OH WORLD OF JOY, OH EARTH OF PEACE

It is difficult to explain, but I feel there are certain thoughts and phrases which have been taken from heaven and sent directly to earth. Many of them are of the Christ-child's birth. The words, the feelings--well, they are awe inspiring and truly profound. They come in the form of Christmas songs. They often leave me feeling breathless, as a thrill surges through my body and my heart feels suspended in mid-air. Thoughts come to my mind such as, "Yes, yes, that is it. That is exactly how it was on His sacred day of birth." One day, as I was listening to many Christmas songs, I thought it would be interesting to take familiar words and phrases from them and to weave them together into a poem. This is what happened. Do you recognize the songs?

OH WORLD OF JOY, OH EARTH OF PEACE

Once upon the mid-night clear,

when silent stars shown round the Light,

One silent night, one holy night,

when all was calm, and all was bright.

Oh little town called Bethlehem,

oh crowded town--no empty bed,

except the manger far away,

a hay-filled trough, a lowly shed.

With angels bending near the earth,

while quiet, the lowing cattle stray,

near the Child's side they watch,

sleeping on a bed of hay.

The wisemen traveled very far,

with wond'ring awe, they saw the star,

gleaming, beaming, ever bright,

while shepherds watched their flocks by night.

Angels, they were heard on high,

praising, singing o'er the plains,

"Receive your King, adore your King,"

oh joyous sounds, oh joyful strains.

"Oh World of Joy, Oh Earth of Peace,"

oh, let the golden harpist ring.

"Hark, oh Hark," the angels sing,

"Glory to the wondrous King."

CHRISTMAS AT THE OLD REC HALL

The Old Rec Hall in Sandy holds many fonds memories for me. Each year, friends and neighbors would gather there for a special Christmas celebration. I remember the long walk to the Old Rec Hall with my sister and I thought we would never get there. It seemed that hundreds of people attended. There must have been some sort or program--although I don't remember any of it. I remember the squeaky floors and the long line of people waiting to see Santa up on the stage. The stage had maroon drapes but it seemed that blankets were hung to section off the room for I remember walking down the make-shift isles to the stage where Santa sat.

I felt afraid of him and timidly approached him to get my sack of goodies. It had an orange, peanuts, and hard-tack ripple candy. I remember the fibers of the peanut shells sticking to the sticky hard-tack candy. So, in order to eat the candy, the fibers had to be licked off. I was secretly disappointed with the bag of treats but eagerly received it anyway.

The hard-tack ripple candy was a favorite of my mother's and it seemed to find its way into our home every Christmas. I believe my mother was the only one who ate it however. It reminded her of her childhood and her years as a young girl on the farm when a single piece of colorful candy would be sucked on for hours and made to last the whole day. Mother's candy specialities were dollar mints and chocolate-peanut clusters. She always had a stash of her favorites in the bedroom and every time she went shopping, she would buy another bag. She was always generous with her candy and would surprise us with a little treat when least expected.

Today I am grateful for the memory of such a simple bag of goodies. Things were different then. Children did not expect the sun and the moon and the stars under the tree. I think it was better then. People seemed more focused on the simple joy of celebrating Christmas. I love returning to the Old Rec Hall every year. It brings back such fond memories for me.

A few weeks before Christmas, we would go as a family to buy a fresh tree. Dad would drive us there and let us pick out the tree we desired. But the truth is that I always picked the one that I thought he would like best. He brought twine and would tie the tree to the roof or the trunk of the car. He always had to build the tree for it was never perfect and seemed to always have a gaping whole in it. So he would saw off a branch elsewhere and somehow attach it where it was need.

One year when Loraine and I were young, the family had decorated the tree the night before and it was magnificent. I had never seen such a splendid sight. Why it was the most beautiful tree in the entire world. It had bubble lights and icicles and all sorts of colored bulbs. Loraine and I loved it so much that the next morning we got up early to view it with the lights on and noticed that the windows were steamy. So we got some rags to wipe off the front window. Unfortunately, as we were eagerly cleaning the window so that everyone could see it, we knocked the tree over, water and all. We then had the task of going into Mother and Dad's bedroom to tell them that we had just knocked the tree over and water was everywhere. They must have understood how excited we were, for they simply got out of bed, cleaned up the water, and put the tree in its upright position. It is a delicious memory for me--even with the ripple candy and peanut fibers. Yum!

