I have lost strength through the years, the wind grabbing hold of what used to be. Yet, the door to my soul remains untouched, all of the memories staying close to my heart.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
IN THE AIR
IN THE AIR
While we cherish the memories of the past, there is now a freshness about us, ready to face beautiful breezes and gusty winds in the new days to follow, sensing God's gentle touch, leaving that softness in the air wherever He goes.
While we cherish the memories of the past, there is now a freshness about us, ready to face beautiful breezes and gusty winds in the new days to follow, sensing God's gentle touch, leaving that softness in the air wherever He goes.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Friday, February 1, 2013
Monday, November 26, 2012
CRAYONS
A fragrant path to hope will elicit memories of special days, grandparents and crayons. The bouquet of cherished thoughts gives a light to our lives.
~Marie T. Morrison
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
GENERATIONS
OF TOUCH
Rituals and traditions let those
who have passed stay with us. There is the favorite birthday cake recipe, the traditional
holiday dance and the celebratory song. A guitar played holds the hands of wisdom
from generations gone by. Heirlooms are
everywhere, touched by love and happiness. Memories told will keep the loved
ones living long after we are gone, as the same birthday cake continues to be
made, the ingredients still holding plenty of love, laughter and song.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Friday, May 25, 2012
A STORY
Ready to copy my
favorite dessert recipe down for a friend, I searched for my bright pink card I
had placed on the coffee table. Glancing on the floor, I saw a shred of paper
in just that color. The dog had eaten all but a few words, nothing to help me
recall the preparations. He got the last taste, I have the memories. As my
neighbor taught me in her great wisdom, “Now I have a story to tell.”
~Marie T.
Morrison~
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
COLLECTIONS
COLLECTIONS
As a youth, I collected memories, not video games. If you know a young person, help them begin a memory collection.
~Marie T. Morrison~
As a youth, I collected memories, not video games. If you know a young person, help them begin a memory collection.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Monday, June 27, 2011
MEMORIES
Though life does not last forever, memories do. Share those memories with each generation. Stories can be told, photographs viewed, letters read, journals expressed, all while the gathering of friends and family bring bread to the table. Feel God’s presence as the memories are shared. He was always there, bringing life into each breath of laughter and every tear shed, no matter the number of years it may be. ~Marie T. Morrison~
Saturday, April 16, 2011
PHOTO ALBUMS
Pictures in photo albums will leave many more memories than seeing pictures from a screen. Live conversations take place, minutes slipping into hours. How the years of long ago come into the present! As laughter erupts upon recollections of some years, tears may fall as we look back upon others. Thanks to God, for those years of memories, as He blesses us year after year.
~Marie T. Morrison~
~Marie T. Morrison~
Monday, February 14, 2011
MEMORIES AND HISTORY
Memories are of the past, as history is. Both lead to the lives we have today. God prepares the way for memories not yet made
, nor what becomes history. There is good
and evil in life, God never stopping to give us a lesson. Our own actions will
continue the memories and history, God forever present. This is what shows how
valuable each life is.
, nor what becomes history. There is good
and evil in life, God never stopping to give us a lesson. Our own actions will
continue the memories and history, God forever present. This is what shows how
valuable each life is.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
STORIES
Storytelling can bring laughter, excitement, an interest in what is going to happen next. It is a time where people bond, united as one. The storyteller of all time is our Lord, giving us stories, told from one generation to the next, memories never fading.
His messages are vivid, reminding us what makes a good and blessed life.
~Marie T. Morrison~
His messages are vivid, reminding us what makes a good and blessed life.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
THE TREASURE OF ALL TREASURES
Describing what a treasure is depicts different images in everyone’s mind. For a child, it may be a ladybug seen on a blade of grass. A young teen may treasure a new pair of shoes, now the fad. An older teen will love the improved cell phone. As a young adult, there is the dream car, waiting many years to save the money to buy one. The older adult will treasure memories of their children, as they go through their growing years. The senior adults treasure the letters and cards sent by the grandchildren, keeping them by their favorite chair.
As I reflect upon my treasures, my loved ones are invaluable to me. My faith and God are priceless as well. Thinking back to my years of teaching, I will never forget the treasured gifts I received. What made them so special was that they were handed to me with such strong emotions.
