A Christmas morning snow globe

I collect music boxes and many in my collection are snow globes. Those in my collection hold little tiny pieces of sentiment. I have one that holds a snowmen, one a mother and a child, another a father and daughter dancing a waltz, another of a ballerina in toe shoes, another an ice skater on a frozen pond, and one simply a butterfly. One is a city landscape, and one is a cabin in the woods. Others are scenes from favorite movies, and others seem to have no reason. Each one individually is special but if you put them all together, they are tiny little pieces of my life. Each one is special.

Looking at them sitting on the shelf they are pretty. If you turn them upside down to swirl the snow, something magical happens and watching the snow puts my heart at ease.

Christmas morning I took my dogs for a walk in the woods. It was quiet. Silence surrounded me except for the squeaking of the snow beneath my boots as I walked. And the occasional jingling of the dog tags of my companions. And then it started to snow. A flake here and there. As I continued walking in the comfort of the quiet the snow picked up — big fluffy flakes that seemed to sometimes gently swirl.

I stopped and the dogs stopped. We just listened to the silence. And enjoyed a moment in a Christmas morning snow globe of our very own.

Christmas magic

I admit I am addicted to the Hallmark channel at Christmastime. I cannot get enough of those sappy Christmas movies that are often less than "B" quality. I watch as many as I can, usually with tissues nearby just in case a tear appears. Actually, who am I kidding — I cry during Coke commercials.

Perhaps the reason I love those movies so much is because they each have a special message of some kind of wonder, love, peace, magic, miracles, or hope that Christmas brings.

Maybe it is the journalist in me that continues to look for solid proof that something exists. Every year, I struggle with Christmas a little bit, trying to find proof of magic and miracles. Sometimes, just when I think I found it, the proof is snapped away by harsh reality as though someone switched from the Hallmark channel to CNN.

This week while in journalist mode I came across a story of a house fire. Not just a house fire, but one where arson is suspected and a suspect has been arrested. (See this weeks paper.) The reporter in me knows there is a history between several neighbors along that particular street. Watching the Sheriff's report every week, one can't help but notice the violence appears to be escalating in an around that particular neighborhood.

The house that burned down was somebody's home. In fact, it belonged to a family. Perhaps, not the perfect "Leave it to Beaver" family everyone hopes to read about at Christmas, but it is a family. And there were two small boys, ages 1 and 2, living in that house. Nobody was home when the fire started and no injuries were reported. It was one week before Christmas.

Learning of the family, I imagined those little boys waiting in anticipation for the arrival of Santa. Gifts had been purchased by the family. Some were perhaps wrapped and under the tree. Other gifts hidden in a closet to be marked from Santa.

Then, in a flash, pun intended, everything is gone. The hopes and wonder of Christmas for those two little boys — gone.

One week before Christmas I was looking for magic and wonder and instead found arson and children living in a hotel. Whether the parents of those boys are perfect or not perfect — innocent or not innocent — shouldn't be an issue. Whether they really bought — and then lost — presents for the kids or not, shouldn't be a question. The fact remains, the house that was once a home for those two little boys and their family home, is gone. All that they believed was a safe place to be is gone.

I saw friends and family members of the family affected by the fire, including the mother, working in the kitchen at the community center last Friday, making Indian tacos and selling them for a fundraiser — their own fundraiser. At first this struck me as odd, but when the mother of the boys told me everything was gone due to the fire and they were just trying to get enough to buy Christmas gifts, my heart went out to them. When I told others of the fundraiser, I was met with varied reactions. Many people could not see beyond the obvious history of the families involved to see the innocence of the little kids caught in the cross-fire.

We all want something special for Christmas. I don't mean just toys for the kids, or a new coffee machine, or a cordless drill or even something sparkly that comes in a little velvet box. Because it is not what is in the packages or whether or not you even get a package, that matters. It is the feeling you get in your heart simply knowing that someone thought of you. And that feeling is returned at least two-fold when you give to others and it comes from your heart. Helping others in any way, will help your heart grow “three times.”

