Poll of the Month for January 2007

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What is the family event, activity or news story you will always remember from 2006?

Twas the Night Before Christmas(A Visit From Saint Nicholas - 1822) by Clement Clark Moore Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. And Mama in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. When out on the roof there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles, his courses they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name: "Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky so up to the house-top the courses they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothings to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a node, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all fly like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

Mid December 2006 Stories

The Stories Section of The People's Press is sponsored by Colony Opticians

Christmas Tradition
By Diana Lewis
There have been many pleasant Christmases in my life but nothing compares to the Christmas three years ago.
The week before Christmas, I started looking for a church that had a Christmas Eve service, and I couldn’t find one. I wondered what had happened to the traditional Christmas Eve service where they sang Christmas carols and had fellowship with the new-born King and maybe fellowship afterwards with homemade cookies and sweets made by family and friends and exchanging Christmas gifts with friends and family. I was definitely disappointed that not one Church I could find had a Christmas Eve service.
This was the year that I started my own Church called the Jesus Loves Advent Christian Home Fellowship. I got to thinking well why can’t we have our own Christmas eve service. With being such a small church, we didn’t have a piano or organ to play the music so we sang Christmas CD’s I had. I started making phone calls to everyone who had come on the past to some of my meetings and even my family members who were in the area. They all said they would try to come. And I even recruited my sister’s daughters to sing a couple of songs because they really sang good together at home playing the piano and singing. So I set up a small service and wrote my own short sermon.
The Saturday before Christmas, I asked my nieces to come over and we baked cookies and brownies for Christmas eve.
On Christmas Eve, when everyone arrived, we had about twenty people crammed in my small apt. I had the whole lined up the way I wanted it. We sang the traditional Christmas carols, and I think everyone enjoyed the singing because everyone was singing, even the ones who don’t normally sing in my regular services. I could tell God was among us that night. I could feel His presence in the room. When it came to the sermon which was called “No Room in the Inn”, that went better than I expected as well. My nieces sang their songs and got an ovation for that and we really enjoyed ourselves. After the service, we enjoyed the cookies we made and some that others brought as well. Towards the end of the evening, my sister’s family and I exchanged our gifts which we didn’t normally do until Christmas Day but I think the children were anxious to see what I got them, so I let them open them. This has become our tradition on Christmas Eve for the last three years and we are doing it again this year. We’ve made our tradition to have the Christmas Eve service and open our presents on Christmas Eve every year since. And I think this is enjoyable for all of us including the others who come to worship our King on the day of His Birth.
This year we will actually have a keyboard to sing to and my niece who plays mostly by ear is very talented with it. God has given her a special gift. She was born with spinal bifida and she has a talent of playing the piano by ear.
I think this is one of the best traditions we could have ever started at Christmas.


Dear Housewives (Central Connecticut’s Know It All Gals)
Dear Readers,
Do you have a question regarding family life, budgeting, customer service issues, DVD or book reviews, or home organization? We will give you our candid advise from a family perspective. Contact The Peoples Press by e-mail or phone with your confidential question and we will answer it in the next issue.
We wish all of our readers a safe and Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Happy Holidays as well.
June and Flora
Dear Housewives;
My father just passed away and my mom, of course, misses him. They were married for 55 years. She wants me to take all of his old ties and suits and donate them to the needy. I can't bear to part with his ties since many of them were given to him by grandkids and my mom and my siblings and me. How could I store them?
Signed, all tied up in Wallingford
JUNE: Dear ties, my condolences to you and yours. Everyone has something that they don't want to part with that reminds them of a loved one. One thing you can do with the ties is cut them up and make a beautiful quilt out of them. If there are enough you can make a few quilts using the pieces and give one to your mom and siblings. If you don't know how to make one, take a class and you will learn. It will be a priceless way to remember your dad and he will keep you warm when you are cold. Peace.
FLORA: My sympathy to you and your family. Losing someone and then parting with their personal items can be difficult. June has a wonderful idea for you. If making the quilt for yourself is too much of a task, you can always hire someone to make it for you. This suggestion to make a quilt reminds me of Patricia Polacco's children's story The Keeping Quilt. The story is a tale of a Russian immigrant family's quilt made of the remnants of fabric from family member's clothing. The quilt was used for special events and passed down through the generations. This might be an opportunity to preserve your father's memory and pass down stories of the special things your father did in his life.

Dear Housewives:
I can not get my infant son's legs in some of his outfits and I am worried I will hurt his little legs when I bend them. Then, when I finally get it on, he kicks his legs out of it and we have to start all over again. Help.
Signed, fragile's mom in Meriden
FLORA: Congratulations on your new baby! If putting his little legs into an outfit is becoming too much of a challenge, try using baby gowns for a while. They have warm fabric for winter months and they look adorable in them! Things sure do take much longer now with a little one! Best wishes to you and your family.
JUNE: Well, fragile mom, you must be a new mom because all of us pro's know you will not snap off a baby's leg by bending it into his clothes. Babies are like little rubber bendy toys, they can bend all ways (within reason) and not be affected. Don't forget, they were curled up in a ball in your womb not too long ago. One thing you can do is always put the leg in the long side first. You can pick him up and while holding him up with one arm, slip the suit leg (long side first) onto his leg them lay him down to finish the rest. Also, when you get both legs in, quickly snap or zip up half the suit then put his arms in, that way he can't kick his legs out before you get him zipped. Enjoy your new guy.

Dear Housewives;
What is the deal with people not sending Christmas cards? I have about 6 people I send them to every year and they never send me one back. Has the computer taken over the Christmas card spirit? Should I stop sending to those who don't send me one?
Missing cards in Meriden
JUNE: Dear Missing, I have noticed that not as many people seem to send cards as in the past. I don't know why, perhaps they keep in touch through email or stamps are too expensive. I love sending cards too. You would not be wrong to send to those who send to you only. People should make an effort and should reciprocate the gesture when they get some. Keep the cards you get this year and make your list from those for next year. Look at it as a way to lessen your mailing burden.
FLORA: If you are not receiving cards from those 6 people you can stop sending them if it bothers you and don't feel badly about it. Some people just don't send cards. There is a clause to this tip: If any of the 6 people are old, possibly lonely or depressed, keep sending them. they may not send cards but really welcome the ones they receive.

Hi Flora, you told me about a book recently that addresses the problem of customer service. I feel that good service is at an all time low. It is the pits. As a stay at homer I am always out shopping and workers are rude and bothered and feel the need to talk to others about their personal life in front of customers. They dress horribly and have no problems showing body piercing, cleavage and tattoos. There is no business attire anymore. Please share with our readers your book with a big attention to the "bosses" of America saying READ THIS. Hopefully, they will implement it into their business. --JUNE
Hi June, The Book I read is called: Treat your Customers- Thirty Lessons on Service and Sales That I Learned at My Family's Dairy Queen Store by Bob Miglani. This is a small hardcover with pack with lessons in integrity, planning, leading by example, having a life outside of work, being part of the community and twenty-five more! This is a must read for any one in customer service. That goes for anyone in retail, restaurant or the medical profession. If you are a boss: READ THIS BOOK. If you are deal with the public in any capacity: READ THIS BOOK. Now that I think of it, everyone should read this book. It is a quick read with important lessons that are so basic but seem to be lacking in many sectors. Bob Miglani work at his family's store for over 20 years and is an executive for a Fortune 500 company. Some stories: Once in a while Taste Your Own Ice Cream. Get out there! See your business from a customer's eyes. Get on the front line. Another good one: The Boss is Not the Customer. Miglani says that unless your employees know who the real customer is they will simply try to impress the boss.
PS As for the cleavage, as a kid, the only people I saw with cleavage were old ladies not teenagers...


