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Subject: Dec 27, 2005 - Storytime Tapestry Christmas Contest Continues - December27, 2005

STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

Dec 27, 2005?

Today??™s Announcements:

Happy Birthday to ? Ginnylynn Rodriguez

Now on to the good stuff..........

?

Today's Christmas Stories
~**~**~**~

Dirty Santa?

Sharon Bryant

I have never played "Dirty Santa" until tonight.? And if I knew who that little red head was that took my gift, I'd be in jail for assault!?

I wore my T-shirt.? Hubby wore his Santa shirt.? I could hear people whispering, "Who are those two?? Who's that woman with the "antlers?"?

Mind you, when I entered the town hall where this party took place, I knew three people in that crowd.? It was a family party but I know? one of the daughters.

The gifts kept coming in as people piled into the hall.? Food came in as fast.? I've never tasted some of the foods that I had tonight but I have to say, there was some mighty fine cooking done.? And then, it was time to play Dirty Santa.

I was number 9.? Hubby got number 40.? Number 4 got a gorgeous set of unusual shaped Coca Cola glasses.? I'm a Coke collector so thought, "Gee, maybe I should just take her gift."? Then hubby reminded me that our cupboards are filled with tons of glasses, and we really didn't need anymore.

They called my number.? I picked a package because I liked the paper it was wrapped in.? Lo and behold, it was something I COULD use.......a beautiful canister set with locking lids.? It would come in handy in my shop.

Number 10 got one of the gifts hubby and I brought.? A big box of assorted chocolates, soup mixes, jelly, etc.? I watched the man who got the gift look around the room and everyone kept yelling, "Hold it up, let us see."

He didn't want to show anyone.? He sat down at his table and I watched him going through the items in the box.? People were saying, "Wow, look at all that chocolate."

That redhead was about 45 years old.? We had to put all our gifts on the table in front of us.? Before I knew what happened, she walked over to our table, picked up my canister set and said, "My daughter-in-law can use this."? And off she walked with my gift.

I glanced at where she went and she was near the man who got all the candy.? He saw me looking at him, so he laid his arms across his box.? I had to laugh, candy was the last thing I wanted.

Since my gift was taken, I had to open another gift.? I liked it.? It was a Scottish plaid throw, which I needed one for our van, so I held it up for everyone to see, I looked at the redhead and said, "Don't even try it!"? She started laughing.

I sat down and no one came to take my gift from me.

But there were three boxes of chocolates and everyone who got those didn't want to let go of them.? I saw those chocolate boxes being exchanged all over the room.? Everyone said, "It looks like homemade."

Three women came up to me at different times and said, "You look real familiar, where do you work?"? I laughed and said, "Come back later, I'll tell you then."? But someone kept looking and looking at me and she yelled out, "I know who she is, she's the candy lady at the park!"? That was it, everyone then knew where the candy boxes came from.? Some asked for my phone number at the shop, some wanted my email address.

Then hubby had his turn.? He opened up a gorgeous clock, and I yelled out, "Put that back in the box, don't show it to anyone else!"? Everyone began laughing and hubby walked off the stage with the clock.? Then number one had the option to take any gift she wanted one more time.? I laid my head down on my blanket and on the clock.? She walked the rows of tables, stopped at ours and said, "I sure could use that clock in my living room."? I looked at her and said, "They're on sale at Wal-Mart."? She started laughing and said, "Oh, keep the clock, I want the candy box."? And she went and stole the candy from the last person who got the biggest box.

We laughed, we enjoyed the evening and it was a lot of fun.? I like that game.? Even better, I came out of there with some good recipes!? And invited a lady whose husband died this year, to come to my house for dinner this Tuesday.?

I wore my antlers too!? One guy said as we were leaving, "You better duck your head down, you might get shot when you go outside."? And now I will close asking you, who would shoot a deer who had green antlers with a red head band???

Sharon Bryant

1946 @bellsouth.net

About Me:

I am Sharon Bryant,? 59 years old and reside in Alabama. I lost my child in 1977 when he was five and I write articles on bereavement often. I am a chocolate/candy maker and also a wood crafter and knitter. I am married to a wonderful man, and have two remaining children, a daughter 26,
Amy, and a second son, Randy, age 24.

My main goal in life is to help those who
have lost a child. My website is: www.angelsremembered.tk

~**~**~?

Christmas Memories

Janice Finley

This story takes us ???baby boomers??? back to the great memories of Christmas.

For us, Christmas was celebrated with Christ, family, love sharing, giving. And being together as a family.?