Maybe because it is Christmas and I watch all of those sappy movies that seep into my soul that I begin to expect, or hope, or search, for a miracle or hope or wonder to come out of the sky and hit me like a bolt of lightening, or an angel come to visit, or hear the ringing of a bell. The realist in me says that is really not going to happen. Yet, I still look. I am still looking for magic. And miracles.

Albert Einstein said, "There are two ways to live life. One is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as though everything is a miracle." There are many things in the universe I believe in, even though I cannot see them, or touch them. I believe in miracles. I believe in Christmas. I believe in Jesus. And I believe in Santa Claus. And I am still looking for that Christmas miracle, magic, hope and wonder. Maybe, just maybe, the answer is that sometimes you don't need to know the answer.

“And he puzzled three hours, 'til his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! 'Maybe Christmas,' he thought, 'doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!' “ (How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr. Seuss, 1957 )

I know that the tears will run down my checks tonight as I sing Silent Night. I know that special feeling will hit me like a lightening bolt when I light that candle tonight at the candlelight service at church. I will say a prayer for those two little boys and their family and many other people as well. I know that the Spirit of Christmas will surround me and I will hold that in my heart as long as I can.

Peace and Merry Christmas.
"God bless us everyone."

Santa should be fat and say "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Christmas is a magical time of year filled with joy and peace and goodwill. Santa Claus and baby Jesus and twinkling stars give people of hope.

But some people are taking the whole politically correct thing a little too far, and a little too seriously.

The Garrison City Council can decorate the streets with lights, but they can’t call them Christmas decorations. They have to call them “seasonal” decorations.

The Surgeon General thinks Santa should go on a diet and exercise program and watch his cholesterol and check for diabetes.

Instructors at an Australian Santa school instructed all of the Santas-in-training they could no longer say “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

I don’t know about you, but I like to call them as I see them.

Those are Christmas decorations in Garrison. There is a nativity scene and a Santa.

Santa should be fat — “a right jolly old elf whose belly shook like a bowl full of jelly.”
Ever tired to jiggle a skinny elf with 6-pack abs? That is just wrong.

The reason the new would-be Santas were told not to say ho ho ho was that it might scare children and could be considered derogatory to women. Instead, they were instructed to say, “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

OK, come on, people. Santa has been saying ho ho ho for centuries. If certain business entrepreneurs are offended by the use of the word “ho” perhaps they are taking their job a little too seriously. Or they should just get a new job.

As for scaring children, I think that is a pile of crap. Little kids are scared of a lot of life-size characters that do not look like real people. Take a look at Smokey the Bear, The Eater Bunny, Ronald McDonald, the Jolly Green Giant (I think he says ho, ho, ho, too!) Goldy Gopher (Who is up for an award for best college mascot, btw) — those characters and more seem like they could be a little more intimidating to toddlers than Santa. At least Santa brings presents and eats cookies and milk.

Santa cares about kids behavior. He wants them all to be nice to each other — not naughty. sure, he uses bribery to get kids to be nice, but what parent hasn’t used that technique at least once? (“I will let you have a cookie if you eat all of your beans.” Sound familiar?)

It appears some people are so afraid of offending someone, or some group they say the wrong thing anyway.
Sure there are certain words and phrases that are clearly derogatory and have been dissed from our American language with good reason.

Santa is probably about 2,000 years old. He probably weighs about 260 pounds. I would argue that if he is delivering toys to children all over the world, spreading peace and joy along the way in a 12 to 24 hour period, he has got to be in good shape!
So what if he needs a little energy boost along the way with a few cookies for instant energy and some wholesome milk to wash it down.

At least he is not on steroids and energy drinks spiked with vodka to keep him laughing.

Christmas is a magical time. Please enjoy the season.
Peace.

Surprise! Another celebrity

Ok, so I know this is beginning to sound like ET, but it just worked out that way.
Last week, I had the opportunity to meet yet another celebrity. The actual story will appear in the Dec. 19 issue of the printed version of the Mille Lacs Messenger, but I just want to give you a little heads up and hint of what is to come.



