Category: Aging

Making Magic

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Each of us have so many Christmas stories, many of which are worthy of a spot on the Hallmark movie channel. One of my favorite yuletide tales came from author Truman Capote who shared memories of one holiday that he spent with his aunts in Alabama. It was a lovely vignette that spoke volumes of his love for his relatives and their love for him. There is much beauty in the humblest of celebrations and my own childhood is filled with them.

After my father died we were always on a tight budget, but my mother was a very creative soul who had a way of making virtually everything fun. We’d make dozens of cookies while Christmas music played on our Victrola. We loved to sing along while we worked which gave Mama the idea of teaching us how to sing The Little Drummer Boy in four part harmony. First she listened to the song just enough to transcribe all of the words. Then she assigned our various parts and showed us how to put all of them together. It was a great deal of fun, much like it was for the boys who sang with Bing Crosby in the movie Going My Way. It took us quite some time to perfect our routine, but when we finally achieved perfection we felt like singing angels.

Mama was somewhat mischievous when it came to searching for a Christmas tree. She always seemed to choose the day with the most horrible weather for that adventure. She would even laugh when the temperature became lower and lower and the rain began to fall by declaring, “It’s the perfect day for getting our tree.” I think that somehow she thought that the weather outside had to be frightful for us to fully appreciate the experience. We’d inspect the ones in our price range as though we were judges in a beauty pageant until we all agreed on the perfect candidate. Our mother always insisted on sawing off the bottom of the trunk and storing the tree in a bucket of water overnight before setting it in the center of the picture window in our living room. Then the decorating would begin complete with some of those cookies we had made and maybe even some hot chocolate that she prepared with real cocoa and milk. She had particular rules about how each step of the process should be done and the results were always glorious. What I loved the most was the scent of the needles filling the house with the perfume of the season.

Mama loved to go out looking at the Christmas lights on people’s houses. One of the best places in the city back then was near the cemetery where our father was buried. I’m not quite sure how she worked her magic but she managed to make the ritual of putting flowers on his grave less sad by ending the task with ice cream and a drive along the enchanting streets. The best of the displays was a Nativity scene complete with the music of Silent Night. Of course that always inspired Mama to suggest that we sing our way back home. I always thought that my mother had missed her calling. She should have been a Broadway star. She was an extraordinary dancer and had a knack for music that was uncanny. She seriously had enough skill to be a professional even though she was completely self taught.

Because Mama so loved Christmas music we always attended the concert at our church put on by the members of the choir. It was one of the highlights of the season featuring all of the religious classics. My favorite was always “O Holy Night.” One of my best friend’s mom both accompanied the performers on the piano as well as singing in the most beautiful soprano voice. Our mother’s alto voice might have been a lovely addition to the choir, but for some reason she never thought to join.

Most children discover that their parents are Santa Claus by coming upon their gifts before Christmas Eve. I have no clue how our mom hid our presents, but there was never even a hint of what we would receive until we awoke on Christmas morning and discovered the magic that had occurred while we were sleeping. She even managed to put together bicycles  without our ever noticing. She kept us thinking that Santa was real far longer that most kids today do. I don’t know that she ever really told us the truth, but at some point we figured it out on our own.

Of course the very best part of Christmas for us was going to our grandmother’s house on Christmas Eve. Every single aunt, uncle and cousin was present on that evening and the tiny living room was bursting at the seams. Mama and her siblings competed with one another to see who would select Grandma’s favorite gift. It was fun watching their expressions as their mother opened each package. Many of them attempted to buy her dresses and shoes even though they knew that she would still walk around in her bare feet and would always cut the sleeves off of the bodice for comfort. She delighted all of us with her reactions, and watching her open the gifts was the highlight of Christmas.

There was a TG&Y store near our home when we were children. One Christmas we were shopping there when we saw a magnificent Nativity set. The figures were about a foot tall and they stood inside a wooden manger. We thought it was the most beautiful thing that we had ever seen but it cost about twenty dollars and that was a huge amount of money, Mama wasn’t sure that we should be so frivolous as to even think of purchasing it. Still we wanted that lovely creche so much. Even after we had gone home we kept speaking of it and wishing that we might display it in our living room. After dinner Mama got a strange look in her eyes and announced that if we gave up a little bit of this and that we might be able to afford the luxury. We cheered with glee and jumped into the car as excited as if we were going to buy bars of gold. When we set up the lovely statues on our formal dining table we thought that they were wonderful. We never once regretted our decision to throw caution to the wind because Mama would display that set every Christmas for the remainder of her life.