HIGH FLIGHT

(The poem I wish I had written. My heart fairly soars as I read these beautiful, insightful words.)

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds--and done a hundred things
you have not dreamed of--wheeled and soared and swung
high in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
my eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
where never lark, or ever eagle flew--
and, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
the high untresspassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand and touched the face of God.

(Written by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee. He died a few months after writing this beautiful poem on a scrap of paper and sent it to his parents. He wrote the entire poem on flight as his heart with filled with inspiration. He died at the age of 19. It makes me appreciate even more the magesty of creation. He was truly inspired.)

BLIGHTFULLY UTAH

I took the opportunity to drive past my parent's home last week and I was amazed how it had changed over the years. It is an older neighborhood but had a certain charm. As a matter of fact, the bottom of Pioneer Avenue is littered with once lovely mansions. Today, however, it has become a street with blight and decay. I am very sad. The street that was once nicknamed "Blossom" now looks like the faded bloom of a withered rose.

I remember when Lady Bird Johnson campaigned for us to clean up our yards and to beautify the land. As the First Lady of the Country, her strong voice was heard as she encouraged us to take stewardship of our property and to care for our yards. I believe she was able to make a difference in the attractiveness of the neighborhoods across America as she admonished us to clean up, put away, and even get rid of those things that did not add to the beauty of our country. She taught us to have pride in our yards by taking care of them and then by being an example to others.

Under her tutelage, private and city properties were groomed and tended and beautiful beds of flowers were planted for the enjoyment of the entire community. But that was many years ago; and it is time, once again, to remember her admonition to "beautify the land."

The cooler temperatures, the shorter days, and the occasional rain may give us cause to think that it is time to curl up in front of the fireplace and to drink hot chocolate. This, of course, is true. However, there will be plenty of warm, golden days ahead where we can work in our yards to pull weeds, to groom the lawn, to sweep the gutters, to clean up our porches, to pick up debris which have blown in, to put away tools and toys, and to get the garden "ready to be put to bed." Then when winter finally arrives, our neighborhood will be so much more beautiful with yards which have been cared for in the fall.

We are truly fortunate--for living in our neighborhood is an awesome blessing. Where else on earth will we find such wonderful people than our own little corner of the world? Let's join together, each one of us taking responsibility for our own property, to groom and beautify our yards, so that we may visually enjoy the neighborhood during the season ahead.

SCHOOL NERVES

The first day of school has always made me feel so nervous. I remember my stomach churned and I fretted about who my new teacher would be. But mother said I would be just fine and not to worry--but I did anyway. I have always been so nervous.

Last year, I stood in line at the second grade door and now I have to stand in line at the third grade door, and I am afraid that I will get mixed up like I did last year. So, I stood outside the school's door like a tin soldier with my arms straight down by my side and my head straight ahead so that the teachers would see what a nice girl I would be. But they did not seem to notice.

The teachers finally came to call roll and I secretly wanted the pretty teacher with the Ipana smile to call my name. She never did. The old teacher with the frowning face did. She did not look like she was going to be a bit of fun--so now I really felt nervous.

Then one day she said, "My, look how round your 'O' is." "Oh, your 'P' is perfect." "Wow, I like the way you color inside the lines." Then I noticed something sort of strange. Her frown turned upside down and I was surprised to see that she had an Ipana smile too. So now school does not make me nervous any more.

The first day of school has always made me feel so nervous. I remember the first day I taught school. I was so nervous that my head ached and I fretted about who my students would be. But my husband said I would be just fine and not to worry--but I did anyway. I have always been so nervous.

Last year, I taught third grade and now I will teach fourth and I am afraid that I might get mixed up like I did last year. I opened the school's door nervously and stood with the other teachers like a tin soldier with my arms at my side and my head straight ahead so that the children would see what a nice teacher I would be. But they did not seem to notice.

School was to begin and I secretly wanted to call the names of the students who were bright and shiny and had Ipana smiles, but they weren't on my list so I called on the students with frowning faces. They did not look like they were going to be a bit of fun--so now I felt nervous for sure.

