a new and brighter dawn.
--------------- Daily Valentines
How sweet to get a valentine
Of plain or fancy art,
A rose so pink and violets too,
Or satin covered heart.
But more than beauty or design,
We prize the words that say,
The senders love comes with this gift
In quite the warmest way.
We like to know that someone cares,
That someone wants to do,
The kindly deed that makes us feel,
Well loved and happy, too.
So why not give expression then,
To love for friends so dear,
Not only on one certain day,
But many times a year.
Our Valentines may be a smile,
A cheerful word or two,
A helping hand, a tender glance,
That signals I Love You.
And if we often take the time,
To give these friendly signs,
The world will soon be brightened by,
Our daily Valentines.
--------------- Mending Friendships.
By Virginia Blanck Moore.
Mending friendships is a task
I've set myself today,
The floor shall go unscrubbed for once,
The ironing's put away.
I'll get my pen and paper out
And write a loving line
Across the miles to one dear friend
To say I hope she's fine.
I'll telephone another friend
With whom I have lost touch,
To say, because we never meet,
I miss her, oh, so much.
I'll put the coffee on to brew
And call the neighbors up
And bid them set their work aside
And drink of friendship's cup.
Neglected household chores will wait,
But friends may drift away,
So now and then I just must have
A friendship mending day.
--------------- The Human Touch
By Spencer Michael Free
'Tis the human touch in this world that counts,
The touch of your hand and mine,
Which means far more to the fainting heart
Than shelter and bread and wine;
For shelter is gone when the night is o'er,
And bread lasts only a day,
But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice
Sing on in the soul away.
--------------- A Friend
There's a wonderful thing gold cannot buy,
A blessing that's rare and true,
And that's the gift of a wonderful friend,
Like the friend I have in you.
When all the hours are long and lonely
And you get to feeling blue,
Just remember all the friends
Who think so much of you.
What a great way for a day to begin when,
The door swings open and a Friend says, "COME IN!"
Because your friendship means so much
Throughout the passing days,
I wish you Birthday happiness
In many different ways;
And because I always think of you
As a dear and special friend,
I wish you all the very best
That life can ever send!
There are so very many times
I've stopped and thought of you
And of the very special things
You often say and do. . .
And there are just as many times
I've wished that I could show
Your friendship means much more to me
Than you could ever know.
Always remember that whatever betide you,
You are never alone for God is beside you.
--------------- Your Friendship is a Blessing!
When I count my blessings
I think that there are a few
Quite as wonderful as
Friendship shared with you.
--------------- A Letter to Cheer
Write me a letter once in a while.
Something to cheer up and bring forth a smile.
Something to indicate lasting good will.
Something to show you remember me still.
--------------- Mother's Apron
I used to say to Mother
When friends dropped in for tea,
"Oh, Mother, take your apron off,
And don't embarrass me."
But Mother simply smiled and said,
"I will when I get through--
But I have need of it just now;
There's work for me to do.
I argued and apologized,
And often I opined
That wearing aprons gave a hint
That one was not refined,
But Mother took the restless babe
Upon her aproned knee;
Quite undisturbed by what I said,
She rocked on cheerfully.
And when the older boys came in
A giggling, happy lot--
My Mother with the babe in arms,
Would stir the old iron pot
And from the kitchen she would bring
A dinner well prepared
By loving hands for healthy youths
Who seldom thought or cared.
And thus to labor and to serve
My Mother, always wore
A large white, crispy apron
In happy days of yore.
And when the evening meal was done,
I'd say, "Oh, Mother, do
Take off your apron," she'd reply,
"I will when I get through."
'Twas thus the happy years sped on,
Her children grew and wed;
And Mother nursed her grandchildren
In her own children's stead.
She always found the time to go
To soothe a neighbor's cough,
But never could she find the time
To take her apron off.
The corner of her apron served
To dry our childish tears
It was a screen of peek-a-boo
For more than fifty years.
It told each hungry stranger
Who came shivering to our door,
"My apron's on--I'm here to serve
Until life's day is o'er."
So faithfully she worked away--
She had so much to do--
And always of her apron said,
"I will when I get through."
And then one night with weary feet
She climbed the old home stair,
And with a conquering sigh she sat
Down on her bedroom chair.
And folding up her apron white,
As she was wont to do,
She handed it to me and sighed,
"Well, daughter, I am through."
And peacefully she entered into
Rest--so nobly earned
And as the lonely years passed on by
This lesson I have learned...
My Mother's apron symbol was
Of service for her King.
Now in my treasure chest it lies,
A lovely, precious thing.
--------------- Mother's Apron Strings
There are chains of iron unyielding,
Enduring under stress and strain,
There are ropes of steel-like texture
Bound together grain on grain.
But there's not a pull or binding
More secure though ages roll,
Though all manner of times testing
Tries in vain to take its toll.
Than the simple, frail it seemeth,
Yet in weakness, a strong thing,
For it holds a world upon it--
Mother's humble apron string.
Yes, they're simple, oh, so simple,
Tied into a knot with care;
But no common, mere onlooker
Sees the hearts all tied up there.
Through the days of early childhood,
When the Mother, young in tears,
Watched with love the tiny toddler,
Saw the falls, the hurts, the tears.
Wiped the tears upon her apron,
Placed the feet upon the floor,
And with a look of understanding,
Urged him try it out once more.
There were days when he was naughty,
Needed lessons hard to learn,
Mother heard of "child-psychology,"
But its methods she did spurn.
For she had her own convictions,
In correction she was gifted,
So, across her checkered apron,
She her naughty child lifted.
Then the days of childhood problems,
Troubled looks in questioning eyes,
Caused her turn for a moment
From half-ready crusts for pies.
Wipe her hands upon her apron
Draw the wee one to her side
And discuss the "urgent" problem
Till the child was satisfied.
Teenage followed early childhood;
Problems seemed to multiply,
Teenage "words of wisdom" often
Brought the tear to Mother's eyes.
There were times of deep rebellion
When many unkind words were said,
Though at times he was unyielding,
It hurt when Mother turned her head.
And her hand reached for her apron,
Then he knew he wasn't fair,
Also he knew that in her silence,
It was tears that she wiped there.
Though he had the power to hurt her,
She would only pray the more;
And her love would never waver,
Though her heart was sad and sore.
Mother was much like her apron,
Uncomplaining, roughly used,
Giving silently in service,
Feeling not she was abused.
Only later do we know
All her love has had to bear,
And our own love swells within us.
"Bless her, Father," is our prayer.
"May she know that we love her,
All her prayers were not in vain.
May her guiding and instructing
Now bear fruit in golden grain."
Only now we fully realize
Each seed has been sown with prayer;
Each hard lesson had its purpose,
And it left impressions there.
And the things we thought important,
Are, perhaps, just little things.
And little things take on new meaning
Such as Mother's apron strings.
--------------- The Christmas Book
By Carol Duvall.
Twas Christmas again
And all through the place
There was laughter and fun
And a smile on each face.
Gifts were all wrapped
The place was aglow
And to make it just perfect
There was even some show!
Cards arrived daily
Along with family and friends
And I’ve detailed it here
So when the year ends,
I’ll have a record to read
To help me remember
The who, what and where
Of this year’s December.