What T Didn't Know - Part 1

Good morning, FFFs,

I hope you all had a good Christmas. I did. It was quiet, which was just fine. Everything has been so crazy and busy this month that this week has seemed extra nice since it was quiet and relaxed. I've finally been able to get in some Christmas reading! Yay! Of course I still have more unread Christmas books on my kindle, but I'm afraid some of them will have to wait until next year. But I do plan to keep working on them at least until Monday.  Now that Christmas is over, I'm ready to get things cleaned up, organized, and ready for the new year. Do you like to organize things at the start of a new year?

I hope you enjoyed the few extra times I posted this month. I was going to post more, but as you may have noticed, that didn't happen. Oh well. And I didn't write much this month either! I wrote 333 words on the 3rd and that's the last time I've written. But oh, I'm eager to get back to it!

Today's story is the first part of an 8 part New Year's story. Yes, I do know that New Year's will be long gone by the time we finish this, but what else could I do? I had thought of just publishing it, but I don't have a cover designed, I don't have a synopsis, and I'd have nothing to post on my blog. :) So I hope you enjoy it.

What T Didn’t Know

Part 1

    Tommy lifted a heavy hand and pushed at the thing on his head. At least he thought he lifted his hand, but the thing, whatever it was, didn’t move. He tried to muffle a soft groan, not wanting Diego to come running.

    “He’s coming around a bit,” a strange woman’s voice said softly.

    “Yes,” a man agreed.

    Tommy didn’t recognize either voice and wondered who they were talking about. He wanted to ask, but his head ached, and his mouth and throat were dry. With another feeble effort, he again attempted to push the thing off his head. This time he felt his hand on his face, but another hand took hold of his arm and gently lowered it down again.

    “Just let that bandage on your head alone, sonny,” the deep, quiet voice of the man said.

    Fingers rested lightly on Tommy’s wrist, and he forced his eyes to open a crack. The light shot blinding pain through his head, and he gave a sudden moan.

    “There now, just take things easy, son. Don’t try to move just yet. Nurse Wilson, shut those blinds a bit more, if you please.”

    A nurse. That was queer, Tommy thought. What was a nurse doing in his little shack? And why was his bed so soft? Where was Diego? His senses started returning as he lay still. There were different smells than usual. And things were quiet. Nothing was ever this quiet, even in the middle of the night. He wanted to find out what was going on, but he couldn’t ask.

    “Try opening your eyes again, son, and see if the pain is better.”

    Tommy obeyed and found it didn’t hurt quite as much. No, he was certainly not at home in his own little shack tucked between the McGuires and the Schlinders. But it wasn’t a hospital either. He’d been in one of those before. Slowly his eyes traveled around the dim room with its clean walls, its framed pictures, and–he squinted at something across the room–yes, it was a mirror. It wasn’t cracked, and it wasn’t small. He thought Sassy would like to see it. Pulling his gaze away from it at last, Tommy saw a woman in white standing near one side of his bed. That must be the nurse, he decided, though he was still puzzled over why a nurse should be in his room, which wasn’t really his room at all. It was too much effort to think, and he almost let his eyes close again when a slight movement drew his gaze to the other side of his bed. There they fastened on the face of a man. A man with a dark mustache and dark hair. It was a face Tommy had never seen before.

    “Feeling a little better now, are you, lad?” The man asked. He smiled and added, “Want a drink?”

    In spite of the ache in his head, Tommy managed a faint nod. He was terribly thirsty. He made a move as if to push himself up, but hands rested on his shoulders and held him firmly in bed.

    “Don’t try to move. Nurse Wilson is quite capable of bringing the drink to you.” There was a hint of amusement in the man’s voice.

    Tommy didn’t know what the joke was, but he opened his lips and eagerly swallowed the cool water that slipped between his teeth from the spoon the nurse held. It tasted better than any lemonade or even the soda water Dickie Braun had given him last summer. He opened his mouth again and swallowed a second spoonful. A few more swallows followed.

    “That’s enough for now,” the man said. “You can have more later.”

    Tommy looked at the man’s face again. Even in the dim light it looked kind. Perhaps he would ask him where he was.

    “Can you tell us your name, sonny?”

    Of course he could. That was an awfully silly question to ask. But Tommy didn’t tell his name. Instead his eyes closed and he slept.

    “Well, he can tell us his name later,” the man said softly, rising from the chair where he had been seated. “Poor little chap. But I must be off again. Keep an eye on him for me, Nellie.”

    “Of course. But I feel that I should be going to the hospital to help too, Daniel.”

    “Not now. You’d wear yourself out. We have enough help, thank God. You stay here and take care of our young patient. I’ll be home again as soon as I can. Call the hospital if you need me.”

*

    When Tommy again awoke, he lay still, his eyes still closed. Everything was hushed and quiet. No traffic could be heard, which Tommy thought was very odd. Something pressed against his left arm and it ached. “Diego,” Tommy murmured without opening his eyes. But when there was no answering whine or pad of feet, Tommy called a bit louder, “Diego!”

    “Shhh, there lad. Everything’s going to be all right.”

    This time Tommy did open his eyes. A faint light came through the drawn curtains. Memories of his last time awake came to him and he frowned.

    “Does something hurt, sonny?”

    That voice. Tommy turned his head slightly and saw the kind face of the man beside him. He felt fingers on his wrist and tried to move his left arm, but a cry of pain escaped before he could stop it.

    “Here, just keep that arm still. I know it hurts. You broke it pretty badly.”

    “Broke it?” Tommy echoed in a daze.

    The man smiled. “Yes, sir. You broke it in three places, fractured a rib, and got a nasty cut on your head. But you’ll mend. Will you tell me what your name is?”

    “Tommy.”

    “Tommy what?”

    “Just Tommy.”

    “Well, Just Tommy, I’m Dr. Hall. Where do you live? Do you have any folks we can notify of your injuries?”

How was your Christmas?

Have you had a busy or relaxing week?

What do you think of this new story?

The Price - Part 5

Good morning!

I can't believe it's the Friday before Christmas! How is that even possible? Shouldn't we have at least another week before we get this far in the month? Has your month flown or has it just been me?

We had our Christmas program on Sunday night and both plays (The Candy Cane Story and "The Price") went really well! "The Price" was great fun because none of the parents had gotten to see it yet. (We'd made sure everyone was out of the room when we practiced.) There were a lot of comments about how well everyone did, and how much people liked it. Yes, some of the kids were extremely nervous, but unless you really knew, you would never guess it. Everyone really got into their parts and said their lines like they were the characters. It was such fun seeing this story "come to life" as it were.

Monday night was when we were supposed to go caroling, but due to ice and snow, we postponed it. We're doing it tonight. :) And because we changed dates, some other families can either come, or hope to be able to come. Yay!

