Conversation – 15

@mcpoopoo, I am glad that your back is improving. I hope that you have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Oh Bassetbabe,
I am so sorry to hear that. I will pray very hard that you feel better. It is no fun. My thoughts are with you always. I wish you and your family a blessed holiday. Love sent your way sweetie. ♡♡♡

Good Morning My Dear Sheba,
I know what you are saying. Don’t worry miracles happen everyday! Love! ♡♡♡

Hi Loaf!
I could not believe my eyes when I saw your post. I was starting to worry. What a way to start the day! I am so happy! It sounds like your enjoying the season. I’m so glad! You being back it’s like a present itself. Love You Loaf! ♡♡♡

Cherie,
Good Morning! Thank you for being so kind. My back is coming along. I just want to be more active but then I go too far and I get a set back. I’m doing ok. It won’t be long now. Santa is on his way. It’s a beautiful time of year! Tell the kids I said hi. They sound so sweet. Hugs to you my friend! 🙂 ♡♡♡

CHERIE FEEL BETTER SOON LOVELY LADY .

DEAR SHEBA AND ALL MY GREAT FRIENDS HERE AT THE HSN COMMUNITY I AM WISHING YOU ALL THE BEST HOLIDAY EVER . ALL IS WELL HERE . I DO MISS ALL OF YOU . SHEBA I ORDERED HEIDIS BEAUTY AND THE BEAST NECKLACE TO MATCH MY CUFF IT IS A TRUE BEAUTY . THE GRANDKIDS ARE FINE WE ARE ALL HANGIN IN KEEPING BUSY . I HAVE MY TREES UP AND DECKED OUT . I BOUGHT MYSELF A SOFT AND COZY RED JACKET HERE AND THEY ARE GOING QUICK. LOVE IS IN THE AIR EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK AROUND . GREAT SONG . I WENT WITH FAMILY IN A LIMO BUS SEATS 20 WE HAD A TV ON BOARD A BAR AND A GREAT DRIVER . BACKING IN AND OUT OF LITTLE CONDO COMMUNITIES PICKING UP PEOPLE TO JOIN US FOR A TREE LIGHTING DOWNTOWN AND DINNER IN A PRIVATE DINEING ROOM. WE HAD KIDS ON BOARD HOT CHOCOLATE GIFT BAGS . JUST A GREAT NIGHT .WE HAD A GREAT VEIW WHILE WE ATE AND SAW THE LIGHTS COME ON DOWNTOWN AND FIREWORKS , JUST A FEW SHORT WEEKS AGO .

Miss Mcpoopoo … You are so sweet. I sure hope your back is relaxing enough to let you enjoy the busy Christmas season with your family. Mcpoopoo, Have you seen the movie ” OZ The Great and Powerful ” ( I BET You have SHEBA ) 2013. The kids imagine you are as adorable and smart as the china doll.

The kids and Cherie will tuck you in …

Oh Sheba … You’re so funny … All that in your sleep? I believe you, I was just thinking what wonders are you capable of awake! I would love to see your decorated house, I bet it looks like a Winter Wonderland! Cherie is glad to hear it sounds like that cold is rounding the corner of Done. We have not read the Little Match Girl in forever. We have never heard or read Little Piccola … can’t wait to read them with the kids after OZ story ( Cherie is milking these stories to last the 2 weeks they are off ). Night-Nite Sheba♥ … Night ALL.
@bassetbabe … You get some rest, Cherie will be praying you feel better in time for Christmas.

Peace Out Peeps! Enjoy your evening and be safe and warm. 🙂

Piccola had not meant to wake her mother, but this surprise was more than any little girl could
bear and yet be quiet; so she danced to the bed with the shoe in her hand, calling, “Mother,
mother! look, look! see the present Santa Claus brought me!”
Her mother raised her head and looked into the shoe. “Why, Piccola,” she said, “a little chimney
swallow nestling in your shoe? What a good Santa Claus to bring you a bird!”
“Good Santa Claus, dear Santa Claus!” cried Piccola; and she kissed her mother and kissed the
bird and kissed [Pg 46]the shoe, and even threw kisses up the chimney, she was so happy.
When the birdling was taken out of the shoe, they found that he did not try to fly, only to hop
about the room; and as they looked closer, they could see that one of his wings was hurt a little.
But the mother bound it up carefully, so that it did not seem to pain him, and he was so gentle
that he took a drink of water from a cup, and even ate crumbs and seeds out of Piccola’s hands.
She was a proud little girl when she took her Christmas present to show the children in the
garden. They had had a great many gifts,—dolls that could say “mamma,” bright picture books,
trains of cars, toy pianos; but not one of their playthings was alive, like Piccola’s birdling. They
were as pleased as she, and Rose hunted about the house until she found a large wicker cage that
belonged to a blackbird she once had. She gave the cage to Piccola, and the swallow seemed to
make himself quite at home in it at once, and sat on the perch winking his bright eyes at the
children. Rose had saved a bag of candies for Piccola, and when she went home at last, with the
cage and her dear swallow safely inside it, I am sure there was not a happier little girl in the
whole country of Italy.