Family Traditions
By Rosanne P. Ford
My family is fortunate that we have a tradition that occurs each and every Sunday…we are a family of 5 siblings (Pam, Sandy, Walt, Mary, & Rosanne) and Mom (Dear Dad passed away December 17, 1992). For as long as I can remember we have had Sunday Dinner at Mom’s. We all get together pretty much every Sunday for a few hours and eat, joke, laugh, share, etc. Well, each Christmas Eve is special & resembles Sunday dinners but on a bit of a larger scale…after 5 p.m. Mass at St. Joseph’s, everyone migrates to Mom’s…it’s not just immediate family, though! It’s a sort of Open House where you never know who may pop in. We have our family, spouses, friends, special cousins, aunts, uncles, those family members you’re related to but not quite sure how – you get the idea…One year, my husband and I went to the Dallas vs. Giants game, ended up taking a limo we had rented by ourselves as everyone else that was supposed to go backed out…well, mom invited the limo driver in! He had a lovely time while me & Darren took a nap. However, explaining why the limo driver left his coat took a bit of explaining to the company when I returned it! So, I know we are all looking forward to the very special Sunday dinner on the 24th … making new memories and recalling fondly the memories that have already been made at Mom’s all while Dad is looking down upon us (and as he was a chef – hoping all of the food is prepared to his expectations!)……We all know how fortunate we are to have these traditions and that they continue year after year…Happy Holidays!


So many things to be thankful for…so many blessings! You included!
By Virginia Black
It is early afternoon on Thanksgiving Day, Nov 23, 2006 and I have returned from a 130 mile round trip in heavy rain to celebrate Rachael’s 14th birthday! It doesn’t seem possible that she is in her second teenage year. In two hours I shall drive, once more in heavy rain, 9 miles to Kim’s and Peter’s for dinner. To begin these Christmas greetings, I need to tell some of you that you have received from me (I hate to admit!) an incorrect address change. My correct address is 206 Bayberry Lane, Storrs, CT 06268. I’m only a block away from my other apartment and still at Juniper Hill Village. My planned move back to C-301 Alder, scheduled for March 6 finally was to happen on July 11, a long 18 months after the fire. But not for me!!
Much to the relief of friends, family, and myself, I made the decision to stay in this “temporary” apartment—a wise choice since a full replacement of my right knee ended up being scheduled for move day! This apartment is slightly bigger, has a lovely view, wonderful neighbors. The laundry door is three feet from mine-not bad! I purchased a new sofa and chair in June; they arrived in August, as did a new table and chairs. (Some folk miss the pumpkin colored chair, some don’t, but it lasted almost forty years!)
The computer is no longer in the hall closet, since there is no hall! The kitchen is bigger. I still need to do things to make it totally settled but it feels good. I can almost say the fire trauma is over, except for an ongoing attempt to get the insurance company to respond to my calls and letters. Hopefully, that too shall be over soon.
I had no idea when I would be mobile after knee surgery but thanks to a wonderful surgeon, excellent nursing care at UCONN Health Center in Farmington and UCONN Rehab here in Storrs, great therapists and, I am convinced, my ten years of strength building exercises, I was walking in record time (people were amazed), driving in five weeks, and exercising a lot. The whole thing was quite a trip. Not easy! (Try sitting in a chair, leg up on a coffee table, knee over open space with 10 lbs. Of bird seed on that knee for 15 minutes! See how it feels! I am so grateful for all the care, the cards, the prayers, the visits, the food, and the love that supported me and cheered me on.
The year has had several big events. I guess the most fun one was the “80th birthday bash” my family gave me in September. It was held at Kim’s and Peter’s beautiful home which looks out at their wonderful gardens on a gorgeous late summer day. Seventy-three of us enjoyed being together-folk from out of state and from various facets of my life (past and present), my sister and lots of nieces and nephews. My carefully chosen roving photographers took many, many pictures. What an amazing day as people put faces with names and got to know each other.
A few overnight guests stayed and we partied until after noon the next day! So many more of you sent cards. Thanks to all of you who shared the fun, who gifted me with your presence and to whom I had to write over 50 thank you notes! It took weeks to come down to earth! My kids gave me a faster computer that takes up less space! It is great not to wait 12-15 minutes to get on line! My sister, Priscilla, and I get together as often as we can. Her family has always been welcoming to me; I am most grateful. I was saddened by the death of my brother-in-law, George Dietz, and by the death of a very special cousin, Dick Huffield.
The 4th of July 83rd Hill Family Reunion brought many of us together, including Dick. There were a few graduations. I share one: I was thrilled that my sister Nancy’s grandson, Taylor Hill Loomis, graduated Cum Laude from Central CT with a B.A. degree in English-concentration in Victorian Literature. Family research and current history reveal that there have been (and are) several writers, poets, newspaper editors, etc. in the Hill and Prentice lines of my mother’s family. It has to be in the genes! Even the youngest of us are writing beautiful poetry.
I celebrate times with Ron’s and Denise’s Rachael and Nathan. Both are musically gifted and it is being recognized. They are in scouting (N. a patrol leader). Rachael is a mechanical doll in The Nutcracker this year. Nathan is close to earning his last karate belt and having fun in a Lego construction club! Larry, both Fire Marshall and Fire Chief, is in the midst of “addition to the firehouse” construction. Jay works, entertains at their beautiful home, gardens, and is active in the fire-fighters and spouses activities. Their sons? Chris and family are still in Ariz. and Steve’s highway milling business is growing. Ron is constantly on the go with water company design and service. Reid’s yard business found it a bit tough this year. A light snowfall and blight on leaves. He and Leslie have just returned from her bankers’ convention in California. Kim and Peter, who live closest to me, have really been a near and caring presence through fire, move, surgery times and all that they involved. Their trip was to the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone.
Genealogy research goes on. Organization gets more difficult. My 80th makes me realize the need to be more intentional about it. Genealogy Club gathers monthly and we enjoy research travel together. Personal travels were less this year as timing was more difficult.
My energy level before and after surgery (which most people thought was amazing) was not up to my standards! But, I am beginning to be me again! I walk much better. It’s a joy to be free of pain and to stand tall. I visited friends-two trips to KY, one to VA, and closer ones. One of my favorite times this year was spent at Scotland Days in Goshen, CT on a gorgeous day. I am toying with the idea of going to Scotland with a niece…and Berthi is pushing me to do “April in Paris”. Energy? Money? Can I do either or both? Time will tell!
As I write I realize how special it is that Thanksgiving and Christmas come along together. I share with you my thanks for what the year has given and even taken away, for music fills the air. I think of folk around the world in safe and war torn places singing lullabies and alleluias! It IS a time of thanks giving! May it fill your season and bring you into a new year rejoicing and grateful for the gift of God’s love made known to us so long ago—and yet we rejoice!