Tuesday was another cold day never getting above freezing. It was nice to stay inside and put things away, read, work on different things, and not have to go anywhere.

Wednesday was sunny and warmer. Most of the snow is melted. I read some, got different things worked on, and had a music practice with the other violinists and the pianist at church. I'm really trying to slow down and enjoy these days.

Thursday was more of the same things.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this final part of this Christmas story. I'd love to know what you think of it. :)

The Price

Part 5

    The Sunday before Christmas found the small church in Buffalo Wallow well filled with folks from both the town and the surrounding area. In the back near the door stood Mr. King, his arms folded and a smirk on his face.

    Behind the pulpit Reverend Clark spoke about Christmas and gifts.

    “For what will it profit a man if he gain the whole world but lose his soul? My friends, each man has a price–the price of his soul. The price that must be paid for his sin. It is a high price indeed. So high that no man can pay it. Only Jesus Christ can pay that price, and He did.

    "Christmas is about Jesus Christ, not about what earthly things we can get. Let us accept God’s greatest gift–eternal life!”

    When the sermon was over, Mrs. Stirling made her way to Mr. King. “Mr. King, I’m glad you are here,” she said, reaching into her handbag and pulling out a stack of bills and a bag of gold. “It will save me a trip across town. Here’s the payment for the rest of the mortgage.”

    “What?” Mr. King took a step backward. “But . . . But I don’t want the money,” he sputtered. “I want the house!”

    “Take it,” growled Travis. “You don’t own the mortgage on that house anymore.”

    Mr. King looked around. There were too many witnesses for him not to accept the money. Taking it roughly, he pushed through the men and rushed from the church.

*

    The next day passed. And the next. Until at last it was Christmas Eve.

    In Widow Stirling’s home the fire in the stove was bright, and the scent of pine, chocolate, and sugar cookies filled the air. There was laughter as the family decorated their small tree and drank cups of cocoa.

    “God did answer our prayers, Mama,” Jenny said.

    “Yes, Jenny, He did. But we must keep praying for Mr. King.”

    “Why?” Sam wanted to know.

    Mrs. Stirling knelt down before the boy. “Because he needs the forgiveness of Jesus Christ, and I’m afraid he doesn’t want it.”

*

    Across town Jeffery King paced his floor again. He had not left his home once since he had returned after the Sunday service. He’d hardly eaten or slept. At first he was furious that all his plans had failed, and then something the minister had said began echoing in his mind.

    “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his soul? – The price of his soul is high. – No man can pay it.”

    Stopping his pacing, Mr. King stood thoughtfully. “No man can pay it. Which is more important? The world or my soul?”

    Finally he gave up the struggle and knelt in his living room.

*

    Christmas Day arrived, and with happy greetings, the town folk, farmers, and ranchers gathered in the small church once again to celebrate the birthday of the One who had come to give them eternal life.

    The sermon was nearly over when the door opened. Every head turned and eyes widened as Mr. King, with head down and eyes on the floor, walked hesitantly down the aisle to the front of the church. He murmured a few words to the minister. “Reverend Clark, may I say something?”

    “Certainly.” Reverend Clark stepped to the side of his pulpit and waited.

    Mr. King’s hand trembled slightly as he held his hat and turned to face the congregation. “I’m not quite sure how to begin,” he started slowly, “but folks, I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mrs. Stirling, for the worry I put you and your children through. And Mr. Pickett, Travis, Mr. Hill, and Mr. Butler, I’m sorry for pressuring you to give up what you’ve worked so hard for. Reverend Clark is right.” He glanced over at the minister. “It doesn’t profit anyone if he gains the whole world but loses his soul. I know. I spent the last few days and nights wrestling with myself and with my greed. But last night I gave up the fight. I prayed and confessed my sins and asked Jesus Christ to forgive me.” A smile crossed Mr. King’s face. “And He did! Now I want to ask, will you forgive me too?”

    A chorus of “Yes! Amen!” sounded around the church.

    “Folks,” Reverend Clark said, “this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Let’s all stand and sing, Joy to the World, because I sure feel joyful this Christmas day!”

    And so the western town of Buffalo Wallow celebrated a Christmas they never forgot. Jeffrey Reginald King had learned that while every man might have his price when it comes to worldly goods, no man could ever pay the price for his sins. No man could ever save his own soul. The price for our sins was paid by Jesus Christ when He died on the cross. Have you accepted the sacrifice He made for your sins?

Have you accepted the Greatest Gift?

 How has your week been?

Have you ever been caroling?

 Click on the image to find out other Christmas blog posts!

The Candy Cane Story

This is the play I wrote for the younger children at church. You are welcome to use it with your siblings, cousins, nieces & nephews, or friends. Enjoy!

Setting: 1800s. Children in the back– girls with large bows and Christmasy dresses, boys with suspenders, bow-ties, or messenger boy caps, Younger ones holding hands with older ones.

Candy Shop: Mr. Candy Maker standing behind counter wearing white apron making candy canes. Counter is made from table with a large whiteboard in front with ‘jars of candy” colored and attached. (You can find free coloring pages of candy jars online.) Several real jars sit on table with candy in them. 

Child:
It’s almost Christmas!

All Children:
Yay!

Child:
I can’t wait!

Child:
Let’s go to the candy shop.

Child:
I have a penny.

Child:
Me too.

Child:
I have two pennies.

Child:
Then come on, let’s go!

(Children hurry to the candy shop.) Arrive at shop.
(Child opens door and all crowd in and hurry to look at all the candy on display.)

Children:
Hi, Mr. Candy Maker.

CM:
Hello, children. Are you ready for Christmas?

Children:
Yes, sir!

Child:
Hey, what are you making?

CM:
This is a candy cane. [holds up a candy cane.]

Child:
What’s it taste like?

Child:
Why’d you make it?

Child:
Why is it that shape?

CM:
Would you like to hear about it?

Children:
Yes!

CM:
Then why don’t you all have a seat and I’ll tell it to you. [Children sit down and listen.]

CM:
This is a special Christmas candy, and it tells the story of Christmas.

Children:
How?

CM: [holds the candy cane so it looks like a J] What does this look like?

Children:
A J.

CM:
You’re right. It does look like a J, and whose birthday do we celebrate at Christmas time?

Children:
Jesus!

CM:
That’s right. Jesus is the Son of God. He came down to earth as a little baby. He wasn’t born in a palace or to rich people, was he?
[Children shake their heads]
No. Jesus came down from heaven where everything was perfect, to be born to poor parents. He even had to sleep in a manger. But who visited Him?

Children:
Shepherds!

