The Winter Solstice

Today is the Winter Solstice. I love this day, and not because the daylight will begin to grow longer after this day! Perhaps it is because I am a northern girl or a writer/reader girl that I revel in these long dark nights. Whether you love it or not, it is here. Tonight is the long night of the year and a time for celebration.

I have celebrated this day for so many years that I cannot even remember when it started. When did I start paying attention to the sky and the stars? It must have started with childhood when my dad drove us out to skate on the pond in the country. There was an old bench where we could change into our skates and take to the ice…bumpy or smooth…it didn’t really matter. I do remember the color of the winter sky in those days. There truly is something quite magnificent in a winter’s sunset.

Or, perhaps it was the farm doing chores in the early evening, skating on the pond, walking in the woods. Again, it was the beauty of the sky. Yesterday I flew to Charleston and came in over the water just at sunset. I am celebrating this year the Solstice with the four little grandchildren in Charleston. They have been with me for the summer celebrations wearing crowns, scattering rose petals, singing songs to the fairies, but we have never spent a winter solstice together. Tonight after dark, we will go out into the back yard. I came prepared with glow sticks for all of them and necklaces of Christmas bulbs to light the way to the tall oak trees in their yard. We will scatter more rose petals (yes, I brought them in my suitcase!), and say our chant: “Root to root, seed to seed, may all that we have, be all that we need.” Holly and Brianna will love this, but I doubt the three-year old twins will get much out of the celebration except for the string of lights and the glow sticks!

Abe’s yard is full of nature and maybe that is because it is a southern yard. The tall oaks in his yard give way to long lives. The evergreens that grace our living room or gates assure immortality. The garden yew means “death to the old year!” Some of us have mistletoe, which actually means peace and happiness. In addition, the holly is said to protect us from something? Perhaps you have a rosemary plant in your house. I know I dug mine up at the end of summer. Not only is it fragrant and beautiful (yes, I also decorated it for Christmas), but it is the herb of the sun. Even if you do not believe or want to believe these plants give off meanings, we sure do love them in our gardens! I point all of these out to the children.

After the celebration, we will go inside to cocoa and cookies and read books. The rituals continue long into the evening…just as it was for my children…just as it was for me.

This week also begins Hanukkah on December 22. I have a wonderful song tucked into my suitcase for that event as well. On Christmas Eve, I will recite “Twas the Night Before Christmas” to these four little ones. Again, I always did this with my children and my dad with us.

During Christmas day, between the gifts and the food, I will call my other sons since we will not all be together. I will then stand back from to watch, to listen, to take it all in so I will not miss a thing.

I want to give way to the magic of children, the magic of the day, the magic of life. When the day is over, and they are lamenting that Christmas is over, I will tell them about my dad. I will tell them that every year on the night of Christmas the six of us children were so sad that it was all over. Oh, we had anticipated and waited so long. So very long. Before we all climbed upstairs to bed in our new Christmas jammies, my dad would snap his fingers and say, “It’s almost Christmas.”  I can still hear him say it.

Later, when the day is over, I will quietly go out alone under the tall oaks and give thanks to the holy darkness being careful not to step on any rose petals!

SantaLand Diaries: David Sedaris

This is one of my all time favorite holiday pieces. Enjoy!!

Another semester in the book!

One of my students, Karlee, wanted a photo after class!

The semester is over, and I look back at the first day as I always do. They sit in their seats with anticipation, maybe fear (?), and certainly with much curiosity. They have heard rumors of my class. I don’t know them…not their names or where they are from or their dreams. I take roll call and phonetically write out their names if it is difficult, and some are difficult! At the end of the first day, I go home on my bike, sit out in the garden and ponder the situation. I will never get them to where I want them to be. The magic just will not happen, no, not this semester.

The golden days of autumn fly by as quickly as the geese take to the skies. One day at a time, one student at a time, we make our way. Before long, there is magic and we have come to know one another, and yes, I fall in love. When that happens, teaching becomes as common as drinking a glass of water or picking the last summer roses. 