THIRD WEEK IN AUGUST, 2005
By Alice Mary Scott
A breath of fresh air before bedtime seems to help me fall asleep more quickly, so I often step out onto my deck for a short while. Spending fifteen minutes outside before bed is very soothing. This is a very quiet neighborhood.
The night was comfortable for August, despite heavy clouds all day threatening rain. The night sky has always been of interest to me, whether it's star filled with clear skies or heavy with low cumulus clouds, as it was that night.
I'm not a good judge of distance, but my guess is that the cloud ceiling began at about 500 to 700 feet. Lighter patches of dark clouds swirled above me and it took a few moments of concentration to realize that I was actually seeing the outline of some kind of airplane.
The airborne vehicle (for want of a better name, I'll call it a ship) was inside the clouds, seemingly trying to hide in them. As the atmosphere around it swirled about, different views of the ship came into sight. Eventually, the complete outline was revealed.
I was more then amazed, baffled, full of wonder and excitement as I gazed upward. The nose of the ship was gently rounded, the body, triangular with rounded corners. The circular center had three "running lights," two white and one red. The ship was silent, still, completely white except for the running lights.
What was I looking at? There was no engine sound. How could there be a plane up there without the sound of an engine? Why wasn’t it moving? Was I looking at some sort of a balloon? Were there people inside? What kind of people? What did they want and why were they right over my head?
As other portions of the huge cloud formation swirled, I noticed part of another craft, exactly like the one I was watching just to the right, and then another to it’s left. As my gaze moved over the low cloud cover, I could see portions of other crafts in front of it and behind it. The object I first noticed was part of a fleet of ships and because of the swirling masses, most of what was up there was obscured. As far as I could see, and that distance was extremely limited, the area of sky over my head was filled with them.
I wanted and needed verification, but it was almost 11:00 p.m. In my fifty-five and over community, who would be awake? I headed out, looking for a light in a neighbor’s window. I was new to this mobile home park. I didn’t yet know who was a “night owl” like myself, and who among my neighbors hit the sack at sundown, so I searched for anyone still outside, finding no one. Jane’s light was still on, but it was definitely not her living room or kitchen light, so I hesitated to knock for fear of disturbing her. I could see no other lights on in my small community.
What I should have done was dial 911 and ask for an officer to stop by. But in my many feverish thoughts, not one of them included dialing for help. I wasn’t at all afraid and perhaps that why the thought never occurred to me. I stood in the middle of the drive gazing upward for a few minutes and gradually returned to my deck chair.
Less then ten minutes had passed at this juncture, but I sat and gazed upward for over half an hour, perhaps as long as 45 minutes. I could discern no movement in the vehicles overhead or from other people within the park. I was vaguely aware of passing cars out on Rt. 150 and on Parker Farms Road. Was I the only one aware of the spectacle up there? Gradually, my awe began to fade as I attempted to think of a rational explanation.
Could it be that these were our own government’s experimental planes? Had they perfected nuclear energy (or another form of propulsion) to the point where silent, space type crafts were now feasible? The U.S. is the only country with the technology and the money to finance such experimental crafts. These couldn’t be visitors from another planet, could they? If I said that to anyone, they would think I was crazy, wouldn’t they?
I talked myself into complacency. Gradually, my hectic day caught up to me. The fresh air worked it’s magic and I began to relax. So I left the deck for my bed, and though unusual for me, quickly fell asleep. There was nothing to see the next morning.
Did anyone see what I saw? Can anyone help me verify?

Christmas Thoughts
By Peggy Tarbell
I've been thinking and pondering what to write regarding my feelings at Christmas. Then I decided to just let it flow, to allow my thoughts to ramble and come to life, much as life itself weaves and intertwines and finally makes sense somehow through all the confusion.
Christmas is my favorite time of the year. It wasn't always that way. Some childhood memories of Christmas are better left behind and put to rest.
But some memories are golden. There was the year we lovingly call, "THE YEAR WE OVERDOSED ON CHRISTMAS"
That year was unforgettable. My Mom made such a spectacular Christmas for her children and grandchildren that we actually had to take breaks from the marathon of unwrapping and the oohing and aahing.
At one point my daughter's boyfriend came to the door with gifts for her, and my cousin Gerard opened the door and said, "If you have presents, you can't come in!" We all laughed. Of course, he was welcomed gifts and all.
During one half-hour respite, my sister and I went into Mom's kitchen and actually laughed so hard that we slid down the walls and ended up sitting on the floor with tears coming from our silly eyes.
I especially remember the joy on Mom's face as she passed the gifts one by one to everyone. She was indeed Mrs. Claus that year. I miss my Mom. Her last few years on this earth were spent in bed on a feeding tube, unable to get up by herself, unable to walk. It was so difficult to watch my vibrant, hardworking mother fade away little by little until every day was the same to her. Holidays came and went without her enthusiasm and joy to lift us up as she had for so many, many years.
Now Christmas is not spent at Mom's. Mom's house is empty. But the memories are still so alive and Mom is with God now. MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOM. Now my children and grandchildren are the heart of my Christmas joy, and I thank God every day for their love.
My very next thoughts involve the greetings we send and say to friends and strangers and loved ones. There is so much controversy now around proper ways to say Merry Christmas. What is wrong with Merry Christmas? This is Christ's birthday. Why lessen the magnificence of the holiday by masking it with generic greeting? My greeting has always been and will always be MERRY CHRISTMAS!
That is not an insult to others, and I am not ashamed to say it. Let everyone be free to give their own greeting. We are a nation with so many glorious freedoms and ethnic backgrounds. All of us hold dear our traditions and our celebrations of the seasons and holidays. We should not hide them to please others. We should shout them out with joy because we live in a nation that allows and honors every religion and every ethnic tradition. So if I say "Merry Christmas," and you say "Happy Hanukah," we should both smile and know that what we mean is:
"I Love You for Who You Are."
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

Three Aunts, Eighteen Cousins, and One Very Special Tradition
By Bill Mercuri
“Okay, everyone. Time to eat!” These are the much-anticipated words my cousins and I have looked forward to every New Year’s Day for more than a quarter century. The words are clear and crisp, just like the January day on which they’re spoken. They ring from the mouth of a small, silver-haired Italian woman who proclaims this good news standing in the wood framed doorway that leads from the dining room to the kitchen of her Grove Street home. Her name is Violet; with her sisters Madeline and Rose, together they have always been known to us all as “the aunts.”
The aunts gave birth to a family holiday tradition, which we have come to call the annual niece and nephew dinner. While I’ve never asked any of them why they decided that it would be a good idea for them to bring together 18 or so of their brothers’ and sisters’ children and their spouses once a year for an afternoon of family fellowship, I have a theory.
There has always been a very strong and loving bond among the aunts and all of us cousins. I include the husbands and wives as part of our direct relationship because this family is so close that there can be no distinction. The relationship that the aunts have always had with us goes well beyond the obligatory birthday card or Christmas present. These extraordinary women immersed themselves into our lives and were active participants in our childhoods and as we became young adults. They helped mold us into the people we are today. As we grew up and started lives and families of our own, the cousins drifted a bit apart and didn’t see each other as much, if at all, during the year. The aunts, in their usual selfless manner, wanted to see us all together at least once a year to catch up with one another and share life’s ups and downs. And, while this certainly isn’t their motivation, it provides us all a chance to express our thanks and love for these special ladies.
This mini family reunion is carried out in the usual aunts’ fashion meaning that everything is carried out with extreme care right down to the smallest detail. There is no mistaking that this event is about the affection that they have for their family. There are handwritten invitations and individually wrapped favors at each place setting. Homemade ravioli and meatballs and wine served in a small carafe highlight the meal. Auntie Rose’s world famous dessert and fresh perked coffee serves as a reminder for us to save room. “Come on, eat! We’ve got plenty. Bill, you’ll have more, right? Sure, you’ll have more!” The wine flows much like the Sinatra and Bing Crosby coming from the old-style radio sitting on the shelf in the kitchen where it’s always rested.
As the afternoon progresses, I become absorbed in the picture of which I’m very fortunate to be a part. I look around the small but comfortable room and think of the many rich memories we all have of this house. I take in this scene with all of my senses. I see smiles and hear laughter. There’s no bickering or hard feelings. I feel the warmth of what a genuinely loving and caring family is; and I can taste the wonderful food, not only that which is before us but all of the meals we’ve enjoyed here over the years. Most memorable are gramma’s Sunday macaroni lunches after church, complete with fresh Bonazinga bread.
Much has changed over the years. We’ve lost loved ones in our lives, even auntie Rose. I can’t believe that it’s been ten years. I think of her often, not only on the day of our annual dinner but whenever I’m at the house with aunts Vi and Mal. The three of them were inseparable, making it nearly impossible to see the two without my thoughts turning toward the third. A fourth sister, and just as special of an aunt, Faith, now shares New Year’s Day with us. She takes a good-natured ribbing from us as she tries to keep our “orders” straight while playing the part of waitress.
In the end, this dinner is so much more than a meal. It’s a celebration of family and tradition in an age where those two things are nearly extinct. It’s about the remarkable giving spirit of these aunts who themselves live life to the fullest and in many ways are people for others, bringing light to the lives of the many they touch throughout the year. So from all of us to you, aunts Vi, Mal, Faith and Rose, much love and thanks for all that you have meant to us and continue to mean to us and our families, now and always.
Boun Natale!