CM: [turns cane so it looks like a shepherd’s staff]
Yes, that’s right. The Bible tells us that there were shepherds abiding in the fields watching their sheep that night, but when they heard from the angels that their Savior, Jesus, was born in Bethlehem, they left their sheep and went to find him. Did you know that the Bible also calls Jesus the Good Shepherd who gives His life for his sheep? This candy reminds us also that Jesus will take care of those who ask Him to forgive their sins, just like a shepherd takes care of his sheep.”

Child:
But why are there red stripes on the candy?

CM:
Do you know why Jesus was born? He was born so that He could die for the sins of the world. He died for your sins and for my sins. The thin red stripes on the candy represent the stripes Jesus bore for us. And the thick red stripe is for the blood He shed on the cross. In the Bible it says that by His stripes we are healed. That is talking about Jesus. And it means we can be forgiven of our sins if we ask Him to forgive us. Then we will be made clean and white just like this white candy.
The white also reminds us of purity. That’s a fancy word that means Jesus was perfect. He never did anything wrong.
So, we have a J for–

Children:
Jesus!

CM:
A shepherd’s staff to remind us of the shepherds at Christmas and that Jesus is our Good Shepherd. And what color means that Jesus was perfect?

Children:
White!

CM:
And the red stripes are for the blood He shed for who?

Children:
For us.

Child:
Is that the whole story?

CM: [shakes his head]
No, there’s a little more. This candy is hard. What do hard things make you think of?

Children:
Rocks.

CM:
That’s exactly right. So this candy cane reminds us that Jesus is our Rock, just like the Bible says in Psalm 31:3 where it calls God our Rock and Fortress. Do those things make you think of a safe place?
[Children nod]
But there is one more thing about this special Christmas candy that reminds me of Christmas.

Children:
What?

CM: [with a smile]
The flavor. Who else visited Jesus when He was young, besides the shepherds?

Children:
Wisemen.

CM:
You’re right. Does anyone remember what they brought? They brought gold and precious spices. That’s why I flavored this candy with peppermint. [holds up candy cane] And that is the story of– the Candy Cane.

Child:
That’s a good story, Mr. Candy Maker.

Child:
And it does tell the story of Christmas.

Children:
Thank you!

CM:
You’re welcome, children. Now, who would like one of my new candies? [hands out a candy cane to each child]
(Children stand and move to edge of stage to sing Candy Cane song.)

The Candy Cane Song 

words by Rebekah A. Morris

(sung to alternate tune for “O Little Town of Bethlehem”) 

The candy cane it tells a tale
Of Jesus Christ, God’s Son.
It is a story never old
Of love for everyone.
The cane is like a shepherd’s staff
The white for purity
The red is for the stripes He bore
And blood He shed for me. 

The hardness of the candy tells
Of Christ the Solid Rock
The spicy flavor makes me think
Of gifts the wisemen brought.
Now when you see a candy cane
Remember what we say
That Jesus Christ who came to save
Was born on Christmas Day. 

The Price - Part 4

If you haven't already read the first parts, you can read them here.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

The Price

Part 4

    Across town Widow Stirling sat in her rocking chair, her Bible in her lap, and looked about the room. Now and then she wiped away a tear. Her husband had built their home when they had first come west. It was the only home Jenny and Sam knew. Must they give it up? Where would they go? How would they survive the winter without a roof over their head? They couldn’t afford to go to the hotel. At last she rose, laid aside her Bible, and knelt beside her chair to pray.

    “Heavenly Father, I don’t know what to do. I don’t have money to pay the mortgage right now, and I don’t have money to rent a room somewhere. Please help us. Help me trust You this Christmas time. And please soften Mr. King’s heart. . . .”

*

    The next day brought a knock on Mr. King’s door.

    “Mr. King,” Rancher Pickett began without any preliminaries, “Travis an’ I’ve been talkin’ over your offer. We figured we ought to sell you the horse. You still want her?”

    “Of course I do!” Mr. King pulled out his money and the sale was made.

    Travis handed the reins of the horse to Mr. King’s hired hand and said, “Take good care of her, Mr. King.” Together the rancher and his hand strode off without a backward glance.

    Mr. King rubbed his hands together gleefully after his hired hand had led the horse away to his new stable.

    Another knock came. It was Farmer Hill.

    “Well, Mr. King, I’ve been doin’ some deep thinkin’,” Mr. Hill began slowly. “An’ I reckon I’ll sell Gertrude to you for seventy dollars. You’re right. I won’t get a better price than that.”

    Eagerly Mr. King counted out his money, and Mr. Hill put it in his pocket.

    Stooping, he patted his pig and said, “Be good now, Gertrude.” Then with a slight sigh, Farmer Hill turned and walked away as Mr. King’s man carried the pig off to the barn.

    When the door shut, Mr. King almost danced a jig in his excitement. His dreams were coming true! He had found their price! Another knock on the door made him reach for his bag of gold before he flung the door wide open.

    “You want the watch?” It was Mr. Butler.

    “Yes!”

    “You got the gold?”

    “Right here.”

    Mr. King handed over his gold, and Mr. Butler, after weighing it in his hand, pulled out his watch and passed it into the greedy hands of Mr. King. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked away.

    This time Mr. King could contain his excitement no longer.

    “Merry Christmas to me!” he shouted, scarcely waiting to shut his front door. “I’ll get Mrs. Stirling’s house in six days and then . . . I’ll have it all.” He smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie before the mirror. “Jeffery Reginald King, you’ll be on top of the world.”

*

    Across town some time later, a knock came on Mrs. Stirling’s door, causing Mrs. Stirling to exchange worried looks with Jenny before answering.

    Pulling the door open, Mrs. Stirling placed a hand over her heart. “Oh!” she gasped. “You startled us. Won’t you come in, gentlemen?”

    Mr. Hill, Mr. Pickett, Travis, and Mr. Butler crowded inside the small but cozy room, taking off their hats as they did so.

    “Ma’am,” Rancher Pickett began, pulling out some money and holding it out to the widow, “we heard you were havin’ some difficulty with your mortgage holder, and we want to help you out.”

    “You helped us many times, ma’am,” Farmer Hill said, offering a stack of bills too.

    “Yep,” and Mr. Butler held out a bag of gold.

    Travis too offered some money. “So take it.”

    With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Stirling accepted the offered gifts. “Dear neighbors, your generosity overwhelms me. From the bottom of my heart I thank you. The Lord has used you to answer our prayers.”

*

    The Sunday before Christmas found the small church in Buffalo Wallow well filled with folks from both the town and the surrounding area. In the back near the door stood Mr. King, his arms folded and a smirk on his face.

Amahl and the Night Visitors

This is such a delightful story. Have you ever watched this story?

The Price - Part 3

Good morning, FFFs,

How has your week been? Mine was crazy on Saturday and Sunday. Then Monday and Tuesday weren't bad. Wednesday was pretty good, and now we're into five days of crazy!

