Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day

Welcome, welcome! Fah who rahmus!
Welcome, welcome! Dah who dahmus!
Christmas Day is in our grasp!
So long as we have hands to clasp!

I was only going to do 10 Christmas songs, and then the movie, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" came on TV. And so I added this one, simply to write about my Uncle Ronnie. He's my mother's younger brother and he gave me the nickname I have had my whole life...Cindy Lou Who. My sister gave me the nickname Pfred when we were teens and she still calls me that sometimes. But it's Cindy Lou that most people in my family call me.

Uncle Ronnie had a nickname for everyone though, starting with my mother. He always called her Sister, or simply Sis. My cousins never called her "Aunt Pat." She was always Sister. When she was young, her brothers teased her (and each other) in all sorts of ways, not the least of which was about her speech. Being deaf, she took speech lessons as she grew up, but she never really mastered the difference between the "sh" and "ch" sounds and they loved to give her grief about it. They'd ask her if she wanted shocolate ship cookies or ice cream and she'd get so irritated with them. So when she married a man named Richard, his nickname became Rishard.

My sister's name was Susie. When she was little, sometimes they called her Susie-Q, but eventually the Q dropped off and she was just Susie. She was named after both her grandmothers, Sue and Helen which were combined for Suellen. But mostly, my uncle just called her Susie. He called my brother Axelrod. I simply have no idea where that came from. I should ask him. My youngest sister was Barbie for a long time. My dad called her Bunny. I wonder if he still does ever...

My Uncle had names for other people too. His in-laws were Monga and Bacca. His youngest son was "The Professor." Mostly because David wore glasses and was so serious compared to his brothers. I had another cousin we called Nonnie, and another we called Bumpy (and later, Bump).

I think my Uncle got all this nick-naming from his dad. My grandfather went by Gov, and my grandmother went by Mimi. Her parents were Daddy Jake and Big Muddy. Five generations later, my daughters have their nicknames too. I suppose there is a sense of belonging when you have a nickname. Sometimes, they can be a term of endearment.

"Welcome Christmas while we stand,
Heart to heart, and hand to hand"
--Dr. Seuss

O Holy Night

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.

Every once in a while, I find a song to be so deeply powerful in its words, or music, or performance, and this is one of them. Many people have recorded this song, but no one does it as well as John Berry. The video of him singing it is lovely. He's in a church, alone, and there is a single beam of light on him as he sings. The backdrop is a stained glass window of Madonna and Child. It's simple and its beautiful.

You can tell, listening to him sing it, that he has found something deep within himself, something so alive and powerful, and he brings that out in this song. It gives me goosebumps every single time I hear him sing it and occasionally it can move me to tears. No other person performing this song has the same effect.

And to me, that is what Music is all about... The power to move people. The power to make a difference. The power to inspire. The power to change lives. It can and does change people, and generations, and at times, even the world. The songwriters of today are our poets. And when music can change moods, when words can change lives, what a gift that is!

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!

My mother never knew the gift of music. And yet it is a daily influence on my life. It lifts my moods, helps me think through situations, inspires me in difficult times, and often gives me new perspective on things. I listen to it every single time I'm in the car, constantly searching for the right song to fit my mood. I sang to my children all the time and was always teaching my students songs. The melodies affect me, the words inspire me. Every single day of my life. And that is why I use songs for my blog.

O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!

When John Berry gets to the end of this song, you can feel the divine inspiration in his voice. My daughters know I believe in magic. Music is part of the magic of our world. How can it not be?

Merry Christmas!

What Child is This?

What child is this who laid to rest
On Mary's lap is sleeping
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet
While shepherds watch are keeping


Alas, My Love, you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company.

Two songs. One melody. There is something about this song, the melody in particular, that has always stirred something deep inside me. It just takes me to another time and place and I really think it's an older melody than people realize. I have my own words to this melody that make no sense to me and I have no idea where they came from. They've just always been with me, ever since I can remember,and I used to hum them to my babies as a lullaby. What's important here, is not the words, but the melody. It's a lullaby. It's a babe in arms. And a mother's love.

Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a teacher. Somewhere in there, growing up, I wanted to get married and have kids. Most people do. But my dream in life was to become a teacher. Being a mother was sort of secondary. It was just the natural order of things and just what people did. Never did I imagine how central to my life it would become.