ran to her and helped her in; and as they did so, they all asked her at once what she thought she
would have for a Christmas present. “A Christmas present!” said Piccola. “Why, what is that?”
All the children looked surprised at this, and Rose said, rather gravely, “Dear Piccola, don’t you
know what Christmas is?”
Oh, yes, Piccola knew it was the happy day when the baby Christ was born, and she had been to
church on that day and heard the beautiful singing, and had seen the picture of the Babe lying in
the manger, with cattle and sheep sleeping round about. Oh, yes, she knew all that very well, but
what was a Christmas present?
Then the children began to laugh and to answer her all together. There was such a clatter of
tongues that [Pg 44]she could hear only a few of the words now and then, such as “chimney,”
“Santa Claus,” “stockings,” “reindeer,” “Christmas Eve,” “candies and toys.” Piccola put her
hands over her ears and said, “Oh, I can’t understand one word. You tell me, Rose.” Then Rose
told her all about jolly Santa Claus, with his red cheeks and white beard and fur coat, and about
his reindeer and sleigh full of toys. “Every Christmas Eve,” said Rose, “he comes down the
chimney, and fills the stockings of all the good children; so, Piccola, you hang up your stocking,
and who knows what a beautiful Christmas present you will find when morning comes!” Of
course Piccola thought this was a delightful plan, and was very pleased to hear about it. Then all
the children told her of every Christmas Eve they could remember, and of the presents they had
had; so that she went home thinking of nothing but dolls and hoops and balls and ribbons and
marbles and wagons and kites.
She told her mother about Santa Claus, and her mother seemed to think that perhaps he did not
know there was any little girl in that house, and very likely he would not come at all. But Piccola
felt very sure Santa Claus would remember her, for her little friends had promised to send a letter
up the chimney to remind him.
Christmas Eve came at last. Piccola’s mother hurried home from her work; they had their little
supper of soup and bread, and soon it was bedtime,—time to get ready for Santa Claus. But oh!
Piccola remembered then for the first time that the children had told her she must hang up her
stocking, and she hadn’t any, and neither had her mother.
[Pg 45]How sad, how sad it was! Now Santa Claus would come, and perhaps be angry because he
couldn’t find any place to put the present.
The poor little girl stood by the fireplace, and the big tears began to run down her cheeks. Just
then her mother called to her, “Hurry, Piccola; come to bed.” What should she do? But she
stopped crying, and tried to think; and in a moment she remembered her wooden shoes, and ran
off to get one of them. She put it close to the chimney, and said to herself, “Surely Santa Claus
will know what it’s there for. He will know I haven’t any stockings, so I gave him the shoe
instead.”
Then she went off happily to her bed, and was asleep almost as soon as she had nestled close to
her mother’s side.
The sun had only just begun to shine, next morning, when Piccola awoke. With one jump she
was out on the floor and running toward the chimney. The wooden shoe was lying where she had
left it, but you could never, never guess what was in it.

LITTLE PICCOLA*
SUGGESTED BY ONE OF MRS. CELIA THAXTER’S POEMS
“Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath.”—

Piccola lived in Italy, where the oranges grow, and where all the year the sun shines warm and
bright. I suppose you think Piccola a very strange name for a little girl; but in her country it was
not strange at all, and her mother thought it the sweetest name a little girl ever had.
Piccola had no kind father, no big brother or sister, and no sweet baby to play with and love. She
and her mother lived all alone in an old stone house that looked on a dark, narrow street. They
were very poor, and the mother was away from home almost every day, washing clothes and
scrubbing floors, and working hard to earn money for her little girl and herself. So you see
Piccola was alone a great deal of the time; and if she had not been a very happy, contented little
child, I hardly know what she would have done. She had no playthings except a heap of stones in
the back yard that she used for building houses and a very old, very ragged doll that her mother
had found in the street one day.
But there was a small round hole in the stone wall at the back of her yard, and her greatest
pleasure was to look through that into her neighbor’s garden. When she stood on a stone, and put
her eyes close to the hole, she could see the green grass in the garden, and smell the sweet
flowers, and even hear the water splashing into the[Pg 42]fountain. She had never seen anyone
walking in the garden, for it belonged to an old gentleman who did not care about grass and
flowers.
One day in the autumn her mother told her that the old gentleman had gone away, and had rented
his house to a family of little American children, who had come with their sick mother to spend
the winter in Italy. After this, Piccola was never lonely, for all day long the children ran and
played and danced and sang in the garden. It was several weeks before they saw her at all, and I
am not sure they ever would have done so but one day the kitten ran away, and in chasing her
they came close to the wall and saw Piccola’s black eyes looking through the hole in the stones.
They were a little frightened at first, and did not speak to her; but the next day she was there
again, and Rose, the oldest girl, went up to the wall and talked to her a little while. When the
children found that she had no one to play with and was very lonely, they talked to her every
day, and often brought her fruits and candies, and passed them through the hole in the wall.
One day they even pushed the kitten through; but the hole was hardly large enough for her, and
she mewed and scratched and was very much frightened. After that the little boy said he would
ask his father if the hole might not be made larger, and then Piccola could come in and play with
them. The father had found out that Piccola’s mother was a good woman, and that the little girl
herself was sweet and kind, so that he was very glad to have some of the stones broken away and
an opening made for Piccola to come in.
[Pg 43]How excited she was, and how glad the children were when she first stepped into the
garden! She wore her best dress, a long, bright-colored woolen skirt and a white waist. Round
her neck was a string of beads, and on her feet were little wooden shoes. It would seem very
strange to us—would it not?—to wear wooden shoes; but Piccola and her mother had never worn
anything else, and never had any money to buy stockings. Piccola almost always ran about
barefooted, like the kittens and the chickens and the little ducks. What a good time they had that
day, and how glad Piccola’s mother was that her little girl could have such a pleasant, safe place
to play in, while she was away at work!
By and by December came, and the little Americans began to talk about Christmas. One day,
when Piccola’s curly head and bright eyes came peeping through the hole in the wall, and they