Yesterday was busy trying to get different things done. And I didn't get everything done that I was needing to do, or planning to do.

This morning my seven nieces and nephews are coming over to make cookies, and I'm sure we'll read stories and such. Then I need to practice the violin and make sure I have everything needed for tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be our final big play practice. We'll be missing one stage hand and one cast member, but they just couldn't make it. After practice my sister, a friend, and I have to decorate the gym for the fellowship meal after the program. The thing is, the tables and chairs were supposed to be set up for us, and I don't think they got done.

And on Sunday, we have all sorts of practice in the morning, and the program in the evening! We will have only been through the play 3 times with everyone! Pray it goes well!

Monday will be spent putting things away and getting ready for caroling to our widows and widower in the evening. It's always a lot of fun and a blessing to us and those we carol to.

Tuesday . . . Maybe I'll just read. ;)

But here is your next part of the story. I hope you are enjoying it.

The Price

Part 3

    “Well, I’m foreclosing. You either pay off the rest of the money before Christmas or out you go.”

    “But, Mr. King,” Widow Stirling protested, “we have been faithful in payments, and it’s winter. Couldn’t you give us a little more time?”

    “Time?” roared Mr. King. “What do you think I am, a clock? No! You pay by Christmas or out you go!” He turned, jerked open the door, and marched out into the cold winter evening muttering, “I’ll at least give myself one Christmas present.”

    As soon as the door was shut behind their visitor, Jenny rushed over to her mother, her eyes wide and her face frightened. “Mama, what are we going to do? Can he really throw us out?”

    “I don’t know, Jenny.” Mrs. Stirling put an arm around each of her children, for Sam pressed close though he said nothing. “But I know what we are going to do. We are going to pray. The Lord has said in His Word that He will be a Father to the fatherless and a Judge of widows.”

    Together, as dusk turned to darkness, the family knelt in their small home to pray for wisdom, and to ask that Mr. King would have a change of heart.

*

    The following morning Jenny walked slowly down the street to buy few groceries. Her eyes were on the muddy street and her heart was heavy. She had tried and tried to think of a way to earn the money needed but was no closer to a solution than last night.

    “Morning, Miss Jenny,” Rancher Pickett and his foreman said, touching their hats as they approached.

    Jenny looked up with a start. “Oh, good morning.”

    “How is your mother doing?” Travis asked.

    “All right. I suppose.” Jenny sighed.

    “Is somethin’ wrong?” inquired Rancher Pickett.

    Jenny nodded. “Mr. King came to see us yesterday and said we have to pay the rest of the mortgage before Christmas or he will kick us out!”

    “What?” Travis exclaimed.

    Pickett looked indignant. “He can’t do that!”

    Jenny wiped a tear off her cheek. “Yes, he can. Mama already checked.”

    “We’ll have to think of something. Don’t worry. Come on, Travis.” With that, Rancher Pickett and Travis strode down the street, leaving Jenny looking after them with a puzzled face.

    The rancher hurried off with his foreman to find Mr. Butler. Then together they went out to see Farmer Hill. The wind was blowing and snow was threatening to fall, but none of the men noticed.

    “I tell you it ain’t right,” Rancher Pickett fumed after explaining their errand.

    “It sure ain’t!” agreed Farmer Hill. “Why, Widow Stirling’s ‘bout the nicest woman around these here parts. When my wife was sick, it was Mrs. Stirling who nursed her back to health.”

    “And she sure can bake a tasty pie!” Travis exclaimed, patting his stomach. He gave a sigh over the remembrance of certain mouth-watering pies he had eaten.

    “She took care of my young’uns that time me an’ the missus had to be out of town,” put in Mr. Butler.

    “It’s not that Mr. King don’t have money,” Rancher Pickett said. “He tried to buy my new horse.”

    Travis nodded quickly. “Sure did.”

    “He wanted my pig!”

    “And my new watch. You’re right, Pickett.” Mr. Butler’s indignation over the injustice being done brought him out of his quietness. “We have to do somethin’.”

    The talk continued long into the afternoon as the four men tried to think of a way to help Mrs. Stirling and her children. Snowflakes drifted down but melted unnoticed. At last, as the sun, peeking through the clouds, was starting to set behind the western mountains, the men shook hands and went their separate ways.

*

     Snow fell silently until it had dusted everything in sight with a fine layer of cold, white flakes. But no one was around to watch, for everyone was at home, snug and secure. Slumber descended on the western town and the surrounding ranches and farms. That is, it came to most homes. But in two houses that night there wasn’t much sleep.

    Jeffery King paced the floor of his fine house and fumed over his inability to get the things he wanted. He was frustrated. “Just four things!” he muttered, “and I can only get one.” He knew everyone has their price. He would just have to push the men harder and offer to pay more. “I will get what I want,” he murmured to his silent rooms. “And I will get them soon!”

What do you think the men will do?

How has your week been?

Have you gotten any Christmas cookies made yet?

The Price - Part 2

Happy 9th of December! Enjoy your next part of this story.

The Price

Part 2

    Mr. King rubbed his hands together, noticing for the first time that it was cold. “That’s going to take a lot of money, men.”

    “Yep.” Pickett nodded.

    And Travis echoed, “Yep.”

    “Got that much?”

    “Nope. Not yet.” Pickett didn’t sound worried or concerned and he kept his eyes on his horse.

    “I’d like to help you out,” Mr. King said, as though he was only a concerned neighbor. “I’ll buy that horse from you for one hundred dollars. Then you will–”

    Travis didn’t let him finish. “You what?”

    The horse stepped sideways at the suddenly raised voice.

    “I said I’ll buy your horse–”

    This time it was Rancher Pickett who interrupted. “No way!”

    “But–”

    “I suggest you turn around and start walkin’.” Mr. Pickett rested his hand on his six-shooter by his side, and nodded toward the road. His meaning was clear.

    In exact imitation of his boss, Travis put his hand on his own six-shooter. “Start walkin’.

    Mr. King stormed off the ranch. This day was not going the way he had planned. He didn’t notice the sunshine, or the clouds in the north that might bring snow before the week was over. The cold seemed colder, but his rapid strides kept him warm as he strode back toward town. He was disgusted at the petty sentimental feelings some people had for their animals.

    Once back in town with his temper cooled off somewhat, Mr. King spied the third thing on his Christmas list, and he went right to work to acquire it.

    There, sitting on a bench near the General Store sat Mr. Butler reading a newspaper while the silver chain of his new watch hung from his pocket. Mr. King could almost feel the weight of the silver watch in his own pocket right then.

    “Good afternoon, Mr. Butler,” Mr. King began. “Are you enjoying this fine day?”

