Monday, December 26, 2022

Happy Boxing Day

 



If you weren’t visited by three ghosts, then I think it is safe to say you made it through another Christmas. I do think I was visited by the ghost of Christmas past in my dream on Christmas Eve. I am going to owe this visit to my ornery grandsons, Graham and Jonah, who let me talk about the mysteries of this old house and the creepy skeleton key which hangs upstairs on a nail…never to be touched. I do believe they have all touched it and waited for a ghost to appear. Alas, alas. No ghost.

Aside of being visited by the ghost of Christmas past, all is well in this old house. No broken pipes. No caved in roofs. I do have a few cute little outside pillows that have completely disappeared. If anyone in town finds them, please return! This so-called blizzard did wreck havoc with many plans, I know. It was (I really shouldn’t say this) a bit disappointing in the snow amounts, but the wind reports were spot on! It was Friday night during the worst of the wind that the family came for an old-fashioned Christmas party which led to the ghosts which led to the dream.

We had English poppers and supper and lit the tree letting the candlelight fill all the dark spaces. It was a magical evening, and always my favorite. I always wish my others sons and their families could join us, but distance and time keeps them all in their own towns.

Christmas Eve was brutal with the cold and wind, but my friends, Jan and Carole, managed to make their way to this old house stamping off the snow and bringing Christmas cheer. I made my special Gluhwein which I learned to make in Prague and is now my official winter drink. And, yes, I made it from scratch although Aldi’s has a nice substitute. (Let me know if you want the recipe!)  The three of us sat at the table sharing stories of raising our own children knowing they now have their own lives and celebrate Christmas Eve in their own homes. I love passing on the traditions to my family and know it is their turn to blend their traditions and raise their families.

Christmas Day morning is quiet for me. With Caleo coffee in hand, I open gifts from Carolyn and Elten who always make sure there is something under the tree for me on Christmas morning. I have learned over the years to come to peace with this and now embrace the solitude. Back into the kitchen I go to make food for the day with Aaron and Rachel and Rachel’s family. Gavin is a bit of a jokester, and my Christmas gift was hilarious. Thank you, Gavin.

Moving on with the Christmas spirit, several friends and I visited dear friends on Boxing Day taking them small tokens. We spilled into the house trekking in snow and the cold, but cheerful greetings took us into the house. Stephen and Kathy Rowe moved to this lovely old historic house in Auburn two years ago and have made it home. Across the street is the library, and who doesn’t want to live next door to the library? We leave with more stories than we started with and, after lunch at Mad Anthony’s, we head to Fort Wayne to see a magnificent display of lights by my nephew. It is a winter wonderland which definitely takes my breath away. This display will be up for some time so if you want the address, let me know, and I will send it to you!

Today is the third day of Christmas. The first day of Christmas is actually on Christmas day. It ends on Epiphany, the day the Magi reached the Christ Child.  I do love celebrating the 12 days. I always leave my tree up until the Twelfth Night of Christmas, January 6. Even then, I am so sad to finally take it down.

Christmas Day is officially over. Returns have been made. Movies have been watched. Stories have been told. Yet, the dark days of winter still surround us. I do say, make the most of them. It is a great time for dinner parties, and late-night campfires. It is also the time to learn the new hobby, read your stack of books, and always, my friend, to share the Christmas spirit.

The New Year soon approaches. Let’s make the most of it!

Happy New Year!


Tuesday, December 20, 2022

The week before Christmas....


 


Joseph Peters directing The Messiah at the T. Furth Center


Everything is decorated and ready for this week. My lights shine into the darkness just as the ancients built the bonfires on the Solstice to bring back the light. They always hoped the sun would return, and offered the light up to the Universe to bring it back.

So many celebrations this week for Christmas and Hanukkah, Kwanza and the Solstice. All of these are rolled into this one week for us to joyously celebrate. For some, it is a week to hurry by as the past brings the echoes of long-ago family and friends. My own dad passed the day after Christmas letting us have Christmas day before we lost him.

Yet, we who are reading this still takes in the cold breath of life. And cold it will be. It is time to park the bike in the garage and finally pull out the snow shovel. In keeping with the season, I will tie a red ribbon on it and place it next to the back door as I know we will be spending some long hours together this coming week.

