Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Take a Cup O’ Kindness For Auld Lang Syne
The New Year
by John Clare
The Old Year's gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
In this he's known by none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more substance when they're here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall-
A guest to every heart's desire
And now he's nought at all.
Old Papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
Are things identified;
But time once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year's Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.
by John Clare
The Old Year's gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
In this he's known by none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more substance when they're here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall-
A guest to every heart's desire
And now he's nought at all.
Old Papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
Are things identified;
But time once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year's Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.
I lift my glass to you, dear friends, and wish you a Happy New Year. May this New Year be better than the last.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Souvenirs: John Prine
"Go Confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined."
When I was a little kid, I had all sorts of hopes and dreams. For a while, I imagined myself a princess living in a palace with turrets and secret passageways. I'd travel the countryside in a carriage drawn by magnificent horses. In my mind's eye, I always looked a bit like a dark haired Cinderella. I once thought I had been snatched by Gypsies and my real, very rich parents were searching and searching for me. They'd drive through town, see me playing, recognize me immediately, stop the car then run and grab me, crying all the while as they gave me hugs. Though I couldn't dance and sing like Shirley Temple, I could act. I had a perfect pout and could turn it on and off at will. I could cry real tears when needed. An actress is what I hoped to be. I was the first female priest and used to serve mass to my little sisters. They ate the communion wafer, a small part of a saltine, and I had them go with God, all in Latin, of course. These were the dreams of a young girl.
When I got older, I dreamed of so many different things. I dreamed of traveling the world, of seeing all those far away places. I dreamed of going to college. No one in my family had ever gone to college. For a while I was a writer, an F. Scott Fitzgerald sort. Later I was Emily Dickinson pouring out my adolescent angst in poetry. I wanted to be a folk singer and play in cellar coffee houses filled with smoke. I wanted the crowd to snap their fingers in appreciation when I was done. These were the dreams of an adolescent trying to find her place in the world.
I went to college. I picked English to study because hiding in the back of my head were Emily and F. Scott. They hadn't ever left. I chose teaching because I thought it a noble profession. I chose the Peace Corps because it just seemed the right thing to do. When I graduated from college, I left home, went to Africa and took my first steps into adulthood. I began to live my childhood dreams.
I loved teaching. I had chosen well. I traveled more of the world. Once I stood with a foot in each hemisphere. I watched reindeer at the Arctic Circle. I traveled through the Panama Canal. I lived my dreams.
I am starting my fifth year of retirement. I have all sorts of hopes and dreams.
When I got older, I dreamed of so many different things. I dreamed of traveling the world, of seeing all those far away places. I dreamed of going to college. No one in my family had ever gone to college. For a while I was a writer, an F. Scott Fitzgerald sort. Later I was Emily Dickinson pouring out my adolescent angst in poetry. I wanted to be a folk singer and play in cellar coffee houses filled with smoke. I wanted the crowd to snap their fingers in appreciation when I was done. These were the dreams of an adolescent trying to find her place in the world.
I went to college. I picked English to study because hiding in the back of my head were Emily and F. Scott. They hadn't ever left. I chose teaching because I thought it a noble profession. I chose the Peace Corps because it just seemed the right thing to do. When I graduated from college, I left home, went to Africa and took my first steps into adulthood. I began to live my childhood dreams.
I loved teaching. I had chosen well. I traveled more of the world. Once I stood with a foot in each hemisphere. I watched reindeer at the Arctic Circle. I traveled through the Panama Canal. I lived my dreams.
I am starting my fifth year of retirement. I have all sorts of hopes and dreams.
Monday, December 29, 2008
May I Suggest: Red Molly
Laurie MacAllister, Abbie Gardner and Carolann Solebello are Red Molly who started singing together in 2004. The album from which this song comes, Love And Other Tragedies, was released in October of this year. This song is the last one on the album and its stays in your head a long while.
MP3 File
yousendit
MP3 File
yousendit
“New Year's Day - Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.”
A warmish, sunny day greeted me this morning. It seems winter's fury has taken a bit of a hiatus. I have a few errands so I get to enjoy the sun.
I no longer understand the need for a New Year's resolution. Any bad habits have been so ingrained they are part of me now. To lose one would be to lose an old friend. Besides, I never really was very good at keeping any of the ones I once made. Now, at this stage of my life, my perspectives have changed. I look at the world differently. Time does that. All those years are no longer in front of me so I see little value in denying myself the pleasures of life.
I get exercise enough. Every morning I get out of bed, make sure all my parts work then walk down stairs. Later I walk back up again. Exercise: check. To eat better is always a great resolution, but I've found to eat chocolate actually trumps it. I do eat some healthy foods, especially vegetables, and if I add a bit of butter, dairy is covered. Food groups: check. I have dinner often with friends. We play games and laugh a whole lot. It doesn't take much to have us laughing so hard we're crying. Enjoy life more: check. I have found that in summer frozen drinks are best. Winter is a bit more difficult. I like egg nog at Christmas and champagne for New Year's. Wine works well the rest of the time. Limit alcohol: check. I make my bed every day and always hang up my clothes. Reduce clutter: check.
I know New Year's is the time to reflect, a time to make changes, to better myself, but I'm happy. I think that's enough.
I no longer understand the need for a New Year's resolution. Any bad habits have been so ingrained they are part of me now. To lose one would be to lose an old friend. Besides, I never really was very good at keeping any of the ones I once made. Now, at this stage of my life, my perspectives have changed. I look at the world differently. Time does that. All those years are no longer in front of me so I see little value in denying myself the pleasures of life.
I get exercise enough. Every morning I get out of bed, make sure all my parts work then walk down stairs. Later I walk back up again. Exercise: check. To eat better is always a great resolution, but I've found to eat chocolate actually trumps it. I do eat some healthy foods, especially vegetables, and if I add a bit of butter, dairy is covered. Food groups: check. I have dinner often with friends. We play games and laugh a whole lot. It doesn't take much to have us laughing so hard we're crying. Enjoy life more: check. I have found that in summer frozen drinks are best. Winter is a bit more difficult. I like egg nog at Christmas and champagne for New Year's. Wine works well the rest of the time. Limit alcohol: check. I make my bed every day and always hang up my clothes. Reduce clutter: check.
I know New Year's is the time to reflect, a time to make changes, to better myself, but I'm happy. I think that's enough.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Humpty Dumpty Heart: Hank Thompson
“A lively imagination is one of the best companions”
Fog covers Bass River. I could see only a bit of the water as I crossed the bridge this morning. Few cars were on the road. My breakfast spot was empty of customers. The world is quiet on this Sunday morning.
Yesterday was busy. I did all the chores I hadn't done in a while. I always feel Christmas time is for the extraordinary, not the ordinary. I can spend hours decorating or wrapping but have trouble spending even a few minutes dusting and cleaning. I always think mundane tasks have no place during this season. They are for the every day.
Sometimes I think I'm part of a Disney true life adventure. Fat squirrels chatter as they jump from branch to branch in my backyard, and I keep waiting for a pleasant male voice to describe the scene. I can imagine him now. Look at those squirrels as they fly from branch to branch like a pair of nature's acrobats. They are looking to steal seed from the back feeders. Let's hope they don't get caught as they run across the rail on tip toes and climb the feeder. Look at them swing. Their weight causes the feeders to twist and turn. Look at them enjoying the ride and notice they're still devouring sunflower seed after sunflower seed even as they spin. Squirrels don't ever seem to get dizzy. Oops, they hear a noise and off they go with seeds in their mouths. As they leave, they entertain us with their balancing acts jumping as they do from the end of one branch to another. Squirrels are one of nature's smartest little thieves.
The birds too merit a narration. The tiny black capped chickadees vie with the squirrels for those sunflower seeds. They quickly swoop in, grab a seed then fly back to a branch. Watch as they eat their treasures. Look, a junco has joined the crowd of birds. He too is looking for sunflower seeds and waiting for his opportunity to grab lunch. The goldfinches stay out of the fray. They perch on that thistle feeder and eat and watch the action. The male goldfinch is wearing his winter coat, a drab yellow compared to his summer brightness. The backyard feeders in winter are always a bevy of activity.
I figure some time I'll hear him say. This is the habitat of a retired person. Look, here she is wearing her grubby clothes. Let's watch as she starts her day.
Yesterday was busy. I did all the chores I hadn't done in a while. I always feel Christmas time is for the extraordinary, not the ordinary. I can spend hours decorating or wrapping but have trouble spending even a few minutes dusting and cleaning. I always think mundane tasks have no place during this season. They are for the every day.
Sometimes I think I'm part of a Disney true life adventure. Fat squirrels chatter as they jump from branch to branch in my backyard, and I keep waiting for a pleasant male voice to describe the scene. I can imagine him now. Look at those squirrels as they fly from branch to branch like a pair of nature's acrobats. They are looking to steal seed from the back feeders. Let's hope they don't get caught as they run across the rail on tip toes and climb the feeder. Look at them swing. Their weight causes the feeders to twist and turn. Look at them enjoying the ride and notice they're still devouring sunflower seed after sunflower seed even as they spin. Squirrels don't ever seem to get dizzy. Oops, they hear a noise and off they go with seeds in their mouths. As they leave, they entertain us with their balancing acts jumping as they do from the end of one branch to another. Squirrels are one of nature's smartest little thieves.
