Monday, December 31, 2007
“Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true”
Below is the post I wrote last year, but it works for this year too, the year of the birthday milestone. When I say my age out loud, I'm amazed I'm talking about me and not some old lady down the street. I get to take discounts now. People don't ask if I'm retired. They ask how long. But I'm okay with all of this. In my head I'm young. That is, I think, all that matters.
Each new year comes far more more quickly than the last. The theory is that as we get older, each new year is a smaller fraction of our lives. That makes sense and also makes this yet to arrive year so short as to be nearly infinitesimal. But despite its length, I welcome this year like every one before it: with open arms and a heart filled with hope.
Nostalgia gives a yank around this time. My mind fills with memories of other years, of events, of people who have passed through my life and the people who stayed a while. Some events and people I might choose to drum from my memories, but it never works that easily. Then there are some I wish I wouldn't ever forget, but that too doesn't depend on wishing. Recesses in my memory and places in my heart hold dear all I want to keep close, and I am ever so thankful for this gift.
Tonight I will welcome a year to be filled with family, friends and an adventure or two to add just a bit of spice to my life. Happy New Year, friends!
Each new year comes far more more quickly than the last. The theory is that as we get older, each new year is a smaller fraction of our lives. That makes sense and also makes this yet to arrive year so short as to be nearly infinitesimal. But despite its length, I welcome this year like every one before it: with open arms and a heart filled with hope.
Nostalgia gives a yank around this time. My mind fills with memories of other years, of events, of people who have passed through my life and the people who stayed a while. Some events and people I might choose to drum from my memories, but it never works that easily. Then there are some I wish I wouldn't ever forget, but that too doesn't depend on wishing. Recesses in my memory and places in my heart hold dear all I want to keep close, and I am ever so thankful for this gift.
Tonight I will welcome a year to be filled with family, friends and an adventure or two to add just a bit of spice to my life. Happy New Year, friends!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
"Each day comes bearing its own gifts. Untie the ribbons."
The bird feeders needed to be replenished this morning. I filled the mix, the thistle and the sunflower feeders but had no suet so I'll have to get out and about a bit later. I threw some peanuts into the yard for the squirrels hoping to divert their attention from the feeders, but I suspect that will be in vain. My yard has the plumpest squirrels who roll around rather than leap. If they're not careful, they'll be slow enough for Gracie who finds chasing them great fun.
A layer of frost covered the cars and yards this morning. The grass glittered in the sunlight, and I crunched my way across the lawn to get the papers. It wasn't breath gasping cold, but it was I'm glad I'm wearing a sweatshirt cold.
Most of my Christmas presents have been put away, but a small pile still sits on my living room floor. I just haven't found homes for them yet. My moose glasses are there because I want them around all winter, but I need to find some storage space. One of my sisters gave me a make your own potholder kit. When I was a kid, I used to make potholders all summer long at the playground then save them for Christmas. They made great presents. I want to keep this kit handy because it's never too early to get started on next year's gifts. A few ornaments are there waiting to be put away until Christmas next year. Some jigsaw puzzles and a crossword book will find homes in here so I can do them when I watch TV. Calendars sit waiting for the new year. A small rocking chair will have a home by the fireplace.
As I put this year's gifts away, I see gifts from Christmas past strewn about my house. They remind me of my family and their love and thoughtfulness. How wonderful that Christmas never really disappears.
A layer of frost covered the cars and yards this morning. The grass glittered in the sunlight, and I crunched my way across the lawn to get the papers. It wasn't breath gasping cold, but it was I'm glad I'm wearing a sweatshirt cold.
Most of my Christmas presents have been put away, but a small pile still sits on my living room floor. I just haven't found homes for them yet. My moose glasses are there because I want them around all winter, but I need to find some storage space. One of my sisters gave me a make your own potholder kit. When I was a kid, I used to make potholders all summer long at the playground then save them for Christmas. They made great presents. I want to keep this kit handy because it's never too early to get started on next year's gifts. A few ornaments are there waiting to be put away until Christmas next year. Some jigsaw puzzles and a crossword book will find homes in here so I can do them when I watch TV. Calendars sit waiting for the new year. A small rocking chair will have a home by the fireplace.
As I put this year's gifts away, I see gifts from Christmas past strewn about my house. They remind me of my family and their love and thoughtfulness. How wonderful that Christmas never really disappears.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
"Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life."
Today is a short post. I am actually going to venture to the mall to buy a few new clothes for my coming trip. My present wardrobe won't pass too close a scrutiny outside the house. I have a start as my sister gave me some shirts for Christmas. She knows I don't do new clothes often. The bookstore is on my to do the list, and I want to buy a cheap watch. Underwear, new underwear is a must.
It's raining again. When I woke this morning, I stayed in bed a bit and watched out my third floor window as the tops of the trees twisted and turned in the wind. The yard is littered with brown leaves from the scrub oaks and more are falling from the onslaught of wind and rain. If I painted winter, it would look like today.
I don't know when I first became aware of time. It might have been in high school when I had to catch an early morning bus or in college when late comers couldn't get into class. When I lived in Africa, time was relative and was either African or European. African time always meant whenever while European meant actual time. I grew to like African time once I was able to get past my own frustrations and impatience. I stopped wearing a watch back then and still don't. Just for flights, I go back to paying attention to the clock. During the in between time, I just let the days happen. I eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired. Most days I have no set itinerary and tour at a leisurely pace. Periodic stops for coffee are a must. I won't be wearing that watch much.
It's raining again. When I woke this morning, I stayed in bed a bit and watched out my third floor window as the tops of the trees twisted and turned in the wind. The yard is littered with brown leaves from the scrub oaks and more are falling from the onslaught of wind and rain. If I painted winter, it would look like today.
I don't know when I first became aware of time. It might have been in high school when I had to catch an early morning bus or in college when late comers couldn't get into class. When I lived in Africa, time was relative and was either African or European. African time always meant whenever while European meant actual time. I grew to like African time once I was able to get past my own frustrations and impatience. I stopped wearing a watch back then and still don't. Just for flights, I go back to paying attention to the clock. During the in between time, I just let the days happen. I eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired. Most days I have no set itinerary and tour at a leisurely pace. Periodic stops for coffee are a must. I won't be wearing that watch much.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Heartache Boulevard: Eilen Jewell
Eilen Jewell is the best singer we don't hear often. The music here sways with a sound that bounces between swing, country and maybe a little folk. It's from Letters From Sinners & Strangers which has no songs which disappointed me.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Underneath the Stars: Peter Case
This is from Peter Case's latest album, Let Us Now Praise Sleepy John. The title is a reference to Sleepy John Estes though this is not a tribute album. The album has the great sparse sound I always think Peter Case has. His words tell stories and none more than this song about people living on the streets.
This is Carlos Guitarlos accompaning Case on this song.
MP3 File
This is Carlos Guitarlos accompaning Case on this song.
MP3 File
"May all your troubles last as long as your New Year's resolutions. "
I feel the winding down of the year. After the frantic pace of the days before Christmas, I savor the quiet mornings and slow afternoons and feel no guilt at sitting in my pajamas. After New Year's Day the pace will pick up as I put Christmas away until next year and pack for my trip. I always feel sad when I take down the Christmas tree. It brings light to the dark nights of winter and a feeling of comfort, of a connection to all that came before and all that will come after. I will miss my Christmas tree.
I don't remember my mother taking down the tree or putting the decorations away. It wasn't an event worthy of note. The tree just sort of disappeared. My dad probably dragged it out of the house and put it by the trash, an ignoble end for all that majesty. My tree will have another life. It will be used on the beach to cover the sand dunes and help stop eroding.
I make New Year's suggestions. I used to make resolutions but never did very well with them. I now mumble vague comments about trying to eat better or take more walks. My life is on the downhill side, and I don't want to be cornered or doom myself to imminent failure. I want to eat chocolate, sleep late, put my feet up, watch TV, curse if I feel like it and sit around all day if the spirit doesn't move me. I am no longer into improving. I am content.
I don't remember my mother taking down the tree or putting the decorations away. It wasn't an event worthy of note. The tree just sort of disappeared. My dad probably dragged it out of the house and put it by the trash, an ignoble end for all that majesty. My tree will have another life. It will be used on the beach to cover the sand dunes and help stop eroding.
I make New Year's suggestions. I used to make resolutions but never did very well with them. I now mumble vague comments about trying to eat better or take more walks. My life is on the downhill side, and I don't want to be cornered or doom myself to imminent failure. I want to eat chocolate, sleep late, put my feet up, watch TV, curse if I feel like it and sit around all day if the spirit doesn't move me. I am no longer into improving. I am content.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
The Phoenix: Judee Sill
During her lifetime Judee Sill released only two albums. This song is from Heart Food, her second. It was released in 1974.
"On the day after Thanksgiving 1979, Judee Sill, a 35-year-old, deeply depressed and physically broken singer-songwriter, took an overdose of opiates and cocaine in her North Hollywood apartment. The Los Angeles coroner ruled Sill's death a suicide, but those who knew her better have always contended that the "note" found near her body -- a meditation on rapture, the hereafter and the innate mystery of life -- may just have been part of a diary entry or, perhaps, another one of her haunted, haunting songs beginning to take shape.
When Sill died, both of her albums for Asylum Records -- "Judee Sill" (1971) and "Heart Food" (1973) -- were long out of print; eight tracks recorded in 1974 for a third album had never been finished. Such was the obscurity to which Sill had fallen in 1979 that no obituary was published, and a number of her friends never knew what happened to her until many years had passed. "
About this song, she told an audience that it “confesses that I never do quite get it right.” The emotion in her voice is palpable as she sings, “I’d like to think I’m being sincere/ But I never know.”
MP3 File
"On the day after Thanksgiving 1979, Judee Sill, a 35-year-old, deeply depressed and physically broken singer-songwriter, took an overdose of opiates and cocaine in her North Hollywood apartment. The Los Angeles coroner ruled Sill's death a suicide, but those who knew her better have always contended that the "note" found near her body -- a meditation on rapture, the hereafter and the innate mystery of life -- may just have been part of a diary entry or, perhaps, another one of her haunted, haunting songs beginning to take shape.