The Christmas season is so full of light and love, and completing the picture is attending The Messiah at the T. Furth on Sunday night. I bought a row of tickets weeks ago as Mary and I poured over the seating map. I am a lover of the balcony so we bought our tickets early enough to sit together.

On Sunday night I pull out the black velvet dress which I save for these holiday occasions and turn the lights down low as my sleigh (car) arrives to pick me up. How nice to have a chauffeur (Dave) to save parking spaces! We arrive early and leave the extra tickets at will call and head up to the balcony. We were one of the first to arrive, and that is just lovely as we watch friends and community members fill up all the empty spaces. Jan arrives in her winter coat and hat. We chat and laugh and catch up.

The musicians and the choir arrive and take their seats. The first chair violinist tunes up the orchestra, and everyone is silent as the director, Joe Peters, takes the stage to a thunderous applause. Joe is the director of the Steuben County Festival Choir. Under his guidance and talents, this was the 11th year for The Messiah. To a full house, he praises and thanks the donors and sponsors. The list is long, and I recognize all the names as he recites them. He gives special thanks to Jeri Mow and Lynn Syler who generously offer their talents. Joe enthusiastically talks about the funds now set up at the Steuben County Community Foundation for their financial support. This fund supports summer music camps and scholarships.

He finishes his speech and turns his back to the audience and smiles at all those involved who are sitting on the stage. My seat in the balcony has a perfect view of Joe. He isn’t just a director, he is a living piece of art. We draw our own breath in as they begin. I love knowing the folks in the choir…shop keepers, artists, colleagues. One by one I know them, and I am in awe of the work and rehearsal times they have devoted to this extraordinary work written by Fredrick Handel. Amazingly this was written in 24 days. I was twelve when my dad took me to hear this. I thought it would never end! (Well, I was twelve!) But now, it seems as if we just settle back and it is time to stand for the Halleluiah chorus.

It was, once again, spectacular. As John Williamson said, “I think it was the best ever.” I so agree. Thank you for this community event. We are blessed.

It is the week before Christmas. Snow will come. Gifts will be given. Stories will be told. Loved ones will be remembered. It is the time for kindness in every way. Please buy extra and fill the Blessing Boxes. Buy someone’s coffee. My son, Aaron, and his wife, Rachel, gifted me in an extraordinary way. All I could do to thank them was to bake an apple pie. Gratefulness abounds this season. We have so much to be grateful for in our lives. Don’t miss the magic of the Solstice tomorrow or the thrill of Christmas morning, even those who live alone. And say your prayers into the Holy Darkness.

Merry Christmas.


Monday, December 12, 2022

A beautiful evening snowfall paired with Dylan Thomas.



"One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and and twelve nights when I was six."

A Child's Christmas in Wales
Dylan Thomas

 

Monday, December 05, 2022

Selecting the perfect tree is a sacred event.

 



Picking out a Christmas tree is a sacred event. I don’t mean ordering an artificial tree on line or at any store. (It is okay if that is what you do! No judgement here!!)  But for me, the hunt for the perfect tree is just about the most important event of the season.

Luckily, Aaron’s family is close by and they always call and say, “Can you go today at 3:00?” No matter what I am doing or what plans I already have, I change them immediately as I cannot turn down this offer.

How many years have I tramped through the woods looking for the perfect tree. I loved doing this with my dad as a kid. Oh, the smell of the pines in the woods. I guess I do feel a bit sorry for folks who have never had the opportunity. We often walked through snow to get to our tree and drag it back to the car. In those days no one shook it to make sure squirrels weren’t hiding in the branches, and no one drilled a hole in the bottom for the new stands we use today! Dad tied it to the top of the car and we drove home singing all the way. Christmas Cookies and hot cocoa awaited us when we arrived home covered in sticky pine and boots full of snow. Dad and my brothers did the lights, and we did the rest. The most fun was tossing (throwing?) handfuls of tinsel on the tree. When all was beautiful, we shut out the lights and sang “Silent Night.” I want to think that maybe we held hands. Maybe we did and maybe we didn’t, but I think I shall remember as we did.

When my boys were little we took them to a Christmas tree farm to get their first tree. The farm was outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania with hills and farms all around. My boys tumbled in the snow and could barely walk. That first year the farm family gifted us our tree. I know I cried. Throughout all my life that I never have forgotten their kindness.