The birds too merit a narration. The tiny black capped chickadees vie with the squirrels for those sunflower seeds. They quickly swoop in, grab a seed then fly back to a branch. Watch as they eat their treasures. Look, a junco has joined the crowd of birds. He too is looking for sunflower seeds and waiting for his opportunity to grab lunch. The goldfinches stay out of the fray. They perch on that thistle feeder and eat and watch the action. The male goldfinch is wearing his winter coat, a drab yellow compared to his summer brightness. The backyard feeders in winter are always a bevy of activity.
I figure some time I'll hear him say. This is the habitat of a retired person. Look, here she is wearing her grubby clothes. Let's watch as she starts her day.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
"Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories. "
The Christmas tree is lit. It gives the dark day light and color. Its simple beauty draws me, and I always feel a sense of peace and joy when I take the time to watch my tree. I look at the ornaments and remember the story each ornament tells.
I see the three kings dwarfed by a K on a needlepoint ornament. I know the K really stands for Kat, and my mother made the ornament. It is a treasure. The Pinocchio came from Italy, from a trip I made with my mother. We bought Pinoch at a small toy shop in Florence one day while we were exploring the city. The felt heart came from Hungary, and my mother sneaked and bought it while we were shopping. I also sneaked and bought her one. We laughed when we opened them. The snowman with the sombrero came from San Antonio. The alligator and the gecko came from Panama. An Indian woman was selling them, and even though I bought many articles from her, she wouldn't let me take her picture. She kept hiding behind her wares. The chipped red glass ornament and the bell with white around the edges hung on my childhood trees. My mother always put them near the top to keep them safe. The ugly angel with a few strands of hair was from my mother. It always sits in the front of my tree. My friend Clare gave me the glass gecko with the Santa hat, and this is his first year on the tree. The light post with the greenery came from Nantucket. I bought it there when I went to Neill's wedding. His mother and I have been friends since before he was born. An orange tassel and a red tassel hang from the ends of two branches. I bought them in Marrakesh.
My tree is so much more than a Christmas tree. It is my history and a reminder of all that's important during this season. It keeps my mother close and makes her a part of my every Christmas, a time she so loved. It reminds me of places where I've traveled and people I've met. I see friends I cherish. My tree delights me. It always makes me smile. I know its days are numbered so I treasure it all the more.
I see the three kings dwarfed by a K on a needlepoint ornament. I know the K really stands for Kat, and my mother made the ornament. It is a treasure. The Pinocchio came from Italy, from a trip I made with my mother. We bought Pinoch at a small toy shop in Florence one day while we were exploring the city. The felt heart came from Hungary, and my mother sneaked and bought it while we were shopping. I also sneaked and bought her one. We laughed when we opened them. The snowman with the sombrero came from San Antonio. The alligator and the gecko came from Panama. An Indian woman was selling them, and even though I bought many articles from her, she wouldn't let me take her picture. She kept hiding behind her wares. The chipped red glass ornament and the bell with white around the edges hung on my childhood trees. My mother always put them near the top to keep them safe. The ugly angel with a few strands of hair was from my mother. It always sits in the front of my tree. My friend Clare gave me the glass gecko with the Santa hat, and this is his first year on the tree. The light post with the greenery came from Nantucket. I bought it there when I went to Neill's wedding. His mother and I have been friends since before he was born. An orange tassel and a red tassel hang from the ends of two branches. I bought them in Marrakesh.
My tree is so much more than a Christmas tree. It is my history and a reminder of all that's important during this season. It keeps my mother close and makes her a part of my every Christmas, a time she so loved. It reminds me of places where I've traveled and people I've met. I see friends I cherish. My tree delights me. It always makes me smile. I know its days are numbered so I treasure it all the more.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Little Boxes: Malvina Reynolds
"Loafing needs no explanation and is its own excuse."
Yesterday was just perfect. The company was great fun, the meal delicious and the gifts wonderful to behold. Opening up all the stocking stuffers was a highlight of the day. My sisters found some of the silliest and the neatest stuff, and the Red Sox and Wally made their way into my stocking from my friends Tony and Clare. The three of us spent the day together, and I couldn't have had a better Christmas. The highlight was Clare reading a few of the Christmas Golden Books including a Howdy Doody and asking Tony and me a few silly riddles from a book published in 1947, an auspicious year.
Another of my friends gave me a book which she had inscribed:
Just as I did when I was little, I'm going to check out all my gifts again, maybe even play with a few of the stocking stuffers. Today is a day to relax, to eat leftovers, munch a few Christmas cookies and drink some egg nog.
Happy Boxing Day!
Another of my friends gave me a book which she had inscribed:
Keep the Coffee Coming
a collection of favorite ramblings
by Kathleen Ryan
She included black corners to affix the pages to the book. I could use a little help here. If you have a favorite musing, let me know. Meanwhile I'll be hitting Coffee archives to find a few favorites of my own.a collection of favorite ramblings
by Kathleen Ryan
Just as I did when I was little, I'm going to check out all my gifts again, maybe even play with a few of the stocking stuffers. Today is a day to relax, to eat leftovers, munch a few Christmas cookies and drink some egg nog.
Happy Boxing Day!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
"Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn."
I remember waking up when it was still dark and trying to sneak downstairs to see what Santa had left. I remember one Christmas my parents woke me as they were taking toys down from the attic. I heard music. When they had finished and were putting the toys around the tree, I sneaked downstairs to watch. They never knew. Another Christmas my brother and I saw all our toys but then had to go back to bed because it was still too early. I left a huge dancing doll under the covers so my father thought I was nestled all snug in my bed and called for my brother to come back upstairs. I played a long while by the lights of the tree. I remember full stockings hanging from the banister and the fun of taking out one thing at a time. I remember lying on my stomach by the tree and reading a new book. I remember when my brother and I walked to the first mass in the dark of a Christmas morning. It was cold and starlit. Our footsteps seem to echo through the night. We could have been the only people left in the world.
Merry Christmas, my Coffee friends.
Merry Christmas, my Coffee friends.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
"Even as an adult I find it difficult to sleep on Christmas Eve. Yuletide excitement is a potent caffeine, no matter your age."
My tree is lit and glows brightly on this dark, damp day. The snow is nearly gone, a victim of the rain. We will have no white Christmas.
Christmas Eve always seemed the longest day of the year. Time passed so slowly I never thought night would come. I remember asking to go to bed when it got dark because I figured the sooner I fell asleep, the sooner Christmas morning would come. My mother always made me wait, and when I finally did go to bed, it took forever to fall asleep.
Tonight I will have dinner with friends then come home and put on my new flannel pants, the red ones with the stars. I've been saving them for tonight, some traditions never do die.
We opened our new pajamas just before bedtime. The very last Christmas Eve tradition was hanging our stockings.
I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
" There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say. Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"
Charles Dickens
A Christmas Carol
Christmas Eve always seemed the longest day of the year. Time passed so slowly I never thought night would come. I remember asking to go to bed when it got dark because I figured the sooner I fell asleep, the sooner Christmas morning would come. My mother always made me wait, and when I finally did go to bed, it took forever to fall asleep.
Tonight I will have dinner with friends then come home and put on my new flannel pants, the red ones with the stars. I've been saving them for tonight, some traditions never do die.
We opened our new pajamas just before bedtime. The very last Christmas Eve tradition was hanging our stockings.
I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
" There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say. Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"
Charles Dickens
A Christmas Carol
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
"He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly."
Just like Santa, I have lists. They are for today and tomorrow and Christmas Day. All the errands and final preparations are written down. Today I get to go to the grocery store and buy all the fixings for dinner, except for the meat, that's for tomorrow.
We lived in a duplex for just about my whole childhood. The walls in the living room were green. Maybe they were other colors too, but I remember green the best. The Christmas tree was always in the corner where the TV usually sat. That was a good thing because a few times the tree fell, and it had to be tied to the windows on each side of the corner. My gifts were always to the left of the tree, beside the wall. My brother's were to the right and my sisters' were in the middle. The stockings were hung on the small banister and all four stockings just fit. They were red with white tops and had our names on them. My sister Moe is the only one who has hers. My mother was a great stocking stuffer. It was so much fun to reach in and be surprised by what we'd find. Moe remembers doll bottles, one of orange juice and another of milk. I remember the coloring books and crayons and the games of jacks.
Santa never wrapped our gifts so we'd come downstairs and peek over the banister. We'd see the tree lit and surrounded by presents. Games and books sat in front leaning against the bigger toys. I remember high chairs, doll furniture and ice skates. The year I got my bike it was the first thing I saw. It stood in all its glory balanced on the kickstand. The year my brother got his bike Santa left it in the kitchen. We'd run to our spots, and pick up one gift after another to show our parents. "Look what Santa left us." They always seemed surprised.
We lived in a duplex for just about my whole childhood. The walls in the living room were green. Maybe they were other colors too, but I remember green the best. The Christmas tree was always in the corner where the TV usually sat. That was a good thing because a few times the tree fell, and it had to be tied to the windows on each side of the corner. My gifts were always to the left of the tree, beside the wall. My brother's were to the right and my sisters' were in the middle. The stockings were hung on the small banister and all four stockings just fit. They were red with white tops and had our names on them. My sister Moe is the only one who has hers. My mother was a great stocking stuffer. It was so much fun to reach in and be surprised by what we'd find. Moe remembers doll bottles, one of orange juice and another of milk. I remember the coloring books and crayons and the games of jacks.