My brothers agreed to let me have what remained of the Nativity after our mother had died. By then all three of the kings were missing and Baby Jesus had lost an arm, but I am as proud of it as I am of anything that I own. Nobody will ever understand what that little display meant to us back in the long ago. Even though I could replace it with a much finer looking one from Costco I don’t have the heart to do so. I think that Jesus looks glorious just as He is.

The Christmas memories that we make with our children and grandchildren will last a lifetime no matter how simple they are. It’s about love and sharing and having fun. It’s making cookies, decorating the tree, singing and visiting with family and friends. It doesn’t take much to bring magic into our lives, just a bit of time and imagination.

Christmas Treasures

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I love decorating my home for the holidays, but it is always a somewhat bittersweet time. I don’t do coordinated colors and high fashion. Instead my Christmas ornaments come from a varied collection that dates back to a time even before my children were born. This year I have three trees in different rooms of the house. Each of them is filled with memories more than loveliness. They include trinkets made by my children and elegant china and crystal pieces. I have things that I purchased on vacations and at least twenty years of Hallmark ornaments that have tickled my fancy. Friends and family members who have gone to heaven gave me a number of the things that hang on the green limbs of my trees and I recall the times that we shared each time that I take the treasures out of the seven boxes that store them for eleven months out of the year. I shed a little tear here and there as I think back over the people and the years that each piece represents. Setting up my trees is a nostalgic time that requires just the right music or Christmas movie running in the background while I work to place each ornament just so.

I laughed this year as I hung the proof of my longtime loyalty to the Houston Astros front and center on the big tree in my great room. I have two ornaments celebrating the team that I purchased so long ago that I can’t recall exactly when or where I came upon them. Other teams are represented as well. Of course I have one from the University of Houston, but I also boast a little sled from Purdue and a bauble from Oklahoma State University that I purchased on the occasion of my brother’s graduation on a bitterly cold December day. Perhaps my most unusual team decoration is a Houston Oiler blue football player made out of yarn emblazoned with the number of the kicker Tony Fritsch. I bought that one at a craft sale long before the Oilers had moved to Tennessee and changed their name. Perhaps it’s time for me to find a J.J. Watt.

My first Hallmark ornament was a replica of Mickey Mouse as Steamboat Willie. It portrays him whistling and steering his ship so contentedly that I smile every single time I see it. To this day it remains my favorite among all of the members of my now extensive collection. I have an obvious preference for all things Mickey or Minnie. Various renditions of them dominate my selections. This year I added a metal lunchbox with Mickey’s image that even includes a tiny thermos inside. That one takes me back to my youth and the warm milk that I drank along with sandwiches that were always a bit stale after sitting in my locker for several hours. I can almost smell the aroma of all of the homemade lunches that my classmates brought and I hear the clink of the lids at they clattered open on the long tables where we sat never dreaming that we would one day grow old.

I also have a thing for Snoopy and Charlie brown. I can’t seem to get enough of those delightful characters. My favorite in the mix shows the whole gang singing in front of a scraggly tree. It makes me think of some of the fresh trees that we had when I was a child. It took a bit of work and a great deal of tinsel to transform them, but when they were finished they were so lovely. I used to lie on the floor gazing above at the lights and the shimmering icicles. Our mother gave us very serious lessons on how to distribute the silver slivers so that they hung just right. I haven’t seen any of those of late and wonder if they are even made anymore. They were almost as messy as the needles that fell from the limbs of the trees, but they were enchanting as they reflected in the glimmer of the colored lights.

For several years now I have purchased the annual Swarovski crystal ornament, a tradition that I began in 2005 after visiting the factory in Austria. Each year is celebrated with a different snowflake crafted in beautiful glass and marked with a tiny silver date plate. They hang so delicately and catch the light in their gorgeous facets. I have made it a yearly ritual to purchase the newest one around the time of my November birthday. I suspect that the lovely creations will one day become heirlooms along with the china gingerbread men that I collected for many years.

