More Vintage Valentines

ANTIQUE CHILDHOOD VALENTINES
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Unique Gilded Age Valentine
from the childhood favorites of my Grandmother
Rovilla Heideman Lindsey (1891 - 1966)
[please see previous post]

The boardering shades of monochromatic pink,
are in keeping with Valentines Day,
yet completely unlike all of the other
multi - colored cards that Rovilla saved over the years.

The gray tones of the little illustration are unusual,
as well as the subject matter -- a humble shepherd child,
instead of the more typical elaborately dressed children
and adults, highly decorated with fans, flowers . . .

Like this one:

Opening up the pink / gray Valentine,
I found it rather endearing that the sender,
who remains unknown, as the card is unsigned,
has managed to include two misspellings,
adding a "u" and an extra "i"

thus R-o-u-v-i-l-l-i-a
instead of R-o-v-i-l-l-a

Yet, it has survived as a multi - generational treasure!
Rovilla kept it all of her life, passed it on to
her daughter (my mother) who passed it on to me.

And now, for some even older Valentines,
see Rovilla's note below:

Rovilla's parents / my great - grandparents:
Anna Mary Miller & William Michael Heideman,
on their Wedding Day ~ March 9, 1886.

Too bad Cupid's head is missing from this one,
but that's a structural hazard of these delicate cards,
especially after 135 years, no matter how expensive!

Notice the use of Anna's married name on the back,
so it must be sometime after 1886.
Notice also the price of this elaborate card:
~ 35 cents in 1900 = $12 in 2022 ~

**************

"Even memory is not necessary for love.
There is a land of the living and a land of the dead
and the bridge is love,
the only survival, the only meaning."

~ Thornton Wilder ~
from the novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey

**************

“We have a few old mouth-to-mouth tales; we exhume from old trunks and boxes and drawers letters without salutation or signature, in which men and women who once lived and breathed are now merely initials or nicknames out of some now incomprehensible affection which sound to us like Sanskrit or Chocktaw; we see dimly people, the people in whose living blood and seed we ourselves lay dormant and waiting, in this shadowy attenuation of time possessing now heroic proportions, performing their acts of simple passion and simple violence, impervious to time and inexplicable.”

~ William Faulkner ~
from the novel Absalom, Absalom!
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, March 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Old - Time Valentines
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Valentines of Yore

ANTIQUE CHILDHOOD VALENTINES
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Above, adult handwriting of my Grandmother
Rovilla Heideman Lindsey (1891- 1966):
"My first Valentine after starting
to school." [c. 1896]

Below, perhaps written by
the mother of Rovilla's classmate
"To Rovilla from Sarah Grimes"

And, written by Rovilla as an adult:
"Sarah was dearest little friend I
ever had. Lived in Lyons, Kans."

~ Valentine Coincidence ~
I came across Rovilla's late 1890s childhood Valentines a few years ago and filed them carefully away for future reference. I knew they might come in handy one day for the creation of a blogpost such as this one.

This next Valentine, however, is a more recent discovery, but it also comes to me courtesy of Rovilla. A week ago, I was thumbing through her 1965 diary, which has been sitting on my desk, along with some other memorabilia, since my mother -- Rovilla's daughter -- died in May 2020. I have not read it cover to cover, but every now and then I pick it up and read a section. When I did so last week, on February 10, this little paper Valentine fluttered to the floor. Somehow, it had been wedged so safely in the diary that I had never before noticed or dislodged it.

As luck would have it, the timing was perfect -- barely a week before Valentine's Day! Rovilla was my "Grandma Lindsey." But this 100 - year - old Valentine is addressed to another "Grandma Linsdey" -- Rovilla's mother-in-law, the mother of her husband (my mother's father / my grandfather Paul J.Lindsey).

"To: Grandma Lindsey
[My great - grandmother
Sarah Hartman Lindsey (1856 - 1937)]

From: May Smith
[My first cousin, once removed (1917 - 1981);
she was the daughter of Paul's sister,
my great aunt Beatrice (1891 - 1921)]

As you can see from the inside, this sweet, simple Valentine
was cut from a wallpaper sample / advertisement.
I wish the text indicated a specific year!
We'll just have to guess, based on May's handwriting.
She was 5 in 1922, so it depends on when she learned cursive.

