-- in my life, at least ....

I'm home, not exactly alone.  Yesterday morning, Dawg and I went for a short walk.  We played a bit (a game I call "catch tail" that she initiates by running toward me and I grab for her tail as she zips and zags away).  When she's "played out," she slides to the grass, rolls over to scratch her back, grunts and sighs, sprawls her legs and studies the clouds for a while.   When she tried to roll over, however, something either "pulled" in her back left leg or the arthritis I've been suspecting may have "locked" the leg.  I had to help her get to her feet. 

I held back the tears as kids came running to see what was wrong .... miracle Dawg and I hobbled home.  She has yet to whine, yet I see pain and discomfort in those beautiful brown eyes.  For approximately 24 hours, she has been my total focus.  No vet was available, so I stepped up the daily "quarter of an 81 aspirin" treatment and began gently massaging her leg and back, alternating heat and cold treatments and generally pampering her.   She ate well, hobbling to her food bowl and was able to do her business outside without too much difficulty.  Last night I lifted her to the love seat and slept on the sofa next to her.  She slept better than I did.  This morning she is walking some better ... and now is sleeping soundly beside my desk.  Tomorrow we'll see her favorite vet. 

Obviously, I didn't attend the family gathering.  We'll visit in person later -- calling it our Christmas-birthday gathering, as we are each "winter babies."  Neighbors dropped by to check on Dawg (and to bring gifts, cards, etc.) for both of us!  I had already canceled the community drop-in due to the weather -- rain, high winds.  It has been rescheduled for the New Year.  Fortunately gifts to my adopted family had been delivered and four bikes for other kids were already in Santa's sleigh for delivery ....

*  One of the most precious miracles in my life has been Dawg.  Twice she has saved my life from grizzlies and once held armed burglars at bay.  Not bad for a gentle therapy dog who visits the elderly and plays with terminally-ill children, eh?  She is brilliant (I've mentioned that before) and sings, does special tricks and is "attuned" to emergency alarms such as on ventilators, wheelchairs, etc.  She has been my constant companion as we've criss-crossed the nation multiple times.  She is loved as no other creature can be.  And she knows it.  Hence, she's a bit of a spoiled 50-pound wuss.  Which is ok by me.  Needless to say -- the nest has not been empty in the 12 years she's been in my life.  She was a significant part of my foundation during a nasty three-year legal battle .... Had I heeded her instincts, I would have never allowed an online stalker to enter our personal lives or permitted an on-again off-again relationship to extend waaay too many years .... She's my best friend.  As silly as it may sound, if I could assume her pain and discomfort now -- I would do so without hesitation.  I reminded God of that fact a few times last night, too.

*  There were also good feelings to be shared last night .... I offered shelter (not in my personal home) to a homeless guy who wandered into the neighborhood.  Little did I know, but several neighbors (including their bratty kids) had been watching him as well.  Without sharing details, they also watched as I talked with/assisted the man .... Afterward, there is a knock at my door.  There stood bratty kids (pure hellions destined for life behind bars -- and without their parents) who "just" wanted  to tell me how "sweet and thoughtful" I was to the man.  Bah-humbug.  My first reaction was to ask the little bastards if this meant I'd not be egged or rolled next Halloween -- but softened my response to "thank you" .... Merry Christmas" [you little heathens from hell].  I left off the parenthetical, of course.  Two clients who are on suicide-watch (as in being watched) also dropped by.  Fortunately they did not stay long -- but wanted to check on me because I had not checked on them today .... Dawg kept trying to maneuver between me and them.  Toldja she was smart.  Two food deliveries .... home-made candy for me (yummy) and a hot-outta-the-oven pumpkin pie which Dawg and I [sorta] shared [she got crust only],  Later a few of the bratty kids returned -- with parents .... a snuggly holiday throw (perfect for Dawg), shower gel for me, three Santa's to add to my collection, a burlap bag of peanuts, tins of cookies and scrabble, several cards (one singing Wish You a Merry Christmas), small unidentified plant in a Santa pot, one glittery ornament (which I placed on the tree), two pairs of footies, a small ceramic elephant with trunk pointed up (for good luck, I was told), a candle and a bag of oranges!  Dawg didn't do badly ... in addition to her stocking of goodies, she received two bags of Beneful and four chew-bars  .... I am blessed. 