I never worked at a school located in an upper income class neighborhood. My students came from homes where a chicken is served once a year on Thanksgiving. There were no birthday presents. They had never been to a restaurant, not even to have a popular fast food hamburger or taco diner.
One year, I had a boy, about nine years old, who started to bring me a present a day. I was still in my first years of teaching, taken with his generosity, knowing how his family had little money. Some days, it was a candy bar or a package of sunflower seeds. At times, it was a small paperback book, usually one meant for a teenager. He had proudly signed his name and mine inside the cover of each of them. After this had been going on for a little over two weeks, a couple of his classmates approached me, out of earshot of the bighearted gift giver. Apparently, he was going to the little store down the street from the school, stealing something to give me the next day. I was horrified!
After school that day, I called the manager of the store, describing the child who frequented his store daily. I said he had been stealing something from him daily, over the past few weeks. There was a silence for a moment on his end, coming to life suddenly, announcing to me, “Here he comes, RIGHT NOW!” The phone went dead as he went to pursue the gift-giving robber. My student was back in class the next day, as if nothing ever happened. I am not sure what the manager said to him in the store, but it must have made an impression, as all presents stopped. I dimly remember going over to the store, offering reimbursement for all stolen items. The manager did not charge me, only glad that the stealing had stopped.
Having stolen items on me was not a treasure, but it still spoke to my heart. I treasured the thought that the boy wanted to make me happy. I had made him happy in my classroom; now he wanted to do the same for me.
Another year, I had told students how much I loved the Spider Man comics. This was years before there was a movie on the webbed creature. They loved to hear my excitement, as I would tell Spider Man episodes. It made me become a person, just as they were, not someone who came in from nowhere at the beginning of the day and return to nowhere at the end of it. This is the typical thought of a student, that there is no chance a teacher has any other kind of life.
As Christmas came around that year, a student approached me, having something wrapped for me. It was rolled up tightly, a ribbon circling the gift several times. His eyes were big, standing in front of me, as I unwrapped his gift. Inside the wrappings was his own treasure; a very well worn comic book of Spider Man. I almost started to cry, it meant so much to me. He had so little at his house, yet he wanted me to have his most valuable possession. This meant more to me than the many boxes of chocolates teachers were getting from students living in other neighborhoods. I will never forget the token of love shown. He knew what Christmas was truly about, not the television ads on what would bring meaning and happiness.
I had another highly-prized gift handed to me another year. The mother of a particular student did not like me. She truly despised me. Her mentally challenged son had passed from one year to the next, playing games all day long. Now that I had him, I did not want the games. I wanted him to learn to read, write and do math problems. His mother was furious I was having him work. Sometimes, he would come up to my desk to warn me his mom was coming by after school to yell at me. He would continue to come up numerous times on that particular day, to tell me the time was getting closer for his mom to yell at me.
In time, the mother began to see how much her son had learned. He was asking her to buy the classical music I played in the class as they worked, had outstanding penmanship, could read and was multiplying numbers. She was now showing up after school, coming in with her sponge and bucket of suds, to clean the classroom for me. She would ask me if I remembered how much she used to hate me, as she scrubbed one desk after another. I grinned, assuring her I certainly did recall those times.
At the last week of school, her son proudly handed me a wrapped gift from him and his mother. He said they saw the book on a table outside a store and decided it would be the perfect gift for me. Inside the wrappings was a book. The title was, Love and Desire and Hate by Joan Collins. A little summary inside the used book cover talks about the love, greed and lust action, a definite page turner. It is signed, with pride and with love, by both the mother and son. This became another treasure, though I must admit, I never did read it. The mother came by after school, her eyes twinkling as bright as her son’s, over this gift. I hugged them both, saying how special it was to me. The mother, who worked two or three jobs to put food on the table, said they just had to buy the book for me, as I was now important in their lives.
I would never trade my riches with anyone. If I did, I would lose those treasured memories that came with them. True treasures always come from the beloved heart.
As I reflect upon my treasures, my loved ones are invaluable to me. My faith and God are priceless as well. Thinking back to my years of teaching, I will never forget the treasured gifts I received. What made them so special was that they were handed to me with such strong emotions.