How heartwarming it is to think of May preparing this cut - out heart for her grandmother or to read Rovilla's reminiscence of exchanging Valentines with the dearest little friend she ever had. How lucky we are to have been raised within a tradition of lace hearts and grade - school Valentines. When I went to my favorite greeting card website a few days ago to download a few e - Valentines, I was baffled to encounter this informative little disclaimer:

"One of the numerous differences between the “two nations divided by a common language” as Churchill described us, is that here in the UK, Valentine’s Day tends to be strictly about romantic relationships, whereas in America, it seems people send Valentine’s Day cards to pretty much anyone! This can lead to unfortunate transatlantic misunderstandings."

"Unfortunate"? Really? Could it be all that bad to receive a Valentine card? This is the first time I've come across the Valentine warning, even though I've been sending Jacquie Lawson e - cards for 20 years. She elaborates further on the cultural dis - connection:

"Here in the UK, Valentine’s Day is predominantly a matter of romance between couples. So when we first set up JL back in 2002, we were amazed to receive requests from American fans for Valentine’s Day ecards suitable for their mothers, or grandmothers, or indeed almost anyone!

Over the years we’ve learnt to provide a wide selection of Valentines ecards, suitable for all your loved ones – romantic, platonic, or whatever."

Whatever! No Valentine boxes stuffed with silly cards from your classmates? No Valentines to or from the teacher? Nothing for Grandma? Nothing from Aunt Alice for her little niece and nephew? That would be too sad.

Rovilla with her younger brother Melville in 1910

**************

Some closing connections
for the naysayers amongst us:

Lemony Snicket singles out the day on "A Series of Unfortunate Events Calendar": "February is midwinter, and February 14th is mid - February, so Valentine's Day is mid-midwinter, the bleakest day of the year. Also, love is celebrated."

&
Margaret Atwood explains the tradition of getting down on one knee to say "I love you": "What do you think all that kneeling's about down among the crinolines, on the Persian carpet? Or at least say it. When all else is lacking, verbalization can be enough. Love. There, you can stand up now, it didn't kill you. Did it?

Next Fortnightly Post ~ More Vintage Valentines
Monday, February 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Valentines From Friends & Ellie
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Literary Board Games

BOARD GAMES
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

The History of Candyland

Literary Candyland!

I'm looking forward to playing these "new" games with my family.
They had just come on the market when I first saw them advertised;
now they are "vintage" and out - of - print.
Why did I wait 20 years to order them?
But they still look fun, right?

It all begins with Candyland . . .
and the next thing you know, Monopoly . . .

Monopoly

We used to play, long before we bought real houses.
A roll of the dice could send a girl to jail.
The money was pink, blue, gold, as well as green,
and we could own a whole railroad
or speculate in hotels where others dreaded staying:
the cost was extortionary.

At last one person would own everything,
every teaspoon in the dining car, every spike
driven into the planks by immigrants,
every crooked mayor.
But then, with only the clothes on our backs,
we ran outside, laughing.

by Connie Wanek (b 1952)

Like the children in the poem, I've rarely had the focus required to compete at board games. As a child, I was always the one to get up and wander around when it wasn't my turn or give all my houses away if someone asked for them. One of my earliest Monopoly memories was seeing a brand game in the recesses of the car trunk, as my parents were bringing in the groceries a few weeks before Christmas 1966. That must have been when we little kids realized that Mom and Dad were Santa's helpers.

The next Christmas, it was the Game of Life, and so many others down through the years: Battleship, Chinese Checkers, Mahjong, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit. Clue was a great favorite because of the characters and the narrative. You can guess what I'm always looking for in a board game: would it make a good novel? Or, better yet -- the obvious appeal of the games above -- is it based on a novel? Games should be fun, like fiction! Turns out, I tire pretty easily of games and puzzles that are too much like life. If it's real life you're looking for, we've already got that, as this poem by Barbara Crooker illustrates so well:

Monopoly 1955

We start by fanning out the money, colored
like Necco wafers: pink, yellow, mint, gold.
From the first roll of the dice, differences widen:
the royal blues of Boardwalk and Park Place
look down their noses at the grapey immigrants
from Baltic and Mediterranean Avenues.
My grandparents coming from Italy in steerage
measured their gold in olive oil, not bank notes
and deeds. The man in the top hat and tuxedo
always holds the good cards. The rest of us
hope we can pay the Electric Company.
We know there is no such thing as Free Parking,
and Bank Errors are never in our favor.
In the background, Johnny Mathis croons
Chances Are from the cracked vinyl radio.
We played for hours, in those years
before television, on the Formica table,
while my mother coaxed a chicken,
cooking all day on the back burner, to multiply
itself into many meals. The fat rose to the surface,
a roiling ocean of molten gold.

by Barbara Crooker (b 1945)
From her book Gold

******************

A board game for the Erica Kane fans out there:

Pine Valley!

