Monday, January 15, 2018
On The Wonders of Christmas Dreaming . . .
Right thinking always produces quality, I think. Christ-centered people are, indeed, promised mansion living. Jesus says, "in my Father's house, there are many mansions." Victoria Village demonstrates "mansion living." And in the living there, our loved ones, as in Victoria Village, will wait outside for us or sit and wait for us to come admire the Christmas tree and have a cup of chocolate and more.
Wherever we are, we will do excellent work, be it as proprietors of shoppes or village residents. We will worship God and heartily celebrate "the Word made flesh." We will be found remembering and treasuring the birth, life, work, death … and Resurrection of God's Only Begotten Son. We will daily choose to rejoice in His Way as our way. To us Victoria Village is a place that represents our heart for Jesus now and forever.
Victoria Village and The Township of Christmas are both Godly places, as we represent them. Father Christmas reigns over both as Father God. His lantern is Jesus, The Light of the World. His Spirit is in charge of gifts, i.e., Santa, making Santa the gift-giver. Jesus is The Word. The Word made flesh on that first Christmas morn and Jesus Messiah. He is the King of Kings.
Victoria Village and The Township of Christmas both are peopled by strong believers, grateful to Almighty God for the gift of the babe, Emmanuel (God With Us), and for the excellent work of Jesus on the cross to erase our trespass. And we thrill that He will return, The Bright Morning Star. The people of Victoria Village live as the sons and daughters of God and with the knowledge that Jesus is The Christmas Rose, and The Cornerstone of the Church of God.
In The Chocolaty Olde Country of England! A Dreamy Tale with a Twist!
Dreams come in cascades, I thought idly, wondering if so . . . then . . . what next? I continued my pleasing browse-through of a fine box of assorted Chocolates . . . then, allowing temptation, plucked a perfect pink and ebony morsel from its crib and popped it into my mouth.
Christmas Dreams were the sweetest dreams, no doubt, I mused wryly, shifting unconsciously on my feet at the window and suddenly suspecting I was presently dreaming.
I could always tell. It was an intensely relaxed state—dreaming—easily identifiable, and with a feel of sure and safe place about it, place where it was good to be—even if, also, more often than not, a bit surprising, too . . .
Yes, I determined, squinting narrowly about me now. So it is!
Surprising, indeed! And with wonderment circling in my thoughts, I felt my curiosity rise and reach out to little Victoria Village.
Instinctively, I scooped up a handful of chocolates.
Queens . . . why all the Queens, Karen? I found myself inquiring of myself.
Names! Came my immediate reply. Names of . . . strong women leaders—and their men of like kind!
Their names are our names, after all (well, not mine or Kathleen's, I thought a bit puzzled; but Richard's. certainly). My curiosity lead me on as I thought . . . Victoria Village matters because?
Because there is wholesome living there! I took a gulp of air and added, and warm-hearted people, people who love Christmas!
Ever dream of actually going there? I seemed to hear Richard softly inquire.
Ever dream of The Waldorf and Camelot on Broadway on the way? He added.
What? I parried, rather breathless with all the wondering.
British Airways 1st class? Heathrow? London Victoria Station?
Well, no! I finally surmised, briefly admiring my obviously quite elaborate fancy. Also quite obvious, neither answers, nor cost, nor energy was of any real relevance in my dream.
Perhaps I should just enjoy this? I thought.
Heritage Express to Victoria Village Station?
Ah! Fine idea! And realizing I did not have to come up with answers (or even be practical at all), I pleasurably took a moment to select yet another chocolate, relax, and savor the inherent charm of this chocolaty dream of Christmas in the Emerald Isles.
Envisioning Richard busily confirming reservations in the lobby, stretching his legs to pick up Heritage Express tickets to Oxford and Stratford-Upon-Avon, and London . . . for shopping at Harrods, of course, I marveled as the ideas spread out invitingly before me.
Attend the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, will we?
I nodded my head in vigorous agreement.
Will we meet up with family and cousins, American and Brit, in our travels?
Not at all unlikely, that! I thought, considering. Our families were known for "living out loud," meaning verra noticeably.
Will The Polar Express stop at Victoria Village? Caught up short, I reined in at once, protesting aloud: The Polar Express goes to The Township of Christmas! Then rethinking, recalled instantly that The Polar Express also picks up from, well, everywhere.