There is a huge difference between becoming a mom -- and mothering. To me, being a mom is what happens when the baby is born and entrusted to your care. It's about changing diapers and feeding and doctor appointments. Mothering is about tending to the needs of your child, falling in love, being there, taking time, providing guidance, learning patience, and a zillion other things that mean you really are the grown up here and you're going to take responsibility round the clock for the next 20-some years. Some people come by it naturally, some people have to learn it, some people never do. I had the upbringing to come by it naturally but it was hard for me. I was too matter of fact about things. To practical. I still am in too many ways. And for that reason, I am forever grateful to La Leche League for helping me learn the parts of mothering that didn't come naturally to me.

They believe that mothering through breastfeeding is the most natural and effective way of understanding and satisfying the needs of the baby. That when you sit down to nurse your baby, and all that oxytocin is realeased in your system, it not only helps relax you, but it releases endorphins that make you more loving. Nursing provides you and your baby with close contact so you take in all the facial cues and bonding begins. When you respond to baby's cries by nursing, you learn to be responsive and baby learns to trust. And it builds from there.

The gift of mothering I was given from La Leche League was so great, I felt the only way I could repay the gift I was given was to share it with others. I became a La Leche League Leader myself. Sharing breastfeeding information with other young mothers, and sharing parenting information by example. I served in that role for over 10 years. In addition to being a local group leader, I took on the role of administrator at the state level, and eventually served on their international board of directors, where I had the privilege of working with women from around the world to promote breastfeeding and mothering. When I returned to the classroom, the parenting I learned from La Leche League influenced the way I managed my classroom, and later, my school. It's had deep and long-lasting influences on me.

My girls mean the world to me. They are amazing young women, and I love being their mom.

Joy To The World

It is the little things that bring joy to the holidays and make them what they are. Some of them are so much a part of our traditions, I don't know if my girls know where they even came from...

They know the Christmas stockings we all have are patterned after ones my grandmothers made. One of them--probably my Grandma Helen--saw a pattern in the paper for the stockings and decided to make them for all their grandchildren. My Grandmothers were good friends at work. That's how my parents met. So my siblings and all my cousins got the stockings. They're white quilted fabric with felt shapes--a Christmas tree in the center, along with a snowman, candy cane, bell, and ornament, all adorned with sequins. And then the person's name in red felt and sequins across the top. And the entire stocking bordered in red satin ribbon. One grandma sewed sequins on the red ribbon, the other did not.

My girls always get a small orange or tangerine in the toe of their stocking. So did my father and his parents. This tradition comes from an age when fresh produce in the winter time was not the norm. Getting an orange in the Midwest was a treat. Getting one in the winter was rare, was special. Even Laura Ingalls wrote, in Little Town on the Prairie, about attending a party at which each guest was given an orange and no one knew what to do with it. It's a small token at Christmas that goes back generations.

We have veal kidneys for breakfast. That's part of our German heritage on my mother's side of the family. On special occasions, this was part of the meal that was served. My paternal grandmother, who considered herself a world traveler and gourmet cook wouldn't touch them. But we grew up on them as a special treat and so I always try to serve them for Christmas.

We haven't had a Christmas tree the last few years since we've gone away from Christmas, but when we've gone to get one, we try to cut our own. Part of wanting to do that, is to continue the tradition of going to my aunt's farm when we were younger to cut our own tree. We've always had a live tree. When my dad was young though, Santa always brought the tree. He said his parents probably stayed up half the night putting it up and decorating it. I believe him. It takes a lot of time to get a tree up, lights on, and ornaments hung. But then he said they'd practically leave it up until Easter.

When we were little, my Mother used to read us the poem, The Night Before Christmas, each year on the 24th before we went to bed. I did it with my girls when they were little but that trailed off. I bought a copy of the poem this year to scrapbook and frame and add to our Christmas decorations. Eventually, I want to be able to read it to grandchildren...