When I was still working I signed up to purchase a set of Victorian houses that came to my house once a month for at least two years. They are quite delightful to me and represent the kind of home that I often dreamed of owning, but was never quite able to do. They remind me of the structures in the Houston Heights, a neighborhood where my grandparents lived when I was very young, and where my father-in-law now resides. They literally speak of Christmas to me and the gatherings that we shared each year when my daughters were growing up. We always drove to my in-law’s house so excitedly in anticipation of a great feast and lots of love and laughter. My mother-in-law eventually passed the holiday tradition down to me when she found the efforts needed to cook for so many to be too taxing. Even though I have done my best to create a new tradition, I suspect that everyone who once went to her home misses the feel of that old house and her special touch as much as I do.

I’ve got Harry Potter and Cinderella, golden aspen leaves and glittering pine cones, marshmallow men and gnomes, angels and nativity scenes. The story of my Christmas life fills the trees, telling of fun and friendships and memories. Tying all of it together is Santa Claus who laughs and smiles and glitters with glee. I’m a sucker for anything prtraying the jolly old man. I so vividly recall the magic of his visits when I was young. I can still feel the excitement of trying to sleep on Christmas Eve so that his sleigh might land on our roof to deliver toys for me and my brothers. I never quite understood how Santa did all of the wondrous things that he did each year, but I believed with all of my heart, and I still do. Christmas is truly a time for family and friendships and love and maybe even a miracle or two.

It’s been a tough year for so many in Texas, Florida, California and Puerto Rico. Many of us  have lost loved ones and worried over those who are very sick. I suspect that we need Christmas a bit more than ever. It seems as though we are rushing it here in Houston, but I understand why. Our trauma has been great and we are still reeling and recovering from the floods. Things appear to be back to normal, but there are many who are not yet back in their homes. They may be spending Christmas in a hotel, an apartment or in a room in someone else’s house. Many of their own Christmas treasures washed away in the waters. I thought of them even as I gazed at my own collection that made it through unharmed. My tears of joy and nostalgia were tinged with a touch of sadness for all that has been lost. Still, the real message of Christmas is one of hope. The reason for the season is still about a baby born in a humble manger who came to provide us with the promise that we are never alone. Perhaps this year it is more important than ever to remember what our celebrations should be all about. It doesn’t really matter what our religious beliefs may be, but that Christmas is all about love.

She’s A Good Woman

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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She’s a good woman with a very difficult life. She doesn’t complain, but it is apparent that she is tired. The stress in her life only seems to grow in spite of her efforts to keep things running smoothly. She makes the best of a bad situation. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She’s adventurous and thought she would be having fun at this moment in her story. Instead life dealt her an unexpected curve to which she has responded with her usual aplomb. She’s a good woman, but one who has been pushed to the limit.

She saw an opportunity to really enjoy life with her man and they decided to grab the possibilities with gusto. They found a way to live out their retirement years in the mountains of Panama. They were healthy and hearty and would be around other expatriates, all for little or no cost compared to what they were paying in the states. They sold their house, their car, all but the most basic of their belongings and they were on their way to an exciting future with the well wishes of friends who understood that they were not ordinary souls.

They found a lovely place to live that came with a caretaker and a housekeeper who visited once a week as part of the rent. Their property was filled with exotic plants and animals and colors of every hue. They enjoyed the fruit that they were able to pick fresh from the trees and vines. They took long walks enjoying the vistas and the rarely changing mild temperatures that kept them feeling comfortable without a need for either air conditioning or heat. They enrolled in Spanish immersion classes even though most of the people around them spoke English. They wanted to totally experience the culture of their new home. It was all as wonderful as they had hoped. They had found paradise.

They met others like themselves, retirees who wanted to experience something a bit different from what they had known all of their lives. They would join their new friends for dinners and parties and game nights. They were an interesting lot with stories to tell of lives spent doing wondrous things. It seemed as though they had all found a tiny slice of heaven on earth and it was so good, at least until the unthinkable happened.

One day only six months into the move he had a stroke. It left him with difficulties that gravely limited his ability to do the things that they had so enjoyed. She immediately set to work helping him to recuperate because it is in her nature to do such things. She’s after all a good woman. Before long he was moving around the property with a walker. His appetite returned and she created healthy foods for him to eat. She worked with him to exercise his limbs and made the best of the unexpected situation. She kept his mind from drifting to dark places. She was devoted to his care and he was growing stronger by the day.