Then one day, one of the students said, "My, look how nice your writing is." "Oh, I like the way you draw." "Wow, you really know how to read a good story!" So, now school does not make me nervous any more.

CRACKS IN THE SIDEWALK

Old habits are very hard to change. I remember as young girl walking with my sister along Main Street in Historic Sandy to go to the store for my mother. The stride of my walk was very irregular. Some steps were short, and some were extra long because I was cautious not to step on a crack for I did not want to "break my mother's back." It must have been very odd watching me walk for I kept this up the entire length of the cement sidewalk. I wonder where on earth that old sage advice came from and what made people think that stepping on a crack in the sidewalk would cause bodily injury to someone else. I am sure its origin must be unique. I can only say that because of my cautious nature, my mother never had a broken back. The conclusion is that the old saying was justifiably true.

Even today, I find myself being cautious not to step on a crack--wouldn't want my mother, who now residing in Heaven, to break her heavenly back. Sometimes I say to myself, "This is complete nonsense to think that I am hurting my mother by stepping on the crack!" Not wanting to keep up this craziness, one day I intentionally stepped on a crack just to prove the old saying to be wrong; and wouldn't you know it, as I deliberately stepped my foot down on the crack, which also had weeds growing out of it, I twisted my ankle. From that time forward, I have become a believer. I am now convinced that a crack in the sidewalk must have some kind of secret powers and, if you are not careful, it will indeed break your back! Craziness or not, I now have a healthy respect for all sidewalk cracks. I don't try to second guess them for they lay in wait for their next unsuspecting victim. I am convinced they can see you coming!

ENCHANTING

I've noticed the two of them on several occasions in the same cloth store which I frequent. They obviously enjoy their friendship with each other and even their lunch as they spread out their sandwiches, potato chips, and carrots on the cloth-cutting table--apparently oblivious to those around them who have come to the table to have their cloth measured and cut. I've wondered why someone has not say something to them about getting mustard on the yardage. But I figured that if it does not bother those getting their cloth cut, then it does not bother me.

As I've observed the two, I've discovered two very delightful and intelligent women whose friendship is rare. One woman is in a wheelchair. Her body is ravaged by some dreaded disease which has caused her to be twisted and slumped over. The other woman is in better health, or at least she is walking around, but seems to have challenges of her own. It is obvious that they go to the store for the same reason that I go to the store which is to be visually and mentally stimulated.

One sunny afternoon, as I was in the cloth shop for my weekly jaunt, I saw them as they strolled up and down the isles--one walking and one in the wheelchair--and they stopped at each display to study each treasure. After sometime had passed, and to my delight, I over heard one woman calling to the other (for they had separated and were on different isles) and she wondered where her friend was. The woman in the wheelchair sweetly called back that she had become "enchanted" with some decoration and that she had been studying it for some time.

"Enchanted." What a lovely word. I had visions of a beautiful piece of art work which had been creatively, exquisitely designed and crafted and was now on sale. I thought that I must surely go see what the item was that was so "enchanting." So after the woman in the wheelchair left, I looked and looked around the display case but could not see what had been so "enchanting" that it caused her to hold it, feel it, study it, and enjoy it.

I had a slight pang of envy for I, too, wanted to be "enchanted" by something rare and beautiful. It was then that I realized that "enchantment" is in the eyes of the beholder.

VIGNETTING

The technique of vignetting, a term used in oil painting, which means to shade off gradually into the background, blends the oils and mixes the colors nicely. The artist loads an ample amount of paint to the tip of each brush and then strokes the brush in a crisscross fashion across the canvas. Although the colors blend beautifully, as the light hits the canvas at different angles, to my way of thinking, the technique sometimes looks rather artificial.

Tonight, however, as I was admiring the beautiful sunset and thinking how wonderful it would be to have such a large canvas on which to express myself, I noticed bold strokes of color which crisscrossed and remarkably resembled the technique of vignetting. Splashes of color--Alizarin Red, Cadmium Orange and Yellow, Moss Green, and hints of Sepia--dotted the horizon. I imagined a gigantic sable paint brush dabbing and stroking against the canvas of the sky. What Technicolor! What technique! What splendor! But with each passing minute, the hues and texture of the sky morphed and gradually the sun lowered behind the mountain leaving only a hint of color and the faded memory of Chinese White, Payne's Grey, and a dab of Thalo Blue. The Technicolor sky was almost gone but the Great Artist's impression of vignetting left a lasting memory of beauty. What a marvelous sight!