I never worked at a school located in an upper income class neighborhood. My students came from homes where a chicken is served once a year on Thanksgiving. There were no birthday presents. They had never been to a restaurant, not even to have a popular fast food hamburger or taco diner.
One year, I had a boy, about nine years old, who started to bring me a present a day. I was still in my first years of teaching, taken with his generosity, knowing how his family had little money. Some days, it was a candy bar or a package of sunflower seeds. At times, it was a small paperback book, usually one meant for a teenager. He had proudly signed his name and mine inside the cover of each of them. After this had been going on for a little over two weeks, a couple of his classmates approached me, out of earshot of the bighearted gift giver. Apparently, he was going to the little store down the street from the school, stealing something to give me the next day. I was horrified!
After school that day, I called the manager of the store, describing the child who frequented his store daily. I said he had been stealing something from him daily, over the past few weeks. There was a silence for a moment on his end, coming to life suddenly, announcing to me, “Here he comes, RIGHT NOW!” The phone went dead as he went to pursue the gift-giving robber. My student was back in class the next day, as if nothing ever happened. I am not sure what the manager said to him in the store, but it must have made an impression, as all presents stopped. I dimly remember going over to the store, offering reimbursement for all stolen items. The manager did not charge me, only glad that the stealing had stopped.
Having stolen items on me was not a treasure, but it still spoke to my heart. I treasured the thought that the boy wanted to make me happy. I had made him happy in my classroom; now he wanted to do the same for me.
Another year, I had told students how much I loved the Spider Man comics. This was years before there was a movie on the webbed creature. They loved to hear my excitement, as I would tell Spider Man episodes. It made me become a person, just as they were, not someone who came in from nowhere at the beginning of the day and return to nowhere at the end of it. This is the typical thought of a student, that there is no chance a teacher has any other kind of life.
As Christmas came around that year, a student approached me, having something wrapped for me. It was rolled up tightly, a ribbon circling the gift several times. His eyes were big, standing in front of me, as I unwrapped his gift. Inside the wrappings was his own treasure; a very well worn comic book of Spider Man. I almost started to cry, it meant so much to me. He had so little at his house, yet he wanted me to have his most valuable possession. This meant more to me than the many boxes of chocolates teachers were getting from students living in other neighborhoods. I will never forget the token of love shown. He knew what Christmas was truly about, not the television ads on what would bring meaning and happiness.
I had another highly-prized gift handed to me another year. The mother of a particular student did not like me. She truly despised me. Her mentally challenged son had passed from one year to the next, playing games all day long. Now that I had him, I did not want the games. I wanted him to learn to read, write and do math problems. His mother was furious I was having him work. Sometimes, he would come up to my desk to warn me his mom was coming by after school to yell at me. He would continue to come up numerous times on that particular day, to tell me the time was getting closer for his mom to yell at me.
In time, the mother began to see how much her son had learned. He was asking her to buy the classical music I played in the class as they worked, had outstanding penmanship, could read and was multiplying numbers. She was now showing up after school, coming in with her sponge and bucket of suds, to clean the classroom for me. She would ask me if I remembered how much she used to hate me, as she scrubbed one desk after another. I grinned, assuring her I certainly did recall those times.
At the last week of school, her son proudly handed me a wrapped gift from him and his mother. He said they saw the book on a table outside a store and decided it would be the perfect gift for me. Inside the wrappings was a book. The title was, Love and Desire and Hate by Joan Collins. A little summary inside the used book cover talks about the love, greed and lust action, a definite page turner. It is signed, with pride and with love, by both the mother and son. This became another treasure, though I must admit, I never did read it. The mother came by after school, her eyes twinkling as bright as her son’s, over this gift. I hugged them both, saying how special it was to me. The mother, who worked two or three jobs to put food on the table, said they just had to buy the book for me, as I was now important in their lives.
I would never trade my riches with anyone. If I did, I would lose those treasured memories that came with them. True treasures always come from the beloved heart.
Monday, June 28, 2010
A YEAR AGO TODAY
My daughter and I just returned from visiting the roadside memorial site of four teens, losing their lives a year ago today, at the hands of a drunk driver. One of the teens was the best friend of my daughter. They had met in second grade, never imagining that nine years later, one of them would meet their fate.
