Of Giant Husbands and Little Trees

Dear Friends,
The giant husband is in the ‘green’ business. He knows quite a bit about plants, trees and Latin roots. Every year he works six days a week then for six glorious weeks, beginning Christmas Eve, the nursery closes. He gets a well-earned rest though Rocky the Shepherd, and Mojo the Dachshund usually fail to read the memo.

A few months ago I wrote a story about the giant husband. If you’d oblige, I’d like to share an edited version of it again. Because as the saying goes, “Behind every married woman who blogs, is a giant husband.” –

Back in 2000, after giving birth to the big son son I had some complications. For five days and nights after the big son came into the world, I was hooked up to tubes, monitors and I believe there were a few pots and pans (this is where I lost my dinner preparation zest). I liken the experience to an exotic vacation minus fresh air, warm sun, bright sea or anything else pleasant. Each night when the hospital room grew dark (despite bells, whistles, alarms and flashing lights) there was the giant husband, ‘sleeping’ at the foot of my hospital bed atop two small chairs smooshed together.

Though the giant husband makes things around him appear smaller, he makes anyone around him feel grand. My Christmas gift every year is having him home for the holidays.
BP finalThank you. May you dream of someone who makes you feel grand…
Giant Husband, Delicate Daughter, Tiny Tree rendered today while listening to, It’s a Wonderful Life

A note: The other day I had the amazing fortune of talking to a selfless father and fellow blogger, Simon Tocclo of Liberian Me. The reason I bring this up here is when there are complications during birth, mothers (in the poorer areas of Africa) don’t survive. So when you dream, please dream of hope for those in need around the world…thank you.

 

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If I Was Eight Again…

Dear Friends,
I didn’t save my childhood Christmas lists, but for some reason my 1971 Santa letter has followed me ’round from house to house. Below is the Santa letter I penned at eight-years-old. I remember my mom giving us these adorable cards to write our Christmas wish lists on.
8 Year Old Xmas List - front( My penmanship was neatest at 8 years of age) –
8 Years Old Xmas-writtenI’ve read the list above many times since 1971 always thinking what if…
My 2014 Santa list (written by my eight-year-old, inner-child) would look like this-
2014 Xmas FrontMy 1971 Santa list, with a few 2014 inner-child edits-
8 Years Old Xmas 2014Thank you. May you dream of peace on earth and in every heart…
2014 Inner-child Christmas Card rendered today after shopping and before giving art lessons.

My 1971 Santa list resulted in a pink stuffed dog named Charlie, a small zither and no rabbit. Our German Shepherd would have eaten it. 🙂
I still smiled wide every Christmas…my parents made Christmas wonderful whether we got our list or not.