Robin had started decorating for Christmas as soon as the last child rang the doorbell on Halloween. Even before she bought the candy for Trick or Treat, she had removed every nick-knack from the end tables and fireplace mantle. She couldn't wait to get started. She had even ordered decorations off the internet to get them in faster. 

The Saturday after Halloween, one of the boys from the neighborhood came to help with the outside decorations. Robin, as well as other neighbors, hired him to do odd jobs around their houses. He was a good worker and followed instructions well. At the end of the day, the lights were on the house. Robin thought they'd get more done, but her design was so detailed it would take more than one day.

Sunday afternoon her daughter arrived and was mortified that Christmas lights were up when the calendar barely read November. "MOTHER!" She had announced when she walked through the door. "What on earth are you doing? Christmas lights? Christmas lights! Are you kidding?"

"Not at all." Robin answered in a much calmer voice than Sylvia's. "I have made up my mind to enjoy Christmas this year."

"You enjoy Christmas every year."

"I know, but this year will be extra special. I am going to make sure I celebrate every moment the way I want to celebrate. I don't care how much it costs or how early I have to start. I am going to enjoy Christmas. Just wait till the rest of the yard is done."

"The rest of the yard? You mean there's more?"

"Much more. It's going to knock your socks off."

"Mother, please don't embarrass me. I don't want to be the laughing stock of the neighborhood. Remember I grew up here." Sylvia said.

"Don't be ridiculous. It isn't going to be gaudy.  Think of it as Mother's Wonderland."

"Well, just be careful. Don't hurt yourself." Sylvia said as she left the house.

Dorothy read the recipe, although she had it almost memorized.  She absolutely hated fruitcake.  Well that wasn't exactly true.  She hated this recipe.  

Annette steadied herself before entering the hospital room.  The last time they had seen each other, over forty years ago, had been unpleasant for both.  Preston had called off their engagement and she was returning the ring and other things she had collected during their courtship.  Standing face to face, he unleashed his anger with a vengeance and Annette had never understood the reason.  He had never talked to her like that before, even when he told her he didn’t want to marry.  The scene was surreal and confusing.  She had loved him with her entire heart.  That love combined with her low self-esteem failed to give her the courage to defend herself.  So she had stood there and silently accepted his avalanche of insults and painful verbal jabs.  She was angry with herself for being such a coward, but unable to muster the courage to speak.  It was years before she understood that what he demonstrated was actually pain, not anger.  He wasn't as ready to end the relationship as he professed.  The day she learned the reason for his tirade, her broken heart finally healed.

Betty was sleeping in her recliner when she heard the sound.  She stirred slightly, not awake but not asleep either. It was a familiar sound yet she couldn't identify it in her dazed condition.  Just as she was drifting back into a peaceful slumber, she heard the noise again. 

Wide awake now, she looked around the room to find the source of the racket.  When she saw it, she was shocked that she hadn't been able to identify it sooner.  

“Good morning, Delores.”  Dr. Baker said as he opened the door to the examination room.  Before he was a doctor—to me or anyone else—he had been a friend and fellow church and choir member.  He was also an outstanding soloist.  Those of us that knew him when he was still in school called him “Dr. Dave.”  One of the older ladies of the church couldn’t remember his name, so she called him “the singing doctor.” 

No matter what he was called, today he was my doctor and the look on his face was one of concern.  “The report is not good, Delores.” 

"Mother, why did you keep this old handkerchief? It looks like it has been run over by a car. It's filthy. Look how yellow it is. It's not worth anything. We are throwing this out." Ann was trying to move her 78 year old mother into an assisted living facility. Packing up almost 60 years of memories was difficult physically and emotionally.

"Don't you throw out the handkerchief. It is priceless."