* More Holiday Greetings and Gazings .... If you haven't been to MissCellania's site yet, go visit.  She's got bunches of holiday links for kids of all ages.  Plus she sends an email that is bound to bring a smile and song to every face!  Here's the link: and if the music doesn't resonate in your head for at least 12 hours, you're a real Scrooge, yanno?

*  If you've traveled to be with family and friends this holiday -- return home safely.  If you're at home with the same, savor every moment .... Thanks for all the well wishes, warm thoughts and personal regards for a Merry Christmas and a wondrous New Year.  Each is returned in spirit, ten-fold.

POST-DATE:  AHHHH -- there are few blessings more cherished than to spend the (post-Christmas holiday and New Year's Day) with family who share a devotion to pets ..... Dawg is almost back to normal and life is -- beyond all those sentimental seasonal reasons -- good!

Before joining Sunday morning traffic to pick up Dawg's stockin' stuffers (if I fill it early, she gets all sniffy), I opened  Garrison Keiller's email to set the tone (and spruce up on holiday lore) ....

Today is Christmas Eve, the subject of the beloved holiday poem that begins:

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads."

The poem, now known as "The Night Before Christmas," was first published anonymously in a small newspaper in upstate New York in 1823, and its original title was "Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas." It was thought for many years to have been written by Clement Clarke Moore. But today some scholars believe that a Revolutionary War major named Henry Livingston Jr. may have been the actual author of "The Night Before Christmas." His family has letters describing his recitation of the poem before it was originally published, and literary scholars have found many similarities between his work and "The Night Before Christmas." He was also three-quarters Dutch, and many of the details in the poem, including names of the reindeer, have Dutch origins.

But whoever wrote the poem, "The Night Before Christmas" changed the way Americans celebrate the holiday of Christmas by reinventing the character of Santa Claus, and by combining St. Nicholas Day with Christmas.

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

The image of Santa went through many variations, until the political cartoonist Thomas H. Nast drew a picture of the fat, jolly man with a white beard that became the standard version. Santa started wearing red and white clothing after an ad campaign for Coca Cola in the 1930s.

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

In Holland, children are now visited by St. Nicholas on December 5th, and on Christmas Eve they are visited by Santa Claus, whom they call, "American Christmas Man."

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

Somewhere out there, someone will be keeping score -- watching Hillary wheel and deal on the Hill. 

Can the would-be Queen separate herself from the jokers?  Pelosi holds the wild cards ....  It's gonna be all-in, baby. 

Check.

The Editor of National Review Online states Romney's option succinctly.  It will promote his cause if he heeds her advice early and often -- until libs and MSM get beyond the reality of his religious convictions.

During the 1960 presidential campaign, John F. Kennedy downplayed his religion. Another Massachusetts pol, Republican Gov. Mitt Romney, is now contemplating a run. And Romney, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, is being encouraged to follow in JFK's footsteps.

Kennedy's September 1960 speech to the Greater Houston Ministerial Association is credited with having destigmatized his Catholicism as a campaign issue. No doubt the Romney camp would like to do something similar -- make it so that questions about Mormon temple garments are beyond the bounds of respectable journalism. But Romney, a man of faith, has another concern: at what cost?

In his celebrated speech, Kennedy said, "I believe in a president whose views on religion are his own private affair." A later Bay State JFK, Sen. John F. Kerry, took refuge behind this concept to eviscerate his own Catholic faith of its public consequences. During the 2004 presidential cycle, Kerry told one reporter, "I'm not a church spokesman. I'm a legislator running for president.

My oath is to uphold the Constitution of the United States in my public life. My oath privately between me and God was defined in the Catholic church by Pius XXIII and Pope Paul VI in the Vatican II, which allows for freedom of conscience for Catholics with respect to these choices, and that is exactly where I am. And it is separate. Our Constitution separates church and state, and they should be reminded of that." Translation (putting aside the fact that he confused popes ... and that no Catholic says "THE Vatican II"): I'll vote against bans on partial-birth abortion -- and have done so -- and church teaching be damned.