AMERICA, THE VISION

Carl Sandburg once wrote, "I see America, not in the setting of the sun of a black night of despair ahead of us. I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun, fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision."

I, too, see America in "the crimson light of a rising sun." I see America as a land where precious freedoms are preserved through the united efforts of honest men and women. I see America ripe with opportunities where those with great expectations and enterprise may take flight; where those willing to work hard and to be inventive may achieve their vision; where dreamers and visionaries lively with imagination may reap the reward of abundant success. I see a land where individual rights are protected and where individual voices may be heard. I see a land rich in optimism and a land enveloped with hope.

Sadly, I also see America filled with elements of despair. I sometimes see America as a land where those in high places with their swanky suits and high-priced ideas, corrupt and self-serving, a cancer to society, flourish at the expense of the common man. I sometimes see America where greed is common and honesty is rare. I sometimes see America where the eyes of indifference turn away from poverty, neglect, and abuse. America is an interesting contrast of "blight or bright;" and where you live, in your neighborhood, or in your mind, dictates the America that you see.

And yet, and yet...

I know it is a land which can be filled with exceptional goodness. It is a land which can be filled with high morals and values. It is a land where freedoms reign supreme and where patriotism runs deep.

As a school girl, I had the unique privilege of having those precious feelings of patriotism embedded deep within my heart. At the old Sandy Elementary School, a patriotic devotional was held faithfully each morning. I loved the devotional and held it with the greatest of respect. Each day, it began with a magnificent rendition of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible, swift sword; His truth is marching on...."

And then the teacher would say, "Class, please stand to recite the Pledge of Allegiance." Standing at attention with hands over heart, the Pledge would be recited. Eloquent, meaningful words of Abraham Lincoln then followed; and finally a prayer was given. It was simple, yet powerful, and most memorable.

Thoughts of patriotism and thankfulness course through my mind at the very sight of the American flag. The opening cords of the National Anthem will cause emotional feelings to well up within my bosom. How blessed we are as a nation to have the right to stand tall with the conviction to do good and to have the ability to make a difference. How blessed we are to have the right to choose good over evil. How blessed we are to have a nation founded by our forefathers whose ideals, purposes, and design aligned with Deity. Yes, I embrace the thoughts of Carl Sandburg that we are, indeed, a blessed nation where we may "see America in the crimson light of a rising, sun, fresh from the burning, creative hand of God."

MY CHILD

...the creation of the stars in the
Milky Way
pales in comparison
to the creation of you,
my child...

SONJA--ANGEL EYES

My first child, Sonja:

"...her hair flying this a way and that a way in the wind..."

ANGEL EYES

Sometimes when I gaze at those angel eyes
I think I am looking at Eve,
or is it Mary, or Heavenly Mother
that I think my mind conceives?

No, its none of these that my mind preceives
but someone who is fair and wise.
Sonja, my child, it is you that I see
when I gaze at those angel eyes.

Sometimes a small glimpse of what you will be
comes forth in an admirable way;
When you tell me you love me or say that you're sorry
or help me with work through the day.

And, sometimes I see the woman you'll be
by the way that you comb your hair
or when you whisper sweet secrets to me
or by the things that you share.

Sometimes I wonder, "How can this be so.
Did you really choose me for your mother?"
But when I see those eyes look at me
I know that we each chose no other.

ALEZA--FAMILY SECRETS

My second child, Aleza:

"...how do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?..."

FAMILY SECRETS

A certain little girl of mine
keeps me breathless most the time.

Telling stores short and tall
Family Secrets--one and all.

"Why, Uncle Brent should be in jail.
He stole a kiss and winked as well."

"Aunt Loraine's a kangaroo.
She's got a baby coming due."

"Grandma, dear, 's a silly goose.
She drinks some stuff to make her loose!"

"Aunt Cheryl's beard's in a funny place.
Not on her chin, but above her face."

