'Twas The Night Before Christmas...

When all through the house, 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

When I was little we spent Christmas with my grandparents in Lubbock. We moved to Albuquerque when I was about three, and my parents always went ‘home’ for Christmas. Both sets of grandparents lived there so it worked out fine because we got to see everyone.

My dad’s mom, my grandmother, always said “Christmas Eve Gift” when we got there. Sometimes it was in the middle of the night but if it was Christmas Eve, that’s what she said in greeting, as soon as we walked through the door.

I never knew what it meant. I thought it was just one of those weird Grandmother things that she did and said. Later, when Grandmother and Granddaddy were no longer around to celebrate Christmas with, we still said it. It didn’t matter if we were at my house, my mom’s or my brother’s, that was the first thing said when someone arrived. It was kind of a joke to Grandmother I guess.

One year, on a knitting list I’m a part of, one of the ladies posted about Christmas Eve Gift. I was surprised! All this time I thought it was just something in our family, so I checked it out on the Internet. (I really don’t know what people did before the Internet. That’s my main source of information!) Anyway, I found out there is a custom, more often than not dealing with gifts, centered on the saying, “Christmas Eve Gift.”

I still remember Grandmother, happy to see us, saying Christmas Eve Gift. I remember walking through the garage, to the back door, and the smell of her house as we came in from the long trip. I remember her having the beds ready, pallets on the floor for us kids, and the warmth and comfort that was offered.

We don’t give or get an extra gift for being the first to say Christmas Eve Gift in our family. I know now what the gift was, as we came through the door and she called out, “Christmas Eve Gift” and we said it back. It’s the gift of being with those you love. It’s the gift of family, together at Christmas.

Remember, the things you get and give this year, the material things, are just that; things. And they will soon be forgotten. The best gift of Christmas is the gift of yourself, spending time with those who mean the most. That’s the gift that will be cherished and remembered, for the rest of time.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there...

I found this poem, written by Howard Epstein. I adapted it...just a little, just for fun. Enjoy!

A Knitter’s Christmas 

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, 

 Knitting needles were clicking, by way of my spouse, 

Knit one, purl one, and yarn over too, 

Her fingers were flying, so much left to do, 

A ski hat for Ty, a warm scarf for Jen, 

A sweater for Bryce, He’ll start a new trend! 

A silk shawl for Judi, some argyles for Dad, 

A knit toy for Caleb, that loquacious lad,

I watch her with wonder, as objects appear, 

Some flowers, a castle, a river, a deer, 

An edging, a ruffle, are done in a whiz, 

She’s painting with yarn, like the artist she is, 

Her patterns are perfect, there’s never a glitch, 

And I know she is knitting, a kiss in each stitch, 

I think that all knitters, who labor away, 

Giving joy unto others, must feel good every day, 

Her needles stop clicking, nothing more left to do, 

So I sit down and say, “Merry Christmas to you” 

And to all who are knitters, may I say with delight, 

“Merry Christmas To All, And To All A Good Night!” 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Time is on My Side

Time is on my side, yes it is.

Time is on my side, yes it is.

Time is on my side. Or so I thought! But it seems like no matter how hard I try, lately there is not enough time in my day to do all the things I want (and need) to do. Time isn’t waiting for me. It’s passing me by.

I stopped at the grocery store and I became my mother. Then my grandmother, and my mamaw. All of the prominent female influences in my life combined and took over my body and my mind. I find myself looking for the bargains and not buying something I want because it’s too expensive. Or maybe I will buy it and I’ll store the leftovers in the refrigerator and drag them out until there’s not enough for anyone to eat. I’ll find it later, forgotten and green, in a plastic container. Or I’ll look at cookbooks and magazines trying to find something new to try then I’ll get the stuff to make the same old thing I always make. When did I become like that?

I think about my daughter, my beautiful 30 year old daughter, and I wonder how it happened that she is already grown. She doesn’t know it, but she is me. She’s the mom with three little kids trying to juggle all the things she has to do and still find time for her. She’s the one who worries that her kids will do well in school or be liked by their peers. She’s the one who tries to please everyone and is disappointed because it seems she always misses the target. She’s the one who worries that she’s too fat, too gray, too old.

I think about my parents and wonder who they are, because they are little old people now, not the mom and dad I know. I worry about their health, their feelings, their welfare. I hope they remember to take the right medicine and call the doctor if needed. I worry that they will be lonely. I think back to when my grandparents were the old people, the old people we thought we’d never lose. But we did lose them and time still went on.

I think about my life and how my thoughts and opinions and actions have changed over the years. I’m not who I was but I’m not who I’ll be. I think about how fast the days pass now. My newborn baby grandson will be eight years old on his birthday. And I wonder where the time goes. I cherish his hugs and when he asks for me and just wants to be with me, because I’m his Mamye. And I know in a short while it will change. He’ll be busy. Then he’ll be the 30 year old. My daughter will be where I am now and I’ll be my mother.

Finally things will slow down. I’ll become my great grandmother who told me the weekends were the worst. She said she could find things to keep her busy during the week. She had phone calls and visits, her knitting and her soap operas to occupy her time. But Sunday she was usually alone. She would cook enough for two or three but nobody came to share her food. She would sit and wait for anyone to drop by but they never came. She said it was the longest and hardest day of the week.

A friend once told me I was on the downside of life. He said we (because we are the same age) are closer to the end then the beginning. That’s a sobering thought! Lately the notion of retiring has crossed my mind. Once I could never imagine not working. But now I count the days until the weekend, when I can do what I want to do, not what I have to do. The things I have to do get done, but at my own pace. Yes, time is on my side. I’m just not sure which side.

Now you always say

That you want to be free,

But you'll come running back.

You'll come running back.