It was a? wonderful time. Not the rush, hustle, bustle of so much Christmas lights, and blow up snowmen on the lawn, as it was love, caring, and Christ. After all, Christ is the reason??¦

We went to Our Grandparents house on Christmas Day, without fail.. with Grandmother, Mother and aunts in the kitchen, and the men folk playing cards checkers, watching ball games, while dinner was being prepared, After ? thanking God, and eating dinner, we would all gather around the tree and sing Christmas carols. Then, Grandmother and Granddaddy would pass out the orange slices, fruit cake, coconut, and pineapple cake, fudge, walnuts, chocolate ? covered cherries, and fruit.? After all that, Grandmother would pass out gifts, with the help of us 5 grandchildren.

Grandmother always made each of us feel the very favorite one, and if our Grandparents had a favorite grandchild, no one knew!? We were all special to them/ they will forever be in our hearts.

One Christmas, Dad had to leave early, for some unknown reason..? It had started to snow, and his reason was to check on the cows, horses and pigs,, In a while , he came back as we were only less than? ?? mile from Grandparents, and said we had to go? Weather was getting bad, so he said,? . We thanked all and gave kisses, and loaded the car, When we arrived at the house, tere was tracks from the field to the house, big boot tracks, and in the snow, was a outline of a sleigh, complete with the reindeers??™ footprints, The boot prints led us to the house,, AND? SANTA had come while we were at Grandmothers??™.. how wonderful and special all the times were.? ? The next day, we went to out other grandparents, and practiced the same tradition.? WONDERFUL!!? ? Simply? LOVE!!? ?

Janice Tomerlin-Finley? ? Arab,Al.

Finleyj@otelco.net

? ? ~**~**~

A New Kind of Dolly?
By Mary-Ellen Grisham

I can still remember the junior high kids standing in the halls between classes discussing Christmas.? The tales of the way parents would sacrifice, even taking out loans, to please their children with requested gifts impressed me the most.? At that age, it seemed to me that the parents must love their children very much.? The items of desire seemed endless--from games to electronics, from clothes and jewelry to ten-speed bikes and sporting equipment.

One night at supper I mentioned the extravagant demands some of my friends were making for Christmas.? Mom glanced at Dad, my young brother looked curious, and my father got a gloomy, somewhat sad expression on his face.? He looked at my brother and me and firmly said, "This family will not go into debt for a lot of high-priced Christmas presents."

Later while doing dishes, Mom and I talked about what loving gift exchange really meant and about the true meaning of Christmas.? I confessed that all I really wanted was a pretty doll, a really beautiful one that I could treasure as a keepsake.? Mom gave me a funny look, and I knew she thought that at twelve I was getting too old for dolls.? "Aren't there clothes you need, or maybe things that would really help you at school?"

I smiled and told her that I was tired of pj's, robes, and slippers for Christmas...and practical stuff that wasn't pretty.? Even cologne and body powder combos were old stuff to me.

As the days drew closer to Christmas, we were busy with work, school, extra Christmas activities, and church.? We did gather for evening TV occasionally and always talked lengthily at suppers.? I sensed that Mom and Dad were uncomfortable about Christmas this year, though my brother would be easy to please.? I was totally innocent about their attention to my comments on commercials and sales.

On Christmas morning, I came downstairs to find my brother practically rolling in gifts of all sorts--toys, clothes, outdoor equipment, treats, and candies.? I smiled, taking pleasure in his genuine delight.? I looked at my side of the tree and saw a few gifts. Unwrapping them, I found a bound and zippered King James version of the Bible, which included a concordance, and several other small items that I have long since forgotten.? I was really happy to get the Bible for use in church work, but I could see that my parents had almost given up on pleasing me.

I didn't say much about the Christmas gifts because? I felt? somewhat neglected and unloved.? We went through the traditional parts of the day, but largely I was quiet and thoughtful, withdrawing from what I thought was an unfair situation.

Toward evening as the lighted Christmas tree was turned on and Christmas music played, Dad sent me on a treasure hunt around the house for one last gift that was especially for me.? I finally found the wrapped package in the second drawer on the right side of his desk.

Unwrapping it slowly, I wondered what Mom and Dad had finally settled on as the "big" gift for me.? As I opened the lid, I smiled from ear to ear.? I found a new kind of dolly--a Dolly Madison Bulova wristwatch.? I had exclaimed over the ads for that watch because it was beautifully designed, petite, and well-crafted.? I never dared to ask for one because I thought if was far beyond our means.

That "dolly" took me through high school tests and examinations with time to plan my methods of answering questions and through all the momentous teen occasions and activities.? I felt a little ashamed for doubting my parents' love, when really all they wanted was for me to "grow in grace and maturity"... and to be aware of the real reason for the Christ-mas season.

