My 9 Days of Christmas

Well, ever since the last "update" on my computer I am unable to download any pictures - for my blog or onto my Facebook.  I will have to figure that out later. I need to do my "memory" for today - then I am going into work with Marcia and leave there to finish Christmas shopping.  We have done most at ".com", but there are just a few that we are stumped on.  Anyway ...

When we lived in England base housing was fenced along back separating the housing from a huge farmer's field.  There were also big signs telling us "No Trespassing".  Well, you know how that is, especially to little boys.  It is like an open invitation to jump over the fence, stand on the other side and jump back over to home base ... when there was not a "farmer" and his tractor in sight.

Well my little brother, Mike, loved those balsa wood glider planes.  One Christmas that was at the top of his wish list.  Santa left Mike a couple of them.  Of course we girls were curious why he should get "some" when he asked for "a" glider.  Maybe we had better behave around Christmas.  Nah, we were good ... enough.

We (us girls) never paid much attention to Mike when he was playing, except to witness Mike's fear of the farmer?  Dad and Mike put together one of his gliders and Mike went outside to play.  The wind carried the plane in its graceful decent  and it did its perfect landing ... in the farmer's field.  Well normally that would have been a quick jump, retrieve and back.  However, this day far in the distance was the farmer on his tractor and he was headed toward Mike.

Mike waited patiently until the farmer was in ear shot and Mike started his plea.  "Oh Mr. Farmer.  My plane landed in your field, just over there (and he pointed).  Can I come get it?"  Mike repeated it several times.  The farmer stopped, just short of where the plane rested.  Mike called out to the farmer again.  The farmer started up again, looking at Mike, then the plane.  He looked at Mike intently, just as the plane crunched under the tires of the tractor.

Well, no wonder.  Santa knew there was a mean Mr. Farmer.