No little pleased by that thought, and reaching for a last chocolate, I found the tiny sampler empty! Though . . . all of a sudden now, there . . . was . . out of nowhere, a big box of Schraffts, adorned by a thistle, yes, a thistle . . . I marveled, and accompanied by tiny Ghirardelli Christmas Minis!
No little content, now, my wondering returned. Could I suppose we would take a walking tour of Victoria Village? Admire the cottages and pay our respects at Norburst Abbey?
Och! Of course! I thought. And swept up a "Mini", hungrily peeling off the wrapper.
Take tea at Always Time for Tea, would we?
Dance at Wine & Dine? Oh, yes! The both!
Take a virtual tour of our ancestry at Heritage Hall?
Find Viking blood in our veins? Viking blood? Could that be? But more dazzling, surely, would we ever possibly, Richard and I, could we ever walk our past with our family and forebears . . . in their homes and ancient times . . . by transport of some technological wonder at Heritage Hall? Well, I thought in dreamy indulgence of my grand imagination, if not . . . and filled with sudden confidence, I thought emphatically . . . by dreaming . . . we can!
Abruptly and with a flash of joy, I realized Richard was striding through the door of our suite and, as always,was also in full voice. I slow-turned from my day gaze out the bay window of Elizabeth Inn across the mesmerizing exquisitely of The Christmas Rose Garden, Rose's Skating Pond, Catherine's Orangery and glowing Chihuly, all bounded by the snow-scalloped, rolling fields . . . of England.
"I just made reservations for everything! He exclaimed.". . . and got tickets for everywhere! Now, the problem is whether to have that oak-fire grilled, New York Cut Strip Steak at The Chef's Cut—whose delectable scent has hounded me every turn of the way . . . He broke off to catch his breath. "Or . . ." and here he stopped in front of me, paused for full effect, and brought a vanilla rose out from behind his back saying, "For you! A Christmas Rose!" Then, nonstop, he plunged on, "Or . . . Fresh, Highland, Wild Caught, Roast Salmon on Fennel (no less)—at Wine& Dine . . . which really should be named Wine, Dine & Dance!"
He knew . . . the effect that final word "dance" would have on me, had deliberately saved it for last just to see the electric surge of pleasure he knew would lift up my eyes . . . and instantly did. I absolutely loved the idea of dancing, always had, but truth be known, neither of us was very good at it.
Ever so excited himself, and even as I stood speechless and blissfully overwhelmed by it all, he took hold of me and swung us tightly around in circles.
"Yes . . there is a lovely dance floor in the dining room and a terra tuneful grand piano, too." He declared as we moved effortless around and around.
All questions by then having ebbed and flown, a thought occurred to me and I sighed with pleasure!
In our dreams we would always be perfect dancers! And though we might never actually go to Great Britain, and definitely never visit the little imaginary village of my dream, by the power of Christmas Dreaming, we . . . anyone . . . could always dance at Wine & Dine and savor the wonderful living in Victoria Village.
The room seemed to shift slightly, and I felt myself being pulled steadily away from Richard. It took me several breathless seconds to realize he was still with me . . . only . . . power napping beside me in our home in Celebration. And I thought, "a dream within a dream . . . I had a dream within a dream!
Will wonders never cease! I thought.
And then I smiled.
Christmas Dreams were the sweetest dreams, no doubt, I mused wryly, shifting unconsciously on my feet at the window and suddenly suspecting I was presently dreaming.
I could always tell. It was an intensely relaxed state—dreaming—easily identifiable, and with a feel of sure and safe place about it, place where it was good to be—even if, also, more often than not, a bit surprising, too . . .
Yes, I determined, squinting narrowly about me now. So it is!
Surprising, indeed! And with wonderment circling in my thoughts, I felt my curiosity rise and reach out to little Victoria Village.
Instinctively, I scooped up a handful of chocolates.
Queens . . . why all the Queens, Karen? I found myself inquiring of myself.
Names! Came my immediate reply. Names of . . . strong women leaders—and their men of like kind!
Their names are our names, after all (well, not mine or Kathleen's, I thought a bit puzzled; but Richard's. certainly). My curiosity lead me on as I thought . . . Victoria Village matters because?
Because there is wholesome living there! I took a gulp of air and added, and warm-hearted people, people who love Christmas!
Ever dream of actually going there? I seemed to hear Richard softly inquire.
Ever dream of The Waldorf and Camelot on Broadway on the way? He added.
What? I parried, rather breathless with all the wondering.
British Airways 1st class? Heathrow? London Victoria Station?
