Sorry to be so neglective of this place. I've been caught up in that overwhelming thing called life. Haven't we all? I've been pretty down the past month or so. Between being overwhelmed by classes, work, kids, and the wonderful "down turn" of the economy, I've just felt that I was drowning. Atlas, I have seen the light...or rather, I've realized it's all good. Everyone is having it rough these days. One thing that I know is I can make it through anything. I was raised with a tight financial belt and I can make it. I've actually been having fun with it.

I'm so thankful for so many things and so many people. I have a wonderful family, home and job. This week I realized that while I do not have the money  I could use to buy the things my children and family want, I have been given some great crafty gifts to make things better. Yesterday I spent the day moving things around to make room for the Christmas tree. Yes I know yesterday was Black Friday. The day when all bargain shoppers hit the streets before midnight but I am not a natural born shopper and quite simply there are no shopping funds at this time. Honestly, that whole scene scares the holy snot out of me. It's turns the holidays into a contact sport.  Well, my two oldest and I moved furniture around; changing the entire dynamic of my living room...for the better.

I've found my inner DIYer once again. I've actually put pictures on the wall!! (I've lived in my house for 5 years with only two pictures and a shelf on my living room walls...ok one picture, a clock and a shelf) Anywho, if I can get my stiff body to move today I'm going to continue to peck away at my home getting it beautified for the holidays and for myself and the boys. I feel accomplished. I've also came up with a few diy Christmas things that I'll share in the days to come when I can get some pictures taken. Let's just say Google and I have found so many cute ideas using the things I've got in my craft box, kitchen, pantry, and yard. I'm like a kid in a candy store. hee hee.

I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday weekend and staying safe. I'm off to rub some anti-pain cream on my sore muscles and back to decking the halls. God bless and stay safe everyone!

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a blessed Holiday. Below is story written by Laura Jeanne Allen that has stuck with me for many years. It touched me and I still use the saying to this day. I hope you enjoy it and it touches your life. Please appreciate your loved ones not only today but through out the year.

May God bless you and yours!

Best wishes!




Christmas Light Animations provided by MySpaceAnimations.com
SHMILY


Written by Laura Jeanne Allen

My Grandfather and Grandmother were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.

They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where they always had warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring.


"Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my Grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.


There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly
were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows.  "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of their house as the furniture.

It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism had kept some of them from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky to experience.

Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble.

My Grandmother whispered to one of her friends about how cute my Grandfather was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em."


Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.


But there was a dark cloud in the couples' life: my Grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, my Grandfather was with her every step of the way.


He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.


Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my Grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my Grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, my Grandfather would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over my Grandmother.

Then one day, what everyone dreaded finally happened. My Grandmother was gone.

"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my Grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time.  My Grandfather stepped up to my Grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.


Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.


S-h-m-i-l-y:


See How Much I Love You.

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a blessed Holiday. Below is story written by Laura Jeanne Allen that has stuck with me for many years. It touched me and I still use the saying to this day. I hope you enjoy it and it touches your life. Please appreciate your loved ones not only today but through out the year.

May God bless you and yours!

Best wishes!




Christmas Light Animations provided by MySpaceAnimations.com
SHMILY


Written by Laura Jeanne Allen

My Grandfather and Grandmother were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more.

They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where they always had warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring.


"Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my Grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet.


There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly
were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows.  "Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of their house as the furniture.

It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism had kept some of them from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky to experience.

Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword puzzle and word jumble.

My Grandmother whispered to one of her friends about how cute my Grandfather was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em."


Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other.


But there was a dark cloud in the couples' life: my Grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, my Grandfather was with her every step of the way.


He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside.


Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my Grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my Grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, my Grandfather would go to church alone, praying to God to watch over my Grandmother.

Then one day, what everyone dreaded finally happened. My Grandmother was gone.

"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my Grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time.  My Grandfather stepped up to my Grandmother's casket and, taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby.


Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty.


S-h-m-i-l-y:


See How Much I Love You.