In spite of her efforts to save the remnants of the new and glorious lifestyle that they had created together it became apparent that he needed to be closer to his doctors. The long journeys into to town were tiring and took far too much time. She worried that another emergency might arise. They both agreed that it would be best to return to the states, and so they began to plan again. This time they wanted to try a small town instead of a big city like the one that they had initially left. Their research lead them to a college town in Georgia, the original capitol of the state. It appeared to have everything they might need. There would be doctors and a hospital nearby, an interesting history, a slow pace, and a reasonable cost of living. Perhaps he would even regain most of his health and they would be able to travel again, make new friends. It would be fun.

They packed their things taking mostly memories this time along with their clothing and the boxes of Christmas decorations that always followed them even when they left other items behind. They were excited about the prospects for the future as they boarded the plane but once again their hopes and dreams turned out differently than they had imagined. He had another stroke that left him more incapacitated than ever. For a time she spent most of her days with him in a hospital, preparing their new home in the evenings. He was bedridden, an invalid unable to even feed himself at times, but she’s a good woman and became more determined than ever to provide him with comfort and love. She took him home and has cared for him day after challenging day.

The weeks went by and then the months and the years. Her life is centered on his needs. She prepares the foods that he likes, changes his diapers, gives him his medications. She sleeps in another room but never soundly. She listens for his voice or signs of trouble. The home healthcare workers who come several times each week provide her with brief interludes during which she shops for groceries and sometimes even does something for herself. Now and again one of them becomes a friend.

She’s a good woman, but her life has become ever more difficult. She is far away from family and old friends. She finds new acquaintances at the grocery store or the resale shop where she finds gently used household items for her home. Now and again she meets someone at the apartment project where she lives, but they almost always eventually move away, and she has to start over again and again. She recently fell and broke her hip. It was one of the few times that her optimism began to falter. He had to go to a nursing home until she had recovered enough to care for him, but she was back on her feet in record time. She felt that she had to ignore her own needs because she saw him deteriorating at a rapid pace without her. She needed to get him home where she might shower him with her comfort and love. She worked hard at rehabilitating herself and sooner than anyone expected he was back with her again.

He’s very sick these days. He is plagued by infections. She is too weak to lift him as she once did. She feeds him and changes him and talks with him even though he is no longer able to communicate with her as in times of old when they talked long into the night. She makes the best of a very tough situation.

A few people from nearby churches try to help her. She celebrated Thanksgiving with one of the caretakers who comes each week to work with her husband. She calls old friends to have a lifeline outside of her tiny world of routines. She tries to stay positive but there is a hint of resignation in her voice. She is weary and worried, and every new challenge makes her a bit less steady in her resolve. Those of us who know her silently wonder how much more she will be able to handle. We know that she has always been a tower of strength, a survivor, and a very good woman. Still we want more than anything for her to finally get a break. God knows that she deserves it so.

She’s a good woman who has taught those of us who are her friends how to be so. She has shown us what sacrifice and dedication look like in action. We admire her, but also want to see her enjoying life without so many challenges. She’s a good woman who has certainly earned her angel wings, but we pray that she may also enjoy better times here on earth as well. If ever there was someone who deserves a run of good fortune it is this woman. My prayer is that better times are coming her way.

The Art of Discourse

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I’m going to let my age show a bit like a tacky slip hanging out from under a skirt. My commentary has to do with how people sometimes react fearfully to the idea of being with their relatives on holidays. I was listening to an NPR interview and callers were complaining about relations who annoy them. They actually spoke of dreading gatherings and even wishing that they did not have to attend them. Most of their comments focused on discussions and comments with which they do not agree that invariably seem to come from certain family members whenever they re gathered together. The respondents made it clear that they don’t want to hear anything that is contrary to their own thoughts. They expressed strong feelings of wanting to leave when such discussions occur.

I actually found their ideas to be a bit strange, mostly because my interactions with my own extended family when I was young were laden with loud pronouncements, many of which lacked any form of finesse. The truth is that I loved witnessing such familial debates. They taught me several things. One was that there are a number of ways to consider a particular point of view, and the other was that two people can disagree and still love each other. None of the discussions that I observed ever resulted in one person feeling so hurt that he/she was left unable to forgive. In fact, one minute the two verbal opponents might be expressing opposite philosophies and the next they were laughing and hugging.

