tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post7809456994948470963..comments2024-01-12T02:52:06.482-06:00Comments on what women write: The Ghosts of Christmas PastUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-40648689854875555452012-12-15T13:03:51.431-06:002012-12-15T13:03:51.431-06:00Oh, Julie. So sweet. I know how you feel. It's...Oh, Julie. So sweet. I know how you feel. It's funny, when I started writing this post, I didn't know that it was about my grandmother. I didn't know it was going to be about my Fort Henry memories. I really couldn't figure out why I was so averse to decorating this year... Writing this post made me see that I needed to put things in perspective!Susan Ishmael-Pouloshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14902604968932512324noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2967179224372520114.post-29620933825598709542012-12-15T12:44:01.549-06:002012-12-15T12:44:01.549-06:00Love this. I wasn't planning to buy a tree thi...Love this. I wasn't planning to buy a tree this year--too much "work" and time involved and not enough enthusiasm. Yesterday, after the Connecticut school shooting, I knew my family had to go buy a tree and put it up together. (We will be at home sitting around it next Tuesday, after all, and not away.) It was fun, and in a way, the usual fuss over who was helping or being cranky felt "normal"--just what we needed last night. We also decided to pay for the tree of the next person to arrive. We tried to sneak away before we got caught. We didn't quite make it, but hearing a woman and her son shout thank you across the lot was gratifying. It was a day to remind each other humanity is still worth it. I cried all the way home, and it was a bittersweet cry. Julie Kiblerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07914386223833117415noreply@blogger.com