    Mr. Butler lowered his paper and stared at the well dressed man before him. “Yep.”

    “Are your wife and children doing well?”

    “Yep.” Mr. Butler raised his paper to resume his reading.

    “Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it.” Mr. King glanced around but saw no one nearby though a few people were down the street. “Mr. Butler, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

    Mr. Butler, never much with words, lowered his paper and waited in silence.

    “You see, my watch quit working and I can’t do without one. I need another before Christmas. I’d like to buy yours.”

    “Nope.” Mr. Butler lifted his paper.

    “I’ll pay you cash.” Mr. King pulled out the stack of bills he hadn’t been able to get Mr. Hill to take.

    “Nope.”

    “Then I’ll pay you in gold.” And he pulled out a bag and bounced it a little in his hand. “Real gold.”

    “Nope.”

    “Oh, I know you have a price! What do you want for it?”

    Silence.

    Mr. King tried again and again. He raised his price. He begged. He even threatened, but Mr. Butler continued to read his paper as though Mr. King didn’t exist.

    Finally the wealthy man had to accept defeat–for the time being anyway–and he stomped away toward the edge of town. His day had gone from bad to worse and his mood was sour.

    Mrs. Stirling was knitting and rocking in her favorite chair while her children made paper chains on the floor to decorate the tree they would get in a few days. The fire in the stove cast a warm, comforting glow, and the coffee pot sent forth an aroma as it warmed on top of the stove.

    Into the midst of the quiet afternoon came a loud knock. Startled, for visitors seldom came to the Stirling home that late unless there was trouble, Mrs. Stirling laid aside her knitting and rose to answer it.

    “Mr. King!” she exclaimed upon seeing that man standing before her door. “Won’t you come in out of the cold?”

    There was a scowl on Mr. King’s face as he stepped inside.

    “Would you like some coffee?”

    “No!” His voice was almost a shout, and young Sam hid behind his sister in fright. “I hold the mortgage of this house.” Mr. King glared

    Mrs. Stirling nodded, her hands clasped together.

    “Well, I’m foreclosing. You either pay off the rest of the money before Christmas or out you go.”

Let me know what you think of this so far.

The Price - Part 1

Good morning, FFFs!

I hope your brain isn't as scrambled and overwhelmed as mine is! It takes more brain power than I thought to write and direct two plays, collect scenery, get things set up, figure out practice dates and times, adjust costumes when things won't work, plus play two violin songs, sing in the choir, direct the children's bell group, write other stories, create blog posts, and everything else. Ugh! My brain was jumping from one thing to the next thing, to the next, and I was tired! Yesterday I decided to take a break. I didn't write. I didn't work on blog posts. I didn't format the Christmas story for our Christmas cards. Instead I relaxed and read. In fact, I read quite a bit of the afternoon and evening. It was refreshing! Now I feel like I can do something else today.

And that's the reason you haven't gotten many blog posts on here this month. Hopefully that will change before long. I know you'll at least get more of this story. This is the story the Christmas play is written from. Actually I wrote the story (without as much setting and stuff) then turned it into the play and changed some things, and then edited the story with some of the changes I'd made for the play, and with more detail.

I hope you enjoy it! :) Oh, and don't forget to head over to my Read Another Page blog to see what book I'm sharing there.

The Price

Part 1

    In the small western town of Buffalo Wallow, there lived a widow and her two children. Widow Stirling was well known around town and liked by almost everyone. She and her children lived in a modest home on a prime spot of land near the edge of town. That home was filled with laughter and smiles. Everyone who came was always welcomed.

    On the other end of town lived Jeffery Reginald King, the town’s most wealthy man. Unlike Widow Stirling, Mr. King wasn’t well liked, for he fancied that wealth was more important than character, and that money would purchase anything. His house was almost out of place in the small town, for it was grand and tall.

    One day in the middle of December, Jeffery King paced his fine home and frowned. He didn’t notice his rich furniture, his costly paintings, his expensive curtains, nor feel the warmth of his fire.

    “There are just four things I want for Christmas,” he said to himself, his dark mustache twitching. “Just four things, and I’m bound and determined to get ‘em too.” Stopping short he gave a decided nod. “And I might as well get ‘em now, ‘cause everyone has his price.” With that he snatched up his hat and left his lovely home.

    Not too far outside of town lived a farmer who raised pigs. To this farm Mr. King went with firm steps and one purpose in mind. After knocking on the farmhouse door and being told by Mrs. Hill that her husband was “round back,” he picked his way through the muddy yard wondering just how far “‘round back” was. At last he found the farmer looking at his prize-winning pig.

    “Mr. Hill,” began Mr. King without so much as a good morning, “I want to buy that pig. How much will you take?”

    Slowly Mr. Hill turned around, looking slightly surprised to see his visitor. “You talkin’ to me, King?” His voice was a low drawl.

    “Of course I am,” snapped Mr. King. “There is no one else to talk to.”

    “You might have been talkin’ to Gertrude,” and Mr. Hill stooped to pat his prize pig who was nosing his boots.

    Mr. King grunted. “I wasn’t. I want to buy that thing.” He pulled a stack of money out of his pocket. “How much?”

    Folding his arms, Mr. Hill shook his head. “I’m not selling Gertrude. Why she’s a prize pig! I’ve won a blue ribbon in every fair I took her too.”

    “Fifty dollars.”

    “Nope.”

    “Sixty.”

    “Huh uh.”

    “Seventy. And you won’t get a better price anywhere!”

    But Mr. Hill shook his head. “I ain’t sellin’ her. Have a merry Christmas, Mr. King.” Without another word Mr. Hill returned to his pig and left his visitor to find his own way off his property.

    A frown darkened Jeffery King’s face as he marched away forgetting to look for the cleanest, firmest steps. He would get that pig, just see if he didn’t! He was sure that everyone had his price.

    It was a long walk to the Pickett ranch, but Mr. King was so determined to succeed in one of his quests that he didn’t notice. Nor did he pay any attention to the cold winter day.

    Mr. Pickett and his foreman, Travis, were out in the corral with their new horse, a fine looking animal, when Mr. King arrived. Travis was mounted and slowly riding the horse around in the corral. Having learned something from his last experience, the wealthy man tried a different approach.

    “That’s a mighty fine looking animal you have there, Pickett, Travis.” He nodded politely to both men.

    Rancher Pickett leaned on the fence. “She shore is. Ain’t another horse in a hundred miles that can stick with her. Why she’s goin’ to be the best purchase I ever made for this ranch.”

    Travis drew rein and added, “Just picture it, King; in a dozen years these hills,” he motioned to the rolling hills of the Pickett ranch, “will be full of magnificent horses just like this one!” Smiling, he patted the neck of the horse.