I think of a few of my teachers who brought the magic to me. June Gregory was my high school English teacher, yearbook and newspaper advisor of which I was on the staff of both! She had red hair, which she wore piled on top of her head, and she was young. She must have been very young for me to remember her as such. I knew nothing of her personal life, yet she was my favorite teacher of all times. In those days, the paper was printed on a printing press in the town of New Haven where I went to school. On printing day, she issued passes to me and Dick Hoagland to spend the day helping with the printing making sure the typeset was perfect. I loved those days. Leaving school with passes in our hand, we headed out to do our job. We arrived back at school with the newspapers hot off the presses. On those days, we stayed to visit with Miss Gregory in the classroom. I do not remember too much about the room except that the windows faced south so the late hot summer sun or the early cold winter darkness would fill the room with shadows and images. We spent those hours discussing how to make the yearbook or the paper better. 

Little did we know that years later, Dick would become Ambassador Hoagland spending a decade in South and Central Asia. Whereas my life was not quite so eventful, it led me here to this town I love. I know Dick credits Miss Gregory for some of his successes. I know I do. Miss Gregory helped me get a high school job writing for the News Sentinel and later my journalism scholarship. She was also the one who knew I was not the reporting type. My love of words and language (and sunsets?) kept me on the essay page. She knew long before I did.

I think I always wanted to be that teacher. You know the one the kids will remember. I want them to remember how the sun came in the windows or the story I told, or the way I listened to their heartfelt stories.

Therefore, we come to the end of the semester, I have to let them go, and I find it difficult. One student asks me, “Do you always fall in love?” I think about it for a moment, and say, “Yes, I do.” She promptly asks another question, “What happens when you don’t?” I smile at that one. “Time to quit teaching,” I answer.

On the last day, we head out to the courtyard for my ritual of “Dead Poets Society.” I have all the pieces in a folder…Shelley, Keats, Whitman, Thomas, and Shakespeare. This year I add a piece by Mary Oliver. She became one of the dead poets last April. On one of these days, it is snowing hard in the courtyard…just one of those quick passing snow squalls, but just enough to make the students complain. I face the falling snow with laughter as they gather round. As in Frost, “The only other sound’s the sweep of easy wind and downy flake.” 

I read all the pieces. Close the book. Give them my last bit of advice as I fiercely hold back the tears. They scatter like leaves or snow or dandelion seeds.

I pack up and go home.

Hygge

Last night I attended a "Hygge" party hosted by my friends, Bill and Annie Eyster. I loved the name, the concept, and the great party. I have always lived by these ideas, but didn't know the name of it.

Here is the definition of hygge: a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).

It definitely was a cozy and fun party with music and games...candles and soft lighting. Here are a few photos from the night!!

Traditional Danish cake.

Candlelight set the tone for the evening.

Simple, Christmas decorations.

Violins of Hope

The book is tattered and held together with heavy-duty tape. The pages are marked with coffee and tea stains. Passages are highlighted, written around and under. It goes everywhere I go…in the satchel, in the briefcase, in the hobo bag. When there are twenty minutes or so of time, I pull it out and let my heart mourn. Twenty minutes is probably enough. I mark the pages, put it back in the bag, and go on about my day. The book is “Violins of Hope” by James A. Grymes. The subtitle is “Violins of the Holocaust-Instruments of Hope and Liberation in Mankind’s Darkest Hour.”

I became aware of the book because of the extraordinary exhibit and events of the Violins of Hope Fort Wayne. For two full weeks, there are events every day…some days have multiple events. I ask myself, how can I do all of these? I cannot, but I want to.

This exhibit is a collection of instruments that survived the Holocaust and the extraordinary folks who played them. As I read the book, I feel I have been illiterate on my knowledge, and, even though my heart can hardly take it, I cannot get enough of this.

With events strung through the month, I make a list of those I can attend. The first one is November 14 “Stories of Defiance, Resilience, and Legacy” at the Allen County Courthouse. Most events are free, and this is one of them. I order four tickets and share the bounty with four friends…Carolyn and the two Jans.