Santa never wrapped our gifts so we'd come downstairs and peek over the banister. We'd see the tree lit and surrounded by presents. Games and books sat in front leaning against the bigger toys. I remember high chairs, doll furniture and ice skates. The year I got my bike it was the first thing I saw. It stood in all its glory balanced on the kickstand. The year my brother got his bike Santa left it in the kitchen. We'd run to our spots, and pick up one gift after another to show our parents. "Look what Santa left us." They always seemed surprised.
Monday, December 22, 2008
"Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence."
Winter has not been shy. It barreled in the other day with that snow storm, got a little kinder with rain all day yesterday but then went and froze all that rain last night. The temperature dropped in only a few hours from near forty to the mid twenties. When she goes out, Gracie slides on a sheet of ice down the drive way to the backyard.
I remember walking to school all winter, even on the coldest days. We walked a little faster maybe and were bundled in snow suits, hats and mittens, but we always walked, everyone did. I remember how cold my hands were inside the mittens and how warm the school felt when we finally got inside. The radiators hissed all day long trying to warm that old building with its long windows and high ceilings. The windows panes steamed.
By now, the countdown had begun. It was only two days until Christmas Eve. Under the tree were always a few wrapped presents for each of us. We knew one present was new pajamas, and we knew my mother would have us open them on Christmas Eve. She always did, and she made it sound like a treat, letting us open a present before Christmas morning, but we always knew it was the pajamas. My sister Moe knew what was in all of the presents and knew the colors of each pair of pajamas. She always made a small hole in all the packages so she could peek. The rest of us shook and listened, as if the sound was a hint to what was wrapped inside.
My proudest moment was when I'd put under the tree the presents I'd bought for my family. The wrapping was never too good, and the presents were covered in tape, but that didn't matter.
They were the perfect gifts, and I knew my family would love them. Moe already knew.
I remember walking to school all winter, even on the coldest days. We walked a little faster maybe and were bundled in snow suits, hats and mittens, but we always walked, everyone did. I remember how cold my hands were inside the mittens and how warm the school felt when we finally got inside. The radiators hissed all day long trying to warm that old building with its long windows and high ceilings. The windows panes steamed.
By now, the countdown had begun. It was only two days until Christmas Eve. Under the tree were always a few wrapped presents for each of us. We knew one present was new pajamas, and we knew my mother would have us open them on Christmas Eve. She always did, and she made it sound like a treat, letting us open a present before Christmas morning, but we always knew it was the pajamas. My sister Moe knew what was in all of the presents and knew the colors of each pair of pajamas. She always made a small hole in all the packages so she could peek. The rest of us shook and listened, as if the sound was a hint to what was wrapped inside.
My proudest moment was when I'd put under the tree the presents I'd bought for my family. The wrapping was never too good, and the presents were covered in tape, but that didn't matter.
They were the perfect gifts, and I knew my family would love them. Moe already knew.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
“Stay home. Have fun. Build a snowman. Go sledding with the kids.”
The day is gloomy. The white gray sky nearly matches the snow below. Flurries have started, and there is a wind, but the branches, still so heavily laden with snow, barely move. Only the brown leaves flutter. It's cold. Today is a day to stay close to hearth and home.
Slippers are my chosen footwear. A nap is most decidedly in my future. For some reason, today seems to lend itself to laziness. I have two new books, and I might just lie on the couch by the tree and read. A few chores still sit on my to-do list, but I have no compulsion to finish them. They'll get done, sometime before Christmas.
I'm sitting here yawning as if it were the end of a long day instead of the beginning. My animals are no inspiration. Fern and Gracie are asleep, and I can hear their deep breathing. Every now and then Gracie, on the couch, snores and Fern, lying on her blanket on the printer, sighs. Maddie is elsewhere, probably asleep upstairs.
When I was a kid, I'd have been out first thing this morning with my sled. A snow storm like this was never wasted. My friends and I would make countless trips sliding down then walking back up the hill pulling our sleds behind us as we walked. My mittens would get caked with clumps of snow, and my feet would start to freeze. My face would have no feeling, but I'd still keep sliding down that hill. We always took a running start then jumped on the sleds on our stomachs and steered with our hands. Our feet were in the air. Each of us always wanted to be the one who went the furthest.
Slippers are my chosen footwear. A nap is most decidedly in my future. For some reason, today seems to lend itself to laziness. I have two new books, and I might just lie on the couch by the tree and read. A few chores still sit on my to-do list, but I have no compulsion to finish them. They'll get done, sometime before Christmas.
I'm sitting here yawning as if it were the end of a long day instead of the beginning. My animals are no inspiration. Fern and Gracie are asleep, and I can hear their deep breathing. Every now and then Gracie, on the couch, snores and Fern, lying on her blanket on the printer, sighs. Maddie is elsewhere, probably asleep upstairs.
When I was a kid, I'd have been out first thing this morning with my sled. A snow storm like this was never wasted. My friends and I would make countless trips sliding down then walking back up the hill pulling our sleds behind us as we walked. My mittens would get caked with clumps of snow, and my feet would start to freeze. My face would have no feeling, but I'd still keep sliding down that hill. We always took a running start then jumped on the sleds on our stomachs and steered with our hands. Our feet were in the air. Each of us always wanted to be the one who went the furthest.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
"About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. "
A winter wonderland is right outside my door. Snow covers everything. Branches touch the ground bowed by heavy, wet snow. A bird feeder sits on the deck rail, and the juncos stand and eat thinking, I suspect, they've found a new lunch cart. My backyard has Gracie paw prints, but my front is untouched. The street is plowed, but my car sits under a mantle of white just like in the song. I have nowhere to go so I can be quite patient waiting for my plowman. Last night's wild storm has been replaced by gentle flurries.
My house is quiet. Fern is in her usual spot under the tree overseeing the nativity. Gracie is sleeping on her chair and Maddie, my other cat, is upstairs on the bed probably curled on the quilt. Today I am going to bake cookies, orange cookies and Auntie Mary's. The orange cookies were my mother's favorites, and I think of her every time I make them. The Auntie Mary recipe she and I found a long time ago in a magazine, and we made them together the first time. I had an early school vacation that year, and my mother and I spent days baking together. The radio was playing Christmas music, and my father kept grabbing a few cookies every time he came to the kitchen. It was one of my favorite Christmas times with my mother.
My house is quiet. Fern is in her usual spot under the tree overseeing the nativity. Gracie is sleeping on her chair and Maddie, my other cat, is upstairs on the bed probably curled on the quilt. Today I am going to bake cookies, orange cookies and Auntie Mary's. The orange cookies were my mother's favorites, and I think of her every time I make them. The Auntie Mary recipe she and I found a long time ago in a magazine, and we made them together the first time. I had an early school vacation that year, and my mother and I spent days baking together. The radio was playing Christmas music, and my father kept grabbing a few cookies every time he came to the kitchen. It was one of my favorite Christmas times with my mother.
Friday, December 19, 2008
"Lo. sifted through the winds that blow, Down comes the soft and silent snow, White petals from the flowers that grow In the cold atmosphere."
Snow's coming this afternoon, our first storm of the season, with maybe as much as two inches an hour. I've done some of the storm preliminaries. My plow man has been called, the feeders were filled, and I brought up some wood from the cellar. I do need a few provisions so I'll join the pre-storm party at the store. I'm thinking wine, some crackers, a dip, and maybe something sumptuous for dinner. I guess I'm planning a bit of party here, a celebration welcoming the first snow.
With my house smelling of pine, the tree brightly lit, candles in the windows and lanterns flickering around the fireplace, my house is ready for Christmas. Last night I just sat and looked at the tree for a long while. I chuckled at my two blinking bulbs, the chili pepper lights and the lit Santa and his eight reindeer flying to the top of the tree. Fern was sleeping underneath, on the skirt. She was the biggest animal in the nativity scene. Today, on this dark morning, I lit the tree and sat in the living room to drink my coffee and read the paper, but I kept putting down the paper and looking at the tree. It is just so lovely.
I'm thinking an afternoon of cozy warmth will be perfect.
With my house smelling of pine, the tree brightly lit, candles in the windows and lanterns flickering around the fireplace, my house is ready for Christmas. Last night I just sat and looked at the tree for a long while. I chuckled at my two blinking bulbs, the chili pepper lights and the lit Santa and his eight reindeer flying to the top of the tree. Fern was sleeping underneath, on the skirt. She was the biggest animal in the nativity scene. Today, on this dark morning, I lit the tree and sat in the living room to drink my coffee and read the paper, but I kept putting down the paper and looking at the tree. It is just so lovely.
I'm thinking an afternoon of cozy warmth will be perfect.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
"In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy."
Okay, she did it. Gracie jumped the picket fence on the other side of the yard. I went to check on her last night, and she was gone. I grabbed the leash and the flashlight and prepared to go hunting. Out the front door I went, and she, miraculously, returned and came right back inside, a first for her. When I checked the yard this morning, I saw a broken picket where she had gone over the wall. My coffers are empty so I can't yet replace the picket fencing with stockade. My handyman, Skip, is coming today to attach the picket fence he took down to the picket fence which is left. That will double the height, and she'll have to learn to pole vault.
The morning is lovely. The sun is bright, and the day has only a chill, not the biting cold of late. The birds are singing as they fly in and out of the feeders, and the noisiest red squirrel was chattering as it jumped from branch to branch. I stood outside and watched Gracie find the perfect spot to bury the hoof I gave her last night. She carried it all over the yard then buried it under the deck. Later she dug it up and buried it again. Last time I checked, she was carrying it in her mouth and still seeking the perfect hiding place.
Yesterday I put the Christmas presents from my sisters under the tree. I even shook a few as I placed them, but rest assured, I didn't peek.