When Sill died, both of her albums for Asylum Records -- "Judee Sill" (1971) and "Heart Food" (1973) -- were long out of print; eight tracks recorded in 1974 for a third album had never been finished. Such was the obscurity to which Sill had fallen in 1979 that no obituary was published, and a number of her friends never knew what happened to her until many years had passed. "
About this song, she told an audience that it “confesses that I never do quite get it right.” The emotion in her voice is palpable as she sings, “I’d like to think I’m being sincere/ But I never know.”
MP3 File
"Your parents are the best friends you have. Listen to them and obey their instructions."
I woke to the sound of rain on my roof. Gracie chose not to go outside. I, however, brought some trash to the car and fetched the paper. I am confused as to which of us is the dumb animal.
My house is quiet. I can hear Gracie breathing deeply in her sleep, and every now and then my computer makes a rumbling sound. My room is dark, lit only by the monitor. In the living room, the lights of the tree cut through the grayness of the day. When I was young, I loved a day like today. With one of my new Christmas books in hand, I'd steal to my bedroom, nestled under the covers, turn on the bed lamp above my head and read all day. My sisters would be sitting by the tree playing with their new toys. My brother was always just somewhere else, maybe in his room or maybe in the cellar. I'd stay in my room most of the afternoon following the escapades of Trixie Belden or Ginny Gordon. It never took me long to finish. My mother used to complain and tell me to savor the book, make it last, but I couldn't. I was caught as soon as I opened the cover and read the first word.
The crossword puzzle in the paper is a daily ritual for me. One of today's clues asked me to name a Bobbsey twin in three letters, an easy answer for me. It's Nan. I was a Bobbsey twins fan when I was young and read several of their books, but we fans are dwindling and soon context will be the only way to figure the answer. I think something similar when I hear It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas. The song starts with an invitation to take a look in the five-and-ten, but there are none. Woolworth's has disappeared. The song continues with a list of what Barney and Ben want for Christmas. They want hopalong boots. I know we're talking Hopalong Cassidy here. I used to watch him in the movies and on TV, but our numbers, too, are dwindling. Soon most of the older songs will come with a dictionary of obsolete words.
My house is quiet. I can hear Gracie breathing deeply in her sleep, and every now and then my computer makes a rumbling sound. My room is dark, lit only by the monitor. In the living room, the lights of the tree cut through the grayness of the day. When I was young, I loved a day like today. With one of my new Christmas books in hand, I'd steal to my bedroom, nestled under the covers, turn on the bed lamp above my head and read all day. My sisters would be sitting by the tree playing with their new toys. My brother was always just somewhere else, maybe in his room or maybe in the cellar. I'd stay in my room most of the afternoon following the escapades of Trixie Belden or Ginny Gordon. It never took me long to finish. My mother used to complain and tell me to savor the book, make it last, but I couldn't. I was caught as soon as I opened the cover and read the first word.
The crossword puzzle in the paper is a daily ritual for me. One of today's clues asked me to name a Bobbsey twin in three letters, an easy answer for me. It's Nan. I was a Bobbsey twins fan when I was young and read several of their books, but we fans are dwindling and soon context will be the only way to figure the answer. I think something similar when I hear It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas. The song starts with an invitation to take a look in the five-and-ten, but there are none. Woolworth's has disappeared. The song continues with a list of what Barney and Ben want for Christmas. They want hopalong boots. I know we're talking Hopalong Cassidy here. I used to watch him in the movies and on TV, but our numbers, too, are dwindling. Soon most of the older songs will come with a dictionary of obsolete words.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
I've Got a Secret ( Didn't We Shake Sugaree): Fred Neil
I played this song a couple of years ago so if you feel a sense of deja vu, go with it.
Fred Neil is probably one of the lesser known singer-songwriters of the sixties folk-rock era, but it would take pages to describe the influence Fred Neil had on the development of folk-rock and on so many of the artists who emerged during those early 1960's.
When Bob Dylan arrived in Greenwich Village in late 1961, he played harp for Fred Neil at the Wha? In a 1984 interview, Dylan recalled that Neil "...had a strong powerful voice, almost a bass voice and a powerful sense of rhythm." Sugaree (written by Elizabeth Cotten) was recorded with the title above for Neil's eponymus album (Capitol, 1967). Dylan would later include his version of the Neil recording in his '90's sets.
MP3 File
Fred Neil is probably one of the lesser known singer-songwriters of the sixties folk-rock era, but it would take pages to describe the influence Fred Neil had on the development of folk-rock and on so many of the artists who emerged during those early 1960's.
When Bob Dylan arrived in Greenwich Village in late 1961, he played harp for Fred Neil at the Wha? In a 1984 interview, Dylan recalled that Neil "...had a strong powerful voice, almost a bass voice and a powerful sense of rhythm." Sugaree (written by Elizabeth Cotten) was recorded with the title above for Neil's eponymus album (Capitol, 1967). Dylan would later include his version of the Neil recording in his '90's sets.
MP3 File
I Can't But Wonder Where I'm Bound: The Chad Mitchell Trio
The Chad Mitchell Trio played no instruments but were trained singers who could sing almost any sort of folk from traditional to contemporary ballads. Their over a dozen albums were released by a few different labels including Mercury. I always believe The Chad Mitchell Trio never received enough credit for their contributions to the folk explosion. They were topical, not afraid to sing political songs and had an irreverence which would later become the hallmark of folk and folk rock.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Winter, the aged chief, Mighty in power, Exiles the tender leaf, Exiles the flower. "
Christmas was wonderful. My family came down yesterday and stayed until today. As this was the first time they had been down here for Christmas, it made the day beyond special. We opened presents, drank egg nog from my new moose glasses and had a wonderful dinner. We sat around the Christmas tree talking and laughing together. I was so sorry to see them leave today.
The Christmas lights will soon be put away until next year, and the nights will return to winter dark. The coldest time of the year is coming when it's best to hunker down with lots of hot coffee, some good books, an afghan and a roaring fire. When the wind is howling outside the windows, the sounds of a crackling fire and the bouncing shadows of its light on the walls bring warmth and comfort. I love to sit and rock nestled in an afghan, a cat on my lap, the dog by my feet and the latest page turning mystery in my hands.
I could hardly wait for the first snow when I was a kid, and I was always disappointed if we didn't have a white Christmas. So far this winter the snow has just teased us. We've had only a few inches which didn't stay around too long. I'm not complaining, really, but I do love the mornings bright with new snow when the flakes sparkle in the sunlight and make the yard look like a field of diamonds. A lot of winter still lies ahead. I just hope we don't get too much snow. I become a complainer.
The Christmas lights will soon be put away until next year, and the nights will return to winter dark. The coldest time of the year is coming when it's best to hunker down with lots of hot coffee, some good books, an afghan and a roaring fire. When the wind is howling outside the windows, the sounds of a crackling fire and the bouncing shadows of its light on the walls bring warmth and comfort. I love to sit and rock nestled in an afghan, a cat on my lap, the dog by my feet and the latest page turning mystery in my hands.
I could hardly wait for the first snow when I was a kid, and I was always disappointed if we didn't have a white Christmas. So far this winter the snow has just teased us. We've had only a few inches which didn't stay around too long. I'm not complaining, really, but I do love the mornings bright with new snow when the flakes sparkle in the sunlight and make the yard look like a field of diamonds. A lot of winter still lies ahead. I just hope we don't get too much snow. I become a complainer.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Miracle on 34th Street
This is the Lux Radio Theater's 1948 production.
http://www.sendspace.com/file/zzycvg
Thanks to John for the link.
http://www.sendspace.com/file/zzycvg
Thanks to John for the link.
“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.”
For some reason I woke at at 4:20. I laughed at the thought that from somewhere deep inside me the Santa's been here memory must have been triggered. I closed my eyes to go back to sleep and as I drifted away I thought of Christmases long ago. I remembered Christmas trees bright with lights in the early morning darkness, and I remembered my parents, young again. I remembered having so much to see I didn't know where to look. I remembered being so happy I almost had no words. I fell back to sleep.
When I woke at seven, I turned on the tree lights and the Christmas music. I gave Miss Gracie special biscuits in honor of the day and poured myself a hot cup of coffee. I savored the morning.
My friends will be here for brunch and my family for dinner. We will spend the day together, and we will celebrate Christmas together. I am so happy I almost have no words.
Merry Christmas!
When I woke at seven, I turned on the tree lights and the Christmas music. I gave Miss Gracie special biscuits in honor of the day and poured myself a hot cup of coffee. I savored the morning.
My friends will be here for brunch and my family for dinner. We will spend the day together, and we will celebrate Christmas together. I am so happy I almost have no words.
Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 24, 2007
A Christmas Carol
This is too big a file for my usual process so I'm leaving a link to yousendit. This is The Campbell Playhouse presenting A Christmas Carol.
The first link seemed to be missing some parts so here is a complete version. The link below is to the new one.
The first link seemed to be missing some parts so here is a complete version. The link below is to the new one.
"Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts."
Christmas Eve is finally here.
When I was a kid, I always wondered why today looked like any other day. It was far more important. It was the day to beat all days. I thought sleigh bells being rung with wild abandonment would be more fitting and fireworks should light up the sky.
I remember a single moment in time one Christmas Eve. I was around ten. No snow lay on the ground. It was during the afternoon when my mother sent me to the store for something last minute, and I rode my bike. I remember riding down the small grass hill in front of my house and thinking that I should not have been doing anything so routine on Christmas Eve. It was not a day for the routine. It was a day for magic.
I knew all about Jesus' birth when I was a kid. For me, it too seemed to have a bit of magic attached. I thought of the glory of the star keeping watch over the stable, of shepherds being greeted by an angel chorus announcing the good news and of three kings starting a journey to see the newborn King.
When I was a kid, I always wondered why today looked like any other day. It was far more important. It was the day to beat all days. I thought sleigh bells being rung with wild abandonment would be more fitting and fireworks should light up the sky.
I remember a single moment in time one Christmas Eve. I was around ten. No snow lay on the ground. It was during the afternoon when my mother sent me to the store for something last minute, and I rode my bike. I remember riding down the small grass hill in front of my house and thinking that I should not have been doing anything so routine on Christmas Eve. It was not a day for the routine. It was a day for magic.
I knew all about Jesus' birth when I was a kid. For me, it too seemed to have a bit of magic attached. I thought of the glory of the star keeping watch over the stable, of shepherds being greeted by an angel chorus announcing the good news and of three kings starting a journey to see the newborn King.