More than anything else about Christmas though, that brings me joy, is the lights. I love to look at Christmas lights. At least once a year we try to drive around and look at the displays people have set up. I remember one year when we were pretty young, our neighbors across the street had put up Christmas lights and turned them on for the first time. My sister climbed up on the high chair to look out the kitchen window. Back in those days, high chairs had heavy metal trays on them. My mother had the tray set on the arms of the high chair but it wasn't latched in place. The tray flipped as my sister grabbed onto it...she fell backwards...and the tray flipped on top of her, cutting her lip. Don't know if she remembers that, but I do. My siblings always give me a hard time for "remembering things" they don't. I maintain it's because I'm the oldest and maybe remember things they were too young to remember.

Anyway, I have always loved colored lights. I love rainbows, I love the light you see in prisms, I love stained glass. I love Christmas lights in particular. When I was about seven years old, I wrote a poem about Christmas lights. My mother was so taken with the fact that I wrote a poem, and carried on about it so much, that I still remember the poem...

I have nine little Christmas lights
Shining bright for me
Three of them are red
Three of them are blue
Three of them are green
Shining bright for me.

At Christmas time, sometimes at night, I like to turn off all the lights in the house, excepts for the Christmas lights, and just enjoy the peacefulness of the night. It brings me happiness and joy and makes me feel content in a way I can't describe.

He rules the world, with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love
And wonders of His love
And wonders, wonders, of His love.

Oh Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem

How still we see the lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight

When I hear this song, I picture a clear winter night...stars shining while the town sleeps...quiet and peaceful. And Hope.

When I was young, my hopes where centered in the here and now. I remember one Christmas desperately hoping for snow. Today, I'm watching blizzard conditions outside my window and I know the weather is what it is. I spent years telling my parents the only thing I wanted for Christmas was a piano, hoping they'd finally give up and get me one. I know now that was financially beyond their means.

When my girls were young, I hoped they would just be healthy. We had the usual illnesses and orthodontics and even an occasional broken bone. But when we had the all-nighters at the hospital because of asthma, or the mental health issues, I desperately hoped they would outgrow it. Then I watched a family deal with the death of their only child due to a tumor. I realize now it's all a matter of perspective.

I hope to make a difference in this world and have talked about it with a friend of mine. We both have a lot of volunteering in our background, and we both know we make a difference in our jobs. But we've talked about what kind of difference we want to be making. I've moved beyond what I want for myself, and have been giving a lot of thought to the idea of hope -- people who feel they don't have hope -- and what might make a difference for them. I don't know where it will lead me, but it's a journey I'm embarking on and we'll see where it leads.

How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.

Christmas For Cowboys

Tall in the saddle, to spend Christmas Day
Driving the cattle over snow covered-plains.
All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range.

Back in the cities they have different ways
Football and eggnog and Christmas parades.
I'll take my saddle, I'll take the reins,
It's Christmas for cowboys wide-open plains.

A campfire for warmth as we stop for the night,
The stars overhead are Christmas tree lights.
The wind sings a hymn as we bow down to pray,
It's Christmas for cowboys, wide-open plains.

--John Denver

Anyone who does not listen to John Denver has probably never heard this song. It's a simple song, and it congers up simple images. And that is exactly what I like about it. For many, many years I struggled with the Christmas holidays. It was overcrowded with activities and events and expectations creating a level of stress that to me made the holidays everything they shouldn't be.

So slowly I began to take stock of what mattered to me about the holidays. What parts did I want to keep? What parts was I willing to let go of? What parts had to change even if I had to address other people's expectations?

The parts that I wanted to keep were the baking--I love to do that! And the stockings I make for family members (and a few close friends). I think at last count I've made over 40 stockings. I like the little things like buying a new ornament each year for the girls, and bringing out the antique ornaments that were my grandmother's. I love our Christmas morning tradition of the youngest passing out the gifts and going 'round the room opening them one by one.

The things I let go of were the multiple events that just added stress to our schedule. When the girls were young, we slated their piano recital, but tried to say no to cookie exchanges, neighborhood parties, and work events we didn't need to be at. Everyone feels compelled to put these get-togethers on the calendar in December and then they wonder why they're stressed. We finally just started to opt out.

One area where I had to address others' expectations was my husband's lack of Christmas shopping. When the girls were small, I went a lot of Christmases with no gifts from him/them at all. I'm not a material person, and I don't ask for much, but with the routine of going around the circle and opening gifts one at a time, it got hard to take when the only gifts for me were the one or two my parents had dropped off. It made me too sad. I won't go into details, but eventually we came to an understanding on this, and it got better as the girls got older.

