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What gets YOU in the mood for the holidays?

Sometimes I feel that they are being shoved down my throat other times I actually think of how to get myself in the Holiday Spirit. What's the difference? Why do different years affect me differently? Does this happen to anyone else? If I feel like this now, how can a get to that "other place".

I have a job where I go into malls. The other day when I got there I noticed the Christmas decorations which I had seen them coming for weeks and it didn't bother me. Last week when I got there I heard Christmas Music on the 3rd of November!! I asked a lady I know who works there how long they had been playing that and she said that she really hadn't noticed. The Christmas music wasn't EVERY song it was every third song. I guess I am okay with that.

When do you start preparing for the Holidays?

Read This Slowly



Jack took a long look at his speedometer before slowing down: 73 in a
55 zone. Fourth time in as many months. How could a guy get caught so
often?



















When his car had slowed to 10 miles an hour, Jack pulled over, but only partially. Let the cop worry about the potential traffic hazard. Maybe some other car will tweak his backside with a mirror. The cop was stepping out of his car, the big pad in hand.













Bob? Bob from Church? Jack sunk farther into his trench coat. This was worse than the coming ticket. A cop catching a guy from his own church. A guy who happened to be a little eager to get home after a long day at the office. A guy he was about to play golf with tomorrow.





















Jumping out of the car, he approached a man he saw every Sunday, a man he'd never seen in uniform.





















"Hi, Bob. Fancy meeting you like this."





















"Hello, Jack." No smile.





















"Guess you caught me red-handed in a rush to see my wife and kids."





















"Yeah, I guess." Bob seemed uncertain. Good.



"I've seen some long days at the office lately. I'm afraid I bent the rules a bit -just this once."





















Jack toed at a pebble on the pavement. "Diane said something about roast beef and potatoes tonight. Know what I mean?" "I know what you mean. I also know that you have a reputation in our precinct ." Ouch.
This was not going in the right direction. Time to change tactics.





















"What'd you clock me at?"





















"Seventy. Would you sit back in your car please?"





















"Now wait a minute here, Bob. I checked as soon as saw you. I was barely nudging 65." The lie seemed to come easier with every ticket.





















"Please, Jack, in the car"





















Flustered, Jack hunched himself through the still-open door. Slamming it shut, he stared at the dashboard. He was in no rush to open the window.





















The minutes ticked by. Bob scribbled away on the pad.





















Why hadn't he asked for a driver's license?




















Whatever the reason, it would be a month of Sundays before Jack ever sat near this cop again. A tap on the door jerked his head to the left.
There was Bob, a folded paper in hand Jack rolled down the window a mere two inches, just enough room for Bob to pass him the slip.





















"Thanks." Jack could not quite keep the sneer out of his voice.





















Bob returned to his police car without a word. Jack watched his retreat in the mirror. Jack unfolded the sheet of paper. How much was this one going to cost?





















Wait a minute. What was this? Some kind of joke?





















Certainly not a ticket. Jack began to read:





















"Dear Jack, Once upon a time I had a daughter. She was six when killed by a car. You guessed it- a speeding driver. A fine and three months in jail, and the man was free. Free to hug his daughters, all three of them. I only had one, and I'm going to have to wait until Heaven before I can ever hug her again.





















A thousand times I've tried to forgive that man. A thousand times I thought I had. Maybe I did, but I need to do it again. Even now. Pray for me. And be careful, Jack, my son is all I have left."





















"Bob"





















Jack turned around in time to see Bob's car pull away and head down the road. Jack watched until it disappeared. A full 15 minutes later, he too, pulled away and drove slowly home, praying for forgiveness and hugging a surprised wife and kids when he arrived.





















Life is precious. Handle with care. This is an important message; drive safely and carefully. Remember, cars are not the only things recalled by their maker.

Remember: You don't stop laughing because you grow old; You grow old because you stop laughing.

--- Reporters interviewing a 104-year-old woman: "And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?" the reporter asked. She simply replied, "No peer pressure."

--- The nice thing about being senile is you can hide your own Easter eggs.

--- I've sure gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees. Fought prostate cancer and diabetes. I'm half blind, can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts. Have bouts with dementia. Have poor circulation; hardly feel my hands and feet anymore. Can't remember if I'm 85 or 92. Have lost all my friends. But, thank Goodness, I still have my driver's license.

---My memory's not as sharp as it used to be. Also, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be.

--- Know how to prevent sagging? Just eat till the wrinkles fill out. (I knew I was doing the right thing!)

---I've still got it, but nobody wants to see it.

---I'm getting into swing dancing. Not on purpose. Some parts of my body are just prone to swinging.