May you find magic this Christmas Eve.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
"It's not just Kris that's on trial, it's everything he stands for. It's kindness and joy and love and all the other intangibles. "
My body is no longer equipped for standing all day in the kitchen. My back aches and my knees creak. Today, though, I get to regroup and don't have to go near a pot or a pan. I'm meeting my family for lunch then we're off to see Miracle on 34th Street in the town where I grew up and at the theater which once was my childhood movie house. The theater is an old one as my mother too used to go to the show there when she was in high school. Around here, we used to call the movies the show. I can remember asking my friends if they were going to the show this Saturday or if they knew what was up at the show. I think it comes from the days when the theater had a stage, and there were sometimes performances before the movie. Though much of that old theater has changed, some of what I remember is still there. It has an upslope walk to the seats and the ticket window is still on the side wall. But it's the balcony I remember best, and I never ever sat there. On Saturday's it was no-man's land, off-limits during matinées in fear that it would be the source of air to ground missiles disguised as JuJu Beads or Good and Plenty. It didn't really matter as stuff flying through the air was always a fixture at the matinée. Getting hit in the head was just part of the experience.
I can't believe that Christmas is so close.
I can't believe that Christmas is so close.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
"What sweeter musick can we bring than a caroll, for to sing the birth of this our Heavenly King?"
Today is the final day of Christmas baking. The house has smelled of cookies and breads for the last three days. I would have said the smell of my Christmas tree is the best of all Christmas smells, but I just might have to reconsider.
My Christmas tree has big colored lights. The ornaments are a hodgepodge of old and new, and the tinsel garlands have seen better days. I carefully place the ornaments so they don't crowd each other, and I try to keep the frogs far enough apart. I have a few old boxes which once held hard candies, and they hang off longer branches. Some of my ornaments aren't the most attractive, like the angel in front with only a few strands of hair, but they are as important to my tree as the shiniest, newest ones. I love my tree.
I have a list. Actually, I always have a list. This most recent list is divided into days and has all the stuff I need to do between now and Christmas night when I get to put my feet up and watch a few of my favorite Christmas movies. Some of my family will be here then, and we'll sit and watch and chat and eat cookies and drink egg nog. I can hardly wait.
We used to sing carols around town when I was a kid. We'd each carry this wonderful little booklet the John Hancock Company handed out every Christmas. The cover had a night scene with a giant stained glass window and the steeple of a church. We'd stand there with song books in hand and belt out those carols for all we were worth, subtlety never being a strong suit in the young. All the stanzas were there, and we'd struggle through each and very one. I never would have guessed God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen had seven. We'd sing the words we knew with great joy and exuberance then we'd get a bit shaky trying to fit the melody to the unfamiliar words of the rest of the stanzas. We'd fall into a melodic mumbling, but I always thought we sounded wonderful, even angelic. I'm sorry nobody does much caroling any more, and I think it's high time we revived the custom. Let's get the neighbors out and wander from house to house spreading some of the joys of the season. I figure most of us can muster more than enough to share.
My Christmas tree has big colored lights. The ornaments are a hodgepodge of old and new, and the tinsel garlands have seen better days. I carefully place the ornaments so they don't crowd each other, and I try to keep the frogs far enough apart. I have a few old boxes which once held hard candies, and they hang off longer branches. Some of my ornaments aren't the most attractive, like the angel in front with only a few strands of hair, but they are as important to my tree as the shiniest, newest ones. I love my tree.
I have a list. Actually, I always have a list. This most recent list is divided into days and has all the stuff I need to do between now and Christmas night when I get to put my feet up and watch a few of my favorite Christmas movies. Some of my family will be here then, and we'll sit and watch and chat and eat cookies and drink egg nog. I can hardly wait.
We used to sing carols around town when I was a kid. We'd each carry this wonderful little booklet the John Hancock Company handed out every Christmas. The cover had a night scene with a giant stained glass window and the steeple of a church. We'd stand there with song books in hand and belt out those carols for all we were worth, subtlety never being a strong suit in the young. All the stanzas were there, and we'd struggle through each and very one. I never would have guessed God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen had seven. We'd sing the words we knew with great joy and exuberance then we'd get a bit shaky trying to fit the melody to the unfamiliar words of the rest of the stanzas. We'd fall into a melodic mumbling, but I always thought we sounded wonderful, even angelic. I'm sorry nobody does much caroling any more, and I think it's high time we revived the custom. Let's get the neighbors out and wander from house to house spreading some of the joys of the season. I figure most of us can muster more than enough to share.
Friday, December 21, 2007
"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night..."
When it was snowy, we went out the back door to play then returned through the cellar door. We'd come inside with snow caked to our leggings, mittens and jackets. My feet were always soaked through the boots, shoes and socks. My mother would yell from upstairs for us to hang up our clothes after we'd change. I remember getting out of my snowy clothes and having fun shaking the snow onto the floor and at my brother while standing the whole time in underwear and bare feet. My legs, feet and hands were always beet red from the cold, and I never noticed. Cold didn't seem to be a problem when I was young.
It always seemed as if a layer of snow was left on the streets after the plows went by my house. I remember shoe sliding down the hill on my way to school. We'd run to get a head of steam then slide as far as we could, trying to outdo one another. We lived on a hill and used the streets for sledding. Sometimes my dad would tow us behind the car. Snow was always an adventure.
My mother put Marshmallow Fluff in our cocoa. I remember it used to melt and look like white lava. Cocoa just wasn't cocoa without the Fluff, and I feel the same way today. Though I will go to the ends of the earth for a cup of coffee, it is cocoa I want after being outside in the snow. The smell of that warm chocolate is heavenly.
We used to string popcorn for our tree. We'd sit at the kitchen table with strung needles in hand and bowls of popcorn in front of us. We'd eat a few kernels then string a few. Periodically, we'd lift up our strings and ask if they were long enough yet. They seldom were the first few times so we'd keep stringing and eating. Once we'd hit the magic lengths, the garlands were hung on the tree and stretched across the branches. They looked like snow to me. We stopped making them when we were much older and went home to our parents only for the holiday.
It's amazing what stays with us all these years for I have the most vivid memories of Christmas. My mind is filled with colorful images of tall trees and lit houses and wrapped gifts around the tree. I can taste my mother's cookies. I can remember the endless waiting until Christmas Eve and then, when it arrived, thinking Christmas morning would never come. I remember waking up and how it took a split second for me to remember it was Christmas. It had really come.
It always seemed as if a layer of snow was left on the streets after the plows went by my house. I remember shoe sliding down the hill on my way to school. We'd run to get a head of steam then slide as far as we could, trying to outdo one another. We lived on a hill and used the streets for sledding. Sometimes my dad would tow us behind the car. Snow was always an adventure.
My mother put Marshmallow Fluff in our cocoa. I remember it used to melt and look like white lava. Cocoa just wasn't cocoa without the Fluff, and I feel the same way today. Though I will go to the ends of the earth for a cup of coffee, it is cocoa I want after being outside in the snow. The smell of that warm chocolate is heavenly.
We used to string popcorn for our tree. We'd sit at the kitchen table with strung needles in hand and bowls of popcorn in front of us. We'd eat a few kernels then string a few. Periodically, we'd lift up our strings and ask if they were long enough yet. They seldom were the first few times so we'd keep stringing and eating. Once we'd hit the magic lengths, the garlands were hung on the tree and stretched across the branches. They looked like snow to me. We stopped making them when we were much older and went home to our parents only for the holiday.
It's amazing what stays with us all these years for I have the most vivid memories of Christmas. My mind is filled with colorful images of tall trees and lit houses and wrapped gifts around the tree. I can taste my mother's cookies. I can remember the endless waiting until Christmas Eve and then, when it arrived, thinking Christmas morning would never come. I remember waking up and how it took a split second for me to remember it was Christmas. It had really come.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Holly Jolly Christmas: Martin Sexton
You're probably thinking this wasn't here earlier, and you'd be correct. The song which was here earlier was also here a few short days ago as well, and I do hate repeating myself. I knew it sounded awfully familiar!
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“We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt”
Another gloomy, rainy day greeted me this morning. When I looked out the window, I saw most of last week's snow storm had disappeared, a victim of the night's rain. What little snow is left along the roadside has a beaten look. Today I'll again be busy in the kitchen. It's cookie baking day.
When I was around ten or eleven, it snowed all night and all day. It snowed so much we had no school for two whole days. During the storm my mother made us stay in the house. For most of the day, we looked longingly out the windows and watched the snow fall, aching the whole time to be outside. When the snow stopped and the sun came out, my mother freed us, and we were finally allowed outside to play. The snow was so deep we could barely make it across the yard. We made tiny paths through the high drifts as we struggled to lift one leg then the other out of the deep snow. Sometimes the effort was so great we'd fall against the snow behind us. Along the side of the road, the plows had left mountains of snow. The snow was too deep for sledding so we decided to dig caves in those mountains. We worked all day excavating the snow to make the tunnels which led to rooms carved into sides of the snow mountain. Only one person at a time could maneuver through the narrow tunnels, and the rooms were just big enough for one or two of us to rest against the walls, but we didn't care. To us, we had built a castle. We played in and around that fort for days. We had snowball fights from its roof and slid down its outer walls. We brought our lunches and dined inside one of the rooms. It was just about the neatest thing we ever built.
That fort lasted the longest of any of the snow piles, but it was no match for the sun and the rain. It kept getting smaller and smaller until we were no longer allowed to play inside. By the time it disappeared, it had become just a pile of snow: no rooms, no tunnels. I felt as if I'd lost a friend.
When I was around ten or eleven, it snowed all night and all day. It snowed so much we had no school for two whole days. During the storm my mother made us stay in the house. For most of the day, we looked longingly out the windows and watched the snow fall, aching the whole time to be outside. When the snow stopped and the sun came out, my mother freed us, and we were finally allowed outside to play. The snow was so deep we could barely make it across the yard. We made tiny paths through the high drifts as we struggled to lift one leg then the other out of the deep snow. Sometimes the effort was so great we'd fall against the snow behind us. Along the side of the road, the plows had left mountains of snow. The snow was too deep for sledding so we decided to dig caves in those mountains. We worked all day excavating the snow to make the tunnels which led to rooms carved into sides of the snow mountain. Only one person at a time could maneuver through the narrow tunnels, and the rooms were just big enough for one or two of us to rest against the walls, but we didn't care. To us, we had built a castle. We played in and around that fort for days. We had snowball fights from its roof and slid down its outer walls. We brought our lunches and dined inside one of the rooms. It was just about the neatest thing we ever built.