The tradition continued as we moved to Indiana and lingered over the trees at Booth’s Tree Farm. The year they were closing, it was so hard to say our goodbyes. Not just because of the trees, but because of the memories we had built up. So now where, we asked ourselves? We fretted a bit until Bud and Deb’s Christmas Tree Farm loomed onto the horizon as a giant gift to those of us who want to find and cut down our own tree.

This year, of course, was no different. Aaron and Rachel and the boys picked me up. I stuffed money in my mittens and off we went. Graham and Jonah were just like the little boys they once were laughing and playing around, even though we had no snow. They found their tree first, but finding my tree took much longer. Jonah did say, “Nannie, I am going to Snowcoming tonight, so could you find your tree, please?” At least he was polite. I just smiled and laughed. “You can’t hurry this along, you know!” Then the boys began trying to find my tree in earnest. Bud and Deb probably wondered what in the world we were doing out there in the forest. Finally, we found it.

Beautiful and sweet, there it stood waiting for me. And, yes, it did whisper back to me. Rachel and Aaron cut it down for me and we drug the two trees out of the beautiful forest. It was dusk and dark steel gray clouds began to drop rain upon us…or maybe it was snow? As I looked up to wonder about that, a huge flock of geese flew right over us still trying to get to their winter home. It was a moment. It was a moment of great beauty and peace.

Back at the barn, Bud drilled the holes in our trees for our tree stands and shook the trees. Luckily no squirrels jumped out. Inside the little gift shop, Deb was standing nearby to chat and offer cookies and candy canes. I pulled my money out of my mitten, but Aaron and Rachel paid for my tree. I cried.

My tree is in my front window of this old house. Oh, I still need to decorate it, but that will happen. Is it too early to wish you a Merry Christmas?


Thursday, December 01, 2022

They come and they go as we step into winter...

 



The car pulls away carrying the four Charleston Children. I stand in the drive way a long time waving, and then just stand there. I guess I just don’t know what to do. I finally turn around and find the football that Noah hauled out of the garage after he figured out the garage opener. He and Faith hauled out their summer toys for a bit, and then put everything back as they found it…except the football.

Back in the house the breakfast dishes, along with empty coffee cups, await me along with an entire house to put back together. But I can’t seem to do it. I lock the doors and have a good cry.

The Indiana Thanksgiving was all that I hoped for including the ceremony for Harley, my cat. Under a sky of floating planets, we said goodbye as we sat knee to knee at my campfire. Everyone had a story and a little speech…even the Littles. It was good for all of us to come together to remember my lovely old cat. Later in the evening, Brianna could not go to sleep because of her tears. I promised to get a grave marker, and that seemed to appease her enough to fall asleep.

We baked cookies, played games, told stories, cooked (a lot with Holly by my side), and just spent time being together. When they leave, the quietness of this house is actually filled with the echoes of their voices, and I know I have to move on. You know, put the house back together, open my Airbnb back up, and maybe start on the Christmas decorations. It is still comforting to see the orange candles on the table, and the Thanksgiving decorations still in abundance throughout the house. The Littles placed Thanksgiving window decorations all over my windows, and I think they still look just fine.

As a child growing up, we lived in the same town as both sets of grandparents so we never spent a week or a month staying with them. I wonder how that would have been? Would they have missed us as much as I miss mine? I tell stories to Holly and Brianna about their grandparents…great grandparents…great, great grandparents. I have stories to tell and they want to know them. They want to know more about the farm life, and I tell them.

“On Thanksgiving we all had chores, well, we all had chores every day. They boys gathered hickory nuts from the beautiful hickory tree, and broke them apart with a hammer. I used those hickory nuts in the best cookies. Their chores, besides taking care of their animals, was to bring in the firewood and the woodstove wood for baking. Nothing ever tasted so good as an apple pie out of the woodstove!” Well, that was just he beginning of the stories they love to hear.

I keep up the tradition of chores. On the large chalkboard in my dining room, I write the chore list every morning before they awake. I have always done this and it is the first thing they do in the morning is to look at it. They put a big checkmark by their chore when it is completed. Kristin asked me one morning, “Do they really do all the chores every day?” I smiled and nodded.

 

I still have the chore list on the board from Saturday. I guess it is the last thing I will take care of by erasing it…then it will officially be over.

December comes in this week with temperature in the 30’s and a clear sky. The planets are so visible in the night sky this week. Step outside after the early darkness descends upon us and look up. Saturn leads the way, followed by the brilliant Jupiter and Mars. All are visible without a telescope and so easy to find. I guess I could say that the campfire and the planets will bring me back to where I need to be.