I wrote about Alyssa a year ago, about her giggle, the camping trips my husband would take the two girls on every spring break, her creativeness and how smart she was. It has been a tough year for my child, not understanding how such precious lives could end in the way they did. Hundreds of teens have asked the same question. Somehow, all in our community had connection to one of the four. It may have been through pre-school, soccer, church, drama or in one of the elementary, mid, or high schools they attended. At times, it was a friend of a friend. Of course, there are also the many relatives, some living across the ocean from us. All are touched in ways that words cannot explain.
Several were to graduate from high school this year. At my daughter’s graduation, she wore her bright pink high top shoes, with Alyssa’s name written along the side, to honor her. Alyssa loved wearing her own pair of pink high tops. When my daughter found a pair just like her best friend’s, it made the two of them giggle with glee.
We arrived at the site while a steady, light, rain fell. There stood four wooden crosses, standing about 3 feet high, two feet across. Each has the name of one of the victims beautifully written on the crosspiece. Objects having a meaning to the particular teen surround them. There are religious items, candy, stuffed animals, jewelry, candles and endless flowers. A marker is there, for people to write messages on the crosses, each board being about 3 inches wide. Alyssa’s cross is a bright pink, while the others are in shades of blue, yellow and pink. Added today by my daughter was the Cookie Monster, the Sesame Street character Alyssa adored. It will remain in a plastic bag at the bottom of the cross, shielding it from whatever the weather may be.
After pulling a few weeds from the wet ground from all the crosses, we remained silent, reflecting upon our times with Alyssa, remembering her from childhood years to the young woman she had become. We wrapped our arms around one another’s waist, our eyes never leaving her marker. The rain continued to come down. It did not cease us from the cherished memories we carried.
Many more teens had been there before us today. Brightly colored fresh flowers were placed thoughtfully before all of the crosses. There were roses, sunflowers and so much more. As we were there, more teens arrived, all placing something in front of one or more of the memorials. A silent smile was shared through the rain with each newcomer, each then going back into his or her own world, treasuring special moments of the past. Cars zipped by on the highway behind us, but were non-fazing.
Standing there, I began to picture how many futures were lost that day. No one will get to see how he or she could have changed the world, with his or her knowledge, music or laughter. There will be no marriages, children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren that in turn could have changed the futures for many. One of them may have been the one to find the cure for a terminal disease or a solution to save our world from the deteriorating environment, war or the terrors we face today. What a useless loss. Alcohol won out that day, destroying not only those lives that day, but in all of those left behind. Nothing will ever be the same. We love you Alyssa, Rose, Julian and Kate
I wrote about Alyssa a year ago, about her giggle, the camping trips my husband would take the two girls on every spring break, her creativeness and how smart she was. It has been a tough year for my child, not understanding how such precious lives could end in the way they did. Hundreds of teens have asked the same question. Somehow, all in our community had connection to one of the four. It may have been through pre-school, soccer, church, drama or in one of the elementary, mid, or high schools they attended. At times, it was a friend of a friend. Of course, there are also the many relatives, some living across the ocean from us. All are touched in ways that words cannot explain.
Several were to graduate from high school this year. At my daughter’s graduation, she wore her bright pink high top shoes, with Alyssa’s name written along the side, to honor her. Alyssa loved wearing her own pair of pink high tops. When my daughter found a pair just like her best friend’s, it made the two of them giggle with glee.
We arrived at the site while a steady, light, rain fell. There stood four wooden crosses, standing about 3 feet high, two feet across. Each has the name of one of the victims beautifully written on the crosspiece. Objects having a meaning to the particular teen surround them. There are religious items, candy, stuffed animals, jewelry, candles and endless flowers. A marker is there, for people to write messages on the crosses, each board being about 3 inches wide. Alyssa’s cross is a bright pink, while the others are in shades of blue, yellow and pink. Added today by my daughter was the Cookie Monster, the Sesame Street character Alyssa adored. It will remain in a plastic bag at the bottom of the cross, shielding it from whatever the weather may be.