That fort lasted the longest of any of the snow piles, but it was no match for the sun and the rain. It kept getting smaller and smaller until we were no longer allowed to play inside. By the time it disappeared, it had become just a pile of snow: no rooms, no tunnels. I felt as if I'd lost a friend.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
"At Christmas play and make good cheer, For Christmas comes but once a year."
Last night I sat in the living room for the longest time just looking at my Christmas tree. Gracie joined me, and I noticed one of my cats was asleep on the tree skirt. It was perfectly beautiful.
Santa never wrapped our gifts. He took the time to place them around the Christmas tree in individual piles. I remember running downstairs one Christmas and peering through the banister to get my first view of the tree and all those toys. I swear my heart beat faster. In the front were the crib and carriage. Games were stacked behind them. There was a tea set, bottles for the dolls and an ironing board. I didn't know where to go first. I remember showing everything to my mother who acted so surprised. My brother found a cap gun in a holster which he wore with his pajamas. He shot us a few times. He had a gas station and Lincoln Logs. We both had books, and I remember getting my first Sorry game. We never stopped for breakfast. We were just too busy.
Every Christmas Day we'd go to my grandparents' house. All my aunts, uncles and cousins were there, and it was a cast of thousands. My mother was one of eight children. My cousins and I entertained ourselves by laughing and chasing each other up and down the narrow stairs. Some adult would always yell from the kitchen downstairs for us to stop running. My grandmother had dinner for us, and we'd eat in shifts. After dinner was the gift swap, and I remember the furious opening of gifts and a floor covered in wrapping paper. By late afternoon we were exhausted so my parents would collect our gifts, bundle us up and load us into the car. We usually slept most of the way home.
Christmas night was always quiet.
Santa never wrapped our gifts. He took the time to place them around the Christmas tree in individual piles. I remember running downstairs one Christmas and peering through the banister to get my first view of the tree and all those toys. I swear my heart beat faster. In the front were the crib and carriage. Games were stacked behind them. There was a tea set, bottles for the dolls and an ironing board. I didn't know where to go first. I remember showing everything to my mother who acted so surprised. My brother found a cap gun in a holster which he wore with his pajamas. He shot us a few times. He had a gas station and Lincoln Logs. We both had books, and I remember getting my first Sorry game. We never stopped for breakfast. We were just too busy.
Every Christmas Day we'd go to my grandparents' house. All my aunts, uncles and cousins were there, and it was a cast of thousands. My mother was one of eight children. My cousins and I entertained ourselves by laughing and chasing each other up and down the narrow stairs. Some adult would always yell from the kitchen downstairs for us to stop running. My grandmother had dinner for us, and we'd eat in shifts. After dinner was the gift swap, and I remember the furious opening of gifts and a floor covered in wrapping paper. By late afternoon we were exhausted so my parents would collect our gifts, bundle us up and load us into the car. We usually slept most of the way home.
Christmas night was always quiet.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
“The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist”
It's hard to believe it is only a week until Christmas, but I'm on track. Last night I went through cook books, decided which goodies I'll make and planned my Christmas dinner. I have to grocery shop today then I'll start the baking tomorrow.
My brother and I used to go to the first mass on Christmas. We'd walk to church together in the early morning darkness. I remember it was always cold and quiet, almost hushed. Some of the houses had lights but many were still dark. We always figured the dark houses had no kids. We never saw anyone else, and no cars ever drove by us. The inside of the church was always in shadows, the stained glass windows dark. Only the side altar was lit. It was there the priest said mass. Candles of remembrance flickered in their red holders in front of the main altar and swags of evergreen adorned the front of the church, but the side altar was small and bare. A few old ladies sat singly in their pews. My brother and I sat together in our own pew. The priest didn't have an altar boy, and there was never a sermon. No choirs sang carols. The old ladies answered the priest in Latin with a familiarity born of many early morning masses. We did our best. The mass went quickly, and we left at the end. A few of the old ladies stayed for a bit kneeling in their pews, praying and worshiping God.
Maybe it was the sound of the women's voices or the darkness in the church or the light shining on the small altar, but I know something of that mass has always stayed with me. I'm not sure I can describe it exactly but I felt joy that morning, a closeness to God whose birthday we were celebrating. My brother and I walked out of the church and were quiet for a bit lost in our own thoughts then we raced each other the rest of the way home.
My brother and I used to go to the first mass on Christmas. We'd walk to church together in the early morning darkness. I remember it was always cold and quiet, almost hushed. Some of the houses had lights but many were still dark. We always figured the dark houses had no kids. We never saw anyone else, and no cars ever drove by us. The inside of the church was always in shadows, the stained glass windows dark. Only the side altar was lit. It was there the priest said mass. Candles of remembrance flickered in their red holders in front of the main altar and swags of evergreen adorned the front of the church, but the side altar was small and bare. A few old ladies sat singly in their pews. My brother and I sat together in our own pew. The priest didn't have an altar boy, and there was never a sermon. No choirs sang carols. The old ladies answered the priest in Latin with a familiarity born of many early morning masses. We did our best. The mass went quickly, and we left at the end. A few of the old ladies stayed for a bit kneeling in their pews, praying and worshiping God.
Maybe it was the sound of the women's voices or the darkness in the church or the light shining on the small altar, but I know something of that mass has always stayed with me. I'm not sure I can describe it exactly but I felt joy that morning, a closeness to God whose birthday we were celebrating. My brother and I walked out of the church and were quiet for a bit lost in our own thoughts then we raced each other the rest of the way home.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The First Christmas Morning: Dan Fogelberg
NEW YORK---- Dan Fogelberg, the singer and songwriter whose hits ''Leader of the Band'' and ''Same Old Lang Syne'' helped define the soft-rock era, died Sunday at his home in Maine after battling prostate cancer. He was 56.
The death of the Peoria, Ill. native was announced Sunday in a statement by Anna Loynes of the Solters & Digney public relations agency, and was also posted on the singer's Web site.
''Dan left us this morning at 6:00 a.m. He fought a brave battle with cancer and died peacefully at home in Maine with his wife Jean at his side,'' it read. ''His strength, dignity and grace in the face of the daunting challenges of this disease were an inspiration to all who knew him.''
Fogelberg was found in 2004 to have advanced prostate cancer. In a statement then, he thanked fans for their support: ''It is truly overwhelming and humbling to realize how many lives my music has touched so deeply all these years. ... I thank you from the very depths of my heart.''
Fogelberg's music was powerful in its simplicity. He didn't rely on the volume of his voice to convey his emotions; instead, they came through in the soft, tender delivery and his poignant lyrics. Songs like ''Same Old Lang Syne'' -- in which a man reminisces after meeting an old girlfriend by chance during the holidays -- became classics not only because of his performance, but for the engaging storyline, as well.
Fogelberg's heydey was in the 1970s and early 80s, when he scored several platinum and multiplatinum records fueled by such hits as ''The Power of Gold'' and ''Leader of the Band,'' a touching tribute he wrote to his father, a bandleader. Fogelberg put out his first album in 1972.
Fogelberg's songs tended to have a weighty tone, reflecting on emotional issues in a serious way. But in an interview with the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in 1997, he said it did not represent his personality.
''That came from my singles in the early '80s,'' he reflects. ''I think it probably really started on the radio. I'm not a dour person in the least. I'm actually kind of a happy person. Music doesn't really reflect the whole person.
''One of my dearest friends is Jimmy Buffett. From his music, people have this perception that he's up all the time, and, of course, he's not. Jimmy has a serious side, too.''
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The death of the Peoria, Ill. native was announced Sunday in a statement by Anna Loynes of the Solters & Digney public relations agency, and was also posted on the singer's Web site.
''Dan left us this morning at 6:00 a.m. He fought a brave battle with cancer and died peacefully at home in Maine with his wife Jean at his side,'' it read. ''His strength, dignity and grace in the face of the daunting challenges of this disease were an inspiration to all who knew him.''
Fogelberg was found in 2004 to have advanced prostate cancer. In a statement then, he thanked fans for their support: ''It is truly overwhelming and humbling to realize how many lives my music has touched so deeply all these years. ... I thank you from the very depths of my heart.''
Fogelberg's music was powerful in its simplicity. He didn't rely on the volume of his voice to convey his emotions; instead, they came through in the soft, tender delivery and his poignant lyrics. Songs like ''Same Old Lang Syne'' -- in which a man reminisces after meeting an old girlfriend by chance during the holidays -- became classics not only because of his performance, but for the engaging storyline, as well.
Fogelberg's heydey was in the 1970s and early 80s, when he scored several platinum and multiplatinum records fueled by such hits as ''The Power of Gold'' and ''Leader of the Band,'' a touching tribute he wrote to his father, a bandleader. Fogelberg put out his first album in 1972.
Fogelberg's songs tended to have a weighty tone, reflecting on emotional issues in a serious way. But in an interview with the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in 1997, he said it did not represent his personality.
''That came from my singles in the early '80s,'' he reflects. ''I think it probably really started on the radio. I'm not a dour person in the least. I'm actually kind of a happy person. Music doesn't really reflect the whole person.
''One of my dearest friends is Jimmy Buffett. From his music, people have this perception that he's up all the time, and, of course, he's not. Jimmy has a serious side, too.''
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“Stern winter loves a dirge-like sound.”
Old Man Winter's arrival has nothing to do with the calendar. I know this for a fact because he arrived last week with great fanfare. First was the snow storm. That snow fell gently. It left wispy piles on branches and gave the world a look even Currier and Ives might have admired. Snowmen stood in front yards decked out in hats and scarves. Kids coasted down hills at the golf course, and dogs romped in the snow. If all the people on Cape had lifted their voices in unison to sing Winter Wonderland, I wouldn't have been surprised. Then came Saturday night through Sunday.
When I awoke on Sunday, it was snowing, but there was nothing gentle about this storm. The wind whirled the snow and blew it sideways. My car was already covered, and my newspapers had disappeared. I had a cup of coffee to brace myself then braved the elements. I kicked the snow around with my foot and found two of the papers. Gracie went out, did her business and ran back in so fast she set a new record. We both hunkered down for the day.