POINSETTIAS
By Dorothy Gonick

Crimson Christmas symbol
Bright contrast with snow’s crisp white
Warms our hearts with love.

The approaching holiday season is greeted with vivid displays of poinsettias in various hues. Whether as a single bloom or in a cluster of many, these bring seasonal joy to the holidays as we place them in our homes, churches, places of business, and present them as gifts. The brilliant red of the traditional, original plant and the pinks and creams of later hybrids would cheer the heart of Joel Robert Poinsett, for whom the plant is named. He was the U.S. ambassador to Mexico in 1825 where he found the plants growing on the hillsides and brought some back to the United Stated where we have enjoyed them for years. The Aztecs, as a symbol of purity and reminder of blood sacrifices had long cultivated this plant, they would use it to make a reddish-purple dye and also for medicinal purposes. In the 17th century, in the Southwest, the Franciscans used the colorful plant in their joyful nativity processions and it has since become a traditional Christmas symbol for all.
The colorful parts of the Poinsettia that we think of as the petal’s flower are actually modified leaves called “bracts” that surround the rather insignificant cluster of flowers at the center; these flowers turn yellow with pollen as they mature. It is not the center flower, but the surrounding bracts that are most admired.
Some of the people who touch our lives and leave fond memories may ; live lives of seeming insignificance to the world, yet their influence stretches far; much as those red bracts that enhance the poinsettia. We admire the helping hands, the friendly greetings and cheery smiles that touch our hearts and ignite in us a cheerfulness that will spread far beyond that person’s imagining. It is our response to life that may surround us with beauty, just as the colorful bracts surround the poinsettia with beauty. Christ walked the earth as a humble servant and love flowed from Him in far-reaching waves that touched, healed and comforted those in need. May His love flow through us this Christmas season to bring hope, comfort and necessities to those now in need.

WISHING ALL A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS


A Christmas Carol – The Ending Chapter that REALLY MATTERS!
By Charles Dickens
`Good Spirit!' he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: `Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!'
The kind hand trembled.
`I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!'
In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.
Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate aye reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. Yes! And the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!
`I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future.' Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. `The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh, Jacob Marley, Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees.'
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.
`They are not torn down!' cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, `they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here--I am here--the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be! I know they will.'
His hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.
`I don't know what to do!' cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings. `I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel; I am as merry as a schoolboy! I am as giddy as a drunken man! A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to the entire world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!'
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.
`There's the saucepan that the gruel was in,' cried Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. `There's the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered. There's the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat. There's the window where I saw the wandering Spirits. It's all right, it's all true, it all happened! Ha ha ha!'
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.
`I don't know what day of the month it is,' said Scrooge. `I don't know how long I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite a baby! Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby! Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!'
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell! Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash. Oh, glorious, glorious.
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious.
`What's to-day?' cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
`Eh?' returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
`What's to-day, my fine fellow?' said Scrooge.
`To-day?' replied the boy. `Why, Christmas Day!'
`It's Christmas Day!' said Scrooge to himself. `I haven't missed it! The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!'
`Hallo!' returned the boy.
`Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner?' Scrooge inquired.
`I should hope I did,' replied the lad.
`An intelligent boy!' said Scrooge. `A remarkable boy. Do you know whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there--Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?'
`What, the one as big as me?' returned the boy.
`What a delightful boy!' said Scrooge. `It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!'
`It's hanging there now,' replied the boy.
`Is it!' said Scrooge. `Go and buy it!'
`Walk-er!' exclaimed the boy.
`No, no,' said Scrooge, `I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell them to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I'll give you half-a-crown!'
The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger that could have got a shot off half so fast.
`I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's,' whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. `He shan't know who sent it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be.'
The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
`I shall love it, as long as I live,' cried Scrooge, patting it with his hand. `I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker!--Here's the Turkey! Hallo! Whoop! How are you? Merry Christmas!'
It was a Turkey. He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped them short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.
`Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town,' said Scrooge. `You must have a cab.'
The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.
He dressed himself all in his best, and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word that three or four good-humored fellows said, `Good morning, sir. A merry Christmas to you!' And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and said, `Scrooge and Marley's, I believe.' It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
`My dear sir,' said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. `How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir.' `Mr. Scrooge?'
`Yes,' said Scrooge. `That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness'--here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
`Lord bless me!' cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away. `My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?'
`If you please,' said Scrooge. `Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor?'
`My dear sir,' said the other, shaking hands with him. `I don't know what to say to such munificence.'
`Don't say anything, please,' retorted Scrooge. `Come and see me. Will you come and see me?'
`I will!' cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.
`Thank you,' said Scrooge. `I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!'
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk--that anything--could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's house.
He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:
`Is your master at home, my dear?' said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl. Very.
`Yes, sir.'
`Where is he, my love?' said Scrooge.
`He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you up-stairs, if you please.'
`Thank you. He knows me,' said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. `I'll go in here, my dear.'
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.
`Fred,' said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started. Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn't have done it, on any account.
`Why bless my soul!' cried Fred, `Who's that?'
`It's I, your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?'
Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off! He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, wonderful happiness.
But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late. That was the thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock.
`Hallo!' growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. `What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?'
`I am very sorry, sir,' said Bob. `I am behind my time.'
`You are,' repeated Scrooge. `Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.'
`It's only once a year, sir,' pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. `It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.'
`Now, I'll tell you what, my friend,' said Scrooge, `I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,' he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again; `and therefore I am about to raise your salary.'
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.
`A merry Christmas, Bob,' said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. `A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob. Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another I, Bob Cratchit.'
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!

A Word from Roger
When I went out West last year, what I missed most, almost immediately, was the people; the geography; the trees; as well as the ponds, lakes, rivers, and streams in our beautiful area.
I took sailing lessons when I was younger in California, and I always knew that at some point, when I got older, that I'd own a boat -- since I enjoyed the water so much. Little did I know that this boat would be a kayak, and that I would use it to explore all of nature's waterways in and around central Connecticut, primarily on my own on weekends.
Most importantly, I missed the Christmas Season. When the snow was on the ground, and the sun was shinning, it made Christmas a very special event.
My wife, Jill, and I enjoy the winter months, especially those months during the Holiday Season. We are happy to be back in New England, especially Connecticut!
Life is great, and so are the people, as well as what nature has to offer!!!
Roger Kemp City Manager 1993-2005-City of Meriden