    Mr. King rubbed his hands together, noticing for the first time that it was cold. “That’s going to take a lot of money, men.”

Has your brain ever felt scrambled?

Have you read many Christmas stories yet?

Do you want the next part of this story on Monday or Tuesday?

Christmas at the Mall?

I know I've shared this other Decembers, but I still love it.

Happy early December!

Thanksgiving Makeover - Part 3 + Black Friday Sale!

Good morning, FFFFs!

Happy day after Thanksgiving. Okay, happy Black Friday. ;)

I'm going to keep this part short because you might want to go look at books and read the final part of the Thanksgiving story.

But it's been a good week. My grandparents and aunt came down on Monday and we spent several hours over at my brother's new house eating lunch, putting the swing set together and playing baseball. Yes, my 90-year-old grandpa pitched for most of the time. Then my mom pitched.

Yesterday it was just my parents, sister and I here at the house. We had our turkey dinner around one, and even started decorating for Christmas. Usually we wait until after Thanksgiving to start, but since everyone was home and no one else was over, plus the fact that Thanksgiving came really late this year, we decided to get started. We got a good bit done! Today my nieces and nephews are coming over to help do some decorating. My oldest niece wants to decorate the stairs, and everyone wants to help with the village. I have to get the landscape and snow done before they come so they can help with houses and all the people and trees.

I've gotten some writing done this week. And it's NOT a Christmas story! :) I'm hoping to reach 10k this month. I think I can.

Now here's the rest of your post. :)

Are you ready to add more books to your reading pile? Do you need some sale books to keep you reading until Christmas? What about books to give your friends and family members for Christmas? Or just because more books are fun?

Yes?

I thought so. Check out the books on the Black Friday sale! There are over 100 titles!

And nearly all of mind are included in it! :D Including my Christmas books!

Head over now! It might take you a while to decide what to get because of all the genres and books in each category. So start looking.

The sale ends Monday.

 

And now we return you to our regularly scheduled program.

Thanksgiving Makeover

Part 3

    “Hey, Brad,” one of the boys asked, “what are we going to do next? I mean, we’ve already had the big game and the parade.”

    “Well, when it gets dark we are going to have a bonfire–”

    “And roast s’mores!” Cherry put in eagerly.

    “But until then,” Brad shrugged. “We could always play some games like monopoly, or freeze tag, or capture the flag.”

    “Hey, yeah, let’s play capture the flag! We could use the whole neighborhood and the yards, and maybe some of the older ones would play too!” the boy’s enthusiasm was catching.

    With a grin, Brad stood up and picked up his paper plate. “I’ll check with Dad, but I think that’d be fun.”

    Mr. Miller had no objection and, after checking with the other adults, gave permission, provided there was to be no going in and out of houses. “And no one is allowed to cross any street but this one. Understood?”

    “Yes, sir,” Brad replied, and hurried off to see if Sgt. Crawford and Mr. Hunter would join them. Much to Brad and the other children’s delight, both agreed to play after everything was cleared off the street. Never had a Thanksgiving feast been cleared away so quickly. Trash bags were filled with paper plates, utensils, cups and napkins. The extra food was divided up and taken to houses, tables were wiped off and then folded and returned to houses, though some ended up in the wrong place and had to be switched a day or so later. All the chairs were also put away, and before long the street was back to normal.

    It was a lively game that followed. The street was declared “no man’s land,” and the only safe place to cross into “enemy territory” without being certain you were seen, was the empty lot where the parade had been organized. Many were the prisoners caught, the daring prison breaks, and the mad rushes back for the safety of your own side. It was growing dark before Sgt. Crawford, with a few select team members, Brad included, managed to slip across the street one at a time under cover of a diversion farther down the street. Once over, they hid for a little while before creeping stealthily around the houses. The flag was found, but before they could hope to get it, they would have to elude the vigil of the two guards who paced the yard three feet from the swing set where the flag rested in the baby swing.

    “If we all rush them together,” Brad whispered, “They’ll just call for help. I think we should try to get closer and then just have two of us appear and try to lead them away.”

    “Good plan,” Sgt. Crawford nodded. “Who volunteers?”

    Brad and two others did. When he wasn’t chosen, Brad was secretly relieved. He wanted to be in on snatching the flag and taking it to victory.

    Before motioning the decoys to leave, Sgt. Crawford gave a few other whispered instructions.

    Moments later, the “guards” were drawn farther from the swing set. Not too far, but far enough to give Sgt. Crawford and his companion time to rush for the flag. Tingling with excitement, Brad remained where he was, motionless, hoping that the growing darkness would hide him from the sharp eyes of any opposing team members.

    Shouts came from the two guards and Brad wished he dared steal a peek around the corner of the air conditioning unit behind which he crouched. Heavy footsteps were coming closer. Was it–? Brad fairly held his breath until a white cloth dropped almost in his lap and the footsteps turned and darted away. More shouts and footsteps. Brad hid the cloth behind his bent knees and watched as two figures from the other side raced past his place of concealment. When the shouts grew distant, he ventured to lean out and glance about. All was still, even the guards had left their post to chase the two who they thought had their flag. Springing to his feet, Brad raced as quickly as he could towards the street, the white flag clutched firmly in his hand. If he could only make it to the street without being seen, he stood a good chance of winning the game. Just before he ventured from between the two houses, he paused. No one was close. With a burst of speed he dashed for the street waving the white flag and shouting “Victory!”

    From everywhere members from both teams seemed to appear, but there was really no contest, for Brad had a head start and crossed the street to safety well ahead of the fastest runner.

    There was much laughter, a few groans, and one or two complaints, but no one paid attention to the latter.

    By six o’clock darkness had settled over the neighborhood. The promised bonfire had been started and everyone was gathered around. Most of the younger ones begged for hot dogs to roast, for they had run off most of their dinner. After the biggest appetites were satisfied, the s’mores were brought out, and soon sticky fingers and chocolate-adorned mouths, gave proof of their enjoyment.

    It was a perfect evening to sit around a fire with friends and family. Mr. Miller started the final event of the day by naming three things he was thankful for. “The Lord Jesus Christ, a wonderful wife and kids, and a neighborhood to enjoy a day with.”

    From his seat beside Trenton, Brad looked up at the sky as one by one each person named three things he or she was thankful for. Without the streetlights on, the stars seemed brighter, closer. The moon, a crescent, shone with unusual luster, and there seemed to be a new hush over the homes and yards all around them. This was a Thanksgiving Brad would never forget. He half wished that next year the power would be out again. “But nothing would quite equal this year,” he mused, watching the sparks shooting up as a few more logs were placed on the fire.

Have you ever had an unusual Thanksgiving?

How was your Thanksgiving?

Are you planning on getting any new books from the sale?