"Mommy's a pirate with treasures of old.
Her teeth are filled with silver and gold."

But Gramp's the smartest of the lot.
He reads the paper while on the pot."

Yes, Family Secrets are fun to tell
and Aleza sure can tell them well!

SPENCER PONDERS THE THEORY OF GRAVITY

My third child, Spencer:

...I'm gonna shoot for the moon but I'm sure I'll hit the stars...

SPENCER PONDERS THE THEORY OF GRAVITY

His eager mind thought and thought
as he laid in bed one night.
He could not hold his young mind back
as his many thoughts took flight.

"I wonder what is going on--
up in the sky," said he.
"And just exactly what is this force
known as gravity?"

So he gathered all his science books
and he studied night and day.
His mind absorbed many wonders
and his study became his play.

Is it up or down? I've just got to know.
And he pulled plans from his pocket.
"I'll get me a can of super fuel
and I'll fly me an awesome rocket."

Never mind that the fields are very dry
And that fires can be dreary.
'Cause, this gravity's got me puzzled
and I've got to test my theory."

So up he shot that high tech "rock"
And it came down in a flury.
"Why gravity must be down, not up,
'Cause it landed in a hurry!"

AUTUMN--BEAUTY INTERTWINED

My fourth child, Autumn:

...her reason--motherhood
...her season---motherhood
...for pleasin'--God

BEAUTY INTERTWINED

Beauty that's outer
dazzles the eye.
It shimmers, it sparkles,
it shines.

Beauty that's inner
catches the heart.
It's gentle, it's warm,
it's kind.

But the beauty that's fair
and considered most rare
is the beauty that's intertwined.

TRENT--BUILDING A SHOE RACK

Trent, my fifth child:

...he gathers nuts 'n bolts 'n bits of string...

BUILDING A SHOE RACK

I think I'll build a shoe rack;
it's a very useful thing.
I'll search the many junk drawers;
just to find a bit of string.

I need a hanger for the frame--
nothin' else will do.
I'll use a stretch of masking tape,
and a tiny dab of glue.

Now this contraption may seem odd
and look a little strange.
'Cause I took the light bulb
from the hood above the kitchen range.

I'll take a needle and some thread;
and sew it all together.
And paint it colors of every hue;
it simply can't get better.

Now there's a pocket for every shoe--
it's really very handy.
'Cause I can fit my socks in too,
and a bit of hard tack candy!

TRAVIS--THE DREAM

My sixth child, Travis:

...electricity flows through his veins. Plug him in and watch him light up!...

THE DREAM

Now here's a boy whose got a dream;
it can hardly be contained.
His ideas are twirling in his head;
and he's always feelin' drained.

'Cause he stays up half the night--
workin' on some new scheme;
to build a little movie house;
to satisfy his dream.

So he bought a pile of timber,
some plastic, and a sheet.
And he stretched and nailed each corner
'til the big screen was complete.

He bought quite a projector,
that shines upon the wall.
The picture is gigantic,
and 'luminates the hall.

His first projector was really great,--
until it blew a fuse.
A small explosion shook the room,
and Dad was not amused.

The celluloid melted fast away,
the fire was soon contained.
But he didn't give up--no not he;
the story has been famed.

His mind's been twirling ever since;
his ideas are really hot.
He did some hefty figurin';
and he's a workin' out his plot.

He wants the biggest movie screen,
the world has ever found.
He'll stretch that screen wall to wall;
and blast that blessed sound!

LETTER TO A FRIEND

It seems almost like yesterday when we first moved into this neighborhood that I noticed your darling home decorated according to season. First it is snowmen and valentines,and then spring blossoms. From there it goes to bird houses and sunflowers, and then autumn leaves, and finally holly n' berries. Then it begins all over again—just like clock work!

Each time I round the corner, my eye catches a glimpse of something new and delightful. It is a pleasure for me to watch the seasons unfold on your front doorstep. I admire your ability to decorate and to pull beautiful displays together. It is such a beautiful talent that you have been given.

Soon, I began hearing about a beautiful back yard—a secret garden —as such, filled with magnificent perennials. And, my, what a breathtaking sight when I first entered your splendid yard. It reminds me of what I envision the Garden of Eden to be like.