The Quinnipiac Tribe: Life of the Long-Water People
By Carrie Purcell
The Quinnipiac River region, before the European settlers arrived, covered 300 square fertile miles. And on this land lived 4 bands of Native Americans, collectively known as the Quinnipiac Tribe. The Quinnipiac belonged to the linguistic family of Algonquian and were a sub tribe of the Mahicans. In their language, Quiripi, Quinnipiac means “long-water land,” and the Quinnipiac Tribe members were the “long-water people.”
The long-water land was covered with forest, and together the forest and river teemed with life in abundant diversity. In the dense thicket, nested small animals, while larger animals used fallen trees as dens. Plant life and berries, such as bayberry and sumac, fed songbirds, turkey and quail, while heron hunted at the river’s edge and in marshlands. Deer and rabbit grazed on twigs and leafy undergrowth, and sparrows feasted on large grass and sedge seeds.
The forest root system, foliage, leaf litter and underbrush kept sediment from choking the rivers and kept the water temperature perfect for aquatic life, leaving the ponds, creeks, and rivers well-stocked with fish.
The members of the tribe respected this life-balance, and in return these hunting and farming groups were well compensated. In fact, they knew no other way than to live in harmony with the land.
They lived in small villages, each having no more than 100 people, throughout the Quinnipiac Region. Their homes were domed wigwams made of elm bark and animal skin stretched over pole frames drawn together at the top and tied with hickory or grape vines or leather thong. A hearth stood at the center of the wigwam, while shelves or benches covered with furs lined the walls. The Quinnipiac would sleep on the fur-covered benches or on the floor. Generally, their homes were large enough for a family or two, although some structures were larger.
Near the village, the women planted gardens of corn, beans, and squash and collected mushrooms, acorns, beech, hickory, chestnuts, strawberries, raspberries, grapes and blueberries. Men fished and hunted deer, duck, and turkey. Having no metal, their tool kit resembled that of our stone-age ancestors. They chipped stones until the edges were sharp, making knives and axes. Then they affixed wooden handles. For cooking, they made vessels of birch or elm tethered with leather thongs and water sealed with pitch or spruce gum. For clothing and material they used animal hide and wove bags, mats and baskets from reed. For water travel, the Quinnipiac made canoes of elm.
Their religion, like their life, reflected the natural world around them. They embraced the wonders of their world: the earth, the animals and their spirits, the thunder and the lightning, the wind and the rain, the sun and the moon. The Great Spirit, Kiehtan, lived in the distant southwest. However much they worshipped the Great Spirit, they made sacrifices to the Evil Spirit, Hobbamock, to keep harmony and peace – a concept that European settlers could connect only to devil worshipping. After death, spirits would live with Kiehtan. At times, disembodied spirits in the form of animals and mythic creatures would enter the body of a human, and that human would become a shaman, or powwow. Although tribe members tried to obtain visions of spirits, they turned to the shaman to gain the vision and seek supernatural help. In addition, the shaman offered medicinal aid and presided over gatherings, called powwows, where tribal members would get together to discuss problems. The shaman would help by interpreting dreams or through visions. The gathering might include smoking, dancing, singing, and prayer.
Although the shaman oversaw these gatherings, the sachem was the tribal leader and oversaw all the villages belonging to the tribe. The village in which the sachem lived was often the best stocked and fortified, and he lived in the same village as his advisors, or sagamores. Sagamores, could, however, be the leaders of smaller groups and villages.
The Quinnipiac were a peaceful people, but they were under constant threat from the Mohawks in the west and the Pequots in the south. Both the Mohawks and Pequots, whose name means “the destroyers,” were fierce fighters who sometimes collected tribute from other tribes. In fact, the Mohawks had claimed the river land where the Quinnipiac lived.
A greater threat – one from which they had no defense – weakened the long-water people and decimated their numbers. In 1633, epidemics of small pox and plague came ashore with the European settlers.
The first European credited to have discovered America was a Dutch trader named Adrian Block. He traveled up the Connecticut River in 1614 and commenced a sporadic fur trade between merchants in Amsterdam and the Connecticut Algonquians; the Quinnipiac were one of the tribes that benefited from the beaver trade.
But actual contact with the Quinnipiac tribe is documented with the wealthy English Puritan Theophilus Eaton. In August of 1637, Eaton left Boston to explore the Quinnipiac River region. After his initial exploration, he left 7 men to stay the winter, and he returned to Connecticut in April with John Davenport and 500 followers.
The Quinnipiac welcomed them and offered the explorers furs and food to make it through the first winter. They taught them how to harvest the benefits of the land through hunting, trapping, fishing and planting.
Because the English believed they owned the land of the Quinnipiac through the Cabot discovery, Earl of Warwick granted the land to friends of Eaton and Davenport. Without a title, however, the English felt it just to negotiate with the Quinnipiac through a series of treaties, even though the Quinnipiac did not understand the written language of the English, nor did they share the concept of buying and selling land.
The first treaty was signed on November 24, 1638. Eaton and Davenport represented the colonists, and the Quinnipiac sachem, Momauguin, his sister Shaumpishuh, and his sagamores Sugcogisin, Quesaquanash, Carroughhood, and Wesaucucke represented the tribe. The treaty declared that east of the New Haven harbor would remain in Quinnipiac possession while the rest would become the property of the English colonists. The price of purchase included defense from other tribes, 12 coats of trading cloth, 12 alchymy spoons, 12 hatchets, 12 hoes, 24 knives, 12 porringers, and 4 cases of French knives and scissors.
Both the English and the Quinnipiac promised not to attack or wage war against each other and to provide reparation if injury or harm should occur between the two groups; furthermore, the Quinnipiac promised not to add any new tribe members without permission of the colonists.
While the Quinnipiac tribe shrank, the colonist population grew larger, consuming more and more land and clearing the forest for farming. This land clearing disturbed the balance of nature, and the Quinnipiac found it difficult to continue with their way of life, since the number of fish and other wildlife began to dwindle. Needing farmland for the members of his tribe, Momauguin attended a New Haven town meeting in 1657 and proposed to buy back a tract of land at Oyster Point. The town considered the request and granted it with the contingency that the Quinnipiac must kill their own dogs, since the dogs had caused mischief. Not accepting that clause, the Quinnipiac were declined the additional land.
In 1675, the Wampanoag tribe waged war, known as King Philip’s War, on the colonists for encroaching on native land. The Quinnipiac fought alongside the English. During the war, the Quinnipiac had lost 21 men. In following years, they lost men in the Canadian war of 1690 and the Louisburg expedition if 1745.
In 1695, the General Court of the Colony of Connecticut gave New Haven the right to sell the Quinnipiac’s land; all of the land had been sold by 1720. In the 1760’s, many of the remaining Quinnipiac joined the Tunxis Indians in Farmington. It is said that those Quinnipiac tribe members who moved to Farmington joined other tribes and migrated to Wisconsin.
Those who did not join the Tunxis tribe eventually perished, and, around 1770, the last sachem of the long-water people froze to death near a spring.