You'll come running back to me…

How many scarves and shawls are too many for one person? I’ve probably reached the limit. But what happened this cold scarf weather morning when I was looking for just the right one to complement my fashionable ensemble? That’s right. There was none. I’m partial to variegated, as evidenced by the picture, so I have more options.

Still, nothing seemed to work. I could either not find a shirt to match a scarf or not find a scarf to match a shirt. Finally, after multiple wardrobe malfunctions, I found a combination that worked. And as I was searching I was planning more projects to supplement the gaps I noticed. It will only take a little time, right? And time, is on my side. Yes it is.

Well, time is on my side, yes it is.

Time is on my side, yes it is...

Where Have All the Flowers Gone

Long time passing…
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time ago.

April brought no showers which made May short on flowers. I really like flowers. I just love how they look and smell. I just hate to get dirt on my hands! I know it’s one of those quirks, but anything ‘powdery’ on my hands just drives me crazy! I have to wash them almost immediately. Therefore, I can look but not plant. Not in real dirt anyway.

I can grow something!

Traveling back from Ruidoso the other day, we made a stop at Hondo Iris Farm. Every trip up or down the mountain I pass the sign with a longing look. This trip the timing was right, the iris were in bloom and we stopped.

A sample

Stepping into the yard took me back to summers at Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house. There were some daylilies but mostly iris. Most of them were in full bloom. The colors were magnificent and ranged across the spectrum. There were white ones and black ones. There were orange, yellow, pink and purple iris. There were maroon and dark red and coral ones. There was a picnic table in the middle of the garden and a group was celebrating someone’s birthday. I thought how nice it would be to be able to go outside in your yard and view the sea of color.

Some of the flower pictures I took

My grandmother was a gardener. She raised some vegetables and fruits but she really liked flowers, especially daylilies and iris. I was cleaning out some papers and ran across an article about her and her flowers. The article was interesting. It was talking about her daylilies. It said she had, at her best guess, over 4,000 plants. She said there were over 30,000 varieties that had been named and introduced and she had 200 named varieties. Many she had developed herself by cross-pollinating to create a new flower. She would sometimes let my sister and I cross-pollinate. Often the results were pretty but other times she didn’t like the look or the texture and she would throw it away. She was particular!

Grandmother and flowers

I don’t know the people who live in Grandmother’s house now. I pass by occasionally and wonder if there are still flowers behind the fence. And I think not, because you have to have a passion for such things. I think the passion for those flowers might have died when she did. If the flowers are gone I’m not sure the new owners know what they missed.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Girls have picked them every one.

When will they ever learn?

When will they ever learn?

Thinking of iris made me want to knit something purple. If I’m lacking on a color I guess it would be purple. I took a look but nothing struck me. I did finish the blue/green bias shawl...again. I like it this time. And I just remembered I'm working with some variegated yarn and it does have purple in it. It’s just easy television knitting.

My knitting friend, Beverly, made some cute knitted flowers that you hang on your luggage so you can see yours when it comes off the plane. I liked hers a lot. I guess since I can’t get dirt on my hands I can knit flowers!

What rhymes with purple?

Green and blue bias shawl.

Beads on the end of the fringe

Where have all the flowers gone?

When will we ever learn?

When will we ever learn?

Don’t You Remember A Long Time Ago…

I saw an Iris in bloom today and was reminded of my Grandmother. We had to call her Grandmother. Granny, Nanny, Gram…no, nothing else would do.

My sister and I used to spend time in the summer with Granddaddy and her at their farm in West Texas. It was surrounded by cotton fields and fruit trees. There were grape vines and all kinds of garden produce. The backyard was a patchwork quilt of flowers. Anywhere there could be a flower there was a flower. Day Lilies and Iris were Grandmother’s favorites and her specialty. She would let us pollinate and cross pollinate the day lilies in hopes a great flower would be created. The Iris would bloom and multiply, seemingly free will. People would come from all over the state to see her flowers and buy her bulbs. For many years Texas Tech University had Grandmother’s flowers on the grounds. There may still be some there.

She taught me to knit. Looking back, it was most likely in desperation to make me be quiet! But she taught me many things besides knitting. She read us stories and poems from the Childcraft books. To this day I can still recite some of the poems. She sang songs. When she didn’t know the last words she sang la la la. She showed us how to cook and sew. She taught us to play the piano and because she was always making some little something, instilled a love for creating in both my sister and I. She had time for us.


Grandmother’s first love was crochet. She made intricate doilies and won many prizes at the county fair. She was a good cook known for her Chiffon cake that she took to all of the community events. After raising her family she went to college. She graduated and became a teacher. She taught English and wrote a published book of poetry.


Grandmother was a lady. It took many years for me to realize all that she gave me. I miss her saying Christmas Eve Gift and lighting a candle on Christmas. I miss carrot and raisin salad and banana milkshakes. I miss the songs and the stories before bed. I miss dressing up to go to town. I hope she knows I thank her for all she did for me. I hope she knows I miss her and I love her.

Knit a year has been going well. I’m really enjoying it. The drive back to San Antonio had more wild flowers. It was a nice day and nice trip and I had sunshine in my heart. I added a yellow yarn. Saturday was the last day of class for my interns. We ate lunch together and had a nice time. There was a birthday party Saturday night. It was a beautiful day and a nice night. I chose a spring green with white flowers in the yarn for spring and for margaritas! Sunday was a blue day. It was a day with a lot of thinking, about some things, not so good. I chose a blue to fit the mood. Today I had two classes with the Texas Tech doctors. It was a good day. I chose a purple and gold yarn, called Iris, for Iris flowers and for Grandmother.


And when they were dead, the Robin so red,
Brought strawberry leaves and over them spread.
La la la la la, la la la la la. La la la la la la la la la la…