As the day got warmer, it started to rain, buckets of rain. The wind howled. We had ourselves a nor'easter. The rain would stop for a bit then start again. By late afternoon it had stopped completely, but it left the fog holding sway. Through the dying light of the day, I could see only the lit windows in my neighbor's house. They appeared as disembodied squares of lights. The world had an odd look about it, an unreal look. I watched out the window for a while then unexpectedly my Christmas lights came on, earlier than usual, prompted by the darkness. They brightened the night. All was well.
When I awoke on Sunday, it was snowing, but there was nothing gentle about this storm. The wind whirled the snow and blew it sideways. My car was already covered, and my newspapers had disappeared. I had a cup of coffee to brace myself then braved the elements. I kicked the snow around with my foot and found two of the papers. Gracie went out, did her business and ran back in so fast she set a new record. We both hunkered down for the day.
As the day got warmer, it started to rain, buckets of rain. The wind howled. We had ourselves a nor'easter. The rain would stop for a bit then start again. By late afternoon it had stopped completely, but it left the fog holding sway. Through the dying light of the day, I could see only the lit windows in my neighbor's house. They appeared as disembodied squares of lights. The world had an odd look about it, an unreal look. I watched out the window for a while then unexpectedly my Christmas lights came on, earlier than usual, prompted by the darkness. They brightened the night. All was well.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
"Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all thirty feet tall."
The lights are lit on my Christmas tree. The day is dark and so windy the bird feeders are swaying on the branches. The early morning snow storm turned to sleet and then to a steady rain. It's not a pretty day, not a day to be outside. My mother would say it's a day not fit for man nor beast.
I don't remember what the trees of my childhood looked like, whether they were scrawny or full. I remember the corner where the tree stood, or mostly stood as it fell down a few times. I remember the tree lights were always big colorful bulbs, and I learned a few new curse words every Christmas when my dad was trying to untangle the lights and figure out the burned bulb. I remember the huge colored glass ball ornaments my mother always insisted she put on the tree. They hung from the tallest branches, far away from the reach of any kid. I have one of those on my tree. It's red, and I hang it up high where it belongs. Most of the ornaments I remember from my childhood were glass. They came in every color. Some had scenes on them while others had the words of Christmas carols. Some were teardrop shape. I have some of those ornaments on my tree as well. My mother gave us all a box of them a long while back, and they always hang where I can see them. I remember the plastic balls with scenes in them which used to hang on our tree. One side was clear plastic while the other was red or green. The garlands on our tree were always silver, and my mother carefully placed them so they looped from branch to branch. We used to make ornaments every year. I was never artistic, and my ornaments were always on the ugly side. My mother hung them anyway, but I swear mine were always in the back of the tree. In the middle of the tree, near the trunk, my mother filled bare spots with Christmas cards we kids had received; most were from my aunt Barbara who sent us each the most wonderful cards every Christmas.
I truly believed our tree had a bit of magic about it. I swear I saw glimpses of fairies twinkling among the branches while sparks of colored light shot from their wands. It was the only explanation I could think of for such beauty.
I don't remember what the trees of my childhood looked like, whether they were scrawny or full. I remember the corner where the tree stood, or mostly stood as it fell down a few times. I remember the tree lights were always big colorful bulbs, and I learned a few new curse words every Christmas when my dad was trying to untangle the lights and figure out the burned bulb. I remember the huge colored glass ball ornaments my mother always insisted she put on the tree. They hung from the tallest branches, far away from the reach of any kid. I have one of those on my tree. It's red, and I hang it up high where it belongs. Most of the ornaments I remember from my childhood were glass. They came in every color. Some had scenes on them while others had the words of Christmas carols. Some were teardrop shape. I have some of those ornaments on my tree as well. My mother gave us all a box of them a long while back, and they always hang where I can see them. I remember the plastic balls with scenes in them which used to hang on our tree. One side was clear plastic while the other was red or green. The garlands on our tree were always silver, and my mother carefully placed them so they looped from branch to branch. We used to make ornaments every year. I was never artistic, and my ornaments were always on the ugly side. My mother hung them anyway, but I swear mine were always in the back of the tree. In the middle of the tree, near the trunk, my mother filled bare spots with Christmas cards we kids had received; most were from my aunt Barbara who sent us each the most wonderful cards every Christmas.
I truly believed our tree had a bit of magic about it. I swear I saw glimpses of fairies twinkling among the branches while sparks of colored light shot from their wands. It was the only explanation I could think of for such beauty.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future."
It's wrapping day. I'll haul the gifts from downstairs, turn on Christmas programs and become a wrapping fool. I won't even get dressed. I have all the provisions I need: eggnog, a bit of brie and some crackers, and I'm thinking a touch of brandy might be just the thing to give that eggnog a bit of character.
When I was a kid, one of the first signs Christmas was coming was the arrival of Suzy Snowflake. She'd come tap, tap, tapping at our window panes to tell us she's in town. I loved that cartoon. Suzy flew through the air to each window and twirled and spun in the air as she made magic with her wand. The song played the whole time, and I sang along. The Frosty the Snowman cartoon was another harbinger of Christmas. My Frosty was a bit skinny but boy could he move. Frosty would dance up and down those hills of snow with his pipe bobbing. The song in the background was a pretty jazzy one, and it seemed perfect.
I am such a sucker for Christmas shows, I watch just about anything. My favorite Christmas movie has always been A Christmas Carol. I've already seen one version this year but am still waiting for my favorite, the one with Alastair Sim. He is the one and only Scrooge for me. I have a few other movie traditions like Christmas Vacation. The scene where Chevy Chase is in the attic wearing fur, watching old movies and crying gets me every time. It's my favorite scene in that movie. Others I like but don't get to see as often are Come to the Stable and The Bishop's Wife. Hoping to find a favorite, I check the listings every night for old Christmas movies. If I'm lucky enough to find one, I pop the corn, get cozy and surround myself in Christmas.
When I was a kid, one of the first signs Christmas was coming was the arrival of Suzy Snowflake. She'd come tap, tap, tapping at our window panes to tell us she's in town. I loved that cartoon. Suzy flew through the air to each window and twirled and spun in the air as she made magic with her wand. The song played the whole time, and I sang along. The Frosty the Snowman cartoon was another harbinger of Christmas. My Frosty was a bit skinny but boy could he move. Frosty would dance up and down those hills of snow with his pipe bobbing. The song in the background was a pretty jazzy one, and it seemed perfect.
I am such a sucker for Christmas shows, I watch just about anything. My favorite Christmas movie has always been A Christmas Carol. I've already seen one version this year but am still waiting for my favorite, the one with Alastair Sim. He is the one and only Scrooge for me. I have a few other movie traditions like Christmas Vacation. The scene where Chevy Chase is in the attic wearing fur, watching old movies and crying gets me every time. It's my favorite scene in that movie. Others I like but don't get to see as often are Come to the Stable and The Bishop's Wife. Hoping to find a favorite, I check the listings every night for old Christmas movies. If I'm lucky enough to find one, I pop the corn, get cozy and surround myself in Christmas.
Friday, December 14, 2007
"The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event.."
Going to the dentist was scary when I was a kid. My dad took me to his childhood dentist, and I believe to this day the man had been, in an earlier life, a tormentor during the inquisition. I don't think he had updated his equipment in eons, and I swear his drill was pedal powered. He was old without a lot of stamina so his pedal never moved all that fast. He didn't believe in Novocaine even when he was pulling out my nails with pliers. Okay, it just felt that way. My nails were intact. Anyway, I was all of ten or eleven when this torture took place. I grabbed the arms of the chair with such force I think I left the impressions of my fingertips permanently fixed to the underarms of the chair. Why am I telling you this tale of pain and sorrow during what is the most festive of all seasons? I have a massive toothache and an emergency appointment. Before I go, I'm going to rummage through the closet for my thickest gloves. You can't be too careful is what I say.
We had our first snow yesterday. It wasn't much, but it was beautiful. The Christmas lights were covered with snow but still shined through in colored glows. The luminarias along my front walk were filled with snow, but their white lights brightened the night and welcomed any intrepid walkers to my front door. I stood at the front door for a long while to watch the flakes fall. The night had that perfect hush a snowfall always brings. It was lovely.
We had our first snow yesterday. It wasn't much, but it was beautiful. The Christmas lights were covered with snow but still shined through in colored glows. The luminarias along my front walk were filled with snow, but their white lights brightened the night and welcomed any intrepid walkers to my front door. I stood at the front door for a long while to watch the flakes fall. The night had that perfect hush a snowfall always brings. It was lovely.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
"When I no longer thrill to the first snow of the season, I'll know I'm growing old."
The first winter storm is due. Estimates run from 2 inches to 8. I will be one of those people running to the grocery store but not for the prerequisite milk and bread. I need egg nog, cheese and crackers and a new movie. If I have to be snowbound, I might as well enjoy it. I have a few other pre-storm chores. The bird feeders need to be filled and its heater has to be connected to the plug outside. I want to haul the wrapping paper and gifts upstairs so I can finish, and I still haven't done my Christmas cards. Gracie and I will head out then come home and be cozy.
When I was a kid, my winter boots were the kind you tugged with all your strength to get over your shoes. My mother would force them on in the morning, but at then end of the school day, I was on my own. I'd sit on the floor and pull with all my strength. I'd desperately ask for help from any and all the kids near me, but they were too busy sitting on the floor pulling their own boots. No amount of grunting or tugging could force them. I'd pull so hard the tips of my fingers hurt. The shoes always seemed to get stuck half way down into the boot, at the curve. I'd stand up and start stamping hoping to force the shoe further inside, but the ends of the boots just flopped. I'd get a bit silly and walk around like some clown at the circus wearing giant shoes. Once I even gave up and walked home flopping the whole way. One morning I made a serendipitous discovery and learned the secret to getting boots over shoes. I remember I couldn't get my boots off, and the nun was nagging us to hurry so I took my feet out of the shoes, pulled the shoes out of the boots and and put them on. Getting ready to go home that day I did the reverse. I put my shoes in first then forced my feet into the shoes. I never flopped again.
