THE ONE MINUTE TRADITION

Yesterday, after all the food was consumed--well, not all of it, some got sent home with others and a good deal of it is in the fridge, waiting for leftover day, which is going to be tomorrow--after the goodbye's were said, Kraut...

...and The Soap Queen...

...loaded the kids in the car. After I snapped a few more photos...


...they drove off. And then, instead of going on down the road, Kraut made a circle in the road and we got a chance to hear, "Goodbye Grandma, Goodbye Grandpa," yelled out of the windows again. We waved and grinned. Off they went. Almost. Another circle. You get the picture. Around and around they went, laughter spilled from the windows as the children delighted in the minute their dad wasted not going home.

And that's really all it took. One minute. He even does this in the winter when the road is covered with snow and ice. It's a tradition that they love and we love and they will always remember.

THINGS WE CALL BY THE WRONG NAMES.

Here are just a few things that we could think of today that we call by the wrong names.




When the kids were little and they would say, "I'm done!" I would say, "Cookies are done, you are finished." I don't know why the word "done" bothered me so much but they still remember and now remind me that I am never done but might be finished. Actually, I am never finished, either.

Gilmore Girl has a way of speaking all her own. She refuses to call things by their proper names. Your head is a "Mellon," so here is a picture of Curly Sue's "ForeMellon."

This is not a Box Elder Bug. It is a "Charlie Bob." When The Brown Dot was about 5 year old he told me this bug was called Charlie. I asked what his last name was and he said, "Bob." We have never called it anything else ever since.

When Curly Sue and her family were in Wal-Mart one day they saw those round foam pool floats, kind of like these.

Curly Sue said, "What are these?"

Her dad said, "They are Curly Sue Whackers." He picked one up and whacked her over the head with it. Now even their friends call this pool toy "Curly Sue Whackers."

Does your family members call the "ground" the "floor" and the "floor" the "ground" like my family does half of the time. I even hear newscasters make this mistake.

My niece once called a "dish cloth" a "dish rag" on a local TV program because that name had come down through the generations when her Great Grandma probably used any old rag to wash dishes with.

And do you ever get the "Feel Bads?" And do you get your "Feeler's" hurt?

I hope not. I hope you are as "happy as a clam." Or as happy "as if you had good sense."

My mom used to say--about people who were ornery--"he wouldn't be happy if he were hung with a new rope." I never could figure that one out but I guess, since it was coming from Mom, who always made the best of a tough situation it was a good reminder to be happy, no matter what.

And I hope you are.

LITTLE BIRDY IN A TREE--TRADITION, SUNG AND NOW VISUAL.

Little birdie in a tree,
In a tree,
In a tree.
Little birdie in a tree,
Sing a song to me.

Sing about the birdies,
In the tree top tall,
Sing about the flowers,
Growing on the wall.

Little birdie in a tree,
In a tree,
In a tree.
Little birdie in a tree,
Sing a song to me.

Not a very imaginative nursery song, is it? But, being what life is, this is one of the songs Mom sang to me as an infant. It is one of the songs she sang to her grandchildren, sixteen of them, Her Excellency of Mousehole was not born when my darling mother died. The only grandchild, number seventeen, who never knew Grandma Rasmussen, who never heard this song from her Grandma's lips. This is one of the songs I sang to my five children, Her Excellency of Mousehole being the last.

Last Christmas this is one of the things Her Excellency of Mousehole gave me. A tribute to tradition, started how many generations back, I don't know. But I do know one thing. It will be carried forward, partially because of this beautiful painting.

And here is the little birdie, in a tree, who sings a song to me--and to past generations of children, who grew up to sing to their children, who will sing to their children, and on and on.

Thank you, Her Excellency of Mousehole. I love you.

I know you love me too.

Mom

SUNDAY WITH FRIENDS

Last night we were invited to two friend's homes to do the same thing--light an advent candle and sing Christmas songs. The second invitation came from our neighbors, The C's who went to the house the first invitation came from (the P's) last year. If this keeps up--each family that is invited to the P's house will be starting new traditions--there won't be anyone left to invite.

It was a wonderful evening. There were fourteen of us, three were children and so they wandered in and out. We sat around the table and choose a song to sing--twice. We sang everything from "Up On the Housetop" to songs from the 40's to sacred religious and children's religious hymns. The P's newlywed boy and his bride were there with young love's glow. He sang beautifully and set the pitch. Another couple have been married only eight months and I noticed they sang to each other a lot--there was a lot of young love nestling in.

After singing we had a plethora of savory and sweet treats and all kinds of flavors of hot chocolate. It was a wonderful way to end a Sunday evening. Good friends, good food and songs about the Savior's birth.