The original JFK said a lot of right and important things, too, mind you. He said in that same speech that he would not "disavow either my views or my church in order to win this election. ... If this election is decided on the basis that 40 million Americans lost their chance of being president on the day they were baptized, then it is the whole nation that will be the loser in the eyes of Catholics and non-Catholics around the world, in the eyes of history, and in the eyes of our own people." Drawing on the valuable elements in Kennedy's speech, Richard Land, president of the Southern Baptist Convention's Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, has said that Romney is running for "commander in chief," not "theologian in chief." Land's advice is the right advice; as he told the "Boston Globe," "I just encouraged (Romney) to do it forthrightly and honestly and say, 'Look, this is my faith, and we don't have a religious test for office, and here's how my faith informs my values system.'"

This seems to be the direction Romney is headed. When asked about "the Mormon problem," Romney says he is "a person of faith," and talks about "common values" among Mormons and other denominations: "The great majority of people -- Christian, non-Christian, and of different faiths -- look for values, character, integrity and vision and don't disqualify people on a religious test."

There is, of course, a worry that too much "common values" talk can water down one's religion, and thus weaken the overall role religion plays in public life. "Downplaying temple garments? What else do we want to demystify and de-weird for the sake of gains in popular opinion?" one LDS blogger recently wrote. "I'm all in favor of clarifying misconceptions, but eventually I am worried that we lose something vital."

This is a challenge that people of faith face in all walks of life --integrating what their faith teaches into their secular lives. Michael Cromartie of the Ethics and Public Policy Center in Washington, D.C., says that Romney "needs to spell out clearly his understanding of the separation of church and state" -- and to stress that this does not mean the separation of religious values from public-policy disputes.

In other words, Romney should go back earlier than JFK, and emulate George Washington. In his farewell address, the original George W. said: "Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, Religion and Morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of Patriotism who should labor to subvert these great Pillars of human happiness -- these firmest props of the duties of Men and citizens. The mere Politician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and to cherish them."

Kathryn Jean Lopez, editor of National Review Online, writes a weekly column of conservative political and social commentary for Newspaper Enterprise Association.

Here's to his heeding this advise. 

Whatever Romney's decision, it will be one of conviction, I believe.  And what we need now are leaders with conviction, savvy, poise and the strength to literally place their lives on the line.

MSM and the libs will attempt to destroy him.  They will attack his religion, his family, his credentials, his integrity.  If he stands as he has done in the past, we'll have a strong contender on the ballot.  In spite of MSM. 

His next greatest challenge?  Getting through the primaries ..... McCain is an obsolete and loose cannon.  Rudy's a nice guy -- but I'm not confident of his experience or his background.  One-on-one, Romney should have no difficulty in demonstrating his qualities and qualifications ....

On the national level, Hillary will be a piece of fruitcake -- and she will not be able to hold her composure or poise during one-on-one debates or with interviews invoking hardball questions/answers.  Over-all, Bill will be a liability, not an asset.

Romney should ask for many debates (she will graciously decline) to provide opportunities to showcase her weaknesses (the temper, the fluster, the hyperbole, the facade) and Mitt's poise, knowledge, confidence and competence.

Hint:  about those rally songs .... shy away from anything rhyming with Mitt .... Instead --- go strong on Romney: i.e.,

                    I'm gonna be a Romney Ranger
                   He'll keep us safe and free from danger.
                   Vote for the man of strong convictions;
                   No holly-hyped Camelot fictions.
                   Health care, terrorism -- name the issue --
                   Diplomacy works -- not mascara on a tissue!
                   Conservatives, moderates join the chorus
                   Hillary NOT -- just ask Dick Morris!

Stop me, please ....

... and let it begin with me ....

As you enjoy the holiday, remember those who are not with their loved ones this season .....

Funny.  Absolutely -- one of the funniest ... uhhhhh ... holidaze spiffs I've seen ....  the ending is hilarious.

Luke Allen's jeep shifted into overdrive as the ascent to Balsam Peak steepened. Wrapped in a gray mist of light rain and fog, the Peak towered above the winding highway. "We'll see better days, m'lady," he promised, laughing aloud at his reference to the peak as female. "It must have something to do with conquest," he mused to himself. "Or the association with Mother Earth." And a vision of Ginny flashed through his mind. "Ginny would know the answer," he concluded. He made a mental note to ask her.

