Christmas Cards for Addie

Hi Folks.

This is Addie:


To read about Addie and to learn more about her life, click on the image to read the article from Tracy Saelinger on Today Health

Addie is six and lives with her family in Utah. This may be her last Christmas because she has a rather baffling brain atrophy condition. To help her live every day to the fullest, Addie’s family is asking people to send her a lifetime of Christmas cards. Not many people do Christmas cards anymore – time is short, postage is too expensive, and we have to dig up our ‘list’ of people who sent us Christmas cards last year to see if we should send them one or not. Whatever. Far too complicated for us. Celebrations this time of year, whether Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Solstice or something entirely different are about love; they’re a celebration of life and renewal.

You can send your cards to Addie, her sisters Audree & Shayley and their mom, Tami at this address:

Addie Lynn and Sisters,
P.O. Box 162,
Fountain Green, UT 84632

Thanks also to Children and the Earth, who are helping with the medical bills and accepting donations on Addie’s family’s behalf.

Addie, we’ll be getting something off in the mail to you soon, but in the meantime we thought we’d share this story with you about the magic of Christmas.

Love and hugs,

A Kelowna Christmas (FREIDRICH is on the right)

One of our Santas (FREIDRICH (the tree) is on the right)

Twas the Night before Yuletide

Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen,
Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen.
A mantle of snow shone brightly that night
As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight.

The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees,
Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze.
The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows,
Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows.

When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake,
Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break.
The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet
Then raced to the river where they usually meet.

“What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they probed,
As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed.
“What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused her to shiver?”
They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.

Then what to their wondering eyes should appear
But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere.
It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye,
Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.

Before they could murmur, before they could bustle,
There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle,
A stately old crone with her hand on a cane,
Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane.

As she passed by them the old crone’s perfume,
Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom,
Made each of the fey folk think of the spring
When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing.

“My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed
in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed,
“I’ve come to remind you, for you seem to forget,
that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…”

“I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
The air isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells
Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews,
Of cider that’s mulled or other hot brews.”

“There aren’t any children at play in the snow,
Or houses lit up by candles’ glow.
Have you forgotten, my children, the fun
Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”

She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round,
As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.
Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day,
“Come, my children,” she said, “Let’s play.”

They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly,
Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly.
They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang.
They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang.

They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry,
In colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry.
They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats,
Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats.

Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest,
Before they went homeward to seek out their rest,
The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favorite oak tree
And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree’s finery.

They were just reaching home when it suddenly came,
The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame.
It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar
The golden-like sphere turned into a star.

The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight,
“Happy Yuletide, my children,” she whispered. “Good night.”


The Author of this wonderful tale is thought to be C.C. Williford.

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