Thanksgiving Makeover - Part 2

Good morning, FFFFs,

The rain is pattering lightly on the skylight of my room. I can hear the street-sweeper somewhere in the area. It's colder this morning. Only 37º right now instead of in the 50s. The last few days have been damp and cloudy. I think we're supposed to get sunshine either later today or tomorrow. That will be nice.

I've actually done some writing this week! Are you shocked? I am. ;) I've written every day (except Sunday when I don't write) and am planning to write today and tomorrow. No, I haven't gotten 1k written most days, but even 500 is better than nothing, right? I finished one Christmas story which you probably won't get until next year. Sorry. Now I'm not sure what I'll do. I think I might leave the other unfinished Christmas stories to wait until next year. I still need to write a short story for our Christmas cards. Any ideas? Any Christmas songs you would like to see in a Christian story?

I've also been practicing my violin. We are playing our Thanksgiving song on Sunday. And I finally got music for the two Christmas specials we are planning on doing. The one for the Christmas program is easy which is good since I'll be very busy that evening. ;)

Another thing I'm doing is taking part in Tarissa's Literary Christmas again! This is the 3rd year I've done it. Basically you read Christmas books and review them on your blog, or on Goodreads, or Amazon, then share the title and the link to the review on Tarissa's blog. It's fun to see what sort of Christmas books people read. Oh, and she's doing a giveaway right now. :) All you have to do to enter is read and review a Christmas book, share the link, and there you go. (There are other ways to enter the giveaway too.) Anyway, I hope you'll come join the fun. I'd love to see what books you read. You can get to Tarissa's post by clicking on the image below.

And now for the 2nd part of your Thanksgiving story. I think I need to write a few more Thanksgiving stories. And 4th of July stories, and Valentine's Day stories, and  . . . ;)

Thanksgiving Makeover

Part 2

    Brad was frowning. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be in a sleigh on top of a house, but . . .” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “The dog house! If we could put it on wheels of some sort, we could cut a cardboard box so it kind of looks like a sleigh and the whole thing can be pulled or pushed.”

    It was an ingenious idea. Brad raced home to ask his dad for a little help in getting the dog house to the lot. One of their neighbors, who had been talking with Mr. Miller when Brad arrived, offered the use of his small gator and flat trailer to put the doghouse and such on. “You can use it if Hunter’ll drive it,” Mr. Johnson agreed. “I don’t want any youngster accidentally running into the next float or dumping Santa Claus into the street.”

    It was almost noon before the “Neighborhood Macy’s Parade” was ready to begin. From all around the neighborhood families and friends gathered in the front yards along the side of the street. The end of the street had been blocked off with bright orange cones, so there was no fear of traffic to interrupt the parade.

    Loud were the cheers when the “floats” began to appear. There was one with pilgrims and Indians. Who cared that the Indian’s feathers were bright blue and pink, or that the pilgrim father’s paper hat blew off and he had to chase it. Next came the “band” consisting of a pot beaten enthusiastically, a kazoo, and a trumpet.

    The onlookers roared with laughter when they beheld Cherry leading on a string an enormous “turkey” who seemed strangely tall considering that its face appeared to be that of Trenton wearing a beak and red floppy comb under his chin. It took only a look at the boots under the yellow paper “feet,” however, to realize that Sgt. Crawford, home from the Marines for several months, was the lower part of the bird. “He’s probably got couch cushions or his pack on his back covered with a cloth,” whispered one lady to her husband amid the laughter.

    “Yep, and I reckon it’s supposed to be one of those balloon things.”

    The “Macy’s” float came next, with a large sign, and a wagon full of stuffed animals, and dolls all sporting fashionable clothes.

    Three bicycle riders came next, followed by a few more ingenious “floats,” but the crowning moment came when “Santa Claus came to town.” No one minded or even commented on the fact that Santa’s legs stuck out the bottom of his sleigh and the toes of his boots were hooked on the edge of the roof so that he wouldn’t fall out. His outfit was splendid, and he sported a beard of white batting which made him sneeze several times as he was carried slowly down the street waving to the people and shouting, “Come to Macy’s and buy your Christmas presents!” This last bit brought down the house, and even the sound of the gator’s engine was drowned out.

    Pulling off the itchy beard, Brad asked, “When is the game, Dad?”

    Mr. Miller chuckled. “Not yet. You’ve got to give everyone a little time to recover from the parade. And besides, aren’t you all hungry yet?”

    “I am!” Rosa exclaimed. “But we can’t eat a Thanksgiving dinner, can we?”

    “Well, not like we usually do, but we’ll eat a feast later in the afternoon. We’ve got three turkeys roasting in roaster ovens powered by a generator Mr. Leeks had. Between all the families, I imagine we’ll have enough to at least taste a bit of turkey. If they don’t get done, or if anyone is still hungry after we eat, they can roast hot dogs.”

    At two o’clock everyone gathered in the “Neighborhood Bowl” behind Mr. Merrik’s house for the big foot ball game. All the players had been divided into two opposing teams: Panthers vs. Cowboys. All around the field chairs had been set up, a few trucks had been parked and more chairs set up in their beds. “To give the impression of stands,” Mr. Miller had told his wife. Since no one had real padding, the game was tag football, but no one minded. One of the men used to work as a referee and he had pulled out his black and white shirt and hung his whistle around his neck.

    At half time the score was 3-1 in favor of the Panthers. Most of the ladies left the game then, as did a few of the men who weren’t playing. The ones who remained, however, cheered every play and shouted encouragement to the younger players until they were hoarse.

    When the game finally ended the Cowboys had managed to win the game by one point at the very end. Brad came off the field rather winded and hot. He found his sisters and brothers waiting for him in the back of their dad’s truck. “Well, I thought we were going to win,” he remarked, reaching for the water bottle Rosa held out to him.

    “But it was a really close game,” Rosa said, waving to a friend who had been sitting on the other side of the field. “Now you have to go get cleaned up so we can eat.”

    Everyone agreed it was a most unusual place for a Thanksgiving dinner, but the middle of their quiet, blocked off street seemed to be the perfect place to put tables and chairs. “Of course, anyone is welcome to sit in the grass or on their porch, if they’d rather,” Mrs. Miller told everyone as they all gathered.

    It wasn’t the traditional Thanksgiving meal most families in America would be partaking of, but it was a feast. The three turkeys had been roasted to perfection and, with the use of three grills, two gas stoves, and two dutch ovens, the ladies had managed to prepare potatoes, both mashed and baked, stuffing, corn, cranberry sauce, and a few other dishes, not to mention the pies which had been baked ahead of time. As for rolls, Mr. Henthorn, who worked at a bakery, had brought home dozens of rolls the evening before, when he had learned of the intended feast. Though there wasn’t enough turkey for everyone to have as much as they might have wanted, no one was hungry by the time the meal was over.