Snow is coming!
The morning is lovely. The sun is bright, and the day has only a chill, not the biting cold of late. The birds are singing as they fly in and out of the feeders, and the noisiest red squirrel was chattering as it jumped from branch to branch. I stood outside and watched Gracie find the perfect spot to bury the hoof I gave her last night. She carried it all over the yard then buried it under the deck. Later she dug it up and buried it again. Last time I checked, she was carrying it in her mouth and still seeking the perfect hiding place.
Yesterday I put the Christmas presents from my sisters under the tree. I even shook a few as I placed them, but rest assured, I didn't peek.
Snow is coming!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
"Christmas is the day that holds all time together."
Yesterday was a day of completing overdue tasks. The rest of the presents got wrapped, and the Christmas cards got addressed and sent. I felt accomplished. Today I will begin my baking marathon. On the Miss Gracie front, yesterday was her day of frustration. A dog was loose on the street and Gracie wanted out badly. She tried digging under the fence, but that didn't work. She jumped on the fence several times, but it was just too high. She even poked her paw through the fist size hole in my neighbor's fence hoping it might just get bigger. Poor Miss Gracie is finding out she might just be stuck in the yard.
My mother always hung an Advent calendar. It was her way of avoiding having to tell us each morning how many days were left until Christmas. We'd take turns opening the little windows, and the fewer the windows left, the more excited we'd get. The last window was always a manger scene. Even when we were adults, my mother still gave us our own Advent calendars. I still give my sister one.
Our nativity scene was always in a prominent place, usually on the table in front of the picture window. We used cotton batting around the stable. It never seemed out of place as Christmas and snow were intertwined in our minds. Our nativity figures were made of chalkware, and over time, some of them lost their noses. It didn't matter.
I remember well that Nativity set. Mary had a blue gown and Joseph was in brown. A shepherd stood with a sheep over his shoulders, and a few more sheep were standing or lying down. The three wise men, dressed as they were in robes and wearing crowns, looked exactly as I imagined kings should look. We knew each of their names, and that they were the Magi, but the only king we knew for certain was Balthasar. Every day one of us or all of us would rearrange the Nativity scene. The kneeling king was always placed closest to the stable. The angel should have been hovering, but it was a standing figure so it usually went right beside the manger.
My sister has that set now. She puts it in a prominent place every Christmas. A few figures were missing, but she managed to find chalkware replacements, all with noses. I think she added a camel. I don't know if she uses cotton snow. I'll have to remember to ask.
My mother always hung an Advent calendar. It was her way of avoiding having to tell us each morning how many days were left until Christmas. We'd take turns opening the little windows, and the fewer the windows left, the more excited we'd get. The last window was always a manger scene. Even when we were adults, my mother still gave us our own Advent calendars. I still give my sister one.
Our nativity scene was always in a prominent place, usually on the table in front of the picture window. We used cotton batting around the stable. It never seemed out of place as Christmas and snow were intertwined in our minds. Our nativity figures were made of chalkware, and over time, some of them lost their noses. It didn't matter.
I remember well that Nativity set. Mary had a blue gown and Joseph was in brown. A shepherd stood with a sheep over his shoulders, and a few more sheep were standing or lying down. The three wise men, dressed as they were in robes and wearing crowns, looked exactly as I imagined kings should look. We knew each of their names, and that they were the Magi, but the only king we knew for certain was Balthasar. Every day one of us or all of us would rearrange the Nativity scene. The kneeling king was always placed closest to the stable. The angel should have been hovering, but it was a standing figure so it usually went right beside the manger.
My sister has that set now. She puts it in a prominent place every Christmas. A few figures were missing, but she managed to find chalkware replacements, all with noses. I think she added a camel. I don't know if she uses cotton snow. I'll have to remember to ask.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella: Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer
This is the description of the album American Noel on the Signature Sounds web site, "The songs on American Noel were recorded by the Dave & Tracy duo between 1999-2001 for a series of employee holiday gift compilations commissioned by the president of a hardware store chain. With four Dave Carter originals and four new interpretations of traditional tunes, American Noel is a must for collectors of the duo's work. A portion of the proceeds from sales of this album will be donated to the Dakin Pioneer Valley Humane Society in western Massachusetts, to promote the compassionate shelter and rehoming of cats and dogs in need."
MP3 File
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MP3 File
yousendit
"When there's snow on the ground, I like to pretend I'm walking on clouds."
My sister's box arrived today, and I had permission to open it to find a present for now. It was the best present, a CD of the record I made with Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians when I was eleven. I was thrilled to hear it again. We, all of the sixth graders, made it during April vacation at the town hall. We were there all day. My dog, Duke, barks during one song, and I have a solo on Winter Wonderland. It was about the twentieth take, and I came in a note early, and they kept it. Every time my family played the record, we all sat quietly so as not to miss my debut. I did the same thing this morning. Because the songs are in groups, I can't play my famous solo here, but I'm hoping my brother-in-law will send along just that one song so you can be amazed.
Today is rainy and dark. It's supposed to start getting cold, maybe even snow cold before morning. I remember wishing and wishing for snow at Christmas. I always figured it made Santa's trip a lot easier, and snow made the world seem gentler. I remember Christmas lights were always beautiful shining through the snow. Small spots would melt around the lights and leave just enough space for all the different colors to glimmer through the white.
The day after a storm was so bright the snow almost hurt my eyes. The air was filled with sounds. Kids yelled at one another as they sledded and threw snowballs. My father shoveled the steps and walks and cleaned off his car. Every father up and down the street did the same. Plows came and went. The day was filled with people and activity. At night, though, the world became quiet, almost hushed. I could hear the crunch of snow with every step I took. Few cars were ever out, and there were a million stars overhead brightening the night. The lights from windows reflected on the snow, and I could see Christmas trees through some of those windows. I wanted to whisper so as not to break the spell.
Today is rainy and dark. It's supposed to start getting cold, maybe even snow cold before morning. I remember wishing and wishing for snow at Christmas. I always figured it made Santa's trip a lot easier, and snow made the world seem gentler. I remember Christmas lights were always beautiful shining through the snow. Small spots would melt around the lights and leave just enough space for all the different colors to glimmer through the white.
The day after a storm was so bright the snow almost hurt my eyes. The air was filled with sounds. Kids yelled at one another as they sledded and threw snowballs. My father shoveled the steps and walks and cleaned off his car. Every father up and down the street did the same. Plows came and went. The day was filled with people and activity. At night, though, the world became quiet, almost hushed. I could hear the crunch of snow with every step I took. Few cars were ever out, and there were a million stars overhead brightening the night. The lights from windows reflected on the snow, and I could see Christmas trees through some of those windows. I wanted to whisper so as not to break the spell.
Monday, December 15, 2008
"Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus!"
Today is sloth day. The last few days have been so busy my ankle had too much of a workout. The going up and down the stairs hauling boxes of ornaments took its toll as did the grocery aisles today. I have to say, though, the climbing was worth it. My tree looks wonderful. The only scary moment was when I stood on a chair to put my star on the top. That was pushing my luck a bit, but it went just fine. Today I'm going to recuperate and sit on the couch near my lit tree, sip some egg nog and read. If I fall asleep, all the better.
When I was little, it was hard to figure when I needed to be good. I knew Santa kept a list, but I wondered how often he updated and how much leeway I had. My mother, being a wise woman, had her own timetable and, at this time of year, a low degree of tolerance. Usually a week or so before Christmas her threats began to carry weight. "Santa knows," she'd remind us. We'd immediately stop whacking each other or calling each other names. Being on the bad list seemed the worst of all fates, and the idea of coal in my stocking sent shivers up and down my spine. Though I didn't know anyone who ever got coal, I wasn't going to be the first to tempt fate.
The closer we got to Christmas, the better behaved we were. By Christmas Eve, we were unrecognizable.
When I was little, it was hard to figure when I needed to be good. I knew Santa kept a list, but I wondered how often he updated and how much leeway I had. My mother, being a wise woman, had her own timetable and, at this time of year, a low degree of tolerance. Usually a week or so before Christmas her threats began to carry weight. "Santa knows," she'd remind us. We'd immediately stop whacking each other or calling each other names. Being on the bad list seemed the worst of all fates, and the idea of coal in my stocking sent shivers up and down my spine. Though I didn't know anyone who ever got coal, I wasn't going to be the first to tempt fate.
The closer we got to Christmas, the better behaved we were. By Christmas Eve, we were unrecognizable.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
“Maybe Christmas, he [the Grinch] thought, doesn't come from a store.”
Yesterday was perfect. My sister and I had a few bowls of Christmas punch before the play then we sat and watched George Bailey realize what a wonderful life he'd really had. While I was gone, Gracie's last jumping off spot was replaced by a stockade fence. If she jumps this new fence, she's circus bound.
The grass is crunchy from the frost and the windshield is covered. The water in Gracie's outside bowl is frozen, and it's time for the heater in the birdbath. I also need to fill the feeders. I've not done so since I sprained my ankle so my poor birds must be quite hungry and thirsty.
By the end of the day my tree will be glorious, baking cookies will fill the house with one of the tantalizing smells of Christmas and decorations will be strewn about the house on any empty surface.
My mother's family had an abundance of kids, eight of them, but little else. Times were difficult and jobs were scarce, but my mother always talked about how wonderful Christmas was when she was a kid. They didn't get many presents, but that didn't seem to matter much. They had a tree, lots of homemade decorations, and every year my mother got an orange, a magnificent gift, in the toe of her stocking. Sometimes she even got a dime. My mother's stories were filled with a bright glow. For her the spirit of Christmas had been undaunted. It was never dependent on money. The spirit of Christmas comes from the heart, and I think this year more than any other we need to reach in and revive that spirit.