Another issue was making the decision as a family to start going out of town for Christmas. When I was a kid, and we all gathered at my grandma's for Christmas, we were a group of 13. But now we all have spouses, significant others, and children. If everyone is in town, we're a group of over 40 people. My family gets together the night of the 24th, then they gather again on the 25th. We finally made the decision to pare down the holidays and spend it just with our immediate family and we did it by going out of town. We rent a lodge a few hours out of town that's big enough for our girls (and their boyfriends if they want to join us).

We hole up for three days and two nights for a quiet and relaxing family Christmas. The views of the river are commanding and you are reminded of things that are simple and good. It's a time to focus on family without the distractions of the telephone, television, internet, or anything else. The girls love it and I hope we can keep doing it for a long time to come.

Tall in the saddle we spend Christmas Day,
Driving the cattle over snow-covered plains.
All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range.
It's Christmas for cowboys, and wide open plains.

Silent Night

Every December, I lay long-stem red roses on my mother's grave. The red and green give it a look of Christmas decorations against the snow.

Silent Night, Holy Night

I wait until night, when the moon is out, and it's silent and peaceful.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child

I always give her four red roses, one for each of her four children.

Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

I love you, Mama

Mary Did You Know?

Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy would one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your Baby Boy has come to make you new?
This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you?

Several people have recorded this song. One of the more common ones you hear on the radio at Christmas time is the one recorded by Kenny Rogers and Wynonna Judd. One of the better versions I've heard is the one Kathy Mattea does. Besides this being a beautiful song on its own merit, I think it touches the heart of every single parent when they look at the face of their child and are filled with the wonder and hope and promise of who this child could become.

Did you know that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?

Every baby, every life, is a gift from God. And when you see a baby, you see all the good, the innocence, the pureness, that is life. And that's why babies hold such promise. I believe all parents want certain things for their children...they want them to be healthy, to be safe, to have a decent life. Some parents, unfortunately, try to live their unfulfilled lives through their children, or place too much direction in front of their children. That is one extreme.

The other extreme is the abusive or neglectful parent. The adult who harms the child, or neglects the child to the point the young one never really has a childhood. There are so many wayward and awful paths this could go, it's impossible to list them all.

But in the middle, is the parent who accepts the gift of a child with all the awe and delight and enormity of promise that a child really is. There is the parent who, looks down on that soft round face of a baby and knows they really are looking at the face of God. And they know God has entrusted them with a child just like he trusted Mary with his child. And being human and struggling with our own faults, we are going to try to help this child be their best...Play fair, learn the golden rule, go to school, get good grades, get a job, become something. And we have no idea how to do that and no idea what God wants this child to become.

I work with parents all the time to accept their child for who he or she is. Look at their personality traits (no matter what they are) as positives, and then consider how they can channel those traits constructively. If your child is demanding, help them turn that into assertive. If your child is bossy, help them turn that into leadership qualities. If your child talks a lot, give them appropriate outlets for doing so.

From an early age, we realized my oldest daughter loved to read. She also has an excellent memory which makes her an excellent at languages, editing, spelling, and such related things. She kind of hopped around with her interests in college and we kept encouraging her to pursue what she was interested in, not necessarily what she thought would get her an immediate job right after graduation. She's not really happy with her factory job right now, but she got a well-rounded degree in an area she really liked studying. She's thinking of grad school. We still don't know where she'll end up. Neither does she. Her path is far from over.

My middle daughter got a dual degree, one of them being in engineering. She's in the midst of interviews. Something will pan out for her soon. She's also considered med school. She's smart and talented. Once she's in the work force, I'm certain more opportunities will come her way.

My youngest is all over the map. She is bursting with life and ideas and possibilities. They all seem to center around criminal justice in some way whether it's the FBI or law or some other related field. I think she will probably try on several jobs in her life time.

For all of them, the possibilities are exciting, and I'm glad we've given them the message they can pursue whatever direction they choose. I cannot imagine deciding for them. And I cannot imagine the enormity of what Mary knew about her child.

Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know?
That your Baby Boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your Baby Boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?
The sleeping Child you're holding is the Great, I Am.