And Tarot cards,
ranging from classic to whimsical:

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, February 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Krazy Ikes
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Epiphany: All Have Made a Journey

BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Detail of Ellie's first ornament ~
received last year from some dear friends

Last year, this little treasure
went straight to the top of the tree!

This year, I had a different idea!
I thought instead of gold, frankincense, and myrrh,
the Wisemen could bring something Mary might really
need: new shoes for her Baby!

These three Wise Kittens had a similar idea:
they brought a delicious Plum Pudding!

For the Season of Epiphany:
"All Hail Cat Jesus!" ~ by Louis Wain (1860 – 1939)

After the conclusion of the Twelve Days of Christmas
(December 25 - January 5),
comes the Day of Epiphany (January 6)
and the arrival of the three wisemen with their gifts.

As soon as the day came, earlier this month,
I started seeing Wise Ones everywhere, in sets of three
-- such as the kittens above, and the travelers below!

Storypeople ~ "Heading South"
by Brian Andreas (b. 1956)

Epiphany is a season of revelation, a time, as poet Anne Ridler explains, that we should leave our "minds ajar / For once to admit the entrance of a stranger," to understand old truths in new ways. Ridler has written in celebration of numerous feasts and seasons. See, for example, the poems featured in my recent posts: "The Pause Between Seasons," "All Souls Observed," and "This Colorful Friday" (after Thanksgiving). In the following poem, she offers an alternative, deeper explanation for each of the traditional gifts presented by the Three Kings (of Orientar):

Poem For A Christmas Broadcast

Woman's Voice
Perhaps you find the angel most improbable?
It spoke to men asleep, their minds ajar
For once to admit the entrance of a stranger.
Few have heard voices, but all have made a journey:
The mind moves, desiring dedication,
Desiring to lay its gifts, as a dog its bone,
At the feet of the first creation. "Take it or leave it"
Says pride, "You made it; You must bear the blame."
But secretly the heart "O make it good."
"Either God acts in vain, or this is God."

1st King
Melchior brings gold. O teach me to give,
For this was infancy's first love:
Its first possession; its adult passion
O new creation
Take my treasure and make me free.

2nd King
Caspar, incense: all that is strange,
Oblique, projected beyond the range
Of the First Person. Such mediation
O new creation
Take, that we dare the direct sight.

3rd, King
Death is a strong wish. Balthasar
Brings his desire in a gift of myrrh ;
Seeking perfection in pain and cessation
O new creation
Die for me, make me desire to live.

All Three
Mary, who nourished glory on human kindness
By springs of power hidden from the mind,
Here is our small self-knowledge, now
Make it acceptable, or teach us how.

Mary
He will accept it, never fear,
For his audacity is my despair.
O do not give what he should not bear.
His boldness is beyond belief,
His threats, his lightnings, his short grief.
Is it divine or mortal confidence?
Mortal ignorance, godlike innocence.
Brazen, he takes love as a right;
He knows to demand is to give delight.
Youngling, here we offer love
What have we to offer but love?
And what is our love? Greed and despair.
O do not take what you should not bear,
Or tainted love by true convince:
Let us not harm you, helpless Prince.
Sin is the chance of mercy;
Then even sin contrives your greater glory.

Anne Barbara Ridler (1912 - 2001)
[see also]
In this favorite Nativity scene,
both a a Wise Woman (gold scarf)
and a Shepherd Girl (pink skirt) are seen to be
"hearing the voices, making the journey," and offering gifts.