After pulling a few weeds from the wet ground from all the crosses, we remained silent, reflecting upon our times with Alyssa, remembering her from childhood years to the young woman she had become. We wrapped our arms around one another’s waist, our eyes never leaving her marker. The rain continued to come down. It did not cease us from the cherished memories we carried.
Many more teens had been there before us today. Brightly colored fresh flowers were placed thoughtfully before all of the crosses. There were roses, sunflowers and so much more. As we were there, more teens arrived, all placing something in front of one or more of the memorials. A silent smile was shared through the rain with each newcomer, each then going back into his or her own world, treasuring special moments of the past. Cars zipped by on the highway behind us, but were non-fazing.
Standing there, I began to picture how many futures were lost that day. No one will get to see how he or she could have changed the world, with his or her knowledge, music or laughter. There will be no marriages, children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren that in turn could have changed the futures for many. One of them may have been the one to find the cure for a terminal disease or a solution to save our world from the deteriorating environment, war or the terrors we face today. What a useless loss. Alcohol won out that day, destroying not only those lives that day, but in all of those left behind. Nothing will ever be the same. We love you Alyssa, Rose, Julian and Kate
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
THE WRONG NUMBER
Not long ago, I answered the phone, with caller asking if a Sandra was there. I immediately recognized the voice on the other end. She and her husband were on the same educational tour I took of Europe, nearly 30 years ago. After the tour, we stayed in touch through handwritten letters, as there was no e-mail back then. In time, our lives got busy, losing touch with one another. I always wondered how she and her husband were doing; now she was on the other end of the phone!
I told her this was not Sandra’s number, a neighbor of hers in Texas, but Marie, a person from the tour so long ago. She is in her eighties now. It took awhile for her to recall who I was, but after a minute or so, all the memories of our three weeks together returned.
Neither one of us know how she called me, as it wasn’t close to the number she was dialing, much less being in the same state! It was a joy to visit, though bittersweet, as she told me of her husband’s passing three years ago. The love story she told me that day, of the two of them, brought tears to my eyes. She was with him until his last breath, speaking of their love for one another until he shut his eyes for the last time.
I promised her I would send her a photo of my family. She got a giggle in her voice, saying that only ten days before, she had pulled out my letters from the past and photos I had sent. She, too, was wondering how I was doing, as she read the letters from long ago. Now, here I was on the phone, by her dialing a wrong number! Both of us said God had to have a part in this.
She did not get to reach Sandra through her phone call that afternoon. Rather, we both received an unanticipated joy, flooding us with beautiful memories. Tears and laughter shared reminded us just how precious and dear life is.
I told her this was not Sandra’s number, a neighbor of hers in Texas, but Marie, a person from the tour so long ago. She is in her eighties now. It took awhile for her to recall who I was, but after a minute or so, all the memories of our three weeks together returned.
Neither one of us know how she called me, as it wasn’t close to the number she was dialing, much less being in the same state! It was a joy to visit, though bittersweet, as she told me of her husband’s passing three years ago. The love story she told me that day, of the two of them, brought tears to my eyes. She was with him until his last breath, speaking of their love for one another until he shut his eyes for the last time.
I promised her I would send her a photo of my family. She got a giggle in her voice, saying that only ten days before, she had pulled out my letters from the past and photos I had sent. She, too, was wondering how I was doing, as she read the letters from long ago. Now, here I was on the phone, by her dialing a wrong number! Both of us said God had to have a part in this.
She did not get to reach Sandra through her phone call that afternoon. Rather, we both received an unanticipated joy, flooding us with beautiful memories. Tears and laughter shared reminded us just how precious and dear life is.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
PUTTING AWAY
I took down the Christmas tree today, with its withered branches and dried needles collecting on the floor. It is always hard to take it down, so full of memories. I see play dough ornaments and Popsicle stick stars made by the children years ago. I look at the small, carved hummingbird we bought on our first date, and others given to us as wedding presents. I admire the lovely trinkets presented to us through the years from dear friends and decorations passed on from generations before us. Each child has his or her own list of meaningful ornaments, so they may take those special ones to their own homes one day, ready to start their own family’s tree. It is a bittersweet moment, as I place decorations into their own boxes. I remember why each was a unique adornment for this child, from the time their tiny hands were holding it up in wonder.. Generations will pass away, but the stories, the laughter, the tears of excitement and the love of tradition will never end. Faces will continue to light up as memories are brought alive, just as the Spirit lights up our souls with His radiance every Christmas.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
REMEMBERING
Today is a bit of a 'gray day.' A few inches of snow have fallen, with the skies promising more. I do not see any 'glistening in the snow,' as the approaching storm nears. It is two days before Christmas, when family and friends gather, bringing much conversation and laughter. But in a number of homes, there will be a sense of quiet, grieving over those passing away this year. In Santa Fe, we are especially hit, losing four teens at once this summer, due to a drunk driver hitting their car. Life has to go one for the families, but it a different kind of life now. Nothing will ever be the same. Through our joys, let us remember all of those having sorrow, praying to God that they will feel the love and gentleness of the Holy Spirit as they go through each 'season of memories.'