The grass is crunchy from the frost and the windshield is covered. The water in Gracie's outside bowl is frozen, and it's time for the heater in the birdbath. I also need to fill the feeders. I've not done so since I sprained my ankle so my poor birds must be quite hungry and thirsty.
By the end of the day my tree will be glorious, baking cookies will fill the house with one of the tantalizing smells of Christmas and decorations will be strewn about the house on any empty surface.
My mother's family had an abundance of kids, eight of them, but little else. Times were difficult and jobs were scarce, but my mother always talked about how wonderful Christmas was when she was a kid. They didn't get many presents, but that didn't seem to matter much. They had a tree, lots of homemade decorations, and every year my mother got an orange, a magnificent gift, in the toe of her stocking. Sometimes she even got a dime. My mother's stories were filled with a bright glow. For her the spirit of Christmas had been undaunted. It was never dependent on money. The spirit of Christmas comes from the heart, and I think this year more than any other we need to reach in and revive that spirit.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
"Christmas is the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart."
Today is our annual Christmas play day. Every year for as long as I can remember we've seen a play or a musical. We've seen them all, some twice. Today we're seeing It's a Wonderful Life. The play is at my old movie theater, the one where bow tie wearing Al roamed the aisles shining flashlights in everyone's eyes. Years back it was restored as a live theater. The first time I went inside after the restoration, I felt like a kid again. I sort of giggled when I saw people going up to the balcony, the off-limits area when I was young. I wished I had a few JuJu Beads just in case.
The tree still sits in all its lit splendor. Tomorrow will be decorating day. I have a new ornament from Morocco to add to the collection. On my tree you'll find Santa Fe, San Antonio, Boston, Colorado, Ghana, Panama, Hungary, Ireland, England, Portugal, Germany and some South American countries but I forget which ones. The new one from Morocco isn't really an ornament but it will do. My mother made me some ornaments, and they'll be on the tree. The ones I had made for her were given back to me so they too will hang on my tree. The glass ornaments from my childhood are always in the front. I like whimsy, and I have a few frogs dressed splendidly for the occasion. I have a few alligators and an elephant. Every year when I pull out the box, I'm
surprised by some I'd forgotten. I'm excited to see this year's surprises.
The tree still sits in all its lit splendor. Tomorrow will be decorating day. I have a new ornament from Morocco to add to the collection. On my tree you'll find Santa Fe, San Antonio, Boston, Colorado, Ghana, Panama, Hungary, Ireland, England, Portugal, Germany and some South American countries but I forget which ones. The new one from Morocco isn't really an ornament but it will do. My mother made me some ornaments, and they'll be on the tree. The ones I had made for her were given back to me so they too will hang on my tree. The glass ornaments from my childhood are always in the front. I like whimsy, and I have a few frogs dressed splendidly for the occasion. I have a few alligators and an elephant. Every year when I pull out the box, I'm
surprised by some I'd forgotten. I'm excited to see this year's surprises.
Friday, December 12, 2008
"Lighting one candle from another - Winter night"
Last night I recreated the blackout of 1965. It was start decorating the tree night. I brought up all the lights from the cellar, checked each strand then wound the bulbs around the tree. I even had to take all the chili pepper covers and put them on a new string of lights. I was finally at the last step, attaching Santa and his reindeer who fly up the tree, when the whole tree went dark. I was, at first, shocked, but being optimistic, I knew I'd find the solution. I checked the outlet. It worked. I checked connections. They were tight. I could find no reason for the blackout, and at that point I'd had it. All of the last few weeks did me in for a bit, and I decided I wanted nothing to do with my tree. Out it would go. It would have the shortest reign as any Christmas tree. I called my sisters and my friends. I needed sympathy. My friend offered to come up today. I accepted. Later my brother-in-law had my sister call with a solution. I had too many strands connected together, and he figured I'd blown a fuse on one of them. I decided to give that tree one more try. I checked all the strands and figured out which one had blown, by-passed it, used two extension cords and got the tree lit. My spirits were lifted. I sat on the couch and just looked at the lights and sighed. Today I will decorate my tree.
It has been raining steadily for two days. Yesterday, despite the horrendous weather, my guys put up the stockade fence in the backyard. Miss Gracie found it this morning and walked up and down beside it. I think she was looking for a weak spot. Sorry, Miss Grace!
I have much to do today. The list is long and it all has to do with Christmas. Hooray!
It has been raining steadily for two days. Yesterday, despite the horrendous weather, my guys put up the stockade fence in the backyard. Miss Gracie found it this morning and walked up and down beside it. I think she was looking for a weak spot. Sorry, Miss Grace!
I have much to do today. The list is long and it all has to do with Christmas. Hooray!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
"Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends."
The rain started last night and got heavy at times. All morning the drops have been falling in a consistent beat. The house is dark. The animals are asleep. It is a perfect day to be warm and cozy. I figure today I'll decorate the tree. The lights are just what the day needs.
Gracie went over the wall again last night. Today I went and bought stockade fencing for her two jumping off spots. The back is being installed despite the rain. The front needs to be cut to fit across the driveway, and it will go in this weekend. Miss Gracie is in for a shock.
I could smell the pine tree as soon as I walked downstairs. Its glorious aroma is spreading throughout the house. I'm thinking once it's decorated I'll sit in the living room, drink a bit of egg nog and admire its beauty.
Our trees, when I was a kid, were a mishmash of decorations. Big glass ornaments were on the highest branches to keep them safe. They were my mother's territory. Smaller glass ornaments were hung throughout the middle branches. If we were careful, we were allowed to put them on the tree. Near the trunk in the middle of the tree were Christmas cards my aunt had sent and some Coca-Cola Santas. They covered the bare spots. We had lots of plastic and felt ornaments, and they usually ended up hanging where safety wasn't an issue, on the bottom branches. The decorations we'd made in school or at the kitchen table were hung by the proud artists in conspicuous spots. Some old aluminum bells which never rang hung from the ends of branches.
I have lots of old ornaments, and I love putting them on my tree. I even have a card from my aunt for the middle branch. My niece and nephews made ornaments and they're on my tree. My mother made some ornaments, and I put them in the best spots for my mother will always be part of my Christmas.
Gracie went over the wall again last night. Today I went and bought stockade fencing for her two jumping off spots. The back is being installed despite the rain. The front needs to be cut to fit across the driveway, and it will go in this weekend. Miss Gracie is in for a shock.
I could smell the pine tree as soon as I walked downstairs. Its glorious aroma is spreading throughout the house. I'm thinking once it's decorated I'll sit in the living room, drink a bit of egg nog and admire its beauty.
Our trees, when I was a kid, were a mishmash of decorations. Big glass ornaments were on the highest branches to keep them safe. They were my mother's territory. Smaller glass ornaments were hung throughout the middle branches. If we were careful, we were allowed to put them on the tree. Near the trunk in the middle of the tree were Christmas cards my aunt had sent and some Coca-Cola Santas. They covered the bare spots. We had lots of plastic and felt ornaments, and they usually ended up hanging where safety wasn't an issue, on the bottom branches. The decorations we'd made in school or at the kitchen table were hung by the proud artists in conspicuous spots. Some old aluminum bells which never rang hung from the ends of branches.
I have lots of old ornaments, and I love putting them on my tree. I even have a card from my aunt for the middle branch. My niece and nephews made ornaments and they're on my tree. My mother made some ornaments, and I put them in the best spots for my mother will always be part of my Christmas.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Bright Morning Star: Steeleye Span
“Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.”
It has been a morning of dashing all over to get errands done. I have the Christmas stamps for my cards. The tree is bought and is sitting in its stand watered and ready for lights and decorations. The boxes have been packed and sent to Colorado. I stopped at Agway and bought treats and a case of dog food so Gracie will eat today. Everything is crossed off my list, except for that afternoon nap.
I bought my tree at my usual stop and chit chatted a while with the tree man as I walked up and down the rows. Picking out a tree takes time. I have to eye the tree first then shake the branches. When I find a likely tree, I walk around to decide the front. I found a couple I liked then I found my tree. It is perfect.
Tonight I'll decide what Christmas goodies to make. I've already been given requests. Everybody wants my English toffee, one sister wants fudge and my friend wants orange drop cookies. Date nut bread is a given. I'll try to bake something new, a surprise.
The only two times I wasn't home for Christmas I was in Ghana. It was hot. The land around me was a grassland savanna. Baobab and kapok trees were the few which could survive the long dry season. Early in December the winds started blowing sand on every surface. The nights got chilly. No colored lights outlined the houses, and no Christmas music played in any stores. My students practiced a Christmas concert, and I could hear them across the compound. My house was decorated inside, thanks to my mother, but I wasn't looking forward to Christmas. I wanted my family. I wanted snow. I wanted all the traditions which had surrounded me every Christmas of my life, but, instead, I got something different.
We had a party and volunteers from all over came. Some I didn't know. They were from other countries and on their way north toward the desert. They had stopped for the night and found us. The volunteers with whom I'd trained who lived within a hundred miles dropped by to celebrate. We ate food we'd all brought. We drank beer and minerals. We sang Christmas carols. We sat outside on a chilly Christmas Eve night under a canopy of so many stars it was almost magical. We realized that the very first Christmas had weather just like ours. All of a sudden we didn't miss the snow or the lights or even the familiar traditions. We sat there quietly for a long while lost in our own thoughts. We were filled with the spirit of Christmas right there on a chilly night in Bolgatanga.