The six-hour drive had been uneventful. Traffic had been light; there had been time to reflect on his career move, what he knew about the school he would be leading, what he and Ginny anticipated in their new community. Rusty-dog had made two requests to stop. Ginny called it S & S -- stretch and sustenance. He often wondered if she created those phrases spontaneously or if she retrieved them from some secret anthology. "Her mind," he reflected. Thirty years ago, he had fallen in love with a voice from the back of the classroom. Falling in love with the rest of her had been easy. He wanted her with him now as he approached their new home. He would sleep restlessly tonight, awaiting her arrival with the moving van tomorrow.

Rusty-dog stirred fitfully in the back, disturbed by the subtle change in elevation and the rays of sunlight that flashed through breaking fog . "We'll stop here," Luke assured him, pulling into the overlook. An emerald valley of pastures and farmland lay below, a respite beneath towering, craggy peaks. He closed his eyes to savor the image, wondering how this terrain could possibly harbor the dissension he had been hired to dispel.

He remembered another Valley.... He saw again the empty eyes and sensed again the delusion that such beauty could manifest the terror they lived night after night after night .... The rockets and mortars that pierced the darkness .... The silent shadows that stalked their mountain fortress, crawling through the claymores to sacrifice themselves in the name of what? If he could think rationally about that era of agony, cleansing it of all political wrappings, he knew the answer.... Regardless of the ideological trappings, it was their home. What claim had we made to it? In whose name had he and thousands been sacrificed and at what price? Rusty's tug at the leash pulled him back to reality....

••••

The rustic, split-log cabin lay nestled in a wooded cove on the eastern slope beneath Balsam Peak. It had been their only choice -- secluded, yet only ten-minutes from town. Ginny had wanted space for flowers and a small garden. He had wanted acreage for horses. The open loft above the living quarters would become a study... An open deck, situated to capture the fleeting spectrum of sunlight against craggy peaks, would be added to the back.....

"Home," Luke proclaimed as Rusty-dog bounded from the jeep. The damp, sweet aroma of green firewood filled his nostrils. Luke stepped to the porch, caressing the weathered logs that supported the shed roof, absorbing the panorama of green earth framed in gray stone and glistening clouds. He watched as Rusty scampered helter-skelter among patches of shrubs, sniffing for intruders and performing the instinctive ritual of marking his new domain.

From the beginning of their intimacy, Ginny had theorized that the historic battle-of-the-raised-toilet-seat evolved from a domestication of the male ritual to mark his territory. Whether or not her theory had merit, she had long ago conditioned him to lower the seat.... She never asked him to do it; rather, she impressed upon him the image of the male dog, lifting his leg .... "Even a dog puts his leg down when he finishes," she had said.

Luke chuckled aloud, stepped to the edge of the porch and exercised his own ritual on the land.

Inside the cabin, new lodge pole furniture stood stiffly in the living room and bedroom. A basket of fruit sat on the kitchen counter; a crock pot simmered on the stove. In a handwritten note, Realtor Dawn Murphy apologized for the plastic utensils and dishes. He and Ginny had liked her, agreeing that she would be one of their first dinner guests. He called Ginny. She recognized his loneliness. "Hon," she reminded him, "I will be there tomorrow afternoon." "Hurry safely," he responded. "The furniture needs to be arranged."

••••

Members of the Board rose from a conference table to greet him. "Dr. Allen, welcome." Board Chairman Dell Groce, owner of the local granary, extended a firm, calloused hand. Luke had admired the chairman's skill in conducting his preliminary interview. " Welcome to the Valley."

"Great to be here," Luke responded. The refrain from an Ahe Shon Valley epitaph flickered through his mind."...I shall fear no evil, for I am the meanest...."

Luke Allen exchanged pleasantries with each Board member. He and Ginny had met them informally in breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings two weeks ago. "I arranged a schedule," the Superintendent had informed him. "No more than two Board members can meet at one time," he explained. "We're sticklers for doing things right." Tonight was Luke's second official meeting with the full Board. The philosophical discourse had been concluded two weeks earlier when he had signed a contract as principal of the largest high school in the district.

