<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618244497660700335</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:53:40.071-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pink Parlour</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>cheryl.gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04043228918395633277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ERtMt2bx7Zc/R5GHg1swJFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/cxD8qUd6_BA/S220/grey+scale+to+colour.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618244497660700335.post-2058384975835804677</id><published>2008-12-10T20:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T20:39:06.046-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I love Christmas.  I love putting up the trees and decorations.  I love choosing gifts that I hope will be loved by the recipients.  I love wrapping these gifts and I always add decorations of some description to the gifts that then become part of the gift.  I love the smells of Christmas, cinnamon and spice and roasting Turkey.  The thing I love most about Christmas is seeing it through the eyes of my children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5618244497660700335-2058384975835804677?l=cherylgail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/feeds/2058384975835804677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5618244497660700335&amp;postID=2058384975835804677' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default/2058384975835804677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default/2058384975835804677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-love-christmas.html' title=''/><author><name>cheryl.gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04043228918395633277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ERtMt2bx7Zc/R5GHg1swJFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/cxD8qUd6_BA/S220/grey+scale+to+colour.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618244497660700335.post-1876713430876149244</id><published>2008-12-10T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T20:27:25.120-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Excerpt from Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus&lt;br /&gt;By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897. [See The People’s Almanac, pp. 1358–9.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5618244497660700335-1876713430876149244?l=cherylgail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/feeds/1876713430876149244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5618244497660700335&amp;postID=1876713430876149244' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default/1876713430876149244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default/1876713430876149244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/2008/12/excerpt-from-yes-virginia-there-is.html' title=''/><author><name>cheryl.gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04043228918395633277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ERtMt2bx7Zc/R5GHg1swJFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/cxD8qUd6_BA/S220/grey+scale+to+colour.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5618244497660700335.post-4854280183323622510</id><published>2008-12-10T20:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T20:21:57.962-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;'Twas the Night Before Christmas(A Visit from St. Nicholas)&lt;br /&gt;by Clement Clarke Moore &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The children were nestled all snug in their beds,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Away to the window I flew like a flash,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;With a little old driver, so lively and quick,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;With the sleigh full of toys, and St Nicholas too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;As I drew in my head, and was turning around,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He had a broad face and a little round belly,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And laying his finger aside of his nose,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good-Night!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5618244497660700335-4854280183323622510?l=cherylgail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/feeds/4854280183323622510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5618244497660700335&amp;postID=4854280183323622510' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default/4854280183323622510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5618244497660700335/posts/default/4854280183323622510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cherylgail.blogspot.com/2008/12/twas-night-before-christmasa-visit-from.html' title=''/><author><name>cheryl.gail</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04043228918395633277</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ERtMt2bx7Zc/R5GHg1swJFI/AAAAAAAAAAM/cxD8qUd6_BA/S220/grey+scale+to+colour.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
