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Where's Grandma Moses when I need her?

 

‘Twas the week before Christmas when all through the park, all the creatures were stirring; they like it in the dark. The applications were set in the mailbox with care in hopes that a James River Park license plate soon would be there.

The salamanders were nestled all snug in the mud while visions of license plates danced in the crud. And FOJRP board members in our kerchiefs and I in my cap had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out in the park there arose such a clatter, we sprang to the river to see what was the matter. When what to our wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature truck and actual deer, with a little old driver so lively and bright, we knew in a moment it must be Ralph White.

He was dressed all in khaki from his head to his toe except for the kneesocks if you really must know. A bundle of presents he had in his truck but he said the park needed a couple of bucks. His eyes–how they twinkled! His dimples how merry. His cheeks were all bearded–park employees are hairy.

He spoke a few words, but went straight to his work, and filled us with awe; then dealt with a jerk. As anyone who loves the James River Park knows, we’d all be so lost without Ralph’s poetry and prose.

He sprang to his truck, to his team used his bullhorn and away they all drove like the scrape of a sharp thorn. But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of state, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a JRPS license plate!

This is what it looks like when I finally stop stalling and pull out the makings of the Christmas stockings.

even messier than it looks

It’s reminiscent of some sort of holiday monster with the bells like eyes and the needles tentacles–vaguely lobster-like.  At least I have all the colors, needles, and the bells.  And of course, there’s the pattern from Bernat, a well-used, creased and crinkled copy of my grandmother’s well-used copy, full of her handwriting when she was mapping out different kids’ names.

Who are Rebecca and Jennifer and Cecelia, anyway?

Isn’t it said that a stocking of a thousand rows begins with 1 stitch? Heck, I’ve got the whole first row cast on…of the first of two stockings I’ve got to make and send up to Rhode Island…or else.   Shoot, I started my daughter’s stocking on Christmas Eve of her first Christmas. Knit all day and into the evening, through the reading of A Visit From St. Nicholas (the Grandma Moses’ illustrated version). After the story, when it was time to hang the stockings up, it wasn’t quite sewn up yet. My 4 year old son was worried, but the 9 month old was quite relaxed. I finished it before I went to bed, and all was well, so I’m barely feeling the pressure for these two stockings…yet.

Here’s how the first one looks now, hung by the chimney with care:

Babies don’t need presents anyway.

I’m back!

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