When I was a kid, my winter boots were the kind you tugged with all your strength to get over your shoes. My mother would force them on in the morning, but at then end of the school day, I was on my own. I'd sit on the floor and pull with all my strength. I'd desperately ask for help from any and all the kids near me, but they were too busy sitting on the floor pulling their own boots. No amount of grunting or tugging could force them. I'd pull so hard the tips of my fingers hurt. The shoes always seemed to get stuck half way down into the boot, at the curve. I'd stand up and start stamping hoping to force the shoe further inside, but the ends of the boots just flopped. I'd get a bit silly and walk around like some clown at the circus wearing giant shoes. Once I even gave up and walked home flopping the whole way. One morning I made a serendipitous discovery and learned the secret to getting boots over shoes. I remember I couldn't get my boots off, and the nun was nagging us to hurry so I took my feet out of the shoes, pulled the shoes out of the boots and and put them on. Getting ready to go home that day I did the reverse. I put my shoes in first then forced my feet into the shoes. I never flopped again.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
"A lovely thing about Christmas is that it’s compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."
The tree drew me to the living room this morning. The gray day needed color so I turned on the tree lights and settled in with my coffee and newspapers. I never did get to those papers. I sat and took in the tree. Fern, one of my cats, was asleep under the tree on the skirt. Gracie joined us and was lying on the rug trying to figure some way to get at Fern. I kept watch. After I finished my coffee, I moved into the den to read the papers. Gracie followed. Fern was safe.
My mother sent me the most wonderful package of Christmas decorations that first Christmas in Ghana. I pulled out a small plastic tree, tiny stockings, familiar ornaments from our family decorations, paper which looked like brick, cookie cutters and colored sprinkles. I immediately set to work and made a mantle from the cardboard box then papered all around it in brick. I hung the stockings. I decorated my tree and set it on the bookcase. I did the best I could to make my house festive, but I was afraid it wouldn't be near enough. This was the first Christmas without my family, and I was lonely. My fellow volunteer, Pat, decided we needed a Christmas Eve party. He went into town to the Hotel d' Bull and had to beg to buy bottles of beer. Ghana never had a shortage of beer, but the bottles were used to sell oil in the market and the demand for bottles, even for beer, was far greater than the supply. I contributed sugar cookies, the first I'd ever made. Using my precious gas was worth it when I smelled those cookies baking. It was home and my mother's kitchen. We bought that canned salad the Ghanaians always served at parties, fruit, rice and some meat. I cooked up a storm. Our guests were the volunteers stationed near us and others who had stopped in town on their way north. They arrived with food. Volunteers never visited empty-handed. We set up the table, opened the beer and had the best time. We sang Christmas carols though someone did suggest we not sing I'll be home for Christmas. We sat outside in the cool harmattan air where the moon was so bright there were shadows. We saw falling stars. We sat for the longest time without anyone saying a single word. The night was magnificent, and the party was joyous.
Christmas morning I walked into my living room and noticed the small stockings had something in them. I pulled one down and found a 20 pesewa piece, a lot of money in those days and good for one taxi ride all over the city of Accra. In another I found sixpence and a bracelet. Santa had managed to find me, even in Bolgatanga.
My mother sent me the most wonderful package of Christmas decorations that first Christmas in Ghana. I pulled out a small plastic tree, tiny stockings, familiar ornaments from our family decorations, paper which looked like brick, cookie cutters and colored sprinkles. I immediately set to work and made a mantle from the cardboard box then papered all around it in brick. I hung the stockings. I decorated my tree and set it on the bookcase. I did the best I could to make my house festive, but I was afraid it wouldn't be near enough. This was the first Christmas without my family, and I was lonely. My fellow volunteer, Pat, decided we needed a Christmas Eve party. He went into town to the Hotel d' Bull and had to beg to buy bottles of beer. Ghana never had a shortage of beer, but the bottles were used to sell oil in the market and the demand for bottles, even for beer, was far greater than the supply. I contributed sugar cookies, the first I'd ever made. Using my precious gas was worth it when I smelled those cookies baking. It was home and my mother's kitchen. We bought that canned salad the Ghanaians always served at parties, fruit, rice and some meat. I cooked up a storm. Our guests were the volunteers stationed near us and others who had stopped in town on their way north. They arrived with food. Volunteers never visited empty-handed. We set up the table, opened the beer and had the best time. We sang Christmas carols though someone did suggest we not sing I'll be home for Christmas. We sat outside in the cool harmattan air where the moon was so bright there were shadows. We saw falling stars. We sat for the longest time without anyone saying a single word. The night was magnificent, and the party was joyous.
Christmas morning I walked into my living room and noticed the small stockings had something in them. I pulled one down and found a 20 pesewa piece, a lot of money in those days and good for one taxi ride all over the city of Accra. In another I found sixpence and a bracelet. Santa had managed to find me, even in Bolgatanga.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
"You better watch out, You better not cry, You better not pout, I'm telling you why. "
When you're a kid at Christmas, it's the being good which is hard. I remember well the pains of trying to stay on the straight and narrow. Even when I wanted to be bad, I didn't dare. Looming over my head was always the fear of getting a stocking filled with coal, and I couldn't take the risk. My mother must have loved this time of year. She didn't have to use the age old threat about fathers and homecomings. She just had to remind us that Santa knew whether we were bad or good. That was more than enough to stop us from traveling any further down the road to perdition.
Visiting Santa was always a big deal. Here was the chance to tell Santa in person what I wanted for Christmas. We always went in town, to Boston, to Jordan Marsh, and we got to meander through The Enchanted Village on our way to see Santa. The Village was almost real and was filled with stores and houses. People waved their hands and nodded their heads as they went about their business. Boys rolled barrels. Cooks prepared food. Mothers walked with their children and families sat down to dinner. I always though it pure magic.
As we got closer to Santa, I'd poke my head around the line so I could see him. I'd watch the lucky kids ahead of me sit on his lap, and I'd almost burst in anticipation. When my turn came, I was nearly giddy. My mother would gently push me forward, and I'd sit on his lap. He'd HoHoHo then ask me if I'd been good. I had anticipated that one. I could mostly answer yes. He'd then ask the all time question of questions, what I wanted for Christmas. I'd give him the highlights, the gifts I most wanted. Santa would HoHo a few more times and tell me if I kept being good, I'd find them under the tree. I could finally breathe a giant sigh of relief. I'd thank Santa, get off his lap, grab my mother's hand and smile most of the way home.
Visiting Santa was always a big deal. Here was the chance to tell Santa in person what I wanted for Christmas. We always went in town, to Boston, to Jordan Marsh, and we got to meander through The Enchanted Village on our way to see Santa. The Village was almost real and was filled with stores and houses. People waved their hands and nodded their heads as they went about their business. Boys rolled barrels. Cooks prepared food. Mothers walked with their children and families sat down to dinner. I always though it pure magic.
As we got closer to Santa, I'd poke my head around the line so I could see him. I'd watch the lucky kids ahead of me sit on his lap, and I'd almost burst in anticipation. When my turn came, I was nearly giddy. My mother would gently push me forward, and I'd sit on his lap. He'd HoHoHo then ask me if I'd been good. I had anticipated that one. I could mostly answer yes. He'd then ask the all time question of questions, what I wanted for Christmas. I'd give him the highlights, the gifts I most wanted. Santa would HoHo a few more times and tell me if I kept being good, I'd find them under the tree. I could finally breathe a giant sigh of relief. I'd thank Santa, get off his lap, grab my mother's hand and smile most of the way home.
Monday, December 10, 2007
“I knew I had it. My sled was good.”
We'd spend hours writing our annual letters to Santa Claus. My brother and I would go through the Sears book and agonize over our choices. We didn't want to appear too greedy. That just wouldn't do at Christmas. Greedy was one of those naughty list offenses. But we didn't want to leave off any important stuff, it was critical that Santa knew exactly what we wanted. To avoid confusion, I'd even include the catalog number from the Sears wish book. The envelope was easy to address. We'd just write Santa Claus, North Pole.
We kids had certain essentials, and Christmas was the perfect time to replenish. Every kid needed a bicycle and a sled, and I remember my Flexible Flyer Christmas. When I came downstairs, I saw it standing beside the tree with lights glinting off the metal like tiny stars. I knew it was mine. It was exactly what I had asked Santa to bring. That sled was beautiful with gleaming wood and bright red runners. It had a rope attached for pulling. The front moved effortlessly back and forth to make steering easy. I remember wishing we had snow so I could race outside that very moment and show off my new sled. When it finally snowed, I took my new sled outside, showed it off a bit, grabbed the rope then hauled it to the top of the hill. I jumped, stomach down, and raced to the bottom. It was magnificent.
We kids had certain essentials, and Christmas was the perfect time to replenish. Every kid needed a bicycle and a sled, and I remember my Flexible Flyer Christmas. When I came downstairs, I saw it standing beside the tree with lights glinting off the metal like tiny stars. I knew it was mine. It was exactly what I had asked Santa to bring. That sled was beautiful with gleaming wood and bright red runners. It had a rope attached for pulling. The front moved effortlessly back and forth to make steering easy. I remember wishing we had snow so I could race outside that very moment and show off my new sled. When it finally snowed, I took my new sled outside, showed it off a bit, grabbed the rope then hauled it to the top of the hill. I jumped, stomach down, and raced to the bottom. It was magnificent.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
“Many merry Christmases, friendships, great accumulation of cheerful recollections, affection on earth, and Heaven at last for all of us.”
The tree is standing in my living room. Today is decorating day, and I can't wait. Already the house smells of Christmas, and soon lights will brighten the night. I went overboard and bought a really full, tall tree, a tree epic in proportion. Some of my family is coming for Christmas, and the tree is a celebration.
As far back as I can remember I've loved my Christmas stocking. The ones we had as kids were red with white cuffs, and our names were written in glitter which sparkled in the light. Mine is long gone, but my sister Moe still has hers. My mother was a master at filling those stockings, and on Christmas morning they bulged. They could have been their own circus acts, like the clowns and the small cars. Out of the top sometimes hung a doll or a stuffed animal. The sides of the stockings were stretched at the seams, and you could see the outlines of what was inside on the front. We'd grab them off the stair rail, find a comfy spot and start digging. I'd put my hand inside and pull out one surprise after another. Out would come the tiniest tea set or a small book which became a cartoon when you turned the pages fast. Out would jacks and Crayola crayons in that yellow and green box and coloring books filled with pages of Santas just waiting to be colored red. Stuffed inside were new socks in bright colors, pretend lipstick and rouge in plastic cases, new mittens, small games where you had to get all those silver balls in the holes, a candy cane and chocolate, lots of chocolate. We'd munch on a Santa or a tree as we rummaged.
