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At sixty-eight, I just turned forty.

Our local newspaper has a side item it calls "On This Date". It contains the newspaper equivalent of two small soundbites; one from 20 years ago and one from 40 years ago. They often serve as a reminder both of what was happening back then and of how similar the past is to the present. While they are best when they contain local names you recognize, they are often both nostalgic and instructive.

For me, the light bulb of recognition started long ago for the twenty year details. Today, the forty year becomes personally relevant. A way of marking a life milestone for someone who did not remain in their hometown; or even home state.

Because I moved to Lewiston, Idaho when I was twenty-eight, I passed the 'more than half of my life here' marker some time ago. This was the place my daughter went through school. The place my second, longest and most cherish career began and ended. The place where my husband appeared and won my heart. The place to which my parents eventually followed me and which became their final resting spot. The community I gave my time and talents to in endless ways.

Lewiston, the mountain state of Idaho's lowest elevation, the furthest inland seaport in the US, the entrance to Hell's Canyon (deeper than the Grand Canyon) resting at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater rivers and at the pivot spot of Idaho, Washington and Oregon.

Home.

Not my hometown. That remains forever Rockford, Illinois; a town that shaped my youth and my family. A town to which I will always owe a debt of gratitude. But no longer my home, just my hometown.

In 1976, forty years was unfathomable to a young, adventuresome city girl coming into rural Idaho for a brand new job. I'd never been close to a pickup, let alone ridden in them. (Although, back then city folk were not so taken with pickups as they are now.) I'd known the wide open flat of cornfields, but not the forests and streams of mountains or the rolling hills of wheat, peas and lentils. I'd known oaks, not pines. I'd never seen a deer in the wild, let alone an elk, cougar, moose or bear. But I'd known people, and that was enough anywhere.

I'm still here. Home for forty years. Thanks to the Lewiston Tribune, I get to remember that every day.

ALL GROWN UP CHRISTMAS

With some amazement, a great deal of gratitude and not a little sadness, I have just realized that five days shy of my sixtieth birthday I will celebrate my first Christmas which will not include the presence of any children on Christmas Day.

Like many families, the Christmas tradition runs long and deep in ours. I had nearly reached a half century before a Christmas arrived when my parents, my sisters and our respective children were not all together. Not until that year did I become truly aware that our long standing ability to gather on Christmas was rare and privileged. For almost forty years my family came together from near and far to our childhood home. When Mom and Dad moved to my two thousand mile away city, only the location changed. Even the year one sister was recovering from cancer surgery we simply moved the site but not the celebration.

Over the years we had lots of guests, related and not, delivered cheer and gifts to those less fortunate and tried hard to honor the spirit of the season. Through good fortune and hardship we always had the family holiday and the season itself seemed to wrap us in a blanket of invincibility to an inevitable growth and subsequent geographical drift of family.

Holding us together was my Father, the genuine Santa Claus. Product of the Great Depression and seasoned in World War II, Christmas was the way in which he expressed his abounding delight and love, first for his family and then for his American Dream world. And while his generosity lasted all year round, Christmas provided the excuse to gift friends and family in abundance.

His most important gifts taught us that it was the thought that counted, that little things mattered and that traditions could be built around the simplest of gifts. Three delighted little girls became three grown sisters who still gift each other one large candy cane, one box of Andes Candies, one Lifesavers Stories box; who wrap in multiple layers, who's trees are piled with wrapped - but not always neatly - gifts of love. On Christmas morning gifts are opened individually, in rotating order so that each may be properly considered and applauded (oohs and ahs here, please) by recipient and onlooker alike. We were still young children when the pleasure of giving...thinking of, devising, planning, wrapping, making, finding the perfect gift...surpassed the pleasure of gifts received.

And so, around my half century mark, the flow of life began to change. One sister and her family could not make it home. My father died. My daughter married and had two families to honor. Christmas traditions remained, but the tides of change moved more swiftly now.

The single constant, I have belatedly realized, was the presence of children; mine, my sister's, my grandchildren. This year, the whims of time have conspired to leave my child and grandchildren as well as my sister, niece and nephew thousands of miles away.

And I'll admit this make me pretty blue. I still believe. Believe that Christmas should be seen through the eyes of a child, that hugging a child is the best Christmas breakfast, that adult wonder never quite matches that of a child, that quiet is not the proper atmosphere for Christmas morning, that Christmas can be special but is incomplete without a child present.

I also believe that life changes, that times are what they are, that one must never waste the present no matter what your circumstances, that quiet holidays are likely in the future, that love and children and Christmas can reach across the miles even when your heart is aching to touch. I believe in every word of "I'll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams."

Father's handmade, six foot Christmas star hangs on my home, our lights will twinkle and our tree will bend but not break loaded with all our child-made or family heirloom ornaments. My 2007 Christmas family, six adults, will wake Christmas morning with true holiday spirit; then with love and warmth for those present or absent, honor tradition, rejoice in the present and begin claiming the future.