See also:
Wise Women Also Came

****************
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, January 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Christmas for Cowgirls

CHRISTMASY COWBOY BOOT EARRINGS
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

"Cowgirl is an attitude, really; a pioneer spirit, a special brand of courage.
The cowgirl faces life head on, lives by her own lights, and makes no excuses.
Cowgirls take stands. They speak up. They defend the things they hold dear.
A cowgirl might be a rancher, or a barrel racer, or a bull rider, or an actress.
But she's just as likely to be a checker at the local Winn Dixie,
a full-time mother, a banker, an attorney, or an astronaut."

Dale Evans ~ 1912 - 2001

Back in the day (1965 or so), on our shelf of Christmas classics, right next to the Big Golden Christmas Book, stood the Big Golden Dale Evans Prayer Book For Children:

Many of the writers in this anthology are anonymous, but others are classic: William Blake, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Alexander Pope, and Christine Rosetti -- authors a girl needs to know if she's going to get a Ph. D. in English one day. As the editor, Evans shares a few of her own small poems, not so much as a legendary poet but rather as a legendary cowgirl! Her work in the anthology also serves the worthy purpose of raising the number of female authors from a scant three to four (Elsa Ruth Nast, Sara E. Wiltse; plus charming illustrations by Eleanor Dart).

You can find a bit of pantheism in the pages there, alongside more standard verses of faith:
Where is God?
In the sun, the moon, the sky,
On the mountains, wild and high,
In the thunder, in the rain,
In the vale, he wood, the plain,
In the little birds that sing . . .

A little sparrow cannot fall
Unnoticed Lord, by Thee;
And though I am so young and small
Thou dost take care of me.
A little sparrow? Could that be true? Oh well, time enough in January to resume the skepticism that has been with me -- just like this book -- since girlhood. Hey, even young cowgirls who love the holidays get the existential blues sometimes and question the universe around them.

Cowgirl Keychain from my friend Eve.
I gave the little boot to my dad decades ago --
and now it has found its way back to Christmas tree.
In addition to stuffing your tree with mementoes and souvenirs, here are a few ways to cheer yourself up should the post - Christmas blues [or reds] come knocking:

1. Poach a previous blogpost from yourself as a shortcut. Presto! You've just made some quick progress on your holiday "to - do" list!

2. Read the novel by Tom Robbins

3. Eat some hard candy and sing along with Dolly Parton

4. Sing along with Emmylou Harris
Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

She's a rounder I can tell you that
She can sing 'em all night, too
She'll raise hell about the sleep she lost
But even cowgirls get the blues

Especially cowgirls, they're the gypsy kind
And need their reins laid on 'em loose
She's lived to see the world turned upside down
Hitchin' rides out of the blues

But even cowgirls get the blues sometimes
Bound to don't know what to do sometimes
Get this feelin' like she's too far gone
The only way she's ever been

Lonely nights are out there on the road
Motel ceiling stares you down
There must be safer ways to pay your dues
But even cowgirls get the blues

Even cowgirls get the blues sometime
Bound to don't know what to do sometime
Get this feelin' like she's too far gone
The only way she's ever been

Even cowgirls get the blues sometime
Bound to don't know what to do sometime
Get this feelin' like the restless wind
The only way she's ever been

Written by & music by Rodney Crowell

5. And with John Denver
Christmas for Cowboys

Tall in the saddle, we spend Christmas Day
Driving the cattle over snow covered plains
All of the good gifts given today
Ours is the sky and the wide open range

Back in the cities, they have different ways
Football and eggnog and Christmas parades
I'll take my blanket, I'll take the reins
It's Christmas for cowboys and wide open plains

A campfire for warmth as we stop for the night
The stars overhead are Christmas tree lights
The wind sings a hymn as we bow down to pray
It's Christmas for cowboys, wide open plains

It's tall in the saddle, we spend Christmas Day
Driving the cattle over snow covered plains
So many gifts have been opened today
Ours is the sky and the wide open range
It's Christmas for cowboys and wide open plains

Written by Steve Weisberg

These songs always lift my spirits, as do the inspiring lives of Dale Evans and Anne Morrow Lindbergh. So, saddle up, and enjoy all the good gifts from seas, plains, and wide open skies! Channel your inner cowboy or cowgirl, live by your own light, stand for what you hold dear, and have a Happy New Year, despite the odds!

Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, January 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Mystical Rose

REQUIEM MASS
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Alleluia, Alleluia
It is my Father's will, says the Lord,
that whoever believes in the Son shall have eternal life,
and that I shall raise him up on the last day.
Alleluia

Requiescat in Pace
Rosanne Bristow McCartney
29 May 1933 ~ 9 November 2021

A Eulogy for Rosanne
Given by her son William Gerard McCartney
Rosanne was born May 29th, 1933 to 42 year old Harry Bristow and his 24 year old wife, Annie Hurst. The Bristows hailed for four centuries from Lincolnshire and had moved in the late 19th Century to Little Crosby, while the Hursts were a long-standing Lancashire family who lived for many generations mostly around Aughton. Rosanne was the middle child of the marriage, following her sister Margaret who was born thirteen months earlier. Two years later, her brother Anthony was born, and their mother Annie, still only 26, died from septicemia after his delivery.

Anthony was sent to family friends, the Bullens in Maghull and was raised by them; Rosanne and Margaret were raised at The Olde House on Little Crosby Road by their 45-year-old father and two maiden aunts.

At the age of six and the outbreak of WW2, Rosanne was sent to a convent boarding school in Skipton. These were not happy years for Mum, as she noted wryly several times, “I was neither pretty nor rich, so the nuns didn’t like me.” The only vestige of that period was that in later life my mother enjoyed many nun jokes, the more inappropriate the better. But she came through it and came back to Liverpool where she trained at Mount Pleasant as an Infants teacher. Teaching was her profession, but she genuinely enjoyed both working with her children and the collegiality of the other teachers at Ss Peter and Paul’s where she worked most of her life and where she made several lifelong and dear friends.

She was always devoted to her religion and was not only a daily communicant most of her adult life but contributed many years of her life and her money to the cause of Our Lady of Walsingham for whom she had a deep affection. She was also keen to pass on her faith to her children; I vividly recall that as a child she would read me each night the Marian prayer “Sweet and Gentle Lady.” That prayer hangs in our home in Indiana today.

For Rosanne, faith was a key part of a practical life. My mother cared for her father’s second wife Sally in her long struggle with cancer, which included at one point giving her a bedroom in our three-bedroom home on Kaigh Avenue, while doing her full-time teaching job; oh and raising us three children. That was then followed in short order by her daily care of Aunty Betty who lived on Cavendish Road in Waterloo well into her eighties. But Rosanne was not one to complain, ever. Not for her the mealy-mouthed “thoughts and prayers” but rather, like her husband Ron, concrete, useful action. To borrow the motto of St Mary’s College: “She showed her faith by the way she lived.”

She loved music, playing piano and singing along with whatever was playing on the always-on radio. She loved going out to a “dance” or a “do.” She loved having her hair done every Friday. She told me once in later years that every time Ron walked into a room her heart still beat with excitement when she saw him.

She loved jokes and to laugh, a big, noisy, full-throated belly laugh but also the wry, knowing smile with her head slightly tilted; my last memory of my mother from just a few weeks ago, is that smile on her face.

She was always busy with her hands. She loved to darn and iron, and I would say garden, but in fact she seemed to get a lot more satisfaction from weeding things out than from growing them. As her grand-daughter Lucy once called it: “weedening.” There were several times -- once with a neighbor and then another time at a minor British stately home -- where she spontaneously engaged in some freelance weedening and had to be actually stopped from doing it. Neither the neighbor nor the staff of the stately home seemed particularly grateful for her practical help. Or again, she once savaged a conifer with her shears which had been gamely growing outside our Philadelphia home; a neighbor walking by remarked drily “very Tuscan, Rosanne, very Tuscan.”

While she didn’t really enjoy cooking, she could certainly do it. One of her favorite cooking activities was the making, icing and especially the soaking of the Christmas cake; either whiskey or brandy would do very nicely. One year, Kitti and I arrived with our boys during the Spring, having missed our typical December visit. At Rosanne’s hands they had early learned the magic of an English Christmas; so Mum, to extend that holiday, made a Christmas cake for us. The cake of course was delicious but tasted somehow different than usual; further examination of several liquor containers revealed that Rosanne had liberally doused the cake in Tequila. That was our first Cinco de Mayo Christmas cake.