Well, no! I finally surmised, briefly admiring my obviously quite elaborate fancy. Also quite obvious, neither answers, nor cost, nor energy was of any real relevance in my dream.
Perhaps I should just enjoy this? I thought.
Heritage Express to Victoria Village Station?
Ah! Fine idea! And realizing I did not have to come up with answers (or even be practical at all), I pleasurably took a moment to select yet another chocolate, relax, and savor the inherent charm of this chocolaty dream of Christmas in the Emerald Isles.
Envisioning Richard busily confirming reservations in the lobby, stretching his legs to pick up Heritage Express tickets to Oxford and Stratford-Upon-Avon, and London . . . for shopping at Harrods, of course, I marveled as the ideas spread out invitingly before me.
Attend the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, will we?
I nodded my head in vigorous agreement.
Will we meet up with family and cousins, American and Brit, in our travels?
Not at all unlikely, that! I thought, considering. Our families were known for "living out loud," meaning verra noticeably.
Will The Polar Express stop at Victoria Village? Caught up short, I reined in at once, protesting aloud: The Polar Express goes to The Township of Christmas! Then rethinking, recalled instantly that The Polar Express also picks up from, well, everywhere.
No little pleased by that thought, and reaching for a last chocolate, I found the tiny sampler empty! Though . . . all of a sudden now, there . . . was . . out of nowhere, a big box of Schraffts, adorned by a thistle, yes, a thistle . . . I marveled, and accompanied by tiny Ghirardelli Christmas Minis!
No little content, now, my wondering returned. Could I suppose we would take a walking tour of Victoria Village? Admire the cottages and pay our respects at Norburst Abbey?
Och! Of course! I thought. And swept up a "Mini", hungrily peeling off the wrapper.
Take tea at Always Time for Tea, would we?
Dance at Wine & Dine? Oh, yes! The both!
Take a virtual tour of our ancestry at Heritage Hall?
Find Viking blood in our veins? Viking blood? Could that be? But more dazzling, surely, would we ever possibly, Richard and I, could we ever walk our past with our family and forebears . . . in their homes and ancient times . . . by transport of some technological wonder at Heritage Hall? Well, I thought in dreamy indulgence of my grand imagination, if not . . . and filled with sudden confidence, I thought emphatically . . . by dreaming . . . we can!
Abruptly and with a flash of joy, I realized Richard was striding through the door of our suite and, as always,was also in full voice. I slow-turned from my day gaze out the bay window of Elizabeth Inn across the mesmerizing exquisitely of The Christmas Rose Garden, Rose's Skating Pond, Catherine's Orangery and glowing Chihuly, all bounded by the snow-scalloped, rolling fields . . . of England.
"I just made reservations for everything! He exclaimed.". . . and got tickets for everywhere! Now, the problem is whether to have that oak-fire grilled, New York Cut Strip Steak at The Chef's Cut—whose delectable scent has hounded me every turn of the way . . . He broke off to catch his breath. "Or . . ." and here he stopped in front of me, paused for full effect, and brought a vanilla rose out from behind his back saying, "For you! A Christmas Rose!" Then, nonstop, he plunged on, "Or . . . Fresh, Highland, Wild Caught, Roast Salmon on Fennel (no less)—at Wine& Dine . . . which really should be named Wine, Dine & Dance!"
He knew . . . the effect that final word "dance" would have on me, had deliberately saved it for last just to see the electric surge of pleasure he knew would lift up my eyes . . . and instantly did. I absolutely loved the idea of dancing, always had, but truth be known, neither of us was very good at it.
Ever so excited himself, and even as I stood speechless and blissfully overwhelmed by it all, he took hold of me and swung us tightly around in circles.
"Yes . . there is a lovely dance floor in the dining room and a terra tuneful grand piano, too." He declared as we moved effortless around and around.
All questions by then having ebbed and flown, a thought occurred to me and I sighed with pleasure!
In our dreams we would always be perfect dancers! And though we might never actually go to Great Britain, and definitely never visit the little imaginary village of my dream, by the power of Christmas Dreaming, we . . . anyone . . . could always dance at Wine & Dine and savor the wonderful living in Victoria Village.
The room seemed to shift slightly, and I felt myself being pulled steadily away from Richard. It took me several breathless seconds to realize he was still with me . . . only . . . power napping beside me in our home in Celebration. And I thought, "a dream within a dream . . . I had a dream within a dream!
Will wonders never cease! I thought.