When we became adults, my mother still worked her magic, and those Christmas stockings still bulged. She wrapped every gift to heighten the surprise. We'd open one after the other and laugh and show each other what we'd found. Some gifts were pure whimsy, fun stuff my mother found during her shopping expeditions. Sometimes I'd find a coloring book and crayons and a small game where the silver balls had to stay in the holes. I'd find pieces of my childhood hidden inside for me to find.
My sisters fill my stocking now, and I fill theirs. We are our mother's daughters, and the stockings bulge.
As far back as I can remember I've loved my Christmas stocking. The ones we had as kids were red with white cuffs, and our names were written in glitter which sparkled in the light. Mine is long gone, but my sister Moe still has hers. My mother was a master at filling those stockings, and on Christmas morning they bulged. They could have been their own circus acts, like the clowns and the small cars. Out of the top sometimes hung a doll or a stuffed animal. The sides of the stockings were stretched at the seams, and you could see the outlines of what was inside on the front. We'd grab them off the stair rail, find a comfy spot and start digging. I'd put my hand inside and pull out one surprise after another. Out would come the tiniest tea set or a small book which became a cartoon when you turned the pages fast. Out would jacks and Crayola crayons in that yellow and green box and coloring books filled with pages of Santas just waiting to be colored red. Stuffed inside were new socks in bright colors, pretend lipstick and rouge in plastic cases, new mittens, small games where you had to get all those silver balls in the holes, a candy cane and chocolate, lots of chocolate. We'd munch on a Santa or a tree as we rummaged.
When we became adults, my mother still worked her magic, and those Christmas stockings still bulged. She wrapped every gift to heighten the surprise. We'd open one after the other and laugh and show each other what we'd found. Some gifts were pure whimsy, fun stuff my mother found during her shopping expeditions. Sometimes I'd find a coloring book and crayons and a small game where the silver balls had to stay in the holes. I'd find pieces of my childhood hidden inside for me to find.
My sisters fill my stocking now, and I fill theirs. We are our mother's daughters, and the stockings bulge.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
"Even as an adult I find it difficult to sleep on Christmas Eve. Yuletide excitement is a potent caffeine, no matter your age. "
When we were kids, Christmas Eve was always the most sacred night of the year. We were better than good to make up for any prior lapses which might have made our status on the nice list a bit iffy. Christmas Eve also had the distinction of being the only night we didn't argue about going to bed early. We'd beg to go as soon as it got dark, around 5:30. We knew early to bed made perfect sense as sleeping was the only way to survive the slow passing of the night. Christmas Eve day was endless.
My parents went to midnight mass every year. I don't remember ever hearing them. They'd come home, get into comfy clothes, mix themselves each a highball then bring all the toys and gifts to the living room. My dad would start to put together anything which came in parts. He was never really good at assembly, and he always had something left over at the end. My mother put the gifts into the four piles. It always took them until the wee hours of Christmas morning to finish. A few hours later we'd run into their room, jump on the bed and shout, "Santa's come. It's Christmas." They'd wearily pull themselves out of bed and follow us. In our house Santa didn't leave wrapped gifts so our first peeks were as we were coming down the stairs. We'd see high chairs and carriages, scooters and bikes and books and games. It was glorious.
My parents went to midnight mass every year. I don't remember ever hearing them. They'd come home, get into comfy clothes, mix themselves each a highball then bring all the toys and gifts to the living room. My dad would start to put together anything which came in parts. He was never really good at assembly, and he always had something left over at the end. My mother put the gifts into the four piles. It always took them until the wee hours of Christmas morning to finish. A few hours later we'd run into their room, jump on the bed and shout, "Santa's come. It's Christmas." They'd wearily pull themselves out of bed and follow us. In our house Santa didn't leave wrapped gifts so our first peeks were as we were coming down the stairs. We'd see high chairs and carriages, scooters and bikes and books and games. It was glorious.
Friday, December 07, 2007
“It's like Christmas, you know there's a present under the tree, you just don't know what it is.”
Woolworth's was the best place to find Christmas presents for my mother and father. I'd wander up and down the aisles picking up one thing then another until I'd found perfect gifts, in my narrow price range. My father usually got handkerchiefs. They were white and came three to a pack. He always acted surprised. They were the perfect gift as my dad used real handkerchiefs. He kept his in his back pocket. Later, when I was older, I still gave him handkerchiefs but in his stocking. He still smiled and acted surprised, and he still kept them in his back pocket. Finding a gift for my mother was more difficult. She didn't use handkerchiefs, not even the pretty ones with embroidery. I'd given her potholders for a few years, ones I'd made at the park during the summer, but the kitchen drawer was still filled with them. Some years I'd draw pictures or make cards, but I was older and thought cards just weren't enough any more. I was in despair until I found the perfume counter. The small perfume bottles were nestled in beautiful boxes and were made of the finest cut crystal. They glittered in the sun. Their atomizers were bright with color. The pinks and purples were my favorites. They were connected to the bottles with real gold. I'd pick up one of those exquisite bottles, spray it into the air and sniff quickly so I could sample the fragrance. Some smelled like summer and flowers, but I leaned toward the exotic scents like eau d'Paris. I'd finally make my choice, bring my purchases to the register at the front of the store and then carry them home to hide them. Later, I'd wrap my gifts and put them in a prominent place under the tree. I was so proud.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
I Want My Baby for Christmas: Jimmy Liggins and His Drops of Joy
I couldn't take it any longer. I have all these Christmas songs just waiting to be heard. I promise to entertain you and surprise you with my choices.
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“Time always seems long to the child who is waiting - for Christmas, for next summer, for becoming a grownup..."
Last night I went out for dinner and took the long way around so I could do a mini see the lights ride. Neighborhoods glowed in the early darkness and gave the night a bit more warmth. There were snowmen and candy canes, elves and trains. Some houses were outlined in white while others shined in reds and greens and oranges, the colors of my childhood Christmases. I stopped and gawked at a couple of the houses bright with Christmas cheer. I wanted to honk and wave in thanks.
When I was a little kid, I knew where the tree would go, what lights my dad would put on the bushes, which cookies my mother would make and where we'd hang our stockings. I knew my Christmas Eve pajamas would be flannel. These were our family traditions. They were Christmas.
The outside lights were brilliant and kept the winter dark at bay. Our tree was majestic standing in the corner overlooking the room, and I remember the shiny tinsel rolled into clumps and thrown onto tree branches. We'd watch my mother bake and wait until the first batch came from the oven then we'd grab a cookie and shift it from hand to hand until it was cool enough to eat. Nothing tasted better than the first Christmas cookie. We'd go to bed and whisper back and forth about what we wanted Santa to bring. Christmas Eve just couldn't come soon enough.
When I was a little kid, I knew where the tree would go, what lights my dad would put on the bushes, which cookies my mother would make and where we'd hang our stockings. I knew my Christmas Eve pajamas would be flannel. These were our family traditions. They were Christmas.
The outside lights were brilliant and kept the winter dark at bay. Our tree was majestic standing in the corner overlooking the room, and I remember the shiny tinsel rolled into clumps and thrown onto tree branches. We'd watch my mother bake and wait until the first batch came from the oven then we'd grab a cookie and shift it from hand to hand until it was cool enough to eat. Nothing tasted better than the first Christmas cookie. We'd go to bed and whisper back and forth about what we wanted Santa to bring. Christmas Eve just couldn't come soon enough.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
My Town: Paul Siebel
I am such a Paul Siebel fan and regret he recorded only two albums, far too few. Every time I post one of his songs here, I get an amazing response as he is one of the best singer-songwriters no one has ever heard. This is from his self-titled album and the other album is a re-release of Strangely Woodsmoke and Oranges and Jack-Knife Gypsy on the same album.
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I Just Keep Falling in Love: Steve Goodman
This is from Steve Goodman - No Big Surprise (The Steve Goodman Anthology), a two disc set. The first disc is studio recordings while the second disc is live performances.
Steve may never have had a hit with his own songs, but that should never diminish the impact he had on music. He was one of the most amazing singer-songwriters who could pluck out your heart with his love songs or make you laugh right out-loud.
He died in 1984 at age 36 and had a portion of his remains buried beneath home plate at Wrigley Field.
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Steve may never have had a hit with his own songs, but that should never diminish the impact he had on music. He was one of the most amazing singer-songwriters who could pluck out your heart with his love songs or make you laugh right out-loud.
He died in 1984 at age 36 and had a portion of his remains buried beneath home plate at Wrigley Field.
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"Some things have to be believed to be seen."
The birds have been fed. My hands were clumps of ice by the time I came inside the house, but all the feeders are filled. I even threw peanuts down for the squirrels though they look mighty well fed to me. While I was outside, Gracie ran around the yard with a green ball in her mouth. She was panting by the time I was finished and went right to her crate for a quick pick-me-up nap.
When I was a kid, starting about the middle of December, Santa came on TV every night from a station in New Hampshire. We'd watch him open letters, tell stories and play with toys. He had a thunderous laugh and always talked into the camera directly at us. Behind him on the wall was a countdown calendar, and we'd watch as the number of days until Christmas Eve got less and less. I remember on Christmas Eve he had to cut his show short to make the big trip.
Going to Boston this time of year was always a big treat for us. My mother would bundle us up until we barely resembled human beings. We'd drive in town, park the car then go to Boston Common to see all the lights. We'd finish at the giant creche then walk to the shopping district, a few streets over. Boston had several big department stores back then all in a row on one street. Filene's and Jordan's had the best windows, and we'd go from window to window. Most of the characters moved. Santa's workshop was a favorite. Elves hammered while planes flew and dolls walked. Santa would be sitting on his huge chair reading the good list, and his head would nod and turn while he read. We'd stand with our faces to the windows and tell each other where to look. I always thought it was magic. My dad would buy us a treat from the wagons stationed on the street, and we'd always fall asleep on the way home.
Christmas time is when we all get to believe.