As I turn over the calendar, I will know I need to find the perfect tree upon which to place my candles. I will take down the Autumn lights of orange and replace with multi-colored lights. Wreaths will go up on the door just as I place all the pumpkins into the mulch pile along with the corn stalks.

The last to go will be to erase the chalkboard, and fill it with my own chore list.

Farewell, Thanksgiving 2022. You were loved.

 


Saturday, September 03, 2022

September...

 


September. Everything is near perfect in September. No air-conditioning and no heat with windows wide open for the evening breezes and the viewing of Saturn and Jupiter as they continue to light the way for ships at sea. (Well, at least they used to!) Venus is still visible during the morning hours, but better hurry, soon it will be hidden by the rays of the sun. The summer constellations are still around, but Orion is just begging to be part of our sky and it is sneaking in it’s first appearance.

September brings the full Harvest Moon next Friday evening. It does seem a bit early, but the Harvest Moon is the full moon nearest the autumn equinox so there it is next Friday night. It was aptly named in Europe and then in the United States as the Harvest Moon as farmers could work late into the night by the light of the moon. I know the folks at the farmers market will delight in next Friday’s moon as they continue to gather and harvest the end of the summer’s bounty and beginning to bring in the autumn delights.

I must say I am trying to hold back on the autumn decorating, but I have to sneak in a few things each day. I have replaced the geraniums in the window box with blooming purple asters! There are a few fragrant mums showing up in my gardens as well. My long standing sunflowers, which had just started to bloom, are now amass among the summer garden thanks to last week’s storm. I thought they would be safe as they grow next to the garage, but alas, alas. Hopefully the bees can find their way into my garden. But why not? The zinnias are still strong and blooming and the purest blue morning glories dot my fences and curl around anything possible.

September brings the harvest and memories of the harvest seep into my dreams and my thoughts daily. When we were all young on the farm, we all worked at harvest time. One year we raised so many cabbages that we made kraut in huge crocks. I picked, washed and dried the cabbages and then grated them into the crock, alternately with the salt for preservation. My boys were little so I could lift them up one at a time, barefoot as they stomped down the cabbage. I believe we had kraut with every meal that winter! However, to this day, those boys do not eat sauerkraut, let alone make it from their own gardens.

The last of the jams and jellies will be cooked down and set in small jars for the winter. There was that time I made enough for the whole winter, but now I make the jam for holiday gifts to family and friends. What really is better than homemade blackberry jam? I think nothing!

I see the changes in the landscape as Lola and I follow the dusty back roads full of chicory and goldenrod. I stop at every little corner market to buy onions and garlic and the last of the sweet corn. The field corn is curling and turning brown to the eye and soon the great harvest machines will dot our fields and our roads. Be kind when driving behind the harvest vehicles; they are producing food for us. A friendly wave is always encouraging to the farmer behind the wheel.

The sun slants now as we head into harvest season. Where sunbeams used to fall in this old house, they have now drifted letting other parts of the room feel the morning light. I find darkness comes rather quickly once the sun departs the sky. And the smell of September is pungent with neighbors sporting campfires with hot dogs and marshmallows with the lingering coals filling in the dark places.

It is September. Truly such a marvelous month of beauty and change. Don’t miss it.  Let the air blow the curtains wide and cool in the evenings.

Don’t forget the full moon on Friday night. I just mailed a box of dried rose petals to the Charleston Children for them to toss into the night sky next Friday. You can do the same with your rose petals, and if no flowers grace your doorway, then just make a wish under the light of the moon.

T. H. White once wrote, “The summer was over at last, and nobody could deny any longer that the autumn was definitely there.”

Happy September

 


Monday, August 22, 2022

The last of the summer...

 


Summer begins to draw to a close. The air conditioner is off. The crickets are loud and noisy during the nighttime.

The ending of summer is always sad...the kids grow up a year in school...life moves on a little faster, but if we should forget there are always stories for us to help remember. I have had a great many stories this summer. What are yours?

So, back to blogging. Back to teaching. Back to making soup and bread. Come on over, my door is always open.


Mom's Last Full Moon...

  I came out of rehearsal last night, and the full Worm Moon of March actually took my breath away. It was so gorgeous rising above us in a ...