On Christmas Day, all the joys of a close family relationship radiated throughout our parents' home. The smells of roasted turkey, Southern?baked ham and homemade bread hung in the air. Tables and chairs were set up everywhere to accommodate toddlers, teenagers, parents and grandparents. Every room was lavishly decorated. No family member had ever missed Christmas Day with our mother and father.

Only this year, things were different. Our father had passed away November 26, and this was our first Christmas without him. Mother was doing her best to be the gracious hostess, but I could tell this was especially hard for her. I felt a catch in my throat, and again I wondered if I should give her my planned Christmas gift, or if it had become inappropriate in my father's absence.
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A few months earlier I had been putting the finishing touches on portraits I had painted of each of my parents. I'd planned to give them as Christmas gifts. This would be a surprise for everyone, as I had not studied art or tried serious painting. There had been an undeniable urge within that pushed me relentlessly to do this. The portraits did look like them, but I was still unsure of my painting techniques.

While painting one day, I was surprised by a doorbell ring. Quickly putting all my painting materials out of sight, I opened the door. To my astonishment, my father ambled in alone, never before having visited me without my mother. Grinning, he said, "I've missed our early morning talks. You know, the ones we had before you decided to leave me for another man!" I hadn't been married long. Also, I was the only girl and the baby of the family.
Immediately I wanted to show him the paintings, but I was reluctant to ruin his Christmas surprise. Yet something urged me to share this moment with him. After swearing him to secrecy, I insisted he keep his eyes closed until I had the portraits set on easels. "Okay, Daddy. Now you can look!"
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He appeared dazed but said nothing. Getting up, he walked closer to inspect them. Then he withdrew to eye them at a distance. I tried to control my stomach flip flops. Finally, with a tear esca
Thrilled with his response, I happily volunteered to drop them off the next day at the frame shop. Several weeks passed. Then one night in November the phone rang, and a cold chill numbed my body. I picked up the receiver to hear my husband, a doctor, say, "I'm in the emergency room. Your father has had a stroke. It's bad, but he is still alive."

Daddy lingered in a coma for several days. I went to see him in the hospital the day before he died. I slipped my hand in his and asked, "Do you know who I am, Daddy?"
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He surprised everyone when he whispered, "You're my darling daughter." He died the next day, and it seemed all joy was drained from the lives of my mother and me.

I finally remembered to call about the portrait framing and thanked God my father had gotten a chance to see the pictures before he died. I was surprised when the shopkeeper told me my father had visited the shop, paid for the framing and had them gift?wrapped. In all our grief, I had no longer planned to give the portraits to my mother.
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Even though we had lost the patriarch of our family, everyone was assembled on Christmas Day-making an effort to be cheerful. As I looked into my mother's sad eyes and unsmiling face, I decided to give her Daddy's and my gift. As she stripped the paper from the box, I saw her heart wasn't in it. There was a small card inside attached to the pictures.

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After looking at the portraits and reading the card, her entire demeanor changed. She bounced out of her chair, handed the card to me and commissioned my brothers to hang the paintings facing each other over the fireplace. She stepped back and looked for a long while. With sparkling, tear-filled eyes and a wide smile, she quickly turned and said, "I knew Daddy would be with us on Christmas Day!"

I glanced at the gift card scrawled in my father's handwriting. "Mother-Our daughter reminded me why I am so blessed. I'll be looking at you always-Daddy."

Ivanoushka the Simpleton

In a kingdom far away from our country, there was a town over which ruled the Tsar Pea with his

Tsaritza Carrot. He had many wise statesmen, wealthy princes, strong, powerful warriors, and also

simple soldiers, a hundred thousand, less one man. In that town lived all kinds of people: honest,

bearded merchants, keen and open-handed rascals, German tradesmen, lovely maidens, Russian

drunkards; and in the suburbs all around, the peasants tilled the soil, sowed the wheat, ground the

flour, traded in the markets, and spent the money in drink.

In one of the suburbs there was a poor hut where an old man lived with his three sons, Thomas,

Pakhom, and Ivan. The old man was not only clever, he was wise. He had happened once to have a chat

with the devil. They talked together while the old man treated him to a tumbler of wine and got out

of the devil many great secrets. Soon after this the peasant began to perform such marvelous acts

that the neighbors called him a sorcerer, a magician, and even supposed that the devil was his kin.
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Yes, it is true that the old man performed great marvels. Were you longing for love, go to him, bow

to the old man, and he would give you some strange root, and the sweetheart would be yours. If

there is a theft, again to him with the tale. The old man conjures over some water, takes an

officer along straight to the thief, and your lost is found; only take care that the officer steals

it not.

Indeed the old man was very wise; but his children were not his equals. Two of them were almost as

clever. They were married and had children, but Ivan, the youngest, was single. No one cared much

for him because he was rather a fool, could not count one, two, three, and only drank, or ate, or

slept, or lay around. Why care for such a person? Every one knows life for some is brighter than

for others. But Ivan was good-hearted and quiet. Ask of him a belt, he will give a kaftan also;

take his mittens, he certainly would want to have you take his cap with them. And that is why all

liked Ivan, and usually called him Ivanoushka the Simpleton; though the name means fool, at the

same time it carries the idea of a kind heart.

Our old man lived on with his sons until finally his hour came to die. He called his three sons and

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"Dear children of mine, my dying hour is at hand and ye must fulfill my will. Every one of you come

to my grave and spend one night with me; thou, Tom, the first night; thou, Pakhom, the second

night; and thou, Ivanoushka the Simpleton, the third."

Two of the brothers, as clever people, promised their father to do according to his bidding, but

the Simpleton did not even promise; he only scratched his head.

The old man died and was buried. During the celebration the family and guests had plenty of

pancakes to eat and plenty of whisky to wash them down. Break went on to say that.

Now you remember that on the first night Thomas was to go to the grave; but he was too lazy, or

possibly afraid, so he said to the Simpleton:
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"I must be up very early to-morrow morning; I have to thresh; go thou for me to our father's

grave."

"All right," answered Ivanoushka the Simpleton. He took a slice of black rye bread, went to the

grave, stretched himself out, and soon began to snore.

The church clock struck midnight; the wind roared, the owl cried in the trees, the grave opened and

the old man came out and asked:

"Who is there?"

"I,"wedding dress, answered

Ivanoushka.

"Well, my dear son, I will reward thee for thine obedience," said the father.

Lo! the cocks crowed and the old man dropped into the grave. The Simpleton arrived home and went to

the warm stove.

"What happened?" asked the brothers.

"Nothing," he answered. "I slept the whole night and am hungry now."

The second night it was Pakhom's turn to go to his father's grave. He thought it over and said to

the Simpleton:

"To-morrow is a busy day with me. Go in my place to our father's grave."

"All right," answered Ivanoushka. He took along with him a piece of fish pie, went to the grave and

slept. Midnight approached, the wind roared, crows came flying, the grave opened and the old man

came out.replica watches,

"Who is there?" he asked.

"I," answered his son the Simpleton.

"Well, my beloved son, I will not forget thine obedience," said the old man.

The cocks crowed and the old man dropped into his grave. Ivanoushka the Simpleton came home, went

to sleep on the warm stove, and in the morning his brothers asked:

"What happened?"

"Nothing," answered Ivanoushka.

On the third night the brothers said to Ivan the Simpleton:

"It is thy turn to go to the grave of our father. The father's will should be done."

"All right," answered Ivanoushka. He took some cookies, put on his sheepskin, and arrived at the

grave.
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At midnight his father came out.

Ivanoushka the Simpleton