And then I smiled.
Dedication
Keeping Christmas is a collective joy, and so. . . to my Christmas People . . .
I am oh-so indebted to those who have contributed time, energy, and enthusiasm to this project. But mostly I appreciate the lending of their inherent excellence of person and assessment, resulting in polish to Christmas Dreaming otherwise unapproachable and making Victoria Village both an entertaining and spiritually enriching experience.
My dear sister, Anne, took a great leap of faith to request a Christmas model from our hands and then broadly allow us every latitude necessary to accomplish that end. Most remarkable was her ability to thriftily come to the point, ask just the right questions, and wait (I'm sure she must feel) endlessly for the answers. How I admire her always succinct choice of words—discreetly put—and her astute questions. Anne is and always has been a model of the requisite inner and outer beauty of strong, women leaders, whether they be Queens of England or heads of State like Margaret Thatcher, Teressa May, and Golda Meir. She will firmly demure on all accounts, of course; but the truth remains. How I love and admire her, and always will!
My extraordinary husband, Richard, as I have seen him do many a time over our years together, provided the fuel for my active imagination as he calls it, performing astounding artistic feats one upon the other and in many capacities: Architect, CEO, Producer, Photographer, and insightful Editor, all of the first rank (to name a few). Richard again and again purposed and repurposed the intricate interplay of our ideas, abilities, and separate tasks and with adroit clarity of purpose. A man who has prayed for and received great wisdom over all the years I have known him, yet strives to be cheerful, witty and kind about it all, is, I assure you, a rare and delightful man, indeed.
It also goes without saying, that the sheer inspiration of living with an Architect and artist, in his own right, provided me with daily opportunity to be immersed in his intuitive creative processes. And it gave me ample access to his ever-changing workload demands. It was always a sobering reminder of the rich privilege of assembling a worthy storyline for the canvass of his art. Through his first work, The Township of Christmas, I came to realize that where loving believers gather one can see, if one has a heart to, a preview of heaven—a little bit of heaven on earth. Then he envisioned and built the dream of little Victoria Village, a little bit of heaven on earth #2. In both places, strong men and women dedicated their lives to remember Him to whom credit is due for all their opportunities, their skills and abilities, their prosperity, their family. Just like us!
Christmas! Generation after generation, with Jesus Messiah at the very heart of of our being, at the heart of all our hopes, happiness and future, we dwell in God!
Struck by the going right of his places, I saw the glimpse of yet another Christmas connection—Our Town of Celebration—where we live now, and an overwhelmingly inspiring little town with a great heart for Jesus—His goodness, and His wholesome and joyful Way of life. Being a believer and surrounded by believers is truly transforming and growing up my life, even as it is transforming and growing up life in all those so dear to me, close here at home and far and wide. Indeed, no doubt it will be true, whether in the many and separate places where we live or in our dreams, we and these dear people of ours, and their places will always be found aspiring to keeping Christmas right at centerpoint place of the heart.
KMcR
by author . . .
By Karen Mc
Coin Ramsden
(in
chronological order)
T H E
T A B L E T O F D E S T I N Y
A
S C O T T I S H A D V E N T U R E
S O R T I N G I T A
L L O U T
S P I R I T U A L O D Y S S E Y
O F A N A I R H E A D D E B U
T A N T E
5 2 W E E K
S
P U T T I N G I T A L
L T O G E T H E R
T H E
T E L L I N G C H R I S T M A
S C O L L E C T I O N
T
E L L I N G C H R I S T M A S
B
O O K O N E
W
H I T E F A L L
B
O O K T W O
M
A T T E R S O F T H E
H E A R T
B
O O K T H R E E
T
H E T O W N S H I P O F C
H R I S T M A S
HOW IT’S MADE
HOW IT’S MADE
BY
RWR
B
O O K F O U R
T
H E M A G I S T A R
B
O O K F I V E
C
H R I S T M A S D R E A M I N G
B
O O K S I X
P
L A C E S O F T H E
H E A R T
T H E
T O W N S H I P O F C H R I S T M A S
V I C T O R I A V I L L A G E
T H E
T O W N O F C E L E B R A T I O N
B
O O K S E V E N
W
O N D E R S O F C H R I S T M A S D R E A M I N G
Friday, January 12, 2018
The Sampler
Christmas Dreaming
B O O K S E V E N
T E L L I N G C H R I S T M A S
Copyright 2018 by Karen McCoin Ramsden
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