merchant’s. Hundreds of wax tapers were burning on the green branches, and figures, such as
she had seen in the shop windows, looked down upon her. The child stretched out her hands to
them; then the match went out.
Still the lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher. She saw them as stars in heaven, and
one of them fell, forming a long trail of fire.
“Now some one is dying,” murmured the child softly; for her grandmother, the only person who
had loved her and who was now dead, had told her that whenever a star falls a soul mounts up to
God.
She struck yet another match against the wall, and again it was light; and in the brightness there
appeared before her the dear old grandmother, bright and radiant, yet sweet and mild, and happy
as she had never looked on earth.
“Oh, grandmother,” cried the child, “take me with you. I know you will go away when the match
burns out. You, too, will vanish, like the warm stove, the splendid New Year’s feast, the beautiful
Christmas Tree.” And lest her grandmother should disappear, she rubbed the whole bundle of
matches against the wall.
[Pg 40]And the matches burned with such a brilliant light that it became brighter than noonday.
Her grandmother had never looked so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms,
and both flew together, joyously and gloriously, mounting higher and higher, far above the earth;
and for them there was neither hunger, nor cold, nor care;—they were with God.
But in the corner, at the dawn of day, sat the poor girl, leaning against the wall, with red cheeks
and smiling mouth,—frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and cold she sat,
with the matches, one bundle of which was burned.
“She wanted to warm herself, poor little thing,” people said. No one imagined what sweet visions
she had had, or how gloriously she had gone with her grandmother to enter upon the joys of a
new year.

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL*
HANS ANDERSEN

It was dreadfully cold; it was snowing fast, and was almost dark, as evening came on—the last
evening of the year. In the cold and the darkness, there went along the street a poor little girl,
bareheaded and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but they were
much too large for her feet,—slippers that her mother had used until then, and the poor little girl
lost them in running across the street when two carriages were passing terribly fast. When she
looked for them, one was not to be found, and a boy seized the other and ran away with it, saying
he would use it for a cradle some day, when he had children of his own.
So on the little girl went with her bare feet, that were red and blue with cold. In an old apron that
she wore were bundles of matches, and she carried a bundle also in her hand. No one had bought
so much as a bunch all the long day, and no one had given her even a penny.
Poor little girl! Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along, a perfect picture of misery!
The snowflakes fell on her long flaxen hair, which hung in pretty curls about her throat; but she
thought not of her beauty nor of the cold. Lights gleamed in every window, and there came to her
the savory smell of roast goose, for it was New Year’s Eve. And it was of this which she thought.
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which [Pg 38]projected beyond the other, she sat
cowering down. She had drawn under her little feet, but still she grew colder and colder; yet she
dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not bring a penny of money. Her
father would certainly beat her; and, besides, it was cold enough at home, for they had only the
houseroof above them; and, though the largest holes had been stopped with straw and rags, there
were left many through which the cold wind whistled.
And now her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. Alas! a single match might do her good if
she might only draw it from the bundle, rub it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. So at
last she drew one out. Whischt! How it blazed and burned! It gave out a warm, bright flame like
a little candle, as she held her hands over it. A wonderful little light it was. It really seemed to the
little girl as if she sat before a great iron stove, with polished brass feet and brass shovel and
tongs. So blessedly it burned that the little maiden stretched out her feet to warm them also. How
comfortable she was! But lo! the flame went out, the stove vanished, and nothing remained but
the little burned match in her hand.
She rubbed another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and where the light fell upon the
wall it became transparent like a veil, so that she could see through it into the room. A snowwhite
cloth was spread upon the table, on which was a beautiful china dinner service, while a
roast goose, stuffed with apples and prunes, steamed famously, and sent forth a most savory
smell. And what was more delightful still, and wonderful, the [Pg 39]goose jumped from the dish,
with knife and fork still in its breast, and waddled along the floor straight to the little girl.
But the match went out then, and nothing was left to her but the thick, damp wall.
She lighted another match. And now she was under a most beautiful Christmas tree, larger and
far more prettily trimmed than the one she had seen through the glass doors at the rich