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HAND-PRINT NATIVITY ANIMALS


If you’re celebrating Christmas and have little ones, this DIY activity is a must for making memories that will last a lifetime!

Aren’t these amazing?
MERRY CHRISTMAS!  ~ Bette A. Stevens, Author/Illustrator

FIND OUT HOW at http://learncreatelove.com/?p=5695

CRAFT from Learn Create Love.

CRAFT from Learn Create Love.

Easy Christmas Tree Origami


The Legend of the Christmas Tree (German/Anonymous)

Most children have seen a Christmas tree, and many know that the pretty and pleasant custom of hanging gifts on its boughs comes from Germany; but perhaps few have heard or read the story that is told to little German children, respecting the origin of this custom. The story is called “The Little Stranger,” and runs thus:

In a small cottage on the borders of a forest lived a poor laborer, who gained a scanty living by cutting wood. He had a wife and two children who helped him in his work. The boy’s name was Valentine, and the girl was called Mary. They were obedient, good children, and a great comfort to their parents. One winter evening, this happy little family were sitting quietly round the hearth, the snow and the wind raging outside, while they ate their supper of dry bread, when a gentle tap was heard on the window, and a childish voice cried from without: “Oh, let me in, pray! I am a poor little child, with nothing to eat, and no home to go to, and I shall die of cold and hunger unless you let me in.”

Valentine and Mary jumped up from the table and ran to open the door, saying: “Come in, poor little child! We have not much to give you, but whatever we have we will share with you.”

The stranger-child came in and warmed his frozen hands and feet at the fire, and the children gave him the best they had to eat, saying: “You must be tired, too, poor child! Lie down on our bed; we can sleep on the bench for one night.”

Then said the little stranger-child: “Thank God for all your kindness to me!”

So they took their little guest into their sleeping-room, laid him on the bed, covered him over, and said to each other: “How thankful we ought to be! We have warm rooms and a cozy bed, while this poor child has only heaven for his roof and the cold earth for his sleeping-place.”

When their father and mother went to bed, Mary and Valentine lay quite contentedly on the bench near the fire, saying, before they fell asleep: “The stranger-child will be so happy to-night in his warm bed!”

These kind children had not slept many hours before Mary awoke and softly whispered to her brother: “Valentine, dear, wake, and listen to the sweet music under the window.”

Then Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. It was sweet music indeed, and sounded like beautiful voices singing to the tones of a harp:

“O holy Child, we greet thee! bringing
Sweet strains of harp to aid our singing.

“Thou, holy Child, in peace art sleeping,
While we our watch without are keeping.

“Blest be the house wherein thou liest.
Happiest on earth, to heaven the highest.”

The children listened, while a solemn joy filled their hearts; then they stepped softly to the window to see who might be without.

In the east was a streak of rosy dawn, and in its light they saw a group of children standing before the house, clothed in silver garments, holding golden harps in their hands. Amazed at this sight, the children were still gazing out of the window, when a light tap caused them to turn round. There stood the stranger-child before them clad in a golden dress, with a gleaming radiance round his curling hair. “I am the little Christ-child,” he said, “who wanders through the world bringing peace and happiness to good children. You took me in and cared for me when you thought me a poor child, and now you shall have my blessing for what you have done.”

A fir tree grew near the house; and from this he broke a twig, which he planted in the ground, saying: “This twig shall become a tree, and shall bring forth fruit year by year for you.”

No sooner had he done this than he vanished, and with him the little choir of angels. But the fir-branch grew and became a Christmas tree, and on its branches hung golden apples and silver nuts every Christmas-tide.

Such is the story told to German children concerning their beautiful Christmas trees, though we know that the real little Christ-child can never be wandering, cold and homeless, again in our world, inasmuch as he is safe in heaven by his Father’s side; yet we may gather from this story the same truth which the Bible plainly tells us—that any one who helps a Christian child in distress, it will be counted unto him as if he had indeed done it unto Christ himself. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

http://www.online-literature.com/anonymous/439

Make your own Pop-Up CHRISTMAS CARDS!


Christmas Poinsettias, are they flowers?


Watch this awesome video!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSWx128RgbE

petrel41's avatarDear Kitty. Some blog

This video is called How to fold a poinsettia flower, origami.

But … are the originals on which the paper copies are based, really flowers?

From eNature Blog in the USA:

Are Christmas Poinsettias Really Flowers—Or Something Else?

Posted on Monday, December 02, 2013 by eNature

Poinsettias seem to be everywhere during the holiday season— schools, homes, offices and everywhere in between.

But how many of us have seen a poinsettia in the wild? And what’s a plant doing blooming right as winter is beginning?

Just where did this plant come from?

What Exactly Is A Poinsettia?

It’s lot more than just a pretty flower (more on that below). In the wild, poinsettia (Euphorbia pulcherrima) is a shrub or small tree, ranging in height from 2 to as high as 16 feet. Originally a native of Mexico, the plant has been introduced throughout the temperate regions…

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A quick pick me up


BOOK ART: Nothing short of amazing! ~ Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com

 

georgipaech's avatar1001 Children's Books

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Feeling glum? Not had the best day? You know what you need? You need to look at these beautiful book sculptures.

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Still feeling blue? Go read a book. I promise you’ll feel better.

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Windy Nights, poem by Robert Louis Stevenson


Poem perfect for a windy autumn night! ~ Bette A. Stevens

 

silverbirchpress's avatarSilver Birch Press

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WINDY NIGHTS
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
            Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
            A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
 
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
            And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
            By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again. 

PAINTING: “Windy Night” by Marilyn Jacobson, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

EDITOR’S NOTE: A fascinating project about Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) is currently in the works — a film about his life in San Francisco, with a screenplay by G.E. Gallas. Find out more at gegallas.wordpress.com.

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Rhapsody on a Windy Night, poem by T.S. Eliot


Love T.S. Eliot. Just right for a windy night… Bette A. Stevens

 

silverbirchpress's avatarSilver Birch Press

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RHAPSODY ON A WINDY NIGHT (Excerpt)
by T.S. Eliot

Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions.
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium…
***
Editor’s Note: “As a madman shakes a dead geranium” — what a stunning line! T.S. Eliot never ceases to amaze…

Read “Rhapsody on a Windy Night” in its entirety at poets.org.

Painting by Mike Grubb, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Find more of the artist’s work at fineartamerica.com.

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Enough time


Poem perfect! Bette A. Stevens

Fall, poem by Edward Hirsch


silverbirchpress's avatarSilver Birch Press

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FALL
by Edward Hirsch

Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
With the final remaining cardinals) and then
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground.
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees
In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager
And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever
Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun
Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance,
A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud
Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything
Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s
Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment
Pulling out of the station according to schedule,
Another moment…

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Dawn Is Coming!


Picture perfect. ~ Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com

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