I have a secret admirer it seems, and he comes faithfully every Christmas Eve. He, or the accomplice, knows exactly when to strike: when I've left to go caroling, or the very hour I'm serving at the soup kitchen.

This year I'm going to nab the Christmas romancer. It's not nice to leave such delicate roses... all red and perfectly arranged at a widow's door. Who is this person?

I must say, he's got pretty fine taste in roses though. I've never seen such beautiful, long-stemmed red roses.

Thing is, I'm starting to look forward to them, and worse, dream about the intent behind the gift. Is this person really interested in me? Why doesn't he reveal himself by delivering them in person? Maybe that's it! I've become a game for him and nothing more.

I'm not sure if I want to catch him. You know what I mean? Maybe I'll just play along and enjoy the rose day parade in perpetuity. That's what my best friend says to me. Leslie is a psychologist, and I should listen to her more often.

But... It's not just the roses, it's the attached notecard. The scribbled expression of love and admiration leap from the page and into my heart. I've saved each and every one of them, and sometimes I re-read them to make the loneliness go away.

December is keeping me busy this year, as it usually does, and wearing me out.

It's becoming more emotional as the years tick by, especially when I sit by the fire sipping hot chocolate, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" in black and white. It has to be in black and white for a reason I can't explain.

A lifetime of holiday memories are intertwined with thoughts of my husband, and of our children running around on Christmas morning in footed pajamas, screaming in delight. John always carried the boys on his back to the decorated tree--just like George Bailey.

He fussed if I bought him anything at all, but piled gifts for me and the twins under the tree like a fool. The impossible man! He always said, "I have everything I need," with a sly smile. I miss him with an ache so deep.

I've decided to leave a note for Mr. Mysterious along with some of my handmade toffee and shortbread. I made hot nuts, too. My eyes are still watering from that act of stupidity. I'm putting it all outside my front door in festive wrap.

My gift tag was clear:

Thank you for the beautiful Christmas roses! These goodies are for you.
Merry Christmas!
Love,
Sarah

I wrote the note ten times, trying to decide whether or not to put 'love' on there. I gave in and followed my heart. I do love his thoughtfulness, and all the sweet things he takes the time to say. Doctor Leslie confirmed this yearly gifting was a sign of a loving, secure man. However, my friend overlooks the fact that he has remained anonymous for ten years.

Christmas Eve found me filled with the spirit of the season, that and too many viewings of the black and white classic. I whistled and hummed all day!

But... Christmas Eve came and went. There were no red roses and no card. My food gifts remained untouched.

It was then I realized how much the gifts meant to me, all ten years worth. I plopped into bed around midnight, trying to keep my spirits up for my family, set to arrive in ten hours.

Cayenne hot nuts numbed my lips and burned my eyes as I drifted off to sleep, curled up in a ball.

To be continued....