When I was a kid, starting about the middle of December, Santa came on TV every night from a station in New Hampshire. We'd watch him open letters, tell stories and play with toys. He had a thunderous laugh and always talked into the camera directly at us. Behind him on the wall was a countdown calendar, and we'd watch as the number of days until Christmas Eve got less and less. I remember on Christmas Eve he had to cut his show short to make the big trip.
Going to Boston this time of year was always a big treat for us. My mother would bundle us up until we barely resembled human beings. We'd drive in town, park the car then go to Boston Common to see all the lights. We'd finish at the giant creche then walk to the shopping district, a few streets over. Boston had several big department stores back then all in a row on one street. Filene's and Jordan's had the best windows, and we'd go from window to window. Most of the characters moved. Santa's workshop was a favorite. Elves hammered while planes flew and dolls walked. Santa would be sitting on his huge chair reading the good list, and his head would nod and turn while he read. We'd stand with our faces to the windows and tell each other where to look. I always thought it was magic. My dad would buy us a treat from the wagons stationed on the street, and we'd always fall asleep on the way home.
Christmas time is when we all get to believe.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
In the Bleak Midwinter: James Taylor
Okay, I am sneaking a few hidden in the guise of winter, but they are from some of my usual artists so it's a regular day here on Coffee, Christmas not withstanding.
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"Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories."
The dog and I have to pick out our Christmas tree this weekend. Each year we drive to the same place then walk up and down the rows looking for the perfect tree. I pull out one then another and go through the usual routine with each. Is it full? Is it tall enough or is it too tall? Do its needles feel soft, almost like velvet? I hold the trunk and can't help but remember last year's tree and how wonderful it smelled when I first came down the stairs every morning then I close my eyes and picture how beautiful the tree looked lit. I can see my special ornaments hanging from its branches. The tree skirt my mother made is wrapped around the stand. The cat lies on the skirt in the warmth of the lights. My mother wouldn't have minded. Her cat too loved the tree. Yup, this is the one. It's perfect.
My mother bought the best trees: always full, always beautiful. My dad would ask the price, and my mother, no matter what she had paid, would tell him ten dollars or even fifteen for an especially beautiful tree. He always believed her. Every year my aunt would come to see the tree, and every year my dad bragged at how cheap it had been. She never believed him. It became a running joke in our family. My dad never knew.
Today is cold. The birdbath water froze last night. It's time for the heater.
My mother bought the best trees: always full, always beautiful. My dad would ask the price, and my mother, no matter what she had paid, would tell him ten dollars or even fifteen for an especially beautiful tree. He always believed her. Every year my aunt would come to see the tree, and every year my dad bragged at how cheap it had been. She never believed him. It became a running joke in our family. My dad never knew.
Today is cold. The birdbath water froze last night. It's time for the heater.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Thanks a Lot: Eilen Jewell
This is another song from Eilen's debut album, Sinners and Strangers which was released last summer. I liked every song which seldom happens with me. She has this sound which is everything wrapped together, all the genres I post here.
I listen often to this album.
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I listen often to this album.
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My Back Pages: The Byrds
This first appeared on Dylan's 1964 album Another Side of Bob Dylan while The Byrds didn't release their cover until 1967 on their Younger Than Yesterday album. The Byrds have an entire album of Dylan covers as they've sung so many. This, though, is my favorite. The original Byrds were still together for this album, but defections were coming.
I can never listen to this song without singing along with the line, "Oh, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."
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I can never listen to this song without singing along with the line, "Oh, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."
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"Spring, summer, and fall fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition. "
Yesterday was the Yarmouth stroll. All the stores and many of the inns were open to welcome guests, and we wandered from place to place. We sat in one church listening to organ music, but the church was colder than outside so we could stay only a short while. Some of the inns offered soup to warm the body, and we stayed in one, finished their soup, then moved on to Irish coffee.
It rained all night, a loud rain beating against the roof and windows. The animals and I snuggled under the covers, and I remember waking a few times and listening, but when I finally stirred, the rain had stopped.
Winter rain never sparkles. It falls through sleeping trees, brown leaves and dead pine needles to the ground. It leaves the air raw and cold, and the sun never seems to penetrate the darkness. I love sitting in the den during winter rainstorms. The light gives a warmth to the room, and I snuggle on the couch with an afghan covering my legs. The animals, sensing my mood, stay with me and sleep in their favorite spots. The dog on the chair breathes deeply, and the cat on the back of the couch snores just a bit. I read until the warm afghan does its magic and my eyelids begin to close. Nothing is better than a nap on a rainy winter day.
It rained all night, a loud rain beating against the roof and windows. The animals and I snuggled under the covers, and I remember waking a few times and listening, but when I finally stirred, the rain had stopped.
Winter rain never sparkles. It falls through sleeping trees, brown leaves and dead pine needles to the ground. It leaves the air raw and cold, and the sun never seems to penetrate the darkness. I love sitting in the den during winter rainstorms. The light gives a warmth to the room, and I snuggle on the couch with an afghan covering my legs. The animals, sensing my mood, stay with me and sleep in their favorite spots. The dog on the chair breathes deeply, and the cat on the back of the couch snores just a bit. I read until the warm afghan does its magic and my eyelids begin to close. Nothing is better than a nap on a rainy winter day.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
"In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."
Last night my sister and brother-in-law hosted their annual light party. My brother-in-law, Jim, spends days decorating their house, and each year he adds new pieces to the splendor of his display. This year's addition was a family of blow-up snowmen accompanied by music. My favorite decoration, one which took Jim a few years to complete, is Santa and all his reindeer flying in mid-air, suspended between the roof and the trees. Last night, though, even Santa had to stay on the ground. It was just too windy.
The evening is always filled with lots of relatives, great food and a million conversations all happening at once. We chatted around the groaning table until Jim sent us across the street to wait for the countdown. It was freezing so we bundled up in coats, hats and mittens. We waited and waited getting colder and colder and finally couldn't take it any longer. We ran back inside. A while later Jim again sent us across the street. There we were, about thirty of us, just standing on the sidewalk looking at a dark house. Cars slowed and one even stopped as the driver was curious as to why all of us were standing in the dark. He pulled over to a side street and waited in the warmth of the car. The time finally came. First were fireworks lighting up the sky. They burst overhead in bright colors and we all oohed and ahed and clapped. Then the house was lit, and it was glorious.
The evening is always filled with lots of relatives, great food and a million conversations all happening at once. We chatted around the groaning table until Jim sent us across the street to wait for the countdown. It was freezing so we bundled up in coats, hats and mittens. We waited and waited getting colder and colder and finally couldn't take it any longer. We ran back inside. A while later Jim again sent us across the street. There we were, about thirty of us, just standing on the sidewalk looking at a dark house. Cars slowed and one even stopped as the driver was curious as to why all of us were standing in the dark. He pulled over to a side street and waited in the warmth of the car. The time finally came. First were fireworks lighting up the sky. They burst overhead in bright colors and we all oohed and ahed and clapped. Then the house was lit, and it was glorious.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Sleigh Ride: The Ronettes
It's that time of year again, and I'm just so excited. Starting today, you'll find Christmas music every weekend then every day during that week before the big day. I love them all so you'll find a wide assortment of artists. Tra LaLaLaLa!!! Enjoy!!!
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“Memory is the library of the mind”
Every trip to the cellar means bringing boxes up or down. Even when switching laundry, I never come upstairs empty handed. I'm already on my second box of Christmas decorations this morning. I've had to stop, though, to do a bit of cleaning and mending. I found out a mouse or several mice had made their homes in and around Santa and a few of his elves. They spent the off-season munching. I've added a trip to the store for plastic tubs to my errand list.
Each new box is a surprise. I lift all the ornaments and decorations, admire them for a bit then haul them upstairs and walk around until I find the perfect spots. Many of my decorations have memories attached. My Santa cups are already on the table, a place of honor. The cloth I bought in Peru is hanging up on the door, and I'm looking for a spot for the mola I bought in Panama. That South American trip was over thirty years ago. My roommate and I spent the entire summer wandering from Venezuela to Brazil. It took us over eight weeks. We rode local buses, stayed in horrible hotels and had the time of our lives. That cloth was bought in a small market in Puno where we stopped for the night after leaving Cuzco. We would cross Lake Titicaca the next day on our way to La Paz. The mola is from the cruise my mother gave the whole family. The ship stopped at the San Blas Islands, and we went snorkeling off a small island where Kuna women were selling their wares. I tried to photograph one who kept hiding behind her cloths hanging from lines. I never got her picture, but I did buy her beautiful mola.
Many of the ornaments for my tree come from my travels, and I get to remember all those trips every time I decorate. A few ornaments come from Hungary, and I remember my poor mother trying to climb back up all those stairs after we took a tour of the caves. I remember standing on a hill and looking at the Danube, and I remember the horrible dinner we had the first night. A violinist played at our table, and my dad had a big grin on his face the whole time. I know there are ornaments from Africa and Italy. I don't remember what else is there. I just know I have boxes to explore and memories to resurrect.
Each new box is a surprise. I lift all the ornaments and decorations, admire them for a bit then haul them upstairs and walk around until I find the perfect spots. Many of my decorations have memories attached. My Santa cups are already on the table, a place of honor. The cloth I bought in Peru is hanging up on the door, and I'm looking for a spot for the mola I bought in Panama. That South American trip was over thirty years ago. My roommate and I spent the entire summer wandering from Venezuela to Brazil. It took us over eight weeks. We rode local buses, stayed in horrible hotels and had the time of our lives. That cloth was bought in a small market in Puno where we stopped for the night after leaving Cuzco. We would cross Lake Titicaca the next day on our way to La Paz. The mola is from the cruise my mother gave the whole family. The ship stopped at the San Blas Islands, and we went snorkeling off a small island where Kuna women were selling their wares. I tried to photograph one who kept hiding behind her cloths hanging from lines. I never got her picture, but I did buy her beautiful mola.
Many of the ornaments for my tree come from my travels, and I get to remember all those trips every time I decorate. A few ornaments come from Hungary, and I remember my poor mother trying to climb back up all those stairs after we took a tour of the caves. I remember standing on a hill and looking at the Danube, and I remember the horrible dinner we had the first night. A violinist played at our table, and my dad had a big grin on his face the whole time. I know there are ornaments from Africa and Italy. I don't remember what else is there. I just know I have boxes to explore and memories to resurrect.
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