There were moments of tragedy, the death of her second child Catherine Anne at only seven weeks of age in 1958, several miscarriages late in pregnancy, the death of her father in 1966 hit her hard, but overall, she was a happy person, with an easy laugh. Our dear friend and Philadelphia neighbor, Lawrence Davis, who knew Ron and Rosanne well wrote in sympathy: “she was the best. We found her wit, barbs and “sotto voce” asides immensely entertaining and a welcome breath of fresh air.”

So the totality of her life cannot be clouded by the lingering death she so gracefully endured. There are many people to be thanked who helped our family in the last years of Rosanne’s life: lifelong friends Bernie and Mary Cullen; our neighbors Theo and Alex who are particularly caring to my father, the staff of Warren Park who even through these trying times have always been a model of friendliness and warmth. Sister Leigh-Anne at Aintree University hospital and the Chaplain Fr Cooper were angels of tenderness and caring professionalism, attending to Rosanne in her last hours.

There was a story that Rosanne told several times to her closest confidants about how she would meet people, even when she was an adult, in Crosby Village who had known her mother Annie, whom she of course had no recollection of. Out of kindness these old friends would share an anecdote, but to Rosanne it was puzzling: “How can it be” she would say, “that they know my mother and I don’t.” But we were so very fortunate because we did know Rosanne; we knew her as caring daughter to her father, affectionate sister to her brother and sister, loving and loyal life companion to Ron, devoted mother to her three children, and most recently as joyful grandmother and great-grandmother.

Rosanne lived a full life that was blessed and magical, a life full of laughter, energy and love. She was our mother most amiable, mother admirable, mother of good counsel; she was our tower of ivory, house of gold, and morning star; she was our sweet and gentle lady; she is our mystical rose.

Spring Break 2010

A reading from the letter of St Paul to the Colossians (3: 12 – 17)

You are God’s chosen race, his saints; he loves you, and you should be clothed in sincere compassion, in kindness and humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with one another; forgive each other as soon as a quarrel begins. The Lord has forgiven you; now you must do the same. Over all these clothes, to keep them together and complete them, put on love. And may the peace of Christ reign in your hearts, because it is for this that you were called together as parts of one body. Always be thankful. Let the message of Christ, in all its richness, find a home with you. Teach each other, and advise each other, in all wisdom. With gratitude in your hearts sing psalms and hymns and inspired songs to God; and never say or do anything except in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

Gospel Reading ~ Matthew 19: 13 - 15

People brought little children to him, for him to lay his hands on them and say a prayer. The disciples turned them away, but Jesus said, "Let the little children alone, and do not stop them coming to me; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs." Then he laid his hands on them and went on this way.

Prayers of the Faithful

Let us pray for all those who looked after Rosanne's caring and medical needs during these last years, that their devotion will always be rewarded. Lord, hear us. Lord, graciously hear us.
We join our prayers to those of
Our Blessed mother, as we say together:
Hail Mary, full of grace.
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of death. Amen.

**********
Communion Hymn ~ Be Still, My Soul

Be still my soul the Lord is on thy side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In every change He faithful will remain
Be still my soul thy best, thy heavenly friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end

Be still, my soul; your God will undertake
to guide the future as he has the past;
your hope, your confidence, let nothing shake;
all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know
his voice who ruled them while he lived below.

Be still, my soul; when dearest friends depart
and all is darkened in the vale of tears,
then you will better know his love, his heart,
who comes to soothe your sorrows and your fears.
Be still, my soul; your Jesus can repay
from his own fullness all he takes away.

Be still, my soul; the hour is hast'ning on
when we shall be forever with the Lord,
when disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still my soul; when change and tears are past,
all safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

**********
Gone From My Sight ~ Henry Van Dyke

A ship sails and I stand watching until she fades on the horizon,
and someone at my side says, "She is gone."
Gone where?
Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large as when I saw her.
The diminished size and total loss of sight
is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says
"She is gone,"
there are others who are watching her coming,
and other voices take up a glad shout,
"There she comes!"
And that is dying.

**********

Prayers of Commendation and Farewell
May the choirs of angels come to greet you,
May they speed you to paradise.
May the Lord enfold you in his mercy,
May you find eternal life.

To see her is to love her,
And love her forever.
For nature made her what she is,
And never made another!

~ Robert Burns ~

My Favorite: Rosanne & Josef, Fall 2006
Next Fortnightly Post
Tuesday, December 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ "Fare Thee Well Awhile"
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com