My father and grandfather were particularly prone to expressing points and counterpoints. Both of them were exceedingly well read so there were few emotions presented as arguments, but rather tons of facts. Their verbal sparring was fascinating to me instead of frightening regardless of which side of an argument each chose. Rather than feeling uncomfortable in the presence of such disagreements I learned the art of debate. I respected both men intensely, but I always mentally chose one as the winner over the other. I was fascinated by their intellectual prowess and mutual respect for each another, and I noticed that my grandmother always listened to their words with a look of pride on her face. She seemed to enjoy that the two most important men in her life were so knowledgeable. Like her it never occurred to me to be upset that they brought up controversial topics. I liked the freedom that such temporary disagreements implied.

I honestly don’t know why people take comments with which they are at variance so personally. I have always been able to simply shrug them off and laugh inside. I see little reason to become upset. I know every member of my family would literally do anything to assure my safety and comfort. Their love is real, and so it doesn’t matter to me how they think about things. When we get together the liberal Democrats mix right in with the ultra conservative Republicans. I listen to what each has to say and then form my own opinions. It’s something that I learned to do from the time that I was very young. I also became well schooled in how to be respectful even when I heard something that seemed outrageous.

My Uncle Paul often made shocking statements. I had to catch myself to keep from rolling my eyes when he spoke, but I also knew that when all was said and done he was one of the most generous and forgiving people in my world. He would complain about so called worthless people in almost vile language, and then provide the family of a homeless drug addled young man with a place to live, a job, and food. When my mother first showed signs of mental illness he quietly paid her bills, insisting that there be no fanfare for his largesse. He did not want her or anyone else to learn of his good deed. I learned from him that judging a book by its cover is often tempting, but not always accurate.

To this day my family’s get togethers are laden with vigorous discussions of all sorts of topics. Sometimes the younger folk don’t quite understand that it is all just good sport. My favorite occasion was when my two brothers were arguing over evolution. At one point there was a brief interruption of their discussion. When they finally came back to the topic they had seamlessly changed sides, something not everyone even noticed. It made me giggle to realize that they were just having a good time practicing the art of discourse.

Of course at any family gathering there may be the older relation who has primitive points of view regarding any number of ideas. While they may be annoying, I have always approached them with a sense of understanding. I know that they grew up in a different era and that it is no doubt way too late to change the way they view the world. My mannerly ways tell me to just listen and smile. I know that they don’t intend to hurt me and they are not threatening me in any way, so why should I grow angry?

Of course I am not talking about someone who is either emotionally or physically abusive. I don’t think they should be invited to family occasions at all unless they learn to curb their violent tendencies. Nobody should have to submit to anger or insults. That is a different issue altogether, but if it’s just someone voicing an opinion on the latest news I see no harm.

We live in a world in which we get way too hot under the collar whenever someone expresses sentiments with which we do not agree. It’s much easier and in keeping with a spirit of love to just allow the commentary and then walk away unscathed. There is also the possibility that we may actually learn something new if we just listen rather than immediately preparing a refutation. I personally think it is great fun to find out what people think about various situations. As a student of human nature I am never disappointed by the great variety of ideas.

Perhaps the biggest problem that we face in our country today is a stubborn unwillingness to hear each other’s ideas. Maybe a good place to practice being more responsive is to do so in the safe environment with family members who will love us no matter how crazy they may think our notions are. So keep an open mind if someone decides to bring up politics or religion or any of those highly charged topics that seem to drive people away more often than not. If we can’t be honest with family, where can we be? It’s time to enjoy those discussions for the value that they provide us rather than viewing them as triggers for negative thoughts. My father and grandfather had the right idea when they turned their differing beliefs into intellectual exercises. We all learned from those moments and always walked away better for having witnessed them.

A Celebration of Life

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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I felt a bit emotional on my birthday this year. Perhaps it was because it came at the end of a week which began with a gathering of dear ones who were all saying goodbye to our very good friend, Bill. I found myself savoring each moment of my special day with a great deal more intensity than usual. I genuinely appreciated the Facebook greetings and the visits from loved ones. The thoughtfulness that abounded was moving, but mostly it was a sign to me of how genuinely wonderful people are. I was reminded by the events of the week that when all is said and done it is in the memories that we share with all of the folks that we encounter along the way that our greatest joys unfold.

