First, never underestimate the power of a hand-written note that expresses your appreciation. Of all the gifts I’ve received from parents, those heartfelt notes mean the most.

When I was a young teacher in Florida, I included every child in the Christmas program. (This was in ancient times when everyone in the community had grown up there, had gone to church together, and it was still politically correct to mention “Christmas” as the reason for the program.) At the end of the evening all the kids entered the auditorium, filled the aisles holding up tiny flashlights that resembled candles, and sang together, “Let There Be Peach on Earth.” It was a moving experience that I, for one, never forgot.

The next week I received a beautiful letter from the mother of three of my students. This woman had been abandoned by her husband when he learned that she had a progressive illness that would end her days in a wheelchair. (He claimed he was too young to be tied down to a “cripple”. Words I’d like to use describing him are inappropriate for this format.) She struggled alone to rear her children, all of whom were model students. In the entire school of 550 students, she was the only parent who spent the time to thank me for the work it took to coordinate that hour-long event. I have never forgotten her amazing kindness.

On the other hand, if you want to spend a little money for a gift, consider school supplies of any kind. All teachers spend an amazing amount of money providing for their students. Your remembering to give a box of chalk, a few pens or pencils, a package of index cards, a box of erasable markers, some pushpins for the bulletin board, or even a package of copy paper will delight your child’s teacher.

Another gift that truly gives every day is the insistence that your child respect his teacher. The child who uses good manners is the child who makes a teacher’s day. Every child, at one time or another, has a complaint about her teacher. When you listen and reply that you understand the child’s concern, remember to state that adults make mistakes too. Check with the teacher to get the other side of the story before you begin to criticize the teacher in front of your child. A child who begins to believe he can manipulate his parent into believing any situation he names at school—whether it is real or imagined—is an unhappy child. Many problems for the child and the teacher can be avoided by a conference with parent, teacher and child present.

If you truly want to spend more than a dollar or two, you can choose a gift card, a flower arrangement or a box of thank you notes. All are gifts that most teachers appreciate.

Not every teacher is competent at keeping a live plant living and all of them are overloaded with mugs. Many teachers have health issues that preclude eating sweets. Some are allergic to perfumes and soaps or candles that are scented. Most teachers have a houseful of “knickknacks” already.

The bottom line is that you don’t have to feel a necessity to gift your child’s teacher with a thing. Volunteering to help out in the classroom will give you an insight on what a teacher’s day is like. The teacher will appreciate the extra pair of hands and you will get an education you might never have imagined.

The grandfather of one of my students was talking with me recently. Along with his dear wife, he is now rearing his three grandchildren. He insisted, “If every parent or guardian had to spend one day a year in school, some real changes could be made when the person sees what a teacher goes through. Too many people think teachers are just sitting around. They have no idea what teaching is like today.”

The holidays are a time of sharing good will. Be sure to include your child in deciding on a gift for the teacher. His uniquely wrapped present or her carefully drawn card will show the teacher that thought and effort went into the gift’s selection and after all, that’s what showing appreciation is all about.

• ARTifacts, An Art & Antique Emporium
• Hodgepodge, where you gather your home
• Rogate’s Boutique
• Ingredients, for the gourmet in you

All of these businesses are locally owned and offer shoppers the most unique inventories and fare available.

Get a jump on your preparations for your holiday celebrations and join us for this day of festivities!

This review ran in Clarksville Online on Nov. 29, 2006. But as my granddaughter and I unpacked my collection of snowmen for the coming holiday, my carefully wrapped musical plush Snowman emerged, to the delight of both of us. Everything else was dropped as we sat in the living room, puling the cord that triggered a music box version of the film’s hit song: Walking in the Air. As a Christmas gift idea for the child all of us, and a reminder of just how good animation can be, I reprint this review, with an updated video clip. Enjoy.

I can’t recall how many copies of The Snowman I’ve bought over the years, but it’s been quite a few. I usually end up giving them away to children who watch and are captivated by its’ magic. And then I buy another copy.

To the uninitiated, The Snowman is a delightful, animated short film about a young boy, James, who builds a snowman that springs to life as midnight chimes. It has only a few lines of introduction at the beginning; the remainder of the film is a symphonic soundtrack that follows their adventures, first as Snowman explores James’ world, putting on pants with suspenders, trying on hats, discovering a music box and the dangerous warmth of a fire. James and his fantasy creation dance across the floor of the house before heading outside, where the he and Snowman, in his mossy green hat and scarf embark on a journey north, racing through the forest and flying through the sky to a magical gathering of snowpeople in the far, far north.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The artwork is a palette of soft colors, gentle curves and feathered edges. The movement is soft at times, buoyant and bright at others.