Finding Spirit
By Carrie S Purcell
In February 2005 I went to a Shaman retreat in Massachusetts. Below is an excerpt from my journal. This passage is about my experience with a Native American sweat lodge. The sweat lodge is a sacred place to the Native Americans. Those who enter the lodge are considered warriors because they have the courage to challenge their demons; in doing so, they purify themselves. The sweat lodge reaches temperatures well over the hottest desert day.
The fresh February snow crunched beneath our feet as we walked down a path partly cleared and lit by Christmas string lights, deeper into the woods. At 8:00, the night sky was already black. The trees extended bare branches as if to scratch its back. The sky purred in response.
There was something spiritual already, without having gotten to the sweat lodge. I had never ventured into the woods at night in the dead of winter. It was peaceful. The white snow truly cast blue by the darkness.
We reached the end of the path where there was a bonfire. About 10 feet away from the fire was the sweat lodge. It was smaller than I expected. About 5 feet high and maybe 10 feet wide – a bent-wood frame structure covered with tarps. There were 24 of us who would be squeezed in there tonight. The shaman was in the sweat lodge already, preparing this sacred space. Everyone was silent, gathered by the heat of the bonfire. I think we were all in awe of its spirit with wood crackling and tongues of flame reaching up into the blackness. All the snow immediately around the fire was melted away. In the fire were large stones from Mt. Shasta, a site considered sacred by many native tribes. They were glowing with the fire.
The silence was broken as we were asked to remove our outer garments and shoes and to keep just our bathing suits on and to bring our towels. The women lined up first as we were allowed in first and we would take up half of the hut.
Away from the fire, the air was like ice against my exposed skin. My bare feet were burning from the cold of the snow. I didn’t know if I should step on my towel or keep it wrapped around me.
Finally the hut’s door flap was opened and we were invited in. The hut was even smaller on the inside. There was a pit in the center, around which we were asked to sit. The ground was covered with hay. We formed two rows around the pit on the right side. I took the front row, wanting to fully experience the hot stones in front of me. My knees were literally on the edge of the pit. Each of us was squeezed in, like sardines as they say. I had knees in my back and elbows in my sides. When the women were settled, the men came in and sat in two rows on the other side, squeezed as well.
The shaman explained that a few stones would be brought in at first, and then more stones at intervals. Once the door was shut, it would not be opened until it was time for more stones.
The tent was black. I lifted my hand to my face and could not see it. The first of the stones were brought in with pitch forks. Not bad yet. The warmth was comforting for our bathing-suit clad skin and the hot stones offered a light glow. The shaman welcomed the spirit of the stone, the spirit of the sweet grass offered, of the air and of the fire. In unison, we thanked them, too. Next, we shouted out prayers for us, for loved ones, for those who were sick or those who have passed, for safety and love, for mankind… And then the shaman chanted in Huichol and threw the sweet grass into the pit. And then he threw water onto the stones and the tent was filled with steam. The water evaporated and rained back onto us from the top of the tent, trickling down our faces, arms, back. The steam was hotter than anything I had felt – hotter than any sauna. With my first deep breath in I felt my lungs searing. I began to panic. I couldn’t breath and I was closed in by people in the dark. Then the prayers began again. It was the only way to get through the pain and panic. Sweat mixed with the condensation. My eyes stung as the salt dripped into them. The heat from the pit was searing my skin, too.
I wanted to scream, “Let me out!” when the tent door opened. Relief of the cold February air was sucked in. That interval had ended. They asked if anyone wanted to leave, but I was drawn to stay. More stones were added and the tent door was shut again. The tent began to heat. Again, we thanked the spirits and shouted prayers. The sweet grass sparkled on the stones. And the water “chhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhed” in response to the heat. My lungs were seared again and the panic returned. I wondered if I might die from suffocation, yet I knew that people have lived for days in the sweat lodge. What would get me was my fear. To control that, I prayed with the group.
By the third interval, I shouted out a prayer for my daughter. “Thank you Maya for coming into my life for such a short time, for showing me my path in life as a healer.”
The shaman spoke. “Did you say her name was Maya?”
“Yes.”
“In Huichol, Maya means panther and the panther shows the sun its path. Every day, when the sun rises, it looks for the panther to show it the way. Do you mind if I sing a prayer for her?”
“I would be honored.”
The words of the prayer, sung in Huichol, were unrecognizable to my ear, except for the word Maya. But I felt its meaning in every cell of my body. Deep inside my heart. Above me in the darkness, I saw a beautiful flowing ball of blue energy that rose to the top of the tent. I knew it was her.
After the prayer, the shaman threw more water on the rocks, and I continued watching the blue energy.
My body and soul felt cleansed, released and revived as we left the tent. The cold air was nothing. We were all silent, still absorbing the experience. I took my towel and laid it on the ground near the fire. I sat in my bathing suit, completely unperturbed by the winter air that taunted me earlier. I watched the fire fairies – the little sparks – as they released from the flames and floated to heaven.
I had no words. Words, at the moment, seemed futile and meaningless. There was so much wrapped up in the flames, in the sky, in the trees, in the earth. In the camaraderie of those who shared the experience, as we all watched the fire.
Hours passed. People went back to the cabins. There were three of us left staring at the spirit of the flames. I was one with the sky, with the fire, with the snow and the soil. With my daughter, the spirits, the ancestors – with everyone and everything that was or ever had been on this earth.

The Power of a Poem
Submitted by Donna Mahon
Chapter 1Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. He wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder. Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie" whose skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time. To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. He and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him. Eddie's one soft spot was his son, whom he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that the boy had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son: he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example. One day, Easy Eddie decided to rectify wrongs he had done by going to the authorities and telling the truth about Al "Scarface" Capone in order to clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against the Mob. He knew the cost would be great, but he did testify. Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine which read:
"The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour.Now is the only time you own.Live, love, toil with a will.Place no faith in time.For the clock may soon be still."Chapter TWOWorld War II produced many heroes. One such was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare, a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. On 20 February 1942 his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship he saw something that turned his blood cold:
A squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet. Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault, diving at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible and rendering them unfit to fly. Finally the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft. For that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor. A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, Chicago’s O'Hare Airport bears his name, a tribute to the courage of this great man. So the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial, which displays his statue and his Medal of Honor. It's located between Terminals 1 and 2. SO WHAT DO THESE TWO CHAPTERS HAVE TO DO WITH EACH OTHER? Butch O'Hare was Easy Eddie's son.

A Different Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our U.S service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let’s try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us.
LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN
30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One - Iraq





December 5, 2006
Submitted by Holly Barlow
This is an email my parents received from my brother Tuesday afternoon. He doesn’t live in Wallingford but was there on business in his old beloved Dodge Ram pick-up truck when “just another day” took an unexpected turn.
…If you were listening to the scanner at about 12:15pm, you may have heard that the Wallingford Fire Department had a call for a truck that was on fire. If you had, that call was made by me.
A chipmunk made a nest inside the dashboard of my truck, causing an arc, and POOF! all of a sudden I lost sight of the road that was paved before me.
With no place to stop or pull over, the only thing I could do was to immediately open the side and rear window. I knew where in proximity the hot spot was, but I also knew I could not extend my body long enough to try to put the fire out while driving at the same time. With smoke filling the cab quicker than the fresh air could consume it, it was difficult knowing how extensive of an issue it was or even where exactly it was coming from.
It soon became quite obvious as the color orange could be seen through the smoke filled cab, that I may loose my baby. I had to resort to becoming embarrassed and call someone to help. Before resorting to what I considered a “last option”, swallowing my pride to desperately save my own truck, I drove what I consider my country Lincoln to a safer spot.
I chose the first empty parking lot (near a Nissan dealership!) guessing at its entrance but feeling better knowing we were no longer in the midst of a two-lane highway. Upon reaching what I thought may be my last opportunity to drive my best love on wheels, I was starting to believe that these could be my final moments with her. Chilling thoughts ran through my mind of predicted ruins soon to be towed afar. The thought of her idle and people talking of her death became a priority to defend.
Now that she was sitting still and away from traffic, I bent underneath her dashboard in positions I have not been in for quite some years. I was still determined and viciously attempted to squelch the flames and sparks out from underneath the dash. One thing that was clear was that she was causing quite a scene while there was no end to my efforts. After burning one set of gloves and the flames continuing, I finally resorted to calling 911 to provide the assistance desperately needed with hopes of putting out the stubborn flame.
Soon there were sirens blaring and all you could see were red lights zipping through the thick traffic that populated Route 5. As sirens got closer to what I believed would soon be a truck cemetery, firemen from all sides of “Big Red” jumped out with passion to put out what was probably their first and maybe only fire of the day.
Thinking that if I met the energetic men beyond the halfway point of where my love was passionately smoldering and where the fire truck was parked near the curbside, I had more chances to negotiate their usage of fire retardant and more time to plead with them about dousing her with more water or foam than was needed.
As I approached the heavily clothed men, I walked amongst the cluster of them feeling very out of place without fluorescent attire. I begged them to only do what they would do if she were theirs. I could tell it was already too late. These men were too willing to perform the process in which they were taught and had so much pride in doing.
With one additional bellow and plea that the entire town could hear, one heroic firefighter recognized my need to extinguish her flame but at the same time, prevent her from more harm than need be. Still holding on to optimistic thoughts and believing that she would indeed be my transportation home, the hero stood apart from his brothers and gingerly started to do his thing in order to make my trip home possible.
Dousing her slightly with one squirt at a time, making it easier to see, the thickly clothed man took his used and blackened tools as if performing surgery and took each piece out until the cause was carefully found.
Upon finding the problem, she still needed to be doused a few more times. But knowing it was “Careful Joe the Fireman”, I knew it was going to be all right.
Soon, the fire was out and I shook hands with the pilot, co-pilot and crew of the magnificent red machine that saved my baby’s life. We were indeed able to drive away. Pulling away from the heroes belonging to the Wallingford City Fire Department and the machine that brought them to the scene, each wished me luck. We all waved with great dignity and cheered that the event was safely over. For a moment I felt like the character from a book from my youth called “Joe the Garbage Man”.
The office I share with others smells like a fire and my colleagues are asking me to go home to shower. I plan to leave sooner than usual but not home, not yet. I will drive my baby to Pete’s to have a new heater motor, motor fan and dashboard parts replaced.
Thank you Wallingford firemen for allowing my brother to spend another Christmas with his truck.