    Brad leaned back in his chair and looked down the length of the street. “It sure is funny to be eating our Thanksgiving meal in the middle of a street.”

    Rosa nodded. “But we wouldn’t have fit anywhere else very well, except for the empty lots, and that would have been a long way to carry all the tables and things.”

If you had to create a float for this parade, what would you do?

Do you enjoy watching or playing football?

Have you started reading Christmas books yet?

Thanksgiving Makeover - Part 1

Happy Friday, Favorite Friday Fiction Fans!

It's a beautiful morning! The sun is rising in a clear sky. It is cold (25º) but it's supposed to warm up to the upper 40s or low 50s. A good day to sign papers for a new house. No, not me. My brother and sis-in-law are signing papers for their house this morning. Then this afternoon they are going over to clean or wipe things down. I'll probably be going over too, and I think my sister will. Then tomorrow is moving day. Busy. But fun. The kids are excited.

I wrote a little this week. Enough to finish the Christmas story I'll be sharing next month. It's the story version of the Christmas play I wrote. ;) I wanted to write more, but haven't had the chance.

Sunday was a day my brain worked extra. The beginning of the church service was first, then I went to Children's Church to work with the kids on their play, then back to church for the last half of the sermon, then as soon as church was over I had to switch to the other play to work with the kids on that. Next I had to talk with some of the mom's about practice dates and costumes before rushing off to get in on the last part of choir. Whew! This Sunday won't be quite as crazy since I'll have bells instead of the other play and choir.

I can't believe that today is the half-way point of November! What? How is that even possible? I knew it would be a busy month, but . . . Well, anyway, here's the first part of your Thanksgiving story. :) Hope you enjoy it!

Thanksgiving Makeover

Part 1

    The early pre-dawn light was just beginning to spread across the eastern sky, giving a hint to a beautiful Thanksgiving day. The neighborhood was still shrouded in darkness. Not a light shone in any window, giving the impression that no one was awake or that everyone had left town for the holiday. However, the eerily dark streetlights hinted that something more than late sleepers was causing the darkness.

    Inside the Miller home, eleven-year-old Brad shut his Bible and placed it back on the shelf before snapping off his flashlight. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they did, he slipped from his small room and knocked softly on the door across the hall.

    It opened in a minute and his sister appeared.

    “Are you ready?” Brad whispered.

    “Yep.” There was excitement in Rosa’s voice as she turned off her light and tucked it into her pocket.

    Together the siblings hurried down the hall to the stairs. A faint light glimmered from the living room, and Brad and Rosa headed towards it.

    Looking up from his Bible as the children entered, Mr. Miller smiled. “Is it time already?”

    “Yeah, it’s just after six.”

    “Is Mom awake yet?” Rosa asked.

    Mr. Miller nodded. “Yes. She’s going to let the younger ones sleep as late as they want because I don’t think anyone except Molly is going to take a nap today.” As he spoke, Mr. Miller had risen, set his Bible on the table and picked up a camping lantern. “All right, let’s get coats and get to work. Brad, get the posters, Rosa, the papers.”

    The air was brisk as the three figures stepped outside. The soft twitter of a single bird was the only sound to be heard.

    “It sure is quiet without the hum of that streetlight,” Brad whispered.

    “And dark,” Rosa added, shivering.

    The Millers worked quickly, tucking a paper announcing the unusual day’s events, into the front door of each family who was in town. Posters were stapled to light posts. Across the top of these was written in large letters: “Neighborhood Thanksgiving Festival.” Below was a list of events and where they would take place. Though most of the families already knew about the day, the time and place of most of the events hadn’t been announced.

    As they returned to their own home, Brad could hardly wait for everyone to get up. He didn’t even think about the sudden power outage which had knocked out all their original plans for a “normal” Thanksgiving; he was just eager for the fun he knew would be coming.

    Breakfast was hardly over before the excitement and work began. Arrivals at the front door seemed incessant, and Brad and Rosa were kept busy answering questions or directing people to the kitchen to talk with their mom, as she fed baby Molly, or to the back yard where Dad was working.

    At nine o’clock Mr. Miller came inside. “Brad,” he called.

    “Yeah?”

    “I think it might be a good idea to head up to the empty lot and start getting ready for the ‘Macy’s Parade.’ It’s going to take quite a while to get everything ready, I imagine.”

    Brad pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! Come on, Rosa!” he shouted.

    Instantly Cherry and Trenton began to beg to go, and Ryan started crying, “Me too! Me too!”

    Turning in despair to his mom, Brad exclaimed, “Mom, I can’t watch the little ones and get a parade ready!”

    Mrs. Miller smiled as she stepped over Molly’s scattered toys. “I know you can’t. Miss Elise and Mr. Hunter said they’d come help when the time came. The younger ones can stay with Miss Elise while you and Mr. Hunter get everything ready and organized.”

    A flurry of jackets were pulled on, and five Miller children raced out the door and up the street to the empty lot which marked the end of their housing development. From nearby homes other children spilled from doors, some dragging wagons or hopping on bikes, others carrying bags or boxes from which trailed fabric of all sorts.

    Everything in the lot was mass confusion for several minutes until Mr. Hunter, a college age young man who was respected by every child in the neighborhood, got everyone’s attention. After that, Brad was able to assign numbers to the various “floats,” and the work of decorating them and dressing up began. There was much laughter over some of the floats, much borrowing of garments, a seemingly constant request for safety pins, and much running back to houses to get thing forgotten or needed.

    “Mr. Hunter,” Brad asked, when everyone was busy, “since this is supposed to be a ‘Macy’s Parade,’ and they always end theirs with a Santa Claus, do you think we can too?”

    With a laugh, Mr. Hunter shrugged. “We can try. We’d have to find a red coat though, unless someone has a Santa suit.”

    “I don’t know of anyone who does. But I’ll ask the kids.” And Brad ran off. He didn’t believe in Santa and knew most of the other kids didn’t either, but the big parade they were copying always had a Santa at the end, and it just wouldn’t be the same without one. There were no Santa suits, but he learned he could get a pair of red snow pants, a red hoodie and a Santa hat. “I still need a black belt, white gloves and black boots,” he panted, running back to Mr. Hunter who had three-year-old Ryan on his shoulders.

    “I can get a black belt for you and you should be able to find some black boots.” He turned to his sister. “Hey, Elise, do you have any white gloves Santa can wear?”

    “Sure. If you’ll keep Trenton with you, Cherry and I’ll run and get them.”

    “And grab my black belt from the closet, will you? Oh, and see if you can locate any black boots,” Mr. Hunter called after her. Then he turned to Brad. “What is Santa going to ride in?”

How was your week?

Did you get any writing done?

Have you ever created your own parade?