It had been a long time since I was in Memphis. When I go north out of Florida, I usually go to my Mom and Dad's old place and stay with my sister. It feels like going back in time, back when Mother and Daddy were living, when they made Christmases so special. Everything is familiar, nostalgic, comfortable. There is plenty of quiet time to be had, something that is hard to achieve in my own home. If I try to write here, I bog myself down in whatever is going on around me. I've learned how to navigate this reading, writing with pen and pad, and computer input. That means going away from my house every morning for three to four hours, just like I used to do before retirement. The good part is that I have the rest of the day to do as I please—without worrying about pleasing anyone but me and hubs, of course! Selfish? Just wait until you get to this special time in life. You will love it. Back to my trip! When I travel to Mississippi, Peter and my grandson, Harrison

December 2011 Naked oaks crunchy brown leaves a deck of wood slats and green moss on the north side of things. A hint of yellow left from a Fall that has said goodbye and will not return for yet a little while. A heavy wood gate. Closed. A dog barks in the cold and gray. Cottage bricks rounded and shaped strong and old clinging together with mortar from ages past. Steps to the porch. Cold window panes. Doors ornate with Christmas wreaths. Lighted trees glowing, reflecting. Sweet ornaments with last year's photographs of children's faces framed in delicately knitted circles. Red, green The colors of Winter. There's a welcome here. Chimney smoke the fragrance of wood burning. Sparks on a hearth. Holly Noel—the perfect Christmas name. A good cup of coffee the taste of caramel. A verse for the day. A quiet moment. Fellowship. Joy divine. To lean, depend. Mercy drops and Grace in abundance. And the coveted Gift of Hospitality freely shar