A Christmas Poem...

I ran across this poem on someone else's blog.  I tracked it down to a blogger named Michael Marks, who posted it in 2000.   We sure need to express our appreciation to our troops, especially at this time of year.  You might consider an email or a card to someone you know who's on active duty.  If you don't know someone, there are Web sites like the USO site or www.AnySoldier.com that will send gifts to troops who have no family.

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.'

God bless our service men and women!

From Our House to Yours...

Christmas at Ebabe's...

Loss of a Wonderful Lady...

I recently completed an assignment at a manufacturing facility on Long Island.  From my first day on the job I noticed that the cafeteria was a very well run operation.  The food was wholesome and reasonably priced, the menu was varied and appealing, but these are the things you expect.  The difference in this cafeteria was the attitude of the staff.  Everyone was outgoing, friendly, and extremely proud of what they were doing.  It made all the difference in the world!

The manager was a little lady named Cheryl Fickeissen.  She was a bundle of energy and this energy spread to her entire staff.  She was one of those rare people who could call everyone "honey" or "sweetie" and it sounded natural.  Everyone was equal in Cheryl's world.  We were all part of her family and we were made to feel that way.  I commented to my boss one day, only half jokingly, "If we could capture the attitude of the cafeteria and spread it out, this company would have all its problems solved in a week!"

Cheryl was everywhere at once - checking the coffee urns, signing a receipt for deliveries, tending to the cash register.  But she always had time to be friendly.  She called everyone by name.  It was uncanny how many names she had on instant recall.  And she asked questions that made you know she cared about you.  "How's the gift shop doing?  Did you get home this weekend to be with your bride?"  And this attitude was contagious.  On the day before I left, a lady on the staff named Bonnie made her special potato salad as a going-away gift to me.  The cafeteria was a place you soon expected special treatment from and the staff never let you down.

A few weeks ago, we came to work on a Monday and Cheryl wasn't there.  Her daughter Stacy had stepped in to help out and explained that her mother was in the hospital with an apparent heart problem.  A few days later, the doctors inserted a couple of stents in some arteries and she was soon back at work, the same bundle of hospitality as ever.

I learned yesterday that Cheryl passed away last Thursday of a heart attack.  It hit me as if she were a member of my own family.  I will miss her, and I'm sure I have a lot of company.  Excellence is not reserved for the high and mighty.  Cheryl Fickeissen was living evidence that it exists in the most humble and unlikely places.  God grant you peace, Cheryl. †

Times Could Be a Lot Worse...

Grass...

I grew up in a house on a large corner lot, the corner of Union Street and Gillespie Street in Schenectady, New York.  My older brother Bill and I had two major duties -- cutting the grass in the summer and shoveling snow in the winter.  We tried various ways of dividing up the work and no matter how we split things up each of us was convinced that the other one got the best deal.

Thus it was that I rejoiced when in 1948 my father bought a 20" Eclipse Rocket gasoline-powered lawn mower.  Suddenly, I wanted to cut the grass!  For the next several years I was the grass cutter.  I loved that machine.  I tinkered with it, putting a larger carburetor on it.  I filed down the detents on the governor to make it run faster.  I rigged it up with a harness to my old red wagon, and having mounted a seat, I drove it up and down the street.  Mike Leding and I argued endlessly whether reel mowers or rotaries did a better job of cutting grass.  That lawn mower was tough and lasted for many, many years.  Only God knows whatever happened to it.  Part of its legacy is that I still love engines and machinery.  I have, however, outgrown my love for mowing grass.

Recently, I ran across this old ad for that great old lawn mower.

Sign of the Season...