This Oscar winning short animated film (1982), created and written by Raymond Briggs, was directed by Diane Jackson, has brief narration by David Bowie and includes the song Walking in the Air, sung in by Peter Autry . It runs a mere 26 minutes, sans dialogue, but its magic, its’ enchantment, are timeless.

Watching The Snowman has become a Christmas tradition. It is available as a film (videotape or DVD), and as a musical soundtrack. The Snowman has quietly grown into an industry, with Snowman paraphernelia of all kinds available in stores and online. I have it on videotape, on DVD, and audio track as well. And every winter, a softly stuffed snowman, with its own pull cord that provides a few moments of enchanting music, emerges from hibernation to rest on my pillow, or somewhere highly visible in my living room, where he stays until spring.

In the midst of the flash, splash, action and noise of modern toys and audio/visuals deemed fit for Christmas giving, and hyped in all the major markets, pause for a moment and consider the giving a child, or an entire family, the simple beauty of The Snowman. It really is a gift worth giving.

In its new five-year contract, Retail, Wholesale and Department Store Union has opted to ditch the familiar paid holiday in favor of a change that will please the plants 700 Muslim workers: Eid-al-Fitr, which occurs at the end of Ramadan. The contract contains the same number of paid holidays as before; the holidays have simply changed. Eid al-Fitr, which this year happens on Oct. 1, ends the Muslim faith’s month of fasting.

Ramadan or Ramadhan is the holiest month in Islam, when it is believed the Holy Quran “was sent down from heaven, a guidance unto men, a declaration of direction, and a means of Salvation”. Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar.

The Union in a press statement said the plant employs 700 Muslims, many of them Somalis, and called the decision a “contractual agreement” rather than a “religious accommodation,” adding that it was a majority rule decision. The Tyson Plant in Shelbyville is also the only Tyson facility that has a Muslim Prayer Room for the convenience of its workers. According to reports, the new holiday applies only to Union workers; other employees will retain their usual Labor Day holiday.

The staff and writers at

Clarksville Online

wish all our readers the happiest of holidays

as you celebrate the spirit of Christmas.

First, let’s talk about the all-important meal table. You’re probably planning on having some friends and family at a table together for the holidays, so why not give them something good to look at besides your cooking. For this project, a little bit can go a long way. First, consider a tablecloth. Nothing dresses up a dull table like a tablecloth. Even a cheap one from Wal-Mart can help spruce the kitchen up. And, don’t even think about forgetting the centerpiece. What else will guests have to talk about when the awkward silences and family feuds set in? This is where some creativity comes in play.

For my centerpiece this year, I used a simple glass candleholder with some festive poinsettias on it. I also had some holiday garland laying around, so I opted to wrap it around. Then, I added a pumpkin spice tea light. Presto! Instant centerpiece. You can get as creative as you like with this. You could also make a gingerbread house or even take a simple basket and fill it with fresh fruit and add in some greenery from your local arts and crafts store.

Next, let’s discuss stockings. Of course, you could go out and purchase beautifully hand crafted stockings or you could make your own and personalize them with glitter, fabric paint, feathers, ribbons, or whatever else you like. This is an excellent project for little ones because they get to create something that they will be able to enjoy for years to come. One day when they look back at what they created, they’ll think back to the excitement and joy of creating their own individualized stockings throughout the years. Be prepared to get messy, and give plenty of time for any glue or paint to dry. This year, we took new white tube socks that we didn’t need and fabric painted them to create some very unique holiday stockings.

Perhaps the crowning glory of your holiday decorations is the Christmas tree. This year, since our Christmas tree is only four feet tall, we wrapped a large box in Christmas wrapping paper and dressed it up as a present to place our tree on to give it more height. Next, we placed items on the branches that had special meaning to it. We have ornaments we’ve had since we were youngsters; I added a breast cancer awareness bracelet, a key chain that I liked, and we added items from trees of family and friends.

We strung popcorn to give it some more decoration, added lights, and even put some Halloween garland that was leftover on there. We topped it with a witch’s hat from Halloween and a pair of 3D glasses from my first 3D movie I ever saw. Some might call it tacky, they can even call it ugly, but there’s not a single decoration on that tree that doesn’t mean something special to us.

Now that your home is decorated for the season, don’t spend all your time there. Go out and enjoy the holiday season. Take a stroll through Christmas on the Cumberland. The light display is on Riverside Drive and is open from 5:00 PM to 10:00 PM Sunday through Thursday. Friday and Saturday, it stays open until 11:00 PM. Or, you could go out and enjoy a live theatre production at our local Roxy Regional Theatre. They offer a “pay what you can” night to make live Theatre available to everyone. Go out and have a cup of coffee at one of Clarksville’s many local cafés. I enjoy Mugsy’s on Fort Campbell Boulevard. They’ve got a reward program where after ten drinks your eleventh is free.