Adeste Fideles

Adeste fideles, Laeti triumphantes; Venite, venite in Bethlehem; Natum videte, Regem Angelorum

O Come All Ye Faithful. Faith. People don't ask me about my Faith very often. I know one or two people who get pretty preachy about their faith and it annoys the heck out of me. It's a pious sort of attitude that really bugs me. I'm sure they really do believe in their faith, but there is something about the way they go about things that almost seems as if it's for show. I don't like that. I have another few friends who simply live their faith, and I have deep respect for them. Sometimes it comes up in conversation; often it does not. They might mention something they did at church but it's no different than something they did at the store, or at work. They might quote scripture, but it's no different than mentioning something they read in any other book or heard on the news. It's simply part of their day-to-day and who they are.

I do believe there is a God, a Supreme Being, a Diety. I believe that Diety crosses many boundaries and no one religion can lay claim to being right, or the one true religion. In fact, much of the fighting that has taken place over history and over religion is not about IF there is a god, but HOW people ought to be worshiping. Far more has been done to label people heretics and heathens and sinners in the name of whatever religion than to create kindness and inclusion. And for that reason, I don't believe in organized religion. I believe that Faith is a covenant between the individual believer and their God and there that's where it should begin and end. There doesn't need to be an organized church in the middle. If the Bible, or Koran, or any other inspirational writing helps you find that covenant and lead a life of service, then you have found Faith. If you have shown Grace to others, you have found Faith. If you strive daily to make the world a better place, you have found Faith. If you trust that a Deity will guide you and give you strength through dark moments, you have Faith.

Do I pray? Rarely, and then only to ask for understanding. I believe that if you have Faith, you also trust that God has a plan. And who are we to question it? Who are we to think that our insignificant supplications will change what is meant to be? Instead, I believe in trusting in God (having Faith) and seeking understanding. How do we seek understanding? By learning, listening, watching, and accepting that what does not make sense to us now, will at some point down the road. And in the mean time we need to do our best, do the right thing, try to make the world a better place by giving others Grace, and having Faith.

I grew up hearing this hymn in Latin. It's one of the few I remember in Latin. There is something ancient and beautiful about it ...

Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus Dominum!

The Friendly Beasts

Jesus our brother, kind and good
Was humbly born in a stable rude
And the friendly beasts around Him stood
Jesus our brother, kind and good.
--Garth Brooks

My grandmother had an electric organ in her living room. With a flip of a switch, you could add a samba beat, a waltz beat, an oboe sound, or any other variety of instruments. I don't ever remember seeing her play it. But it was always there for us to fiddle around with. She had simple music, and those of us who could read music would plunk our way through various songs and come December, an assortment of Christmas carols. I loved this song. Each animal tells the others what he gave to the Christ child. I think it's the bit of Doctor Doolittle in all of us that believes deep down animals really can speak.

"I," said the dove from the rafters high,
"Cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry;
We cooed Him to sleep, my mate and I."
"I," said the dove from the rafters high.

At Christmas, we alternated which grandmother would spend the holiday with us each year. Every Christmas Eve my aunt and uncle had a huge open house. It was mostly relatives, with a few friends and neighbors thrown in. Over the course of the evening, there were probably 40 or 50 people that came and went. Once in a while, a family friend dressed as Santa would show up. We'd get all dressed up,and go over there for a dinner of snacks and drinks. Grownups sat around the living room, dining room, or den, or were bustling around the kitchen. Kids hung out in the downstairs and would drift in and out of the upstairs rooms for food and adult attention.

Then we'd leave for midnight Mass. I think my parents didn't particularly like staying up late enough for midnight Mass but once we got old enough to lobby for it, we did. We preferred that to having to stop the Christmas morning festivities to go to church. So we'd leave my aunt and uncle's, head to church, and get home sometime around 1am. One grandma or the other would be with us, and would get my brother's bedroom for the night, down on the first floor with my parents. He'd join us girls upstairs, usually camping out in a sleeping bag.

The rule was, we couldn't come downstairs in the morning until Santa (or my parents) rang a bell. So here we were, coming home from church at 1am. Too excited to fall asleep and up talking and giggling until 2am or later. And then someone would invariably wake up around 5am, too excited to go back to sleep and wake the others up. And now what to do? We wanted our parents to wake up so we could get up. My dad could sleep through Armageddon. My mother was deaf. We were upstairs. They were downstairs. And we tried all sorts of things to wake them up. I remember one year my sister put her trumpet to the floor at 6am and started playing Christmas carols. In hindsight, I feel sorry for my grandmothers.

