December 24, 2015

Pentoga Road

I'm sitting here this morning alongside the crackling fire, looking at the lighted Christmas tree and thinking it's time to write the annual Christmas letter. But then, what does one write when he lives his life as an open book in a daily blog? 

It occurred to me a short while ago that if anyone wants to know this past year's news, down to the day and almost the minute, all he has to do is sort back through the hundreds of entries that were uploaded. Most are repetitive. After all, how much can one write when referring to a retired man, an ugly bulldog, and a beautiful, loving, caring woman. It's all there, recorded for modern history.

So, this year, I'm going to do something different on this blessed Christmas Eve. 

Let me begin by saying that I'm not sure what I did in my previous existence to deserve this wonderful life I live. Everyday's a vacation day, often Christmas-like, and I'm most grateful to be mature enough to realize and understand that the simple act of getting out of bed each morning and appreciating one's surroundings is a gift, a blessing, a reason to smile. How lucky am I that I get to share it all daily in writing and pictures?

I'm thankful this Christmas Eve for my children. Each son is special and unique to me and though they live hundreds of miles away, I am grateful when they call, write, text, or even drop by for a visit. They have fulfilled my hopes, set many years ago, to be good, loving, husbands and fathers and work hard to make a home for their families. I'm proud of each son, Josh, Luke, Matt, and Andy, in his own way. I love you boys.

And there's the grandbabies... Abigail, Coleman, Ellie, Wyatt, Cody, Emerson, Ivy, and of course, Grady. They are wonderful miracles, each and every one, who will ensure that the Pennington and Milligan bloodlines continue on for years, decades, and centuries, long after we older generations are forgotten. From the oldest, Abigail, whom I wish would quit growing up so fast, down to Ivy, just a few days old, Merry Christmas from Grandma Sargie and me. We love you, babies, each and every one.

We're so grateful for Mom, my eighty-eight-going-on-eighty-nine-going-on-thirty year old matriarch of the family. Coming out swinging after a double by pass operation a year and a half ago, Mom took a licking, but keeps on ticking, both physically and mentally. She's set the highest standard of caring and love, an example to be copied by the four generations of direct descendants who carry her bloodline. That Mom is celebrating Christmas again with us this year is truly a reason to celebrate. Merry Christmas, Mom. We love you.

Ah, the house on Pentoga Road. Sometimes it seems to take on a life of its own. I love this small ninety-six year old house where we lay our heads at night. It's not perfect, but it's warm and cozy and most who visit comment that it simply feels like... well, home. Most of all, the red-roofed structure is a vessel that holds our love, our joys, and even an occasional sorrow. Most importantly, it's our house, our home on Pentoga Road.

To be able to sit in the early morning hours and write, to share one's thoughts through word and picture is a miracle. I've made so many friends over the years, many I don't even know who they are. There are those who live in the US and Canada, many local and in Alaska. Merry Christmas to you.

There are those who live far away. There's Fay, who lives in Australia. Then there's the person who joins me from Portugal and two or three in Russia, a third in France, one in the Ukraine, another in the UK, several in China, and other countries scattered around the globe. I don't know who you are personally, but I see that you join me daily. Thank you. You give me a reason to write, to put my thoughts on paper, to relive the previous day,  and to stay between the lines in the road of life I navigate. Merry Christmas.

I'm grateful to the Mighty Milligan's, one of the last families I know who still gather together to celebrate life. Though they might go days or weeks without seeing each other, their sense of loyalty and love runs strong and unending. I love those people. The Milligans represent the true meaning of Christmas, the birth of our savior and a family who gathers to celebrate.

I'm grateful for Brutus, the bulldog upon whom so much of my activity depends. I'll admit, there are times I'd gladly trade him in on a newer, more sleek model, (it's called a handheld, talking GPS) but Brutus and I have this relationship. I get to use his eyes and hug his big, fat, head in return for my love and companionship. He responds in like and together, we manage to navigate the hills and dales of Pentoga Road and life in general. Merry Christmas, Pup. I love you.

And lastly, there's Sargie. Her eyes drink in her surroundings, she listens without judging, and she gives and loves freely. As I wrote in the beginning, I'm not sure what I did in my previous existence to deserve this life, especially my Sargie, but I am so grateful. Merry Christmas, honey. I love you with all my heart.

Oh, one last thing... do me a favor, would you? Wish those you see in the next day or two a Merry Christmas and give them a big hug. If it offends them, you really don't want to know them anyway. 

So it is, another year has passed. From Sargie and me, we wish all of you a Merry Christmas complete with hugs and well wishes. Please, don't forget to wish Baby Jesus a happy birthday. It's what it's all about.

With Love,

Sargie and Tom