Mary-Ellen Grisham is a Christian writer living in Godfrey, Illinois, with her husband and son.? Most recently she has published a book entitled, GRACE NOTES; and she continues as Editor of Eternal Ink, a Christian ezine newsletter.?

~**~**~

Sanctuary - An alternative reality at Christmas.?

? Maria Stepek Doherty. ?

Sanctuary

It is busy in the hospital cafeteria. The Christmas decorations are up and the brightly lit tree? adds some welcome warmth to the cool modernity of the room. As usual it is filled with a mixture of patients, their visitors and the staff.

It is good to see the patients out of their beds sitting with family and friends in a more stimulating environment than the wards. Even the ones who look deathly ill seem to be more relaxed here. I know that I am. This is my refuge, my still quiet centre of sanity, when I visit my brother.

From the moment the obnoxious stench of concentrated cigarette smoke greets me at the entrance to Ward 17, emanating in foul stale wafts from the smoking room, I am counting the moments until I am here. The image is like a beacon drawing me away from this sea of human misery to safer, gentler shores. There is something so intensely and instantly depressing about that death bringing stench and yet it seems a fitting signal that we are entering a circle of hell, even Dante did not prepare us for.

I walk down the corridor which sometimes smells of urine in spite of the cleaners' best efforts. Not all of the patients are continent. None are sane by any legal definition. I keep my thought shield vision of the clinically clean cafeteria to the forefront of my mind.

I smile at all of the patients who pass, regardless of whether they show any sign of even knowing I am there. Some shuffle past in their drug induced near coma states. Some stare at me aggressively and I rehearse avoidance tactics. There are some here that I have come to know bear careful watching. Ah, yes, we all come to know one another so well over the long years I have been visiting. Sometimes it seems as though we are all serving our time together, patients and families. For this is certainly our own little prison. Think hot soup and tea, Maria. Hold fast to the protective vision of that other place.

I may exchange a few words with the nurses at the desk where they tend to congregate with one another rather than with the patients. I may have a longer conversation with the family members of the other lifers. We share a common burden and grief. It helps sometimes just to know that there are others who understand the longing for the cafeteria.

When I have procrastinated as long as I feel able to, I look through the glass windows into the day room where the shadow people come and go. Some of the shadows are more substantial, lively and talkative than others; the strident noise of their hyperactive minds assaults me and I have an urgent need to retreat. Some have disappeared altogether from this reality and inhabit other worlds. Once they were like you but now they are the projections of their own interior darkness and I cling to the normality of the cafeteria as my talisman against being overwhelmed by their chaos.

Today he is standing in a corner of the room. He is jerking his head from side to side like a marionette whose strings are being pulled by a drunken puppeteer. His arms are held out rigidly from his sides and he is flicking his fingers. He mutters dark incantations so softly yet so clearly we can all hear them. His beard is unkempt, greying and when I kiss him, it feels like a wire scouring brush. His dark curls have long gone leaving a lank thinning mess of long hair tied tightly back in a short ponytail. Sometimes he wears one of his many caps but not today.

He is unbearably thin and his eyes are telling me that he has seen me, but is not yet ready to acknowledge my presence. I must wait until he has completed whatever ritual his voices are instructing him in today. Then he is still for a moment and those sad, mad eyes pierce me. I am impaled on the memory of a four-year-old boy??™s huge brown eyes sparkling with the mischief of childish innocence. It is better not to remember who he was, to stay in the present moment of who he now is. It is safer and less painful to simply be with what is. It is the difference between the abyss and the rack. Neither would be my choice but I can survive the rack; I doubt if I could ever find my way out of the abyss, better to suffer than to be forever lost.

He stretches out his arms and twists his head again. This is his crucifixion. He tells me about how his body is being continually broken on the cross and that his work is to heal it over and over again. He is redeeming the world, taking on its sins, and setting us free. It is hard to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. It is not so easy to be his sister and I long for the white walls of the cafeteria.

He tells me of the healing work he has done all through the night. He points to the little woman in the wheelchair who can now walk. He talks of the power that flowed through him into the young man admitted yesterday whose arm was broken in three places. An x-ray will show no breaks now. He asks after my son who has been unwell and tells me that worse is to come. We are the family of the Christ and we too are all eternally broken on the cross. At this moment, I am inclined towards believing him. I am one of the disciples who could not ???watch one hour with him??? in this Garden of Gethsemane. I want to escape to that calmer, saner place.