I bought my tree at my usual stop and chit chatted a while with the tree man as I walked up and down the rows. Picking out a tree takes time. I have to eye the tree first then shake the branches. When I find a likely tree, I walk around to decide the front. I found a couple I liked then I found my tree. It is perfect.
Tonight I'll decide what Christmas goodies to make. I've already been given requests. Everybody wants my English toffee, one sister wants fudge and my friend wants orange drop cookies. Date nut bread is a given. I'll try to bake something new, a surprise.
The only two times I wasn't home for Christmas I was in Ghana. It was hot. The land around me was a grassland savanna. Baobab and kapok trees were the few which could survive the long dry season. Early in December the winds started blowing sand on every surface. The nights got chilly. No colored lights outlined the houses, and no Christmas music played in any stores. My students practiced a Christmas concert, and I could hear them across the compound. My house was decorated inside, thanks to my mother, but I wasn't looking forward to Christmas. I wanted my family. I wanted snow. I wanted all the traditions which had surrounded me every Christmas of my life, but, instead, I got something different.
We had a party and volunteers from all over came. Some I didn't know. They were from other countries and on their way north toward the desert. They had stopped for the night and found us. The volunteers with whom I'd trained who lived within a hundred miles dropped by to celebrate. We ate food we'd all brought. We drank beer and minerals. We sang Christmas carols. We sat outside on a chilly Christmas Eve night under a canopy of so many stars it was almost magical. We realized that the very first Christmas had weather just like ours. All of a sudden we didn't miss the snow or the lights or even the familiar traditions. We sat there quietly for a long while lost in our own thoughts. We were filled with the spirit of Christmas right there on a chilly night in Bolgatanga.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
"Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence."
The houses on my street are all decked for the holiday. Their Christmas lights cover houses and bushes and warm even the coldest winter nights. Some have white lights while others have a combination. I tend toward colored lights, a throwback from my childhood. Back then the bulbs were huge. My dad would check the sets, replace the burned out bulbs then cover the front bushes and sometimes the railing. In the little windows were orange candles and in the picture window was a multi-colored set of five. The tree was always in the corner of the living room so you couldn't see it from the road.
My house has been dark except for the white candles in the windows. Usually by this time, my yard is aglow, but my dramatic leap off the step set me back so I've hired my favorite jack of all trades, Skip, for today and tomorrow. He is my Christmas elf and is now putting the front luminarias up and down the walk. It is only the start. He has swags and strings of lights to hang to get ready for tonight, the big night. I'll count down then throw the switch to light my yard. Bands will play and crowds will sing.
Later, Skip and I will go get my tree. He'll put it in the stand so the branches will fall. When he comes back tomorrow, he'll haul up all the boxes with the inside decorations, the lights and the ornaments. We'll decorate the rest of the house and get the lights on the tree then Skip's job will be done. I'll decorate the tree myself. I like to take my time. Many of the ornaments come with memories, and I like to sit with them for a while.
My house has been dark except for the white candles in the windows. Usually by this time, my yard is aglow, but my dramatic leap off the step set me back so I've hired my favorite jack of all trades, Skip, for today and tomorrow. He is my Christmas elf and is now putting the front luminarias up and down the walk. It is only the start. He has swags and strings of lights to hang to get ready for tonight, the big night. I'll count down then throw the switch to light my yard. Bands will play and crowds will sing.
Later, Skip and I will go get my tree. He'll put it in the stand so the branches will fall. When he comes back tomorrow, he'll haul up all the boxes with the inside decorations, the lights and the ornaments. We'll decorate the rest of the house and get the lights on the tree then Skip's job will be done. I'll decorate the tree myself. I like to take my time. Many of the ornaments come with memories, and I like to sit with them for a while.
Monday, December 08, 2008
A Lighter Shade of Pale: Annie Lenox
Fast Car: Tracy Chapman
"What a lucky thing the wheel was invented before the automobile; otherwise, can you imagine what awful screeching?"
Last night was blustery and freezing. We had a bit of wet snow during the late afternoon, not even enough to call a dusting, and it froze during the night leaving patches of ice on the walks and the streets. I fall when it's warm and dry so I'm going to be especially careful today. It is my debut day, my first day driving since I fell.
The first friend of mine who got a license was Maryalyce. We were juniors in high school. She even bought a car, one with a starter on the floor. We'd pay her to take us back and forth to school very day; it beat riding the bus. I remember she'd use her whole body to start the car. She rise in her seat and push with all her strength to press the starter button. Once the car started, she'd shift into first, we'd buck a bit then we'd start moving. Back then the shift was part of the steering column, and I remember it took a while before Maryalyce learned to shift without a lot of grinding. I don't remember much more about that car except it had puffy upholstery, and it was old.
Back in those days, we'd pool our money to get gas for weekend cruising. We pooled coins, not bills. A dollar in dimes and quarters went a long way. I remember the rides. We'd go flying up route 128 and pass stuff between cars. A red light meant a Chinese fire drill. We'd ride down Main Street and end up at Carroll's for burgers and fries or at the other end of town, the diner, for brownies and ice cream.
Life was easy back when a quarter was big money.
The first friend of mine who got a license was Maryalyce. We were juniors in high school. She even bought a car, one with a starter on the floor. We'd pay her to take us back and forth to school very day; it beat riding the bus. I remember she'd use her whole body to start the car. She rise in her seat and push with all her strength to press the starter button. Once the car started, she'd shift into first, we'd buck a bit then we'd start moving. Back then the shift was part of the steering column, and I remember it took a while before Maryalyce learned to shift without a lot of grinding. I don't remember much more about that car except it had puffy upholstery, and it was old.
Back in those days, we'd pool our money to get gas for weekend cruising. We pooled coins, not bills. A dollar in dimes and quarters went a long way. I remember the rides. We'd go flying up route 128 and pass stuff between cars. A red light meant a Chinese fire drill. We'd ride down Main Street and end up at Carroll's for burgers and fries or at the other end of town, the diner, for brownies and ice cream.
Life was easy back when a quarter was big money.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
"When I no longer thrill to the first snow of the season, I'll know I'm growing old."
Today, being drear and wet, has little to commend it. Rain is unwelcome in December. It's the time of year for snow, for that glinting white which seems to give a bit of majestic to even the barest landscapes. December nights have Christmas lights strung from eaves and covering bushes and tree trunks, but some December days need a little help. Today needs a lot.
Nothing was more exciting than the first snow fall. The flakes started slowly, a few at a time, one by one. We'd watch and wait. The flakes would come faster and quicker, and the outside world would start to disappear. On the corner just below the front lawn of our house was a streetlight. Once it got dark, I'd stand at the window and watch the falling snow illuminated in the light. Sometimes it was so windy, the snow was slanted, coming down sideways. The more it snowed, the more we hoped for a snow day.
I remember waking up the morning after a snow storm and running to the window. I wanted to see snow, lots and lots of snow. I wanted to see buried cars and unplowed streets. I wanted to know I had a whole day to play.
We all wanted a white Christmas. We wanted Santa to have all the advantages. We just hoped the snowy Christmas would be the year of the sled, not the year of the bicycle.
Nothing was more exciting than the first snow fall. The flakes started slowly, a few at a time, one by one. We'd watch and wait. The flakes would come faster and quicker, and the outside world would start to disappear. On the corner just below the front lawn of our house was a streetlight. Once it got dark, I'd stand at the window and watch the falling snow illuminated in the light. Sometimes it was so windy, the snow was slanted, coming down sideways. The more it snowed, the more we hoped for a snow day.
I remember waking up the morning after a snow storm and running to the window. I wanted to see snow, lots and lots of snow. I wanted to see buried cars and unplowed streets. I wanted to know I had a whole day to play.
We all wanted a white Christmas. We wanted Santa to have all the advantages. We just hoped the snowy Christmas would be the year of the sled, not the year of the bicycle.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
"There is no season such delight can bring, As summer, autumn, winter and the spring."
Time used to be measured in events. Even when I learned to tell time, it didn't mean a whole lot to me. School was a daily event with a beginning and an end. The middle had little meaning. Summer was an event, a series of endless days of doing what we wanted. Summer was when bedtime was no longer rigid, and we got to play longer, beyond when the street lights came on. I knew when summer started. I got my report card, was promoted to the next grade and got out of school on a half day. I had no idea when summer ended. All of a sudden my mother would mention back to school shopping, and that was when I knew. I always thought of the back to school shopping event as the end of summer. It was never the start of school.
Once school started, we had to be in bed at a certain time, up at a certain time and out the door at a certain time. My mother was the time keeper. We just followed her routine.
Piles of leaves by the curbs, the crispness of the morning air and the wearing of sweaters and jackets were the signs of fall and fall was Halloween. Every morning we'd ask my mother how many days until the big event. Nothing else was important. We were kids who counted time in days, never months or years.
Thanksgiving followed, and it always seemed to signal the end of fall. The nights were cold, and we'd walk to school across frosted lawns. The windshields too were covered in frost, and we'd scrawl our names across them using our fingernails. Every time we talked, we could see our breaths.
Soon enough out came winter coats, mittens, leggings and boots. They were the first signs that the biggest kid event of all was coming. It was winter, and it was almost Christmas. We were back to asking how days. My mother gave us advent calendars so we could count down the days ourselves. I remember opening a new square each morning and then counting how many squares were left. Christmas Eve was really the longest night of the year.