We'd finally be allowed to get up and see what Santa had left in our stockings. Then breakfast. Somewhere along the line, my mother tried a recipe she found in the paper that became known as the Christmas Morning Hotdish that we had every year after that. I make the same Christmas breakfast for my girls that I grew up with...grapefruit, bacon, veal kidneys, hotdish. Then we'd open our presents. Usually way too quickly for my mother's liking. Then time to run our grandma home. If it was Grandma Helen, she went back to her house to get started on the dinner. Our other grandma went to back to my aunt's for the rest of the day. But we always went to Grandma Helen's for dinner, and so did my cousins. All of us were crowded into her little house--very fond memories for me.

Thus every beast by some good spell
In the stable dark was glad to tell
Of the gift he gave Emmanuel,
The gift he gave Emmanuel.

Tonight I had a wonderfully full house. All three of my girls were here. All of their boyfriends were here. My brother stopped in for a while. The girls spent the evening making gingerbread houses. Their boyfriends helped here and there. There was a lot of good food, Christmas music playing, and a lot of laughter. These are my most favorite evenings. I loved watching them have this time with each other. I love that they get along with each other and enjoy spending time together, doing simple things like this. I am happy that they family is a good place for them to be, like it was for me. These are the gifts we give each other.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

I went through a list of Christmas carols to pick out my 10 favorite. It was hard narrowing it down. This one made the list because of my daughters. And the Muppets.

When my brother was in Kindergarten, he came home from school with information from his teacher about an educational program on public television called "Sesame Street". That was my family's introduction to Kermit, Oscar, Cookie Monster, Big Bird, and Bert and Ernie. When my girls were born, I fell in love with the show all over again and began to appreciate the adult humor that the writers snuck into the show. Singing songs like Bruce Springsteen's "Baby we were born to add" was one of my favorites. And I loved all the guest stars on the show.

One of the stories we tell a lot in this family, and one of my worst parenting moments, stems from Sesame Street. My oldest daughter, when she was two, was convinced that Oscar the Grouch lived in every garbage can she saw. If we were on walks, and I didn't keep close hold of her hand, she'd dart into people's yards when she saw a garbage can, grab the lid off it, and look to see if she could find Oscar. I'd have to drag her away. It alternated between embarrassing and annoying.

One day, shortly after my second daughter was born, we had a particularly difficult day a local store because the baby was being colicky (screaming) and my oldest was convinced that her imaginary pet mouse was lost in the store. She, too, started crying. Here I was, trying to manage the shopping bags and two crying children. I tried to convince my two year old the imaginary mouse was in the shopping bag. No dice. She just screamed louder. In exasperation, I just packed them both up in the car and headed home. But NO! In our garage, there sat the garbage can! My two year old refused to go in the house, screaming, "Oscar, Oscar, Oscar! I want Oscar!". Keep in mind I was about two weeks post-partum here, and I just snapped. I opened the lid of the trash can and with whatever was in my hand, I went, "Bam, bam, bam! There! Oscar's dead! Now come in the house."

I do not expect you to understand that if you haven't just given birth. And gone to the store with the baby. Who is colicky. And a two year old. Who has an imaginary mouse. That is lost. And needs to find Oscar. It was absurd. My husband was appalled. And I still get grief about that day some 20 years later.

But we all still love the Muppets. We had a Christmas CD of songs John Denver recorded with the Muppets...for his children and for all children. And the song The Twelve Days of Christmas on that CD is absolutely delightful. When the Muppets get to "five golden rings" they sing "bum bum bum" and with each verse they get louder and more enthusiastic. It so completely captures the spirit of joy of children and Muppets and I love it.

The day after Jim Henson died, there was an editorial cartoon in the paper of Kermit the Frog sitting alone on the curb under a street lamp. The sign on the corner read "Sesame Street". Kermit had his head in his hands and he was crying. I still have that cartoon. Jim Henson touched the lives of hundreds of thousands of children and adults. The gift he gave us with his Muppets is far greater than any golden ring.