PSoTD

We're driving home from my father-in-law's place last night in my wife's car. The kids clamor for the "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" song. My wife pops in our Lynn Anderson CD, picks the right track out, and plays it, and both of our kids sing it as sweetly as could be. I had to repeat the track, it was such a nice treat.

This will warm you up.

A LITTLE girl with cerebral palsy will wake up on Christmas morning to find that all her wishes have come true- thanks to a 10ft penguin.

Elle-Mai Laithwaite, five, of Milbrook Close, Burnley, is so disabled that she has never been able to tell her mum, Kathryn Nables, what she wants for Christmas.

But when she visited Asda, in Burnley, she was so taken with the huge, cuddly penguin - in store to promote the animated film Happy Feet - she spent all her time in the store smiling and looking at it.

And she cried when she had to leave.

Kathryn instantly knew that this was all her daughter wanted for Christmas, and that she had to get her hands on one.

After contacting Asda head office and film makers Warner Brothers trying, without luck, to buy one, she went to store manager Michelle Holmes, who persuaded her bosses and the film company to donate Mumbles the Penguin to Elle-Mai.

Kathryn said: "Elle can't talk, but we know by her smiles and her body language when she wants something. Her sister Eanna, who's four, can point things out that she wants for Christmas.

"But this is the first time Elle has properly shown us what she wants from Santa."

We received a Christmas card yesterday from our next door neighbors, and included the relatively-common "year summary" letter that so many of our friends and relatives like to send.

This one was different, though. It was... a gift. It told a few things about what they did and encountered this year. But mostly it told about things they gave their time and effort towards this year, and the things they hope they can give to next year, and the good things they experienced this year. It ended with a story about snowflakes that was really a lesson about how much change can be created with the coalition of many voices. It was, maybe, the best Christmas note I've ever seen. It wasn't preachy or religious - just conversational and cheerful. It was a gift about giving, and it really brightened up what has been, for me, a more subdued Christmas than most years.

I forgot to mention that we may have the two sweetest people in the world living next door to us. I know we've been lucky to live next door to them, and that I have become a better person because of that luck.

I'm going to take that note and frame it up in my office after the holidays, as a reminder of all the giving that is going on around us and the spirit in which it is given. Like I said, it was a gift, and maybe through some effort on my part it can keep on giving.

Even though I know they won't see this blog post, thank you and Merry Christmas, Jack and Barbara. You live in the spirit of the holiday all year long.

This personal Pearl Harbor story isn't like most.

My Dad was born on December 7, 1935.

He turned 6 the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. I'm sure that his birthdays during World War II, as frugal as they would have been anyway due to the family's economic status and the impact of the War on the economy, were even more muffled because of the sobriety of the day.

It did make it easy to remember when his birthday was, because even when I was a kid, I remembered a small buildup to December 7th - a buildup of commemoration and solemn salute to those who died that day and to an extent every day after that day during World War II. And it was associated with his birthday. But it had to put a damper on the celebration of his birthday each year. Perhaps it is like having your birthday on September 11th, a day which most of the nation is still mourning. Should you celebrate? Not so loud? What is appropriate?

When I was growing up, my Dad's birthday was the most subdued in our nuclear family. My Mom's birthday was never a hair-raiser either, but that was also her more serious personality. Dad was gregarious, but I really don't remember us ever doing anything particularly special for Dad's birthday. Sometimes not even cake - which he didn't enjoy. Looking back now, I wonder if the way he celebrated his birthday then had to do with it being on December 7th.

I don't think I'll get to know the answer. Dad's gone, Mom's gone, Dad's brother and sister are gone. The witnesses to his childhood birthday reality are gone.

But when I think of Pearl Harbor or when I think of my Dad's birthday, the two are tangled together, and I'm sure that will continue to be part of how I experience December 7th.