Taking a Deep Breath…


…to smell the peppermint.

In spite of my sincere efforts I confess that Christmas Stress Syndrome (I just made that up) has weighed heavily on me this week.   So, I’m making a list of all the things I’m worried about and then I’m going to go back and get a whiff of that wonderful peppermint smell sitting in my blue bowl.  All my favorite colors in one place again; how could I not take a picture?

Here goes:
make Christmas cards mail Christmas cards finish gifts for neighbors and friends deliver gifts for neighbors and friends finish planning Christmas activities for children gather all supplies for above activities fold and put away the mountain of clean clothing in my laundry room wash the mountain of laundry my family produces in about 27 seconds get everything ready for the wedding I’m helping with this weekend get everything ready for my daughter’s birthday on Monday finish shopping for the random little things I somehow forgot early in the month wrap gifts pack a family of ten for a week long move trip figure out when to add a 2 hour trip to pick up items ordered months ago but which arrived late clean my house Do you think I can do all that in 8 hours?

Gratefully I have a little girl who can’t stop talking about the Grinch and how he “toodn’t top tristmas from toming” and I’m hoping that Christmas will feel wonderful regardless of what happens to this list.

So now I’m done.  I just might make a cup of hot chocolate and add a spoonful of peppermint to enjoy while I read a Christmas story.  Or not.

But it’s a nice thought.  And it’s pretty peppermint.  And I guess this, too, is Christmas.
So I’m going to smile today and try to enjoy it.

Jennifer

90 Years



What does it mean to leave a legacy?

How do you go about building one?

Sometimes I think about questions like this, hoping that somehow my day to day living might add up to a legacy of worth that my children and grandchildren will appreciate years from now.

Ninety years ago my Grandpa Gill was born.  He remembers things that I never saw.

He remembers moving from Texas to California as a boy when the road was so narrow that cars had to pull off to the side so oncoming traffic could pass.

He remembers trying out for the football team without any cleats to wear.

He remembers his father abandoning his family.  He remembers poverty.  He remembers war.

He remembers my Mom as a little girl.

I am grateful beyond words for the gift of his life, for the privilege of having him still with us, for the blessing of having my children know him.  He lives in a beach house in Newport Beach California, just a few yards from the sand.  Each summer he opens his home to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren so they can come and visit.  It means the world to me that my children get to have the same summer vacation that I enjoyed as a little girl, in the same house, visiting the same beach, playing the same games, eating off the same dishes.  It is awesome.

I’ve been thinking about the legacy my Grandpa has built for us.

He’s given us the gift of the ocean.

He’s given me the gift of sunsets.  He pauses each day to walk out on the sand and watch the sun set.  I love that.  I’m learning to do it, too.  I can’t remember the last time I didn’t catch a glimpse of the sunset.

He’s given us a legacy of hard work.  He had nothing, but has worked hard all his life.  He has been a good steward, taking good care of everything he owns, making it last and keeping it functional.  He’s learned to live within his means.  He is, in a word, a classic example of many of the qualities his generation developed.  Born in 1920, he lived through the Great Depression as a boy.  Ninety years later, he still maintains his property meticulously.

He’s given us a legacy of service.  His service in the Navy during World War II was marked by bravery and a willingness to do his duty.  I love listening to his stories.  It’s fun to have a war hero for a Grandpa.

He is generous.  I love that about him.

He and I share a love of history.  We’ve read many of the same books and had some great discussions.  He calls me his Abigail Adams.

Two years ago I came home from Church when we were visiting him.  He had recently had surgery and wasn’t able to attend with us.  I went upstairs and shared with him some of the stories that were told.  I’ll always remember the tears trickling down his face as he listened.  They spoke volumes to me about his heart.

I could go on and on.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa. I wish I was with you in California today to celebrate.  You’re the best.

Love, Jennifer His favorite game is Aggravation and we love to play it with him when we’re in town.

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