---It's scary when you start making the same noises as your can opener mmmmmmmmm.

---The good news is that even as we get older, guys still look at us admiringly. The bad news is they have to squint first.

---These days about half the stuff in my shopping cart says, "For fast relief."


---Don't think of it as getting hot flashes. Think of it as your inner child playing with matches.

---Don't let aging get you down. It's too hard to get back up.!



- --THE SENILITY PRAYER: Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.

To give you some background information, Greg, the author of this story, is
36 years old about 6'3" and 220 lbs and contrary to this story, he is
quite an intelligent person.



Dear Friends,

My wife is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something
akin to "Well, I have out done myself once again." No doubt you will see
this true story chronicled in a Life Time movie in the near future. Here
goes.

Last weekend I spied something at the pawnshop that tickled my fancy.
(Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled.)

I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 12th
anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet
girl.

What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Taser gun with a
clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a
less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an
assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you
flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no
long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time
to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb tattooed
assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering,
goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek.

If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly
missing out - way too cool!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA
batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so
disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin'
directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not
create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for
effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it
against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting
back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did
so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!!

Yipeeeeee. I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to
explain to my wife what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it
couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, etc., etc. There
I sat in my recliner, my dog looking on intently (trusting little soul),
reading the directions (that would be me, not the dog) and thinking that I
really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must
admit I thought about zapping the dog for a fraction of a second and thought
better of it. She is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to
give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want
some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time.

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses
perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser
in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and
disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle
spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly
make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.

All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long,
less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two
itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "no way'!" ' YES
way' - trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those
of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I'm
sitting there alone, the dog looking on with her head cocked to one side as if
to say, "don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a
tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. (Sound, rational thinking
under the circumstances, wouldn't you
agree?)

I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it.

(Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight-- always 20/20. It
is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it
seemed so right at the time. Don't ya hate that?)

I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY
COW!!!! I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front
door, picked me up out of that recliner, and then body slammed me on the carpet
over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal
position, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. The dog was standing over me making sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "do it again, please do it again!"

(Note: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Taser, one note of
caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself.
You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your
hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you
won't lodge the prongs 1/4" deep in your thigh like yours truly.)

OH MY HECK did that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was
a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had
left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My reading glasses were on the
mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh
and other favorite baby parts were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or
two, I'm pretty sure. By the way, the next year for our Anniversary I will stick to something 'less fiery' like maybe diamonds.

Greg

Lessons on Life



There was a man who had four sons. He wanted his sons to learn not to
judge things too quickly. So he sent them each on a quest, in turn, to
go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance away.

The first son went in the winter, the second in the spring, the third in
summer, and the youngest son in the fall.

When they had all gone and come back, he called them together to
describe what they had seen.
The first son said that the tree was ugly, bent, and twisted. The second
son said no, it was covered with green buds and full of promise.

The third son disagreed; he said it was laden with blossoms that smelled
so sweet and looked so beautiful, it was the most graceful thing he had
ever seen.

The last son disagreed with all of them; he said it was ripe and
drooping with fruit, full of life and fulfillment.
The man then explained to his sons that they were all right, because
they had each seen but only one season in the tree's life.

He told them that you cannot judge a tree, or a person, by only one
season, and that the essence of who they are and the pleasure, joy, and
love that come from that life can only be measured at the end, when all
the seasons are up.

If you give up when it's winter, you will miss the promise of your
spring, the beauty of your summer, the fulfillment of your fall.


Moral(s):

Don't let the pain of one season destroy the joy of all the rest.
Don't judge life by one difficult season.
Persevere through the difficult patches and better times are sure to
come some time or later

This is a wonderful story ~By Jerry Seiden~
Enjoy the ride ~


Right before the jetway door closed, I scrambled aboard the plane
going from LA to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed
briefcase. It was the first leg of an important business trip a few
weeks before Christmas, and I was running late. I had a ton of work to
catch up on. Half wishing, half praying I muttered, "Please God, do
me a favor; let there be an empty seat next to mine, I don't need any
distractions."

I was on the aisle in a two seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with
her nose buried in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside
mine, next to the window, was a young boy wearing a big red tag around
his neck: "Minor -- Traveling Unattended."
The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead.
He'd probably been told never to talk to strangers. "Good," I thought.
Then the flight attendant came by. "Michael, I have to sit down
because we're about to take off," she said to the little boy. "This
nice man will answer any of your questions, okay?"

Did I have a choice? I offered my hand, and Michael shook it twice,
straight up and down.
"Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about seven years old."

"I'll bet you don't have any kids," he responded.
"Why do you think that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him
pictures.
"Because I'm six."

"I was way off, huh?"