Leonard Vernon, a middle-aged "local" who had never left the valley, was loan officer at the community bank. Bob Lyles, former investment broker and self-described "tree hugger," had returned to the valley to convert his family's farmhouse into an inn. Emily West, vice-chairman of the Board, was a housewife and mother of three young children. Her husband was director of extension services for the regional community college. Elsie Mooney introduced herself for the third time as a widow and retired teacher who had loved children all her life.

Social pleasantries continued until the arrival of Superintendent Cleveland Combs. He apologized, citing a resignation at the elementary school which he had to handle. "But no problem," he assured the Board. "We have three prime applicants, one I know personally. We can discuss it later."

"Let's get started." Dell Groce assumed his role as Board Chairman with confidence. "This is a planning session to discuss issues and expectations. We need to be on the same page, Dr. Allen, so that you know where we stand and what we expect. Simply stated, you have the credentials and the reputation for solving problems. We have problems for you to solve."

"I am not a miracle worker, but I'm a hard worker," Luke Allen acknowledged. "Thank you for your confidence."

"But if I can pull the school together," Luke had rationalized with Ginny, "we can retire there. We both love the mountains...." Although she had reservations about this job, she was tired of the violence in the inner-city schools where he had worked for twenty-eight years. "We need a break, Sweets," he pleaded. "Kids who go to Sunday School don't make pipe bombs." She had conceded. The cabin and leather lodge pole furniture had been his concession.

"We need to bridge some troubled waters." The Superintendent stared out a window behind Luke as he spoke. His eyes drifted slowly to Luke's. "There are folks here who are angry and hurt. There is a small group who will try to deepen the rifts we have. You will have to work carefully with these folks. You're described as a 'people person.' We expect you to use that skill. You bring us fresh blood, fresh ideas and new beginnings. That is why you were chosen by this Board."

There was something in the Superintendent's voice, something about his mannerisms that Luke had not previously noted. Was he angry with me? With the Board?

Ginny's assessment of Cleve Combs flashed through Luke's mind: "...He reminds me of an amoeba," she assessed. From his elongated face, small lashless eyes protruded above his bulbous nose, his mouth too small and his recessive chin. "Unsavory, unkempt," she added. Luke had chided his wife. "Not to worry, Sweets. I promise never to leave you alone with him... " Their discussion of Cleve Combs had then digressed to assumptions about "mountain mentality" and the new lifestyle they were about to experience.....

"Will you enlighten me about these groups?" Luke asked, anticipating a description of traditional conflicts between academics and athletics, soccer parents versus football parents, departmental budgets, fundraising, traditional programming versus innovations, and of course, the law suit being resolved out of court.

"You'll recognize them, in time." There was an edge of curtness in the Superintendent's voice. "I want you to find out for yourself." Luke was aware of shuffling papers and nervous coughs.

"Can we discuss my staff? Are there pending personnel actions?" All eyes turned to Cleve Combs.

Combs hesitated, staring again out the window behind Luke. "Your staff is pretty good. You may have to weed some of them out. The troublemakers, that is. I'll tell you about them as you go along. Your guidance department needs help. Your coaching staff is solid. You have one assistant who applied for your job, you know. All your assistants are young and have made some mistakes with kids and parents and such, but you can bring them along."

Luke's attention was drawn to Combs' hands. His left hand intermittently clinched into a fist while the fingers of his right hand drum-rolled on the table. Cleve Combs was an angry man, impatient and accustomed to being in control......

"I want to talk about the children," Elsie Mooney interjected. She had been appointed to the Board after the death of a former member. "They are important to me. Our achievement scores have dropped, our dropout rate is up, and I am concerned about the vandalism." Mr. Lyles, Mrs. West and Mr. Vernon nodded in agreement.

"Those are also my primary concerns, Mrs. Mooney," he reassured her. "I have suggestions that I will present for your consideration--"

"There are boundaries we need to discuss, Dr. Allen. I don't want you to get involved in the other law suits." The Superintendent's face reddened.. "Stay away from those issues, no matter what you hear."

