To Who I Am Becoming...

The mythical ethos of Santa Claus is an important part of the Dutch Christmas, transported to the New World in the 18th century by Dutch immigrants to the New York area and popularized by 19th century writers and poets in New York. For example, the familiar “Night Before Christmas” poem (written by C.C. Moore, a professor of Biblical Literature, in New York in 1823) scripts the main features of the holiday by describing the visual appearance, actions, and character of Santa Claus, as well as the appropriate reaction to him. I like Santa Claus. He is an important part of the celebration of Christmas in my family tradition (English, Swedish, Scots), and I won’t allow him to be denigrated in our house. Perhaps you like to do things differently in your home. There is no one, right way to celebrate Christmas, and we can waste a lot of spiritual and emotional energy worrying about how others keep or don’t keep it. If we wanted to be exacting and snobbish, we LDS wouldn’t do anything at all a...

As I sat alone and oh so cold. I saw a boy who told Of a wish he held to him so dear He hoped that Santa someday would hear. His dearest dream was to meet the Queen And ask one question true. He had searched far and wide but had not seen The man that always flue. Now why this matters I know not, To search for someone whose never been caught, To long to see a dream, I asked him "What could this mean"? Then he said something I'll never forget. He looked at me with such deep serene. He asked me if I ever regret Losing faith in the one known as The King? I stood their and stared, Then suddenly got scared, He looked so sad and displeased Then asked if I had ever believed? I squeaked out a yes and did my best To secure his faith their in, But since that day when he went away I see it was me he saved that day. By the kids at Kinderland

Beep. Beep. Beep. Ugh. This is always the hardest part of my day. I twist my body so that I can hit the snooze button on my alarm. I expect my hair to be in my face but instead I have arranged the semi-curly red mass into some kind of ponytail on top of my head sometime in the night. I wish I could just lie in my bed and not face the emptiness that my life has become. “NO” I say almost in anger. My life is not empty. It’s very full with responsibility, work, and what ever the entertainment industry can cook up for me to be interested in. I take a minuet to look at my surroundings before my alarm clock rouses me again. Everything is so dark. It’s only six in the morning and I am glad that the sun hasn’t come up yet. With the sun always comes the day to day things that you must do like trash, dishes, and people. Not like the few minuets before the sun when things still seem possible and the world seems magical. I can feel my room with all of its clutter resembling a real life as I stay i...

Preface All my life I have been one of those people obsessed with order. Even when life doesn’t have any order I must find the pattern in it. This has never been truer in my life then in two areas: food and relationships. In the food area I am not that unique from other people. Each culinary celebration must go in the order that they were intended. First there is breakfast. This has always been a hard area for me as I have never been big on breakfast foods. I don’t like eggs or bacon or even pop tarts. They have just never been things that I want to start out my day eating. When I do find something that I want to eat that is a breakfast food I get overjoyed for it is rare. Next is lunch. This above every other eating occasion is my favorite because it has the least restrictions. It seems the world is open to me. Not just the world of food but every part of life seems accessible at lunch. Obligation. That is ...

I walk to my car. “Where are you going this weekend?” says someone I can’t remember who they are. With a tone of indifference I say “Home”. She turns and walks away. I have four hours in the car to think of what I will do. “Pointless” I say to myself the whole way. Nothing can be planed. I carry my bag into my room without seeing a sole. I walk around remembering what each room means and what has happened in them. Finally I go to the family computer down stairs where I know she will be. “Hi mom.” Silence. “Hey mom. What’s going on?” Nothing. I look at the computer. She is playing some game. “Well, good to talk to you.” I start walking up my stairs that seem like Mt. Everest now. “Hey” chirps a happy voice. “Come say Hi to me”. She must have finished the game. I stand on the stair. I look at my car that I have finally left. I see a stack of books by the front door with a list of activities on top that I didn’t see at first. I take a deep breath and turn around. “How was your t...