The captains' voice came over the speakers, "Flight attendants,
prepare for takeoff."

Michael pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped the armrests as the
jet engines roared.
I leaned over, "Right about now, I usually say a prayer. I asked God
to keep the plane safe and to send angels to protect us."

"Amen," he said, then added, "But I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not
afraid because my mama's already in Heaven."
"I'm sorry." I said.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the window as the plane
lifted off.
"I'm sorry you don't have your mama here."

My briefcase jostled at my feet, reminding me of all the work I needed
to do.
"Look at those boats down there!" Michael said as the plane banked
over the Pacific "Where are they going?"
"Just going sailing, having a good time. And there's probably a
fishing boat full of guys like you and me."
"Doing what?" He asked.
"Just fishing, maybe for bass or tuna. Does your dad ever take you
fishing?"

"I don't have a dad," Michael sadly responded.
Only six years old and he didn't have a dad, and his Mom had died, and
here he was flying halfway across the country all by himself. The
least I could do was make sure he had a good flight. With my foot I
pushed my briefcase under my seat.
"Do they have a bathroom here?" he asked, squirming a little.
"Sure," I said, "Let me take you there."
I showed him how to work the "Occupied" sign, and what buttons to push
on the sink, then he closed the door. When he emerged, he wore a wet
shirt and a huge smile.
"That sink shoots water everywhere!"

The attendants smiled.
Michael got the VIP treatment from the crew during snack time. I took
out my laptop and tried to work on a talk I had to give, but my mind
kept going to Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the crumpled grocery
bag on the floor by his seat. He'd told me that everything he owned
was in that bag. Poor kid.

While Michael was getting a tour of the cockpit the flight attendant
told me his grandmother would pick him up in Chicago. In the seat
pocket a large manila envelope held all the paperwork regarding his
custody. He came back explaining, "I got wings! I got cards! I got
more peanuts. I saw the pilot and he said I could come back anytime!"
For a while he stared at the manila envelope.

"What are you thinking?" I asked Michael.
He didn't answer. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing.
It had been years since I'd heard a little one cry like that. My kids
were grown -- still I don't think they'd ever cried so hard. I rubbed
his back and wondered where the flight attendant was.
"What's the matter buddy?" I asked.
All I got were the muffled words, "I don't know my grandma. Mama
didn't want her to come visit and see her sick. What if Grandma
doesn't want me? Where will I go?"

"Michael, do you remember the Christmas story? Mary and Joseph and the
baby Jesus? Remember how they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus was
born? It was late and cold, and they didn't have anywhere to stay, no
family, no hotels, not even hospitals where babies could be born.
Well, God was watching out for them. He found them a place to stay; a
stable with animals."

"Wait, wait," Michael tugged on my sleeve.. "I know Jesus. I remember
now." Then he closed his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His
voice rang out with a strength that rocked his tiny frame. "Jeeesus
looooves me--thiiiiiis I knowwwwwww. For the Biiiiiible tells meeeeee
sooooo....."

Passengers turned or stood up to see the little boy who made the large
sound. Michael didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut tight
and voice lifted high, he was in a good place.
"You've got a great voice," I told him when he was done.. "I've never
heard anyone sing like that."

"Mama said God gave me good pipes just like my grandma's," he said.
"My grandma loves to sing, she sings in her church choir."
"Well, I'll bet you can sing there, too. The two of you will be
running that choir."

The seat belt sign came on as we approached O'Hare. The flight
attendant came by and said, "We just have a few minutes now." But she
told Michael that it was important that he put his seat belt on.
People started stirring in their seats, like the kids before the final
school bell. By the time the seat belt sign went off, passengers were
rushing down the aisle. Michael and I stayed seated.

"Are you gonna go with me?" he asked.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, buddy!" I assured him.
Clutching his bag and the manila envelope in one hand, he grabbed my
hand with the other. The two of us followed the flight attendant down
the jetway. All the noises of the airport seemed to fill the corridor.

Michael stopped, slipping his hand from mine, he dropped to his knees.
His mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears.
"What's wrong Michael? I'll carry you if you want."

He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but it was as if his words
were stuck in his throat. When I knelt next to him, he grabbed my
neck. I felt his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear, "I want my
mama!"

I tried to stand, but Michael squeezed my neck even harder. Then I
heard a rattle of footsteps on the corridor's metal floor.
"Is that you, baby?"

I couldn't see the woman behind me, but I heard the warmth in her
voice.
"Oh baby," she cried. "Come here. Grandma loves you so much. I need a
hug, baby. Let go of that nice man." She knelt beside Michael and me.
Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled a hint of orange blossoms.
"You've got folks waiting for you out there, Michael.. Do you know
that you've got aunts, and uncles and cousins?"