"Other law suits?" Luke knew of only one law suit involving the removal of a coach. He had been assured that it was being resolved out of court.

"The public knows about one law suit, Dr. Allen. The Board's directed me to resolve the others before they become public." Cleveland Combs' mounting rage caught Luke off-guard.

It was the Chairman of the Board who softened the anger that had filled the air."You'll have our full support in bringing the school and the community together, Dr. Allen. Our full support. You have my word on that." For the first time in his administrative career, Luke Allen was unable to assess the emotional scenario he was witnessing.

Dell Groce's eyes narrowed as he turned to his Superintendent. "Can we return to our agenda?" It was not a request.

The Superintendent nodded abruptly, rocked back in his chair and began to scratch at a spot on the back of his head. The muscles in his jaws flexed, as if chewing unspoken words. His demeanor did not change as each Board member summarized sections of a prepared report. One hour and twenty-three minutes later, Combs addressed Luke Allen without eye contact.

"Dr. Allen, I'll meet with you to discuss any questions you may have. If the Board has nothing else, I'll see you at the press conference in the morning." Luke left the room, relieved that he had a written report to peruse.

Behind him, walls and doors could not contain the shouts of angry men and the hysterical voice of a former elementary teacher who loved children.

"Kids who go to Sunday School don't make pipe bombs....."

Luke Allen felt as if he had been handed a pipe bomb.

••••

Luke folded his tie and jacket on the seat of the jeep and turned toward the din of voices behind the fence. "Dr. Allen? Hi." A woman had stepped from behind the garage, holding a soda in one hand and a beer in the other. "Take one and I'll give you a welcoming hand." He took the soda from her right hand. "Luke Allen," he offered. Her hand, though firm and steady, had retained the coolness of the can. "I'm Celia Norman. Welcome to Balsam Valley." Luke followed her through a gated path to the pool behind her home.

Fortunately, a soft breeze dissipated Celia Norman's heavy cologne. Luke sniffed to hold back a sneeze. "Summer cold?" she asked. "Must be something in the air." Only Ginny knew of his allergies to all things Avon.

"Breeze is blowing through the north pass. That means rain this time of year. It won't take you long to learn to read the winds." She turned to walk backwards as she shared this tidbit of lore. He watched the shimmer of light off her copper brown hair. (She's a bottle brunette, Ginny would clarify.) Luke sneezed. Celia stopped suddenly, stooped to gently pull a leaf off a plant beside the walkway and handed it to Luke. "Break this and sniff it." He did as he was instructed. His sinuses cleared immediately. "Phew -- what is it?" She smiled. "Just a medicinal herb. I'll give you a cutting later." She had moved closer to him. He stepped back to sniff the leaf again. "My wife's the gardener, best that you give it to her when she arrives."

The Principal and Assistant Principal Association met monthly at locations hosted alternately by administrators in the six Balsam Valley schools. Meetings normally focused on current problems, funding and team-building. It was the Association president's responsibility to submit concerns and reports to the Superintendent. Conduct and decorum varied with the location of meetings. The meeting that Luke Allen entered was a private, informal gathering of local school administrators, half of whom were noticeably drunk.

"Folks, meet Dr. Luke Allen." Her shrill voice silenced the guffaws of joke-tellers and the mutterings of a small group that huddled around a table. A muscular young man in his mid-thirties hoisted himself from the pool. "We've heard a lot about you, Dr. Allen. I'm Ken Holmes, one of your assistants."

The evening passed quickly and congenially. As each administrator introduced himself, Luke registered a mental association. Celia Norman was the only female. Ken Holmes, former baseball coach and had been recently appointed assistant principal. His third assistant, Darrell Thorton, rose unsteadily from a lounge by the pool and introduced himself as the curriculum director at the high school. "Pardon my impediment," he slurred. "My tongue becomes disabled when I drink."

Only one principal was under the age of fifty and each was a native of Balsam Valley. "You are the first outsider in four years," noted Layell Moses, principal of the smallest elementary school in the Valley. "Who was the other?" Luke asked. "Your predecessor. He left for the Bahamas last month." Luke made a mental note to contact him.