My departed friend Bill had done well in this world. He used the gifts of his intellect to build a life of purpose that provided him and his family with comfort, but mostly it was his love and generosity of spirit that marked him as a great man. The stories about him that abounded all told of an adventurous soul who never forgot to be thoughtful and kind. He was a man of almost unflinching routine who nonetheless set aside time in every single day to keep his friendships alive, many of which extended all the way back into his boyhood. He took nothing with him at the end, but the riches of honor, respect and genuine love that were poured out in the stories people told of him were greater than all of the gold and jewels stowed away with King Tut. I suppose that as I listened to the recounting of his impact I sensed that we each have reasons for existing that may seem small and insignificant until the moment when we put the sum total of our efforts together. In the case of Bill, the final tally was as remarkable as anyone might ever hope to accomplish.

I pondered such ideas all last week and my thoughts culminated on Saturday, the beginning of my sixty ninth year. It was a gloriously beautiful day albeit a bit warmer than the one on which I was born. My mother always spoke of how bitterly cold it had been as she gathered pecans in the yard in front of the garage apartment that she and my father were renting in the Heights neighborhood of Houston on November 18, 1948. The war had ended and the world was in a state of rebuilding. Mama and Daddy were like millions of young folk who were starting families and hoping that they we would never again witness the violence that had brought so much pain. Mama wore my father’s wool army coat because she had grown so great with child that her own would no longer button. She had at first thought that the backache that she was feeling was the result of all of the bending that she had been doing as she filled a paper grocery bag with nuts that she intended to use to bake goodies for Thanksgiving and Christmas. When her water broke she knew that my arrival was imminent.

I thought of my mother and my father a great deal this past weekend. They would have been quite proud of the beautiful brood that resulted from their love. Almost all of their offspring gathered during the day and the evening to wish me well.

The celebrating began with lunch with my father-in-law and his beautiful second wife. He is our patriarch and his delightful sense of humor never fails to fill our home with laughter. I wanted to tarry at the table with him so that I might freeze the special time we were having into the memory bank of my mind. It was great fun as we listened to stories of the army cook who created meals for his regiment during the Korean War. Papa hid the pain of war in the humorous tales of the guys who fought with him. We felt so joyful and fortunate to still have him with us.

Later in the day my brothers and their children and grandchildren also came to wish me well. I shared the birthday celebration with my little niece Lorelai who is a bright and sweet as an angel. I delighted at the innocence of her beautiful face lit up as much by her goodness as by the lights of the candles that we blew out together. She is ten and filled with expectation and curiosity. The world lies ahead of her and will no doubt embrace her because she is such a special child. I found myself thinking of my own childhood and how fun it had been.

I tried to take in the wonder of my family that has become ever more lovely with each new person who enters our fold. We are boisterous and filled with genuine feelings for one another. We don’t always get to see each other as much as we would like, but when we do get together an explosion of unadulterated joy erupts. My sisters-in-law are the sisters that I always dreamed of having. My sons-in-law are the young men who provide my daughters and me with rock solid love. My grandchildren and nieces and nephews marvel in one another’s company and I find myself just watching them as they play together. In fact, I felt a bit like an observant fly on the wall all day long as I realized my many blessings that all come packaged in the most wonderful people who are part of my life.

The birthday posts on my Facebook wall poured in all weekend. They came from some whom I had known my entire life, some from my school days, some from coworkers, others from students, still others from neighbors. I had to admit my good fortune as I thought of each of them and I prayed that they all know how much they have meant to me.

I particularly enjoyed a group of photos from a dear teacher friend who has become like family. We had shared a beautiful wedding trip to Cancun back in June with our mutual friends Tim and Dickie. Somehow her camera had captured the exhileration that we were all experiencing on that day and it was quite beautiful. Our unfiltered emotions filled the panorama with the bliss that we were all feeling, and in viewing the images I experienced our pleasure once again.

Another teacher friend posted a greeting that I’m going to use as my mantra during the coming year.

Oops, although this a belated prayer, my prayer remains the same.

 1 Good Health for you and family

2 Financial Blessings

3 Continued Travel Blessings 

4 The Peace that Surpasses all Understanding

I think that I will have an extraordinary time indeed if I were to enjoy the fruition of all of the good wishes that were made for me. I would only add that I hope to have the pleasure of being with my friends and family as often as possible, because they are always the source of my greatest happiness. I simply have no way of being able to thank them for all that they have given me. I only hope that they truly realize how important they are to me.