I so much enjoy listening to you talk about your flowers. You can name every one of them and know exactly what season they will bloom. I learned that you lovingly planted them in the perfect spot so that they will grow and flourish and mature to full bloom. I admire and love great gardeners. People who live close to the earth, like you, understand things about this world that the rest do not.

I next discovered your delightful character. Full of fun and mischief. Always, always with the fresh idea. Always wanting to make "things" fun and memorable.
To the point, and always truthful. I admire all of those qualities. You are a wonderful example to me in so many ways.

You have left your beautiful mark on friends in the neighborhood. They speak of you often and express their love for you. I add my love to theirs and thank you for your precious friendship. You are a beautiful Daughter of God. It is a joy knowing you.

GRANITE BOULDER AND TENDER SHOOT

Mother Nature often teaches us powerful lessons about life. I learned one lesson about the importance of "letting the light in" through a boulder and a tree.

It is not unusual for a tree to grow next to a boulder, but it unusual for a tree to grow in the center of a boulder. Such was the case of a large granite boulder near some farm land. Amazingly, the granite boulder was split in half with a large tree growing out of the center. Imagine a tiny seed germinating deep beneath the earth under the boulder. First a ray of light, next a trickle of rain, and then somehow the impossible happened, a tender shoot sprouted and grew up into the porous rock. It eventually cracked the boulder in half and grew into a beautiful tree. Now that was rich soil.

It seemed impossible for the seed to take root, grow, and then flourish as a beautiful shade tree, but it did! What may seem like an insurmountable goal can actually eventuate. When the ray of light shines through, and moisture comes, the seed will germinate and grow. If it is a good seed, it will grow when nourished whether it is spiritually, mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, or financially.

A few years ago a problem was posed to a group of engineers to which they were to find a solution. They were challenged to design an asphalt type substance which could not be penetrated by the sun, rain, sleet, or snow. Finally, a near perfect product was produced and was laid. Months passed and the product seemed to be the answer to all their problems until someone noticed a single blade of grass growing up through this asphalt. How did the light get in? It seems that a hairline fissure barely visible to the naked eye cracked open. A single blade of grass felt the warmth from a small shaft of sunlight and grew and grew. Remarkable!

Within each of us is that great and noble desire to let ''the light get in.'' I personally believe that it comes from the fact that we were all born with the Light of Christ and that there is a yearning to keep that light alive deep within our souls. Joyful living comes to us when the ''light gets in.''
(Excerpt from "Finding Fulfillment" by Lorae Stirling)

ANTS ON A LOG

Ants on a log--
all in a row.
Tell a tale of wonders
of all the things they know.
Tell us your tale
of the wonders that you know,
as we all sit together
like ants in a row.

THE OVERWHELMING, IMPOSSIBLE TASK

It is important to set goals and then strive to achieve them. A great measure of joy came to my life when a monumental goal was completed a few years ago. The amazing thing about this goal is that it started some forty-five years ago when I was a teenager. I am sure it was through my father's example of collecting poetry, quotes, and stories that I started my own collection. You can imagine, after so much time had passed, the vast amount of written materials I had gathered.

One day, I opened the filing cabinet and made the decision to either get rid of the collection or actually put it in some type of order. It was on every kind of paper imaginable from old envelopes, bits and scraps of paper, to faded mimeographed sheets. In its present form, it was a just a heap of paper, unmanageable, and certainly not very useful. I knew I had to do something with it; and thankfully, I could see the possibilities of a wonderful book. So plans were made to get started on what looked like an overwhelming, impossible task.

The objective was to work on the project a few hours each evening and on weekends during the long winter months. At first, it seemed like a boring, endless job—all the sorting, tossing, typing, proofreading, and printing that needed to be done—but I kept in mind that I did not have to complete the project all at once; I just needed to finish one page at a time.

As I completed the final pages, I had feelings of satisfaction and fulfillment in my heart for I had accomplished a monumental task; and to top that off, my goal was realized. My time and effort had been well spent and the end product was worth the many months of hard work devoted to its completion. I add fresh material to the book yearly and find pleasure in thumbing through the pages on a quiet afternoon while relishing in the fact that what was a forty-five year collection, a “useless heap of paper,” is now a beautiful book and a completed goal.