From Christmas on, we had few ways to mark the time. Valentine's Day was a school day and that took a bit of joy out of the celebration. It was also still winter.
We never counted down to Easter. I don't even remember why. We had the Easter Bunny and new clothes, but some how it wasn't all that important in itself, but Easter always meant spring, and I loved spring the most even when I was a kid. We got to wear light jackets, and I often rode my bike to school. We could play outside again. The world looked brand new.
We had the May Procession, and that event signaled the coming of summer and the end of school. I got my report card; I got promoted, and the year started all over again.
Once school started, we had to be in bed at a certain time, up at a certain time and out the door at a certain time. My mother was the time keeper. We just followed her routine.
Piles of leaves by the curbs, the crispness of the morning air and the wearing of sweaters and jackets were the signs of fall and fall was Halloween. Every morning we'd ask my mother how many days until the big event. Nothing else was important. We were kids who counted time in days, never months or years.
Thanksgiving followed, and it always seemed to signal the end of fall. The nights were cold, and we'd walk to school across frosted lawns. The windshields too were covered in frost, and we'd scrawl our names across them using our fingernails. Every time we talked, we could see our breaths.
Soon enough out came winter coats, mittens, leggings and boots. They were the first signs that the biggest kid event of all was coming. It was winter, and it was almost Christmas. We were back to asking how days. My mother gave us advent calendars so we could count down the days ourselves. I remember opening a new square each morning and then counting how many squares were left. Christmas Eve was really the longest night of the year.
From Christmas on, we had few ways to mark the time. Valentine's Day was a school day and that took a bit of joy out of the celebration. It was also still winter.
We never counted down to Easter. I don't even remember why. We had the Easter Bunny and new clothes, but some how it wasn't all that important in itself, but Easter always meant spring, and I loved spring the most even when I was a kid. We got to wear light jackets, and I often rode my bike to school. We could play outside again. The world looked brand new.
We had the May Procession, and that event signaled the coming of summer and the end of school. I got my report card; I got promoted, and the year started all over again.
Friday, December 05, 2008
The Swan Lord of the Reedy River: Donovan
Scarborough Fair: Shirley Collins
I had a request for a Shirley Collins song and just happened to have a few in my collection. Knowing little about Shirley, I did a bit of research. "As a key figure in the British folk revival, this recording, False True Lovers, originally produced for Folkways in 1959 presents Shirley Collins at a tender age of 23 recording under the eye of legendary Folkways producer and then partner Alan Lomax assisted by pragmatic engineer Peter Kennedy. Recorded in London in a two-day marathon, the most distinctive voice in British folk song interpretation recorded this album of a cappella renditions of British and Irish tunes. False True Lovers is as vital a collection of this astonishing singer that exhibits the full spectrum of her interest and research into folk music tradition."
MP3 File
yousendit
MP3 File
yousendit
“"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings."
Yesterday was worth this morning's achy ankle and body. It was great to be outside, back in the world. Today I'm reverting to sloth mode.
Every now and then I have absolutely nothing in my head, no idea where to start or what to say. Sometimes a jingle rumbles in my head on a permanent loop and blocks any reasonable thought. Other times I stare into space with an empty head and empty eyes. A penny for my thoughts would be overpaying. Today is one of those days.
My father loved to shine his shoes. One drawer in the kitchen was devoted to his polishing tools. It had cans of Kiwi Polish in different colors, used rags covered in brown or black polish and a shoe brush with a wooden back. He'd drag out the can of Kiwi, open it and spit. Using one finger in the cloth, he'd rub the polish from the can. The can was usually empty in the middle because that's where he always rubbed. He'd then polish each shoe, starting on the sides. Every now and then he'd spit in the can again and add more polish to the cloth. The last step was the shoe brush. He'd put one hand into the shoe and brush with the other. He used the same as his polishing technique, sides first then the front. The brush went quickly propelled by the speed of his hand. Sometimes he'd also use a polishing cloth, but mostly he was a brush man. When he was done, he'd offer to do any of our shoes needing polishing. I usually gave him mine.
Every now and then I have absolutely nothing in my head, no idea where to start or what to say. Sometimes a jingle rumbles in my head on a permanent loop and blocks any reasonable thought. Other times I stare into space with an empty head and empty eyes. A penny for my thoughts would be overpaying. Today is one of those days.
My father loved to shine his shoes. One drawer in the kitchen was devoted to his polishing tools. It had cans of Kiwi Polish in different colors, used rags covered in brown or black polish and a shoe brush with a wooden back. He'd drag out the can of Kiwi, open it and spit. Using one finger in the cloth, he'd rub the polish from the can. The can was usually empty in the middle because that's where he always rubbed. He'd then polish each shoe, starting on the sides. Every now and then he'd spit in the can again and add more polish to the cloth. The last step was the shoe brush. He'd put one hand into the shoe and brush with the other. He used the same as his polishing technique, sides first then the front. The brush went quickly propelled by the speed of his hand. Sometimes he'd also use a polishing cloth, but mostly he was a brush man. When he was done, he'd offer to do any of our shoes needing polishing. I usually gave him mine.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Picture in a Frame: Tom Waits
Borderline: Alison Krauss and Union Station
"It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air. "
My foot still hurts, and it isn't pretty, but I'm actually leaving the house. I'm putting on outside clothes, getting into a car and doing errands. I won't be driving, and I'll be wearing a slipper, but I'll be out and about.
Today is a surprise, warm and lovely. Days like today are winter's way of being kind and reminding us that he too isn't around for long. It's a day to open the window just a bit to smell the fresh air. It's a day for our memory banks, a day to hold us for a time through the cold winter.
When I got my bike for Christmas, it was the first time I can remember being thankful we didn't have a white Christmas. If my parents had let me, I'd have taken it out and given it a spin early Christmas morning while still in my pajamas. They were sensible which is the bane of adulthood.
I only time I wasn't home for Christmas was when I was in the Peace Corps. My sister Moe, still young and greedy, mentioned, before I left, that she'd get more presents because I wouldn't get any, but she was also wrong. I got packages filled with the most wonderful presents. My mother sent decorations and ornaments from our family Christmas for my Christmas. She sent brick-looking crepe paper so I could have a hearth for my stocking. She sent Christmas cookies cutters and sprinkles so I could make and decorate sugar cookies. She sent candy, packaged dinners, books and wrapped surprises. I can close my eyes and still remember that first Christmas away from home. I wrote down some memories the very first year I started this blog, when my sisters were my only audience. I'm going to repost one of those memories today.
"It was the time of harmattan when the days were so very hot, and the winds brought the dust which covered every surface in the house. The nights, though, were heavenly as the temperature seemed to plummet if only by contrast. I slept under a wool blanket. I was feeling homesick as Christmas approached. One night, cuddled under my wool blanket, I heard a small voice begin to sing. I didn't know where the voice came from or who it was, but it sounded like a little boy. I lived near the rear gate of the school so the voice was from beyond the fence outside the school grounds. The voice sang We Three Kings, and the sound seemed to fill the night and echo in the cold air. Christmas had come to Bolgatanga and with that song had come the awe and wonder of the season. It was the best of all gifts and still held close today."
Today is a surprise, warm and lovely. Days like today are winter's way of being kind and reminding us that he too isn't around for long. It's a day to open the window just a bit to smell the fresh air. It's a day for our memory banks, a day to hold us for a time through the cold winter.
When I got my bike for Christmas, it was the first time I can remember being thankful we didn't have a white Christmas. If my parents had let me, I'd have taken it out and given it a spin early Christmas morning while still in my pajamas. They were sensible which is the bane of adulthood.
I only time I wasn't home for Christmas was when I was in the Peace Corps. My sister Moe, still young and greedy, mentioned, before I left, that she'd get more presents because I wouldn't get any, but she was also wrong. I got packages filled with the most wonderful presents. My mother sent decorations and ornaments from our family Christmas for my Christmas. She sent brick-looking crepe paper so I could have a hearth for my stocking. She sent Christmas cookies cutters and sprinkles so I could make and decorate sugar cookies. She sent candy, packaged dinners, books and wrapped surprises. I can close my eyes and still remember that first Christmas away from home. I wrote down some memories the very first year I started this blog, when my sisters were my only audience. I'm going to repost one of those memories today.
"It was the time of harmattan when the days were so very hot, and the winds brought the dust which covered every surface in the house. The nights, though, were heavenly as the temperature seemed to plummet if only by contrast. I slept under a wool blanket. I was feeling homesick as Christmas approached. One night, cuddled under my wool blanket, I heard a small voice begin to sing. I didn't know where the voice came from or who it was, but it sounded like a little boy. I lived near the rear gate of the school so the voice was from beyond the fence outside the school grounds. The voice sang We Three Kings, and the sound seemed to fill the night and echo in the cold air. Christmas had come to Bolgatanga and with that song had come the awe and wonder of the season. It was the best of all gifts and still held close today."
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Midnight Special: Odetta
NEW YORK — Odetta, the folk singer with the powerful voice who moved audiences and influenced fellow musicians for a half-century, has died. She was 77.
Odetta died Tuesday of heart disease at Lenox Hill Hospital, said her manager of 12 years, Doug Yeager. She was admitted to the hospital with kidney failure about three weeks ago, he said.
In spite of failing health that caused her to use a wheelchair, Odetta performed 60 concerts in the last two years, singing for 90 minutes at a time. Her singing ability never diminished, Yeager said.