“Sheltering an Animal’s Perspective”
By Gregory M. Simpson
I had a dream the other night that I kept rescuing cats that looked identical to ones that I had already rescued. It was a nightmare that unfortunately is reflected in reality.
Do the math. The average number of litters a fertile cat can produce in one year is three. The average number of kittens in a feline litter is four to six. In seven years, one female cat and her offspring can theoretically produce 420,000 cats. (Fertile dogs can have two litters yearly with 6-10 puppies in a canine litter).
In my neighborhood alone, I rescued twenty stray, feral and abandoned cats, having them spayed, neutered and vaccinated before finding placements for them. Some went directly to good homes, others were taken in by no-kill animal shelters, and the ferals were moved to barn colonies.
The last in this series of twenty rescued cats was a mother who had two litters before she could be successfully trapped. We had a number of new misses before finally catching her. Her second litter of five kittens included three females and two males. Think of the number of cats that one litter could have produced. The Animal Welfare Federation of Connecticut (AWFCT) estimates that the population of free roaming and homeless cats in Connecticut is between 700,000 and one million.
Usually spring is the heaviest season for kittens coming into our no-kill shelter. This year the onslaught continued straight through summer. In addition, by October, 126 animals had been abandoned at our shelter’s door.
As I write this column, my orange tabby is resting contentedly on the rocking chair next to me. He was found starving and unable to move due to his entanglement in a flea collar. How lucky this cat is to have a home when there are literally millions of homeless cats. One estimate says that there may be as many homeless cats as there are companion animals.
According to the American Pet Products Manufacturers Association’s (APPMA) 2005-2006 survey, there are 90 million cats and 73 million dogs in U.S. households. That means 63% of all U.S. households own a pet, equating to more than 69 million households.
The Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) estimates that there are an estimated six to eight million cats and dogs entering shelters each year, only half of which find homes, with the rest being killed. Again, that’s three to four million killed. Shelters that kill animals prefer the term “euthanasia.” The dictionary defines euthanasia as “the act or practice of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick or injured individuals (as persons or domestic animals) in a relatively painless way for reasons of mercy.” These are not hopelessly sick or injured animals. They are three to four million adoptable animals.
Only 2-5% of cats entering shelters each year are reclaimed by owners. The percentage is slightly higher for dogs, at 30%. Purebred dogs fare no better than mixed breeds, as 25% of dogs in the up to 6,000 U.S. shelters are purebred.
Nearly all pet owners say that companionship and affection are the number one benefits to owning a pet. Return this kindness to cats and dogs by spaying and neutering them so that someday all will be able to have a loving home. Do not buy from breeders or pet stores. This only creates more overpopulation when there are already so many needing homes. Save a life. Find a new friend. Visit a shelter.
Gregory Simpson is Vice-President of the Meriden Humane Society, Inc. Board of Directors and a member of the Cat Writers’ Association. Formerly a state advisor to Friends of Animals, he was also named one of the 40 Ultimate Cat Lovers by CAT FANCY magazine.

MY YOUTHFUL DAYS FISHING
by Francis W. Lappert
I was 12 years old and my young brother was 10 when our father told us to catch a can of night crawlers and he would take us bullhead fishing at Meremere Reservoir. We did so, and he rigged up several tarred drop lines, as he didn’t have any fishing poles. We took off and walked to the north end of the reservoir, as this was his favorite spot to catch a mess of bullheads. We followed a path down the west side until he came to his favorite spot. Each of our lines was about 60 feet long with a two-ounce sinker on the end to help us throw it out. Our father, who was an expert with the line, caught the first fish, a nice one about 12 inches long. After dealing with several tangled lines, my brother and I got the hang of it and managed to get several fish, added to what our father caught, we quit when we had a dozen. Our mother fried them up the next day for supper. After a few more trips with him, he let us go by ourselves. At that time Meremere had a great quantity of small-mouth bass. We asked our older brother, who was an expert fisherman, what would be the best bait to catch them. He told us small green frogs or crayfish. He said the best place to catch the frogs was in the swamp for their food. The crayfish we could get in the reservoir by lifting up flat stones along the shore. We both supplied our family with many a fish dinner. I’ve got to mention the fact that the park seemed to be a breeding ground for the copperhead snakes. We killed many of them even where the swimming pool now stands. Quite a few years later, when fishing by myself on the west side of the reservoir among the huge rocks on the shore, I had a dozen small frogs in my bait pail. I had just landed a nice two-pound bass and was reaching for the pail in back of me for another frog to bait the hook. My hand froze in mid-air for there in back of the pail was a large copperhead. I reached for a nearby rock, but he saw me move, and slithered down among the rocks. Needless to say, I got away from there fast. The area between Hubbard Park and the south end of the reservoir seemed to hold most of the snakes. I have never encountered a rattlesnake in all my hiking in these woods, but my sister Rose killed a 42- inch rattler while waking in the woods near the halfway house we call Fair View. It had eight buttons. I recall in later years someone introduced large-mouth bass and also pickerel to Meremere reservoir. The fishing improved tremendously. I once caught a seven-pound twelve-ounce bass on a black jitterbug plug fishing at night. I would like to mention also that Peregrine Falcons used to nest on the crags on the west side of the reservoir and once saw one carrying a large snake in its talons back to its nest on the cliff. There also used to be the red-tail hawks that were always trying to get one of our chickens in the backyard, but our father chased them away with his 12-gauge shotgun. A final note: Meriden has five water supply reservoirs, two of them teeming with fish, Meremere and Broad Brook. It’s tragic not one of them is a not available to local fishermen.

Reindeer Facts

Reindeer Facts While these animals may not be able to soar through the skies (without the help of the jolly fellow in red that is), there are some interesting facts about reindeer to enjoy.· Reindeer reside in the Arctic north. They can be found in North America, Asia and Europe.· These animals are cousins of the caribou, which are larger than reindeer.· Reindeer can pull a full sleigh at a speed of 12 to 15 miles per hour.· Reindeer and caribou are the only deer where males, females, and calves produce antlers. Like other deer, the antlers are shed each year.· Reindeer hair is extremely dense so that the animals can survive in the Arctic. This thick coat allows the animals to lay on snow without melting it and getting wet.· Large feet in relation to their body size helps reindeer walk on snow.

'Season's Eatings'

'Season's Eatings' - 3 Sweet Holiday Ideas
Few people can resist the decadent temptation of chocolate. Because this treat has universal appeal, it can be used as a cornerstone in your holiday theme this season - whether in baking, gifting or entertaining.
While you may need no added excuses for indulging in chocolate heaven, here are a few others to satisfy your sweet tooth.
1. Season's Eatings. Express your holiday sentiments in more than words. Chocolate bars can be customized with stylish wrapping, embossed with a greeting of your choice, and shipped to eager recipients.
2. Take a dip. You may have seen champagne and punch fountains that add panache to social gatherings. However, a new trend is the chocolate fountain, where warm chocolate cascades ready for dipping. Cubed pound cake, cookies, fresh fruit, and scores of other treats can be enhanced with a coating of chocolate.
4. Snack for Santa. Santa may be a little bored with the milk-and-cookie routine. Why not leave out a dish of chocolate-laden brownies and a warm mug of hot chocolate with fresh-whipped cream? Who knows ... you just might find more gifts placed under the tree as a result.