So after you’ve managed to decorate and enjoy your holiday season on a budget, sit back and relax. Spend time with family and friends and let them know how much you enjoy having them in your life.

Don’t forget to leave milk and cookies out for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. Remember to wish for peace on earth, goodwill towards men, and money leftover to pay January’s bills!

Best Wishes,

The first item on my list is my family. I have a loving partner of over two years. Christian is more than I could ever want in a partner. He’s my best friend through the good times, he’s my rock through the bad times, and he’s my shoulder to cry on through the sad times. Most people wouldn’t notice at first glance, but he’s the most sensitive and caring person I’ve ever known, and I love him more than he’ll ever know. His cousin John who lives with us is one of the greatest men I’ve ever had the privilege to know. He’s one of those rare souls you meet who you can always count on to get you through whatever is going on in life.

Christian’s family has taken me in and become an extension of my own family. They are outstanding people who are supportive and loving without boundaries. My own family has always been a big part of my life. They’re boisterous, caring, funny, compassionate, crazy, and supportive and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. They’ve taught me more than values and morals. They’ve taught me about living, loving, and laughing.

The next item on my list is my friends. I don’t know what I’d do without them. They’ve been with me throughout everything, always there when I need them, and some of the greatest people I know. I believe firmly that family is more than just the people you share a biological connection to. These people are a big part of my family.

The final item on my list is my life that God has given me. I have a home, a partner, family and friends, a job that pays the bills, and a few extra dollars in my wallet. I’m a lucky man. I’m breathing, walking, and talking so I really can’t complain too much. I have most of what I want, and more than enough of what I need. I couldn’t ask for much more in life.

I hope that sometime between the shopping, cooking, and commotion this year that you’ll stop, if only for a moment, to remember all that you’re thankful for. Let the people in your life know just how much they mean to you. Take time to call those people you don’t see often and tell them how thankful you are that they’re a part of your life. Take notice of what you have and what you really need to survive. Chances are, you’ll find that you’ve got an abundance of love, laughter, and life. Remember to share it with those people who are a part of your life. Happy holidays, from my home to yours!

Regards,

This holiday event is indeed a gift, this blazing display of lights and imagery reflected in the dark wintry waters of the Cumberland. It launches the start of the holiday season and will run through January 1.

The familiar Christmas villages, small vignettes, snowpeople, skaters, Santa’s workshop with dancing elves, and two arched lighted tunnels line the meandering walkways of the park, inviting a evening stroll and the casual camaraderie of friends and will be familiar to anyone who has visited in the past.

This year’s new additions include 23 additional lighted display pieces that feature gingerbread boys and girls playing, Santa fishing, a boy fishing, jumping fish, Santa water skiing, a sea monster, skating bears, and a custom-made display honoring the 101st Airborne Division. Over a million lights have been installed.

In our city, it’s free and open to anyone who cares to stroll the walkways in the dark of evenin, though many communities use events of this kind as fundraisers and actually charge fees for the privilege of viewing. Christmas on the Cumberland lights up Sunday through Thursday from 5-10 p.m. and Fridays and Saturdays from 5-11 p.m. A Limited number of wheelchairs are available for those who need such assistance in accessing the displays.

Created in 1999, the year of the city’s tornado, the concept has quickly become tradition and is one of the best things the city has done, both for its citizens and for its image as a community on the grow. For more information on this event, call the Parks and recreation Department at 648-6129 or 648-6124.

I hibernate after Thanksgiving, and I plan. I even start writing my Christmas cards, which I usually buy in July. Actually, I bought mine in July but they are crisply burnt now.

For many years, when children were living great distances away, and there was just my mom and I, Thanksgiving dinner was relegated to “a restaurant with very early dinners for two, where we could go in very casual clothes,” since turkey dinner was a good thing but we had other places to go and things to do. We headed into the Berkshires, to a place called Dayville, the far end of a body of water created by the Littleville Dam. There, on a winding little, pot-holed, frost-heaved road shrouded by forest, occasionally visited by eagles, we followed the river to this edge of this lake, parking our car near a favored fishing spot that was always the best place to catch trout, sneak a summer swim below the rapids, and cut mountain laurel and not get caught. It’s an abundant but protected plant in Massachusetts. I like to think that my careful pruning resulted in the ever-increasing amounts of spotless laurel to be culled there. No matter how much I cut in any given year, the next season’s crop was twice as opulent.

It was hardly a glamorous undertaking. Mom and I, clad in boots, winter jackets, hats and gloves, burrs stuck to our slacks, pruning shears in one hand and a box of dark green trash bags to stash the branches I the other, climbing through brush and brambles. All kinds of evergreen cuttings, the elusive black alder berries, even the open, dried milkweed pods, could be left in the open, but laurel…well, that’s another story.