She patted his skinny shoulders and started humming. Then she lifted
her head and sang. I wondered if the flight attendant told her what to
sing, or maybe she just knew what was right. Her strong, clear voice
filled the passageway, "Jesus loves me -- this I know..."

Michael's gasps quieted. Still holding him, I rose, nodded "hello" to
his grandma and watched her pick up the grocery bag. Right before we
got to the doorway to the terminal, Michael loosened his grip around
my neck and reached for his grandma.
As soon as she walked across the threshold with him, cheers erupted.
From the size of the crowed, I figured family, friends, pastors,
elders, deacons, choir members and most of the neighbors had come to
meet Michael. A tall man tugged on Michael's ear and pulled off the
red sign around his neck. It no longer applied.

As I made my way to the gate for my connecting flight, I barely
noticed the weight of my overstuffed briefcase and laptop. I started
to wonder who would be in the seat next to mine this time. .... And I
smiled.

Here is a little quiz to test your manners around the world. The answers may surprise you!
http://www.fekids.com/img/kln/flash/DontGrossOutTheWorld.swf

I got 11 out of 11, the second time around.!

This was sent to me from a friend.

Now Available!

Mormon Barbie!

Mattel has created a Mormon Barbie for the folks in Utah. The most popular, "Celestial Barbie", comes with 8.4 children.

She wears a mid-calf flower print Laura Ashley dress with conservative flats (no heels), a bow in her flowing shoulder-length hair, and puffy bangs.

Barbie wears a permanent smile and comes with her own bread making machine, year's supply of wheat, list of ways to feed a family of 12 on less than

$100 a week, casserole recipes, and a years supply of green Jell-O with shredded carrots.

When you pull the cord in her back she sheds real tears and says, "You have such a special spirit, Sister." "Appreciate ya very much." "Love ya."

Occasionally you can find one that says "Oh, my heck!" but this is a manufacturer's defect and is very rare. Celestial Barbie would never say "heck."

You can buy a Celestial Ken to go with Celestial Barbie, but he's hard to find. (He's always off fulfilling some priesthood calling, so he's rarely home.)

Also available: Barbie MAV (Mormon Assault Vehicle). A Chevy/Dodge/Ford mini-van, complete with little Cheerios under the seats and animal cracker crumbs throughout.

Other special LDS Barbies include:

Return Missionary Barbie. - This somewhat dumpy Barbie comes with your choice of a BYU or Rick's College sweatshirt and mini-computer. She bears her testimony in a foreign language.

Homemaking Leader Barbie - comes with a wide assortment of miniature baking, sewing, and craft supplies.

Primary President Barbie - Not very popular since this one has no hair (it has all been pulled out). Pull her cord and she sings "Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree" and "Give, Said the Little Stream".
Primary President Barbie comes with her arms permanently folded, to remind everyone to be reverent.

Organist Barbie - Has rimmed glasses and comes with her very own spiral-bound hymnal. Sits only, in position to play, with arms bent and fingers extended. Organ and Piano sold separately.

Visiting Teacher Barbie - Sold in sets of two, this is a true collector 's item as each set has its own recorded message. Comes with a supply of message handouts and plates of birthday and Christmas cookies.

Salt Lake Leader Barbie - White hair in a hurricane do! Also available: Priesthood leader husband Ken who sits permanently asleep on the stand. Eyes do not open. Snores. Batteries required.

All of these dolls come with only 90% of the standard Barbie accessories, as they have given the other 10% to the church.

Is this more than I can stand?

Nick is undergoing Hyperbaric treatment every day to fight this infection whch is in the plate that covers his brain injury. He does this 5 days a week for two hours a day. He will need to do this for about two months alone. I have relocated 4 hours away to be with my daughter who has her own issures and is now doing well in a school here. I live away from my husband and son for the purpose of helping my daughter have a good experience for her Senior year. The day I moved down here I found out the my dads prosterate cancer is back. He has been fighting this for about eight years now. I lost my mom to lung cancer 3 years ago. My dad had this woman he knew from work show up at my mothers viewing for the purpose of making a play for my dad, she has been with him ever since. She hates me and does everything she can do to try to turn my father against me. This woman has been married six times and her lively hood is centered on living off of her dead husbands estates. My father has not married this vulture of a woman because of the way I feel about her. Today we found that my dads cancer has spread to his bones. My dad does not want to do radiation again or kemo. He wants to have the time of his life here to be the best it can be. He wants to travel, and night when I told him that I wasn't finished making memories with him that I could join him in his travels but the vulture girlfriend would also be there.

I am devestated. I am tired. Most of all my heat is breaking.

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