My head hurts. This is not one of my better days. Today my shield is thin and I cannot bear much more. I want to scream at him to stop his incessant shaking. I want to tell him that his pelvis has never been broken in three places. I need him to know that I don??™t see what he sees and hear what he hears. I am ready to explode with the longing to deny him three times before the crowing of the cock or just the end of visiting hours. I also know that this would enrage him. I am not ready to be snarled at. I am not ready to walk away. I am not ready for any of this.

He stops as though he has read my thoughts. He looks sternly at me. Then he breaks into a great face-illuminating grin. He is that four-year-old boy again and I want to take him in my arms and spin him round and round. He laughs at me. ???Come on Maria, I??™m hungry. Let??™s go to the cafeteria.???

I wrap my arm around his waist and we walk away from the psychiatric unit, up the hill in the cool liberating air. We stop to look at the beauty of the sunset and I tell him he should paint it. I only have words but he has art. I know he won??™t but it is good for both of us to think that he might.

We walk down the long sloping corridor of the general hospital to my sanctuary. We sit at our table, he with his soup and me with my tea. We reminisce about some of the funnier moments of our childhood. Sometimes he borrows from other people??™s childhoods, including mine, but that is so much better than being crucified. I do not contradict him. He weaves his own history just as he creates his own present and future from the rich material of his psychotic mind. We laugh together and if I am really lucky, we will get through the rest of our visit without any more twitching or visits from the voices.

Normality. That is what this place means to me. Here we sit surrounded by people visiting their sick loved ones. Some of the patients are allowed down from the wards. Some are in dressing gowns. Some are in wheel chairs. Some are still attached to drips and are accompanied by a nurse. It is all normality. That is what we are seeking here within these cafeteria walls.

In the far corner a large Christmas tree flickers with soft white lights. I smile at the sight of it. It grounds me in happier times. I will take him back to his ward in a moment, but for now I can pretend that we are simply a brother and a sister who love one another. We are out on the town in a quiet little caf?©, sharing and catching up with our lives.

Here in our special place, schizophrenia is just the subject which I wrote my final year paper on. It does not exist outside of that yellowing document. It cannot enter my sanctuary.

Maria Doherty

mariadoherty@blueyonder.co.uk

Writers Feedback

? ?

? I just really enjoyed the stories by Doris B. Fandel, especially the one about Christmas bringing out the worst in people.? I also find it can bring out the best.? I loved the poetry by Norma Liles and Nell Berry,? as well.? Heck, what am I saying, I love it all and it only continues to inspire me!? I love reading the Christmas stories!? Thanks and Merry Christmas To All!? Sharlett Hunt

We have chips of both frequencies implanted. They're working
on standardizing them. Meanwhile me and my baby are covered.

No chance of Ms. Doogie ever being abducted though, since
she has a MEAN, heavily armed body guard with her?

Prayer Requests and Updates

? Nikki has more problems arising from her fight with leukemia.? The last few days she's been carrying a fever of high degrees that has been almost impossible to break and returns hours later when they do break it.? Tests have found that she has developed an infection in her system... it seems all the sores that the chemo created in her system has broken inside, and because she is unable to eat to push things through her digestive system, an infection took root in her intestines.? Most of her time is spent in a morphine state because the pain of what she's dealing with is too great to remain alert.? The good news of this is that they did find the cause and have antibiotics going to help her, but she's in very bad condition right now.? Please keep her in prayer.? She really needs it.? Thank you so much with love, Al

We have had more news on? Nikki.. She's jaudice now because her liver is shutting down.? It really doesn't look good for her at all.? Please keep her in prayer and add one for my son, David.. whom is going to fall totally apart if she doesn't make it.? Thank you.. thank you? so much... LOve always, Al

? SENIOR WRITERS

Chief Writer: Sharon Bryant

? Agee, Vance;? Apted, Violet;? Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al;? Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela

Boda, Ginger;? ? Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;? Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark;?

Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Gilbert, Robert Jr; Goodier, Steve; Halley, Ellie Braun;

Harris, Kathy Anne;? Hunt, Sharlette;? Hymes, Christina

Jacobson, Gary;? Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma; Lilly, Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Mazzella, Joe;? Morris, Deepak;

Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

? Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;? Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan

Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe;? Warner, Gorden K; Walsh, Sue

Weymouth, Barbara; Whirity, Kathy;? White, Robert;

STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

Publisher: Carol Roach-founder

Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

Moderator: Clara Westerfer

Send all inquires about the newsletter including submission requirements:

Winterose? @videotron.ca

<< December26, 2005 - Dec 26, 2005 - Special Treat - New Writer - Geo Rusu

December27, 2005 - Dec 27, 2005 - Special Treat - New Writer Darlene Arechederra >>

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