I actually did get a one-on-one interview with Adam Beach. Here's what happened. He was visiting the Nay Ah Shing school giving a highly motivational speach to the kids. Afterwards, he was very down to earth and approachable. As he waiting patiently for everyone who wanted to, to pose with him and take their picture (I never knew so many people had cell phones with cameras!) I pulled out the infamous journalist question: "Excuse me, Mr. Beach? I just have one more question, if I may?"

To my surprise, he said, "Just one? How about we grab a cup of coffee and chill for a while?"

So we did.
He takes his coffee black, with a couple sugar packets.



Read all about it in next weeks Mille Lacs Messenger!

p.s. - He really is just a normal nice guy! And a little shy.

More Marie Osmond photos

Marie Osmond photos

Marie Osmond - Magic of Christmas

I was fortunate to be able to go to the Marie Osmond concert at Mille Lacs Grand Casino last Thursday night. She was an idol of mine when I was growing up. I would watch the Donny and Marie show every chance I could and sing along. I bought at least one album and sang along to every song. Of course I had my hairbrush for a microphone and the couch, or a chair was my stage. But, I could sing Paper Roses just like she did. (In my mind of course!)

So, the Marie Osmond "Magic of Christmas" show was pure magic. It was so fun to see her perform. I had gone to the second show that night, so I was surprised she held her energy level to the very end. Her voice, however, was starting to give in slightly towards the end, but all in all, she was wonderful.

While she sang a variety of songs — some old, some new, some Christmas of course, some Broadway — which were all excellent, what I enjoyed most was that she became a real person. Her charming personality was as brilliant as the North Star, yet she appeared to remain grounded. She was real.

She talked between numbers about her family, her brothers (those cute Osmond brothers!), her divorce, her kids (all 8 of them!) and her parents. She also mentioned her appearance on "Dancing with the Stars" where she finished in third place. She said her brother donny took that third place in lieu of first, harder than she did. I am a fan of dancing with the Stars, and I have to admit, I was one of the millions of fans that voted for her every week.

I am proud of her like she was my sister, almost. And in some ways she is. Like a sister.

Marie Osmond is a vibrant 48-year-old woman who has been through a lot in her life. Regardless of being a young pop star growing up in a famous family, she has had her share of "real life." She has experienced happiness and joy as well as deep sadness of love lost and the loss of parents. She has issues with her skirt stretching out and pantyhose problems, just like every body else.

I believe she gives encouragement to women over 40 all over the country. Probably all over the world. I spoke to a woman in the Milaca coffee shop the morning of the show while I was in between interviews. I told her I was going to go to the show that night and hoping for an interview. I asked the woman what she would ask Marie Osmond if she had the chance? she told me she couldn't think of any particular questions, but she wanted me to tell Marie Osmond how much she is admired and what an inspiration she is to women everywhere. If Marie Osmond can be the mother of 8 children (ages 5 to 24) at the age of 48, go through a divorce, go through the death of her father all while participating in a physically demanding show of Dancing with the Stars while helping with Children's Miracle Network (of which she is a founder) prepare for a Christmas tour and run a doll company, and look fabulous all the time, the woman should be president.

And when you think about all of the stuff regular moms and working moms all over the country go through, it is pretty much the same thing. Only maybe not on such a grand scale and not so public. If Marie Osmond can do all of that, then we can too.

And we do.

We work — either at home or at an office or both — we bake cookies for bake sales, run errands, work at fundraisers, take the kids to hockey and dance practice, we go through divorces and lose our parents and we live on, too.

I didn't get a chance to interview her. She admitted she was a little tired. I don't blame her. But I did get a chance to meet her briefly. I told her I admired her and she told me I was cute.

Here is our superior quality Poloroid snapshot taken back stage. Sort of a chincey photo, but it was all that was "allowed" backstage.


And that was my 12 second brush with a famous person.