Rain didn’t matter; sleet was a bit challenging, and snow made mom’s footing a bit trickier, but tradition is tradition. We filled the back seat with evergreens, and the trunk with bags of laurel. We’d often find ourselves grabbing a nice rock here or there for our gardens. Years later, it was one of the sacred places where my mom’s ashes were scattered.

In the ‘90s, post cancer, post car wreck, pre- and in early Alzheimer’s, the sign of a successful Thanksgiving was my mother’s porch full of “greens.”

My mom’s window boxes were filled, laurel interspersed with pine, the bright red stalks of berries providing the festive finishing touch. It didn’t end there, though. We wound Christmas lights around the arches of her porch, all around the wishing well built by her son-in-law during a summer visit, and around and around the forsythia bush that had moved from our old family home to senior housing, a handicapped unit when my dad was still living, and later a highly desirable end unit that was my mom’s last real home of her own.

That forsythia moved as much as she did. Given its size, it was rather like moving a tree every half-dozen years. In the wake of my father’s death, when my mom had to vacate the handicapped unit they occupied for years, my friend, Bear, came over, dug a pool-sized trench around the beloved forsythia, bundled its root ball and carryied it across the development, where he dug a second pool-sized holed and transplanted it. A Herculean effort. I have good friends.

As I sat among the piles of greenery, I often worked into the dark of evening, by porch light, to finish the task at hand. Mom’s neighbor, Janet, increasingly housebound, would arise Friday morning, when all of America seemed headed out to shop, to find the garden barrel on the edge of her porch overflowing with greens, as did an elderly couple across the street, and a few others among my mother’s friends. I kept enough for my own use as well.

Mom once gathered these things herself, and did the arranging as well. I used to accompany her. As her hands grew weaker, as the haze in her mind clouded over, she would follow along beside me, sometimes holding the bag, sometimes simply watching, maybe remembering, but always enjoying that annual sojourn. I’d play old Sinatra tunes as we drove, or some Glenn Miller music, watching her finger lightly tap the rhythm. Later, she’d sit in her porch rocker and watch, feeble hands selecting choice stems, slowly passing her loving tradition of arranging her porch, and all the neighbors’ porches, to me. I was happy to do it.

My mother’s been gone several years now, and from the distance of a thousand miles, I find myself wanting to go back into those hills, to emrge with a bagful of laurel, with the berries and the pines, but I want to pick them with her. Or with my daughter. Passing on the tradition.

I thought about the Thanksgivings spent at my friend Bill’s house, and another when my friend Robin came down from Vermont to spend that holiday weekend feasting on Bill’s cooking, touring the Norman Rockwell museum and sipping mulled cider at the Red Lion Inn.

This year, I came home with bowls of delectable leftovers to a home not unlike the last apartment my mother lived in. I found myself looking through some of the pictures spared by the fire, listening to music, digging into my Christmas box. I took out my snowman collection (in storage at the time of the fire) and scattered them around the house. They’ll stay up through February, simply because I like them.

I started writing the letters that will accompany my holiday cards, and put more of my new home in order. It’s a long slow process of acknowledging loss and celebrating found items that were thought to be lost. It’s a ritual of keeping in touch with family.

After my mother’s death, I carried her most cherished perennial to Tennessee in my carry-on, its green foliage spilling out of the top of my luggage; the steward even brought me water for my plant. I wonder fleetingly if I’d need a second seat on a plane for a laurel bush. Or permission from homeland security. The root ball would be pretty big. But the ground will be frozen in January, and the best laurel will be rooted deeply in snow and ice covered ground. I’ll just have to wait until summer, and think about bringing it back to Tennessee on a bus.

Thanksgiving, 2006, was bittersweet. The trauma of fire is burned into our memories; the kindness of friends and strangers was at the forefront of our minds as we each spoke of our reasons to be thankful. Another tradition.

I didn’t cut any laurel this year, or greens or berries. I’m the matriarch of the family (that sounds so old, and supposes so much wisdom). But I had toddlers climbing all over “Grandma Chris,” playing Inky Dinky Spider and singing the Teapot song. My granddaughters asked me if I could “smell the snow” yet (when I do, I’ll call them). And I didn’t go hungry. And I had a home to go back to.

Christmas is just around the corner now, and I am not quite sure where I’ll be on December 25. Clarksville. Western Massachusetts. Cape Cod. Connecticut. Vermont. Kansas. I have half a dozen choices. I want to taste falling snowflakes and laugh with friends. I have them everywhere. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll create a new tradition along the way.

Click here to view the embedded video.

This is a classic butterball turkey commercial from way back in 1959, just a bit of turkey history to share with you all today.