Friday, December 4, 2009
Happiness Souffle
This morning, a former grade school student came by to say hello. Knowing that she was coming, I was going through old files to see if I had saved something she had written, nearly 30 years ago. What I found was a compilation of short essays and poems done by my gifted students. It was fun to go through memories with her, looking at various journal entries she and others had written. One student had written a wonderful 'recipe,' calling it a "Happiness Souffle." She gathered together friends and good times, stirring them together well. Added to this was a pinch of forgiveness, blending softly. During the blending, happy memories were to be tossed in. Finding a nice place to let it set, care was to be stirred in, letting everything sit for awhile. When it is ready, do enjoy the happiness. What a beautiful recipe! It is one we need to remember to pull out and make often, not letting our busy and hectic lives bury this recipe at the bottom of a pile. We will never remember all that was in that pile, but we will remember all of the ingredients of this souffle. It is just what the Spirit of God ordered!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
While taking my teen to school this morning, she said she and her dad, who is out of town, now had a different place to let her off in the mornings. I asked her if I should turn left at the light, with her saying yes. As I was turning left, she called out a big no, I was supposed to be turning right. I was now going the opposite way than planned. We were laughing. I told her she said to turn left. She agreed, but that really meant I was to turn right, which made us laugh all the more so.
What a great way to begin the day, with a bit of laughter. We so often forget to do this, getting wrapped up in the mundane activities we go through each morning to start our day. Instead of thinking of laughter, we are thinking of how we must hurry, getting frantic. The 'hurry' aspect stays with us throughout the day. We have forgotten to laugh.
Think of memories you have to bring out the laughter. I shared a memory with a group recently. One of my children was in the kitchen, following a recipe for a school project. She was doing her preparations by the open kitchen window. My husband and I were sitting on the porch outside of this window. Another of my children walks into the kitchen, noticing egg shells are in the mixing bowl. We hear the question being asked of why were there were egg shells in the mix, the response was that the recipe asked for egg whites! No matter how many times I tell this story, I start laughing before I can get out the final line. On that particular day, my husband and I had to cover our mouths so we wouldn't be heard laughing, offending the cook. Of course, the cook now takes this cooking lesson in stride when the teasing begins.
May you, too, bring some sunshine to your day, thinking of past memories. May the Blessed Holy Spirit fill you warmth, love and laughter as you think of them!
What a great way to begin the day, with a bit of laughter. We so often forget to do this, getting wrapped up in the mundane activities we go through each morning to start our day. Instead of thinking of laughter, we are thinking of how we must hurry, getting frantic. The 'hurry' aspect stays with us throughout the day. We have forgotten to laugh.
Think of memories you have to bring out the laughter. I shared a memory with a group recently. One of my children was in the kitchen, following a recipe for a school project. She was doing her preparations by the open kitchen window. My husband and I were sitting on the porch outside of this window. Another of my children walks into the kitchen, noticing egg shells are in the mixing bowl. We hear the question being asked of why were there were egg shells in the mix, the response was that the recipe asked for egg whites! No matter how many times I tell this story, I start laughing before I can get out the final line. On that particular day, my husband and I had to cover our mouths so we wouldn't be heard laughing, offending the cook. Of course, the cook now takes this cooking lesson in stride when the teasing begins.
May you, too, bring some sunshine to your day, thinking of past memories. May the Blessed Holy Spirit fill you warmth, love and laughter as you think of them!
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