I just hate Christmas. I don't know whether it is a phase or not, but I wish this season of stuff and obligation would just be over.
I love how people smile back. I love how strangers talk to each other. When I was little folks did that without a holiday.
One year my doctor did not allow me to travel with my family for Christmas so, I stayed alone. I loved it. Guess what, squirrels don't celebrate Christmas.
I think my big gripe is from knowing first hand the pressure that participating in Christmas in a consumer society puts on the poor. Stuff is not Christmas, but try separating stuff and see how odd  you suddenly appear to those around you.
What about the lonely? How much more lonely it must be, when it seems like everyone else has someone.  So, no, I don't hate little, 8' 6oz Jesus in a crib, but I don't think that this is what the angles had in mind when they said,
"Peace(nothing missing,nothing broken) on Earth. Good will to ALL men."
Danie

Two Things.
First thing, a book, World Changing: A guide to the 21st Century. Maybe I spent too many hot summer days as a child reading the encyclopedia, but I read this book cover to cover and would recommend it as a book on this sight but cant figure out how. Which brings me to my second thing.
In the most recent episode of Phil McKinney's pod-cast, Killer Innovations Phil mentioned something about women's willingness to figure out how to work a thing. I am a very patient learner, but expect websites to learn to flow with me, instead of the other way around...
This isn't a gripe.
When I was a child we had an old window unit air conditioner on our front porch.  I am a little embarrassed to admit how many hours I sat observing and influencing the flow of the the little condensation river that formed from the steady drip of the unit. Water always takes the easiest path...nuff said.

Peace

My husband ran into a forever friend of mine in the parking lot of a building supply store this week. When he handed me her number it was if he had opened up a sacred box that had been stored for ten years just for that moment.

 I met Amanda in the third grade in a Sunday school class. She had on a pink dress. I had on a sandle with a broken buckle that I spent the whole morning hiding by crossing my legs just so. Amanda was one of those little kids that looked out of her eyes like she had lived a hundred years. She was never easily tickled or dissapointed.

Her step father was a professor and her mother was a teacher. Thier world seemed so quiet, so serious, so dignified. I  always became suddenly aware that my hair wasn't brushed or that I was silly when I was around them. Amanda never seemed to notice.

We went to different schools. We had different friends, but occasionally she would invite me over to the house on the campus of O.B.U. and we would sit in her sisters mustang convertiable and listen to the radio and pretend we were older.

Amanda was true. Neither one of us were deeply religious people. I thought God was cool and talked with him, especially when I was stoned, but Amanda had more respect for authority or at least knew when to draw the line. I may have known but was to rambucious to stop myself before I crossed any line. I remember how once I had talked her into getting stoned before church one Sunday evening. We sat on the back row. That was my favorite service ever. She hated it.

When I heard her voice on the phone tonight I was so excited. I think I expected her to have grown into a quiet and serious adult, but the minute I heard her voice I knew... I would not have to hide my sandles.

I don't have anything against tobacco. My grandpa smoked from age 7 to 85. He cut off the filters because he said they caused cancer. He might have been right. I don't smoke nor does anyone in my immediate family. I even like the smell of smoke, but my kids don't. They say things like "Mom, look at that lady she is smoking." I say things like, "Yes, she is." How do you answer that?

My question is. If within 20 years smoking has been made such a great sin, why don't we make war a sin also. So my children come to me and say. "Mom, War is bad." and I can say "Yes, it is."