The vibration noise of my phone sounded at 8:15 am, then at 8:20, 8:25, 8:30, 8:35, 8:40 and until I heeded its call at 8:45--I had an appointment with one of Santa's elves, 9 am sharp.
The reason? My never-to-be-released-from-my-heart of a home teacher, Brother Rigby, had cornered me a week ago about fixing the interior door-panel of my parents 1997 Ford Crown Victoria. Although named the-girl-that-would-starve-to-death-if-she-had-to-survive-by-her-hands by my dear mother, I decided to try my hands a fixing the door for my parents.
From 9am until 4pm we concocted a way to resurrect a door panel that resembled the tributaries of the Mississippi River. More than 20 ideas were used in that garage on 6th North and 3rd East. Even more trips were made to the local hardware store. But in the end, every part was attached by screws, glue and zip ties. While the finish product does not resemble the interior of a new Lexus, (more like an armed tank), the door functioned once again.
Such a day will remain within my hall-of-fame of Christmas memories. For twas a gift not asked for, but much needed. Twas the gift of love and practicality.