"The power would just come out of her like people wouldn't believe," he said.
With her booming, classically trained voice and spare guitar, Odetta gave life to the songs by workingmen and slaves, farmers and miners, housewives and washerwomen, blacks and whites.
First coming to prominence in the 1950s, she influenced Harry Belafonte, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and other singers who had roots in the folk music boom.
An Odetta record on the turntable, listeners could close their eyes and imagine themselves hearing the sounds of spirituals and blues as they rang out from a weathered back porch or around a long-vanished campfire a century before.
"What distinguished her from the start was the meticulous care with which she tried to re-create the feeling of her folk songs; to understand the emotions of a convict in a convict ditty, she once tried breaking up rocks with a sledge hammer," Time magazine wrote in 1960.
MP3 File
yousendit
Odetta died Tuesday of heart disease at Lenox Hill Hospital, said her manager of 12 years, Doug Yeager. She was admitted to the hospital with kidney failure about three weeks ago, he said.
In spite of failing health that caused her to use a wheelchair, Odetta performed 60 concerts in the last two years, singing for 90 minutes at a time. Her singing ability never diminished, Yeager said.
"The power would just come out of her like people wouldn't believe," he said.
With her booming, classically trained voice and spare guitar, Odetta gave life to the songs by workingmen and slaves, farmers and miners, housewives and washerwomen, blacks and whites.
First coming to prominence in the 1950s, she influenced Harry Belafonte, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and other singers who had roots in the folk music boom.
An Odetta record on the turntable, listeners could close their eyes and imagine themselves hearing the sounds of spirituals and blues as they rang out from a weathered back porch or around a long-vanished campfire a century before.
"What distinguished her from the start was the meticulous care with which she tried to re-create the feeling of her folk songs; to understand the emotions of a convict in a convict ditty, she once tried breaking up rocks with a sledge hammer," Time magazine wrote in 1960.
MP3 File
yousendit
"Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence."
It's two in the morning and not a creature is stirring, except me. The house is night cold. Even my palm tree is dark. I fell asleep early, and when Gracie woke me up so she could go out, I couldn't get back to sleep. She, however, had no problem.
Today is the last day of house arrest. I get to walk about starting tomorrow. The ankle is black and very blue and still painful but far less so. It is almost the right size for a shoe or at least a slipper.
I am truly a Christmas program junkie. I also watch all the Christmas movies, even the really bad ones. My favorite is still Scrooge starring Alastair Sim, but another Scrooge, starring Seymour Hicks, is a close second. I know many of the lines in the original Miracle on 34th Street. Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and Jack Frost, the one about the serial killer snowman, are my two Christmas movie vices. I'll watch programs about tacky houses, lighted boat parades, carolers, cookies and the art of making gingerbread houses. I'm watching a movie now at 2:30 in the morning.
My sisters and I all have the most amazing memories of Christmas. When I was a kid, it was my mother who orchestrated the entire holiday. The house always seemed festive, filled with lights and decorations. Orange, red and yellow bulbs shined from the windows. The front bushes were covered in huge colored bulbs. The tree was always in the same corner. Sometimes it was held up by wires strung on each side. Little Christmas elves decorated the tables. Cardboard Santas were taped to the windows. The nativity set was the same one we used as long as I could remember. We had Santa bells and Santa salt and pepper shakers. I loved every one of those decorations and could hardly wait until it was time to put them in their proper spots.
It was my mother who was infected with the Christmas bug. Her parents infected her. My mother in turn infected us. My sisters kids are also infected. It is our family blessing.
Today is the last day of house arrest. I get to walk about starting tomorrow. The ankle is black and very blue and still painful but far less so. It is almost the right size for a shoe or at least a slipper.
I am truly a Christmas program junkie. I also watch all the Christmas movies, even the really bad ones. My favorite is still Scrooge starring Alastair Sim, but another Scrooge, starring Seymour Hicks, is a close second. I know many of the lines in the original Miracle on 34th Street. Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and Jack Frost, the one about the serial killer snowman, are my two Christmas movie vices. I'll watch programs about tacky houses, lighted boat parades, carolers, cookies and the art of making gingerbread houses. I'm watching a movie now at 2:30 in the morning.
My sisters and I all have the most amazing memories of Christmas. When I was a kid, it was my mother who orchestrated the entire holiday. The house always seemed festive, filled with lights and decorations. Orange, red and yellow bulbs shined from the windows. The front bushes were covered in huge colored bulbs. The tree was always in the same corner. Sometimes it was held up by wires strung on each side. Little Christmas elves decorated the tables. Cardboard Santas were taped to the windows. The nativity set was the same one we used as long as I could remember. We had Santa bells and Santa salt and pepper shakers. I loved every one of those decorations and could hardly wait until it was time to put them in their proper spots.
It was my mother who was infected with the Christmas bug. Her parents infected her. My mother in turn infected us. My sisters kids are also infected. It is our family blessing.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Follow Me: Mary Travers
"The perfect Christmas tree? All Christmas trees are perfect!"
I'm on the mend though I won't be dancing quite yet. The hospital said four days, and that's one more day to go before I can do the jig!
Of all the times in my life, I remember family Christmas times the most. I can tell you where we put the tree in every house we lived. I can give you a play by play of my father and the lights. I can even repeat many of the words he said when the lights didn't work. In those early days one dead bulb made the whole set dead. My father then had to check and recheck each individual bulb until he'd found the culprit. A few times, when my father's patience was at an end, strands went flying. But, after what seemed forever, my father would finally get all the lights lit. He'd then grab each strand and wind it willy-nilly around the tree. Aesthetics were never part of his plan. My mother would try to direct and he'd ignore her. Lighting the tree was his only job. Once the lights were on, he'd sit and let rest of us decorate the tree. My mother was the straw boss. She'd put the biggest and best ornaments on the top and have us fill in the lower branches. It got boring fast. By the last step, the icicles, we'd had more than enough of the tree and decorating. We'd take bunches of icicles and toss them on a single branch. My mother always complained, came along behind us, grabbed the bunches and then laid individual icicles on each branch. Every year we threw them and every year she'd rehang them. She was right about those icicles. The tree looked great with shimmering icicles hanging from each branch and reflecting the light. The next year we'd manage to hang a few individually then we'd lose interest again and toss bunches. My mother came along behind us, the same as she did every year. It had become tradition.
Of all the times in my life, I remember family Christmas times the most. I can tell you where we put the tree in every house we lived. I can give you a play by play of my father and the lights. I can even repeat many of the words he said when the lights didn't work. In those early days one dead bulb made the whole set dead. My father then had to check and recheck each individual bulb until he'd found the culprit. A few times, when my father's patience was at an end, strands went flying. But, after what seemed forever, my father would finally get all the lights lit. He'd then grab each strand and wind it willy-nilly around the tree. Aesthetics were never part of his plan. My mother would try to direct and he'd ignore her. Lighting the tree was his only job. Once the lights were on, he'd sit and let rest of us decorate the tree. My mother was the straw boss. She'd put the biggest and best ornaments on the top and have us fill in the lower branches. It got boring fast. By the last step, the icicles, we'd had more than enough of the tree and decorating. We'd take bunches of icicles and toss them on a single branch. My mother always complained, came along behind us, grabbed the bunches and then laid individual icicles on each branch. Every year we threw them and every year she'd rehang them. She was right about those icicles. The tree looked great with shimmering icicles hanging from each branch and reflecting the light. The next year we'd manage to hang a few individually then we'd lose interest again and toss bunches. My mother came along behind us, the same as she did every year. It had become tradition.
Monday, December 01, 2008
I Come and Stand at Every Door: Anne Hills
Bonnie Border Lass: Archie Fisher
He may not be known here, but Archie is a household word in Scotland This song is from Windswept, his first studio album in twenty years. During the interim, Archie was still writing, touring and performing as well as presenting BBC Radio Scotland's flagship Travelling Folk programme.
MP3 File
yousendit
MP3 File
yousendit
"What a dreadful thing it must be to have a dull father. "
I'm recuperating though still on crutches. I'm finding the going difficult. Given my track record, I tucked my cell phone into my sweatshirt pocket when I went to get the papers this morning. I did make it back unscathed, a triumph of sorts, but I was exhausted. I have decided there is a direct correlation between healing and doing what I'm told.
My friends have been my lifesavers. Clare took me to the hospital and Tony shopped. Without them I'd have no food, nothing to drink, hungry cats and not a Twizzler or an M&M.
Today my father would have been eighty two. I thought of him this morning and laughed at the memories of some of his antics though I'm laughing a little less heartily because we seem to be getting more alike. He set the bar high: sawing himself out of a tree, electrocuting himself while hanging outside lights, cutting his fingers fixing a whirling fan, burrowing fish hooks in one hand or the other and hanging onto a ladder as it slid down the side of the house. He never even let go of the brush. Nope, I hope never to dethrone my father.
My friends have been my lifesavers. Clare took me to the hospital and Tony shopped. Without them I'd have no food, nothing to drink, hungry cats and not a Twizzler or an M&M.
Today my father would have been eighty two. I thought of him this morning and laughed at the memories of some of his antics though I'm laughing a little less heartily because we seem to be getting more alike. He set the bar high: sawing himself out of a tree, electrocuting himself while hanging outside lights, cutting his fingers fixing a whirling fan, burrowing fish hooks in one hand or the other and hanging onto a ladder as it slid down the side of the house. He never even let go of the brush. Nope, I hope never to dethrone my father.
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