Tips For First-Time Holiday Hosts Thinking about hosting a holiday party this season? Whether for 10 or 100 guests, even a novice can pull off a holiday party to remember, event planners say.
The key: Plan ahead.
This will help to avoid some common blunders of first-time party hosts, such as underestimating the guest count, running out of food or drinks or even breaking city noise ordinances, which may have the police on your doorstep.
One of the most common mistakes is when hosts put out too many chairs or tables. A party that should be 'move-around' [then] becomes sit-down and boring.
Instead, aim for a party where no one wants to leave, everyone is talking, eating, drinking, sharing stories, making new friends and enjoying great food, themed desserts and maybe even some fun activities.
Step 1: Determine a budget.
Create a budget that takes into account decorations, invitations, food and drink. If your budget gets too bloated. Try asking friends or guests to bring some food or having beer and wine, which is less expensive than a full bar.
Step 2: Decide the number of guests.
Make a wish list of whom you plan to invite and make sure you have the room or can rent a space to accommodate everyone. Then, send out invitations early and show off your creativity, because you're likely competing with many other holiday parties.
Step 3: Develop a party plan.
What foods will you serve? Are you cooking or catering in? Are you holding a holiday open house, a sit-down dinner, potluck or a buffet? Consider such questions to come up with a detailed plan. If you're baking, make up a schedule to coordinate all the work and time involved. If you're ordering any specialty items, do so in advance so you're not left with starving guests. Also, a theme - such as candyland or winter wonderland - can help tie a party together.
Coming up with something to break the ice, especially if a lot of your guests have never met, is essential. Some activities may include decorating cookies, caroling or a gift exchange.
Step 4: Prepare.
Don't wait until the day-of to tackle your to-do list. Make a list of what needs to be done and do as much as you can beforehand, such as decorating, assembling tableware and most of the baking.
Step 5: Enjoy.

Mistletoe Origins
Mistletoe is a plant that has a long history of use. It dates back to the ancient Druids who saw the plant as a sign of peace and goodwill. Warring parties would actually temporarily cease battle upon seeing mistletoe. Perhaps mistletoe is best known for love and fertility. In some European cultures, a kiss under mistletoe is a proposal of marriage. However, in the U.S., it is used merely as a sign of love and friendship and not a serious commitment. Men and women alike are encouraged to stand under the mistletoe in the hopes of receiving a kiss from their significant other - or to launch a new romance.

Parents as Teachers Gives Tips for Sharing Cultural Traditions in a Multicultural Home
Diversity is refreshing for those children who experience two cultures in their own home. However, it can sometimes create stressful situations for parents who come from culturally different backgrounds. "Your spouse or parenting partner has a cultural background, too, and may have different traditions," reminds Jane Kostelc, child development specialist. "Blending cultural perspectives to nurture your child is an important part of becoming a family. Practicing both parents' cultural traditions will open your child's world and provide her with lifelong memories." Here are ways you can make living in a multicultural home a blessing and learning opportunity for your child.
· Enriching your child's life with cultural traditions. Cultural traditions are what bond a family for life as they connect families to their heritage by reflecting ethnic, racial or national backgrounds. According to Parents as Teachers, learning about your family's cultural heritage can give your child a sense of identity that extends beyond your immediate family. It helps her realize she is a part of a larger community. Helping your child understand her own culture is the first step to teaching tolerance for other cultures.
· Bringing both cultures into the home. A simple way to incorporate two sets of traditions in your child's life is to read folk tales and stories from both cultures and talk with your child about what you learned from each culture. It is essential that your child understand both parents' traditions. "Traditional celebrations provide an opportunity and a context for making those cultural connections," says Kostelc. Connecting with grandparents or older relatives are also important ways to promote your child's social emotional development.
· Look to the community. One way for your child to participate in cultural activities is to look for opportunities to take part in the traditions of other cultures within the community and talk about how your celebrations differ. Holidays are a great time to find cultural activities in the community, but remember cultural learning can occur at any time of the year.


Did You Know?
Kwanzaa is an African holiday that is celebrated each year between December 26 and January 1. It was created by Maulana Ron Karenga in 1966.The term Kwanzaa is derived from the Swahili words meaning, "fruits of the harvest." Celebrants of Kwanzaa are encouraged to decorate their homes in the colors of Kwanzaa, which are black, red and green. Traditional African decorations, such as baskets and harvest items, can also add to the festivities. During Kwanzaa, gifts are mainly given only to children. What must be included in these gifts are books, which foster the Kwanzaa tradition of education, and a heritage gift, which denotes the connection to African history and culture.

Donors Beware Come Holiday Season
Much of the joy of the holiday season rests in the joy of giving. A time to reflect on what you have and what others may not, the holiday season represents the peak of donations for many charities across the country.
Unfortunately, the holiday season is often the peak season for fraudulent charities as well. Preying on people's willingness to give, such frauds have a number of tricks up their sleeve when it comes to getting your money. One of their more commonly used tricks is to prey on senior citizens, who they feel are the easiest marks. As good as these con men can be, however, their efforts can be easily thwarted by exercising a few precautions.
· Don't think a gift mandates a donation. Many fraudulent charities resort to this approach, sending you mailing labels, calendars or even cards in an effort to get you to reciprocate. While this is also the practice of many legitimate charities, look into any unsolicited gifts from so-called "charities" you've never heard of or never donated to. It's also important to beware of charities that boast a sweepstakes as an incentive to donate. Such sweepstakes often require a contribution as an entrance fee. Reputable charities don't need to resort to these tactics, so any that do might not be legitimate.
· Beware of the name game. Fraudulent charities often adopt similar names to charities you've heard of, in the hopes that you'll hear that like-sounding name and assume it's the same charity. Such was the case in 2005 after Hurricane Katrina, when many fraudulent charities preyed on people's willingness to support hurricane victims. Listen to the name of the alleged charity carefully, and look into it.
One company that rose to the forefront during Katrina was Charity Navigator, a non-profit organization that tries to help people looking to donate money. Charity Navigator (www.charitynavigator.org) aims to help people make intelligent donations and avoid being scammed.
· Don't give in to pressure. A telltale sign of a fraudulent charity is one that attempts to pressure you into giving. A legitimate and worthwhile charity doesn't need to pressure you, as you're likely well aware of its track record. Even if you're not, charities worth your donation will provide you with literature and other information that details their work. Legitimate charities also recognize your need to think over your donation, and won't pressure you into making one on the spot.
· Be wary of over-the-phone giving. While legitimate charities do resort to telephone fundraising, it's often at the expense of the charity. In essence, charities will hire for-profit fundraisers to reel in donations. Those fundraisers will take a cut of your donation. To get around this, if a fundraiser reaches out to you via telephone, ask for all pertinent information, such as a Web address, a mailing address, any materials that can be mailed to you, etc. Once you've read over all other materials, mail the charity a direct check. This will ensure that all of you donation is going to the charity, and not to the fundraiser.

Mid December 2006 Polls of the Issue

This months Polls are sponsored by Kovac's Insurance

Posts at The Peoples' Press Message Board and Email Polls
Sign up for our Email Reminders and Polls at http://www.peoplespressnews.com/ or visit post and answer at our message board at http://www.peoplespressnews.com/.
Have you ever re-gifted?
Names not used for this question to protect the identity of the re-gifters.
Ok, let's admit it. I have re-gifted a gift that I did not like - have you? – Andy

Re-gifting, I have done it for years. My brother has nothing good to say about it, but I do it anyway. It does not mean I do not appreciate the gift I receive from someone. Quite the contrary; it solves a problem on what to give to someone else. I often receive gifts I cannot use, such as a basket of gourmet coffee because I only use instant coffee, or a canister of Hershey's chocolates which I do not need to add to my calorie intake, or a fancy candle because I do not burn candles, so I give these things to someone else who does appreciate them - people who brew their own coffee, people who enjoy chocolate, people who love candles. I see nothing wrong with doing so. I have a limited income, and the gifts I cannot use that can be used by my friends, I definitely pass along. It saves me money, yes, but it also fulfills that ultimate goal of giving, and giving what someone will appreciate and use. I wish everyone a Merry Christmas! May you receive those gifts you want and need. And may we all be grateful for what Christmas has to offer each and every one of us. Namaste.

I must've re-gifted a thousand gifts given to me by my husband's family. Perfume, a battery operated de-linter (is that a word??), a fruit basket, gift certificates to places I don't shop... I suppose these gifts I re-gifted were re-gifted. I mean, a de-linter?

Since becoming a mother a little over a year ago, I h