"Steaks are ready!" Celia Norman announced. They ate at clustered tables, discussing the budget freeze that the Board had imposed, subject to receipt of state allocations. "Is that a normal practice?" Luke asked. "It is for this district," he was advised. "Seems as if we have a habit of overspending to ensure that we lose nothing," contributed Manny Billings, the middle school principal. "Smaller school districts have to be resourceful," he added.

Luke was tired and wanted to talk with Ginny. "Early morning for me, folks," using the colloquial expression he had heard others use. "Let's have lunch soon," Stan Logan, the PAPA president suggested. "Sure," Luke responded. Celia Norman rose to escort him to his car. "Not necessary," he told her. "I remember the way. Good night to everyone. Celia, Darrell and Ken --- see you in the morning."

••••

Rusty was standing in the drive as the jeep approached. "Missed me, huh." Rusty jumped to Luke's chest and delivered sloppy dog-kisses to his face. "I missed you, too." Luke embraced the dog. "Let's call our best friend. You need to tell her you miss her."

Ginny answered on the first ring. "So how's it going?" she asked.

"Would you accept a collect obscene telephone call, ma'am?"

"No, but my husband will. Just a minute."

"Stop it. I'm too tired to laugh."

"So who's laughing?"

"It was a long day. I need you with me."

"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon, Hon."

"Not soon enough. You're missing the first rain on our new roof."

"There'll be others to share. Get that bottle of wine from the cooler in back of the jeep. You may have two glasses after you take a hot shower."

"Thanks. I'll chill the wine until you're here."

"Tomorrow afternoon, Hon. I'll call you as soon as I arrive."

"I love you."

"Ditto."

••••

Although she was no longer a member of the School Leadership Team, media director Lucinda Switzer was determined to attend the breakfast meeting with the new principal. To wit, she had suggested that faculty members provide and serve breakfast in the school cafeteria. As self-appointed breakfast coordinator, she planned to arrive early. "You have only one chance for a first impression," she had reminded herself. She wanted to be the first to greet Luke Allen. It was Lucinda Switzer's nature to be first -- first to know, first to protest, first to complain, first to criticize, first to alibi. Failure to be reelected to the Leadership Team had been a first for her, as well. Those who engineered her defeat would pay, she had vowed to herself. They would pay as dearly as had the former principal who challenged her.

••••

After meeting with the Superintendent to submit his resignation, Clay Wellington had spent the rest of the night packing. He had buckled, he knew. He wanted to fight the allegations, but the Superintendent had convinced him that, win or lose, his career would be finished. "No one will hire you with this in your background," Combs had suggested. "Resign and put this behind you. I'll help you find another job. If you stay, they'll either drag you to court or word will get out and you'll be ruined."

He had written his resignation by hand. He was tired of meeting with Combs, having to recount again and again his denials. "Resign," Combs had offered, "and I'll do everything in my power to convince her parents to drop their threat to sue."

In the early morning hours, Clay Wellington, former science teacher at Balsam Valley Elementary School, sat down to compose a letter to his parents and sister. He wrote of his love for them and stated his solemn dying oath that, no matter what they may ever hear about him, he had never harmed or taken advantage of a child. Clay Wellington then removed a .357 handgun from his backpack and placed its barrel in his mouth.

••••

School secretary MayEllen Workman awakened twelve minutes before the alarm clock was to have sounded. Hearing no other sounds in the house, she moved quietly from her bed to a locked cupboard across the room. She did not want to waken her mother who slept down the hall. She removed a key from the chain around her neck and unlocked the cupboard.

In the faint dawn of morning, she carried her talisman, candles and potions to the window that faced the rising sun. This was her private altar before the Goddess. She cast her circle, banishing from it all negatives, allowing only love to remain within. She called the Quarters, began her ritual, and focused on the poppet in her hand.

She had fashioned the poppet in his likeness, made of cloth and cotton, attaching herbs for wisdom and guidance, including a handwritten note he had left in her office. She called upon her personal deities to give him strength in restoring peace and harmony to the school. Finishing her ritual and closing the circle, she left the poppet on the altar next to the burning candle.

Calmly energized, MayEllen Workman left her Sacred Space to prepare for the new day. Eighteen miles away, Luke Allen awakened, refreshed and eager to begin his first day as Principal of Balsam High School.