I clean out Lola for the trip to Fort Wayne, and we all gather in the Jeep. I have my book with me and pass it around in the car. I tell some of the stories I have read to prepare them for what is to come. I park the Jeep in the garage and we walk the short distance to the courthouse. The night is crisp, clean, and we join others as we walk into the rotunda. It is set up for the concert in a circle around the rotunda. There are other friends to greet before the two-hour concert. We chat. We mingle. Finally a hush comes over the gathered crowd as the first violinist comes out to warm up the orchestra. My favorite conductor, Caleb Young, comes out, takes his bow and begins, and we are gone.

Narrator, Michael Rush, joins the Fort Wayne Philharmonic telling the stories of the violins between selections. The concert continues with the Children’s Choir singing from the balcony. We sit in silence with hands folded, eyes and ears watching, listening. I am good. I hold it all together until the Ft. Wayne Ballet comes out to dance an extraordinary piece to Samuel Barber’s, “Adagio for Strings, Op. 11.” Barber wrote it in Europe in the summer of 1936. It is known as a funeral piece as it was played for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The National Symphony Orchestra played it in the great hall after the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

I swallow hard to keep from crying, but it does no good. A short intermission follows which gives time to pull myself together. The conversation flows among the guests as quickly as tears. It is through the arts this time; this book comes to life for us. Dance. Stories. Music. How can we live without them?

The second half is just as moving with more dancing, another piece by the children’s choir and music as it was played within the concentration camps. There are no dry eyes as we give a standing ovation to all those involved.

I am numb as we leave, but the brilliant night sky brings it all home to me. I think how lucky I am to be alive and to experience this type of event. We drive home in the late night hour chatting all the way. After saying “farewell,” I come on in through the garden gate, make tea and pull out my book, as there are still a few chapters to read. I am so glad there are more events on my calendar for this wonderful program in Fort Wayne.

Tonight Nobel Peace Prize winner and writer, Elie Wiesel was quoted. He was in the concentration camps and heard the music of the violin.

He says, “Hope is like peace. It is not a gift from God. It is a gift only we can give one another.”

Yes, I think into the holy darkness, he is right. 

NaNoWriMo....or how to write a novel in 30 days!!!

Contemplating my novel!!

Perhaps November is my favorite month after all. I thought it was October, but now I have changed my mind. I think it has something to do with the way the sun slants into my windows through the prisms as they dance upon the wall. Or, maybe how the garden looks after the first hard frost and snow, forlorn yet very much alive with birds clamoring for the last bits of berries. Or, could it be the solitary work of writing on that novel with NaNowrite? Maybe it is a combination of everything. With the lawn mower tucked neatly inside the garage along with the kayak, it is time to think of winter projects. There are so many that I worry winter will be over too soon!

I have been a strong supporter of NaNowrite for several years. Let us just chat about it on this first Saturday of November. NaNowrite began in 1999 with just 21 participants. The idea was (and still is) to produce a writing piece of 50,000 words in just thirty days. Let us break that down. To produce that kind of writing, it means you need to write 1,667 words per day. If you did not start yesterday, that means you need to write 3,334 words today. Do not despair! It can be done.

I think this is good advice for anything we want to do and learning to do it in small steps, not just writing. But for now, it is writing I am talking about. Now perhaps you do not want to write the American novel. Right. Perhaps you want to leave a memoir for your kids. Now we are talking, yes?

The best practices for NaNowrite the following tips. Write fast! Yes, do not ponder, dillydally, ruminate or noodle around, just write. Do not do any editing. None. Zero. Nada. That is hard to do and I have trouble with that one, of course our laptops have autocorrect so that is good, but nonetheless, you will want to edit. Do not. Do not research while you are writing. Make notes on a separate piece of paper if you need to, but do not take time away from the actual writing. My last bit of advice to is to set a timer. I use this for everything artistic that I do. I set a timer for writing, for rehearsing, and even for playing music. It is good to stop and stretch…make tea…take a walk…and then get back to work. 

If this all sounds good, then please keep reading. I think getting your thoughts on paper is important while writing a novel or your memoirs…all the same. In the past few years, I have held writing sessions at Trine in Wells Gallery on Sunday afternoons. I have loved meeting you there, but honestly, the group could be larger. This year I have three write-ins around town in two-hour blocks. I have secured these locations so we can meet, chat a bit, and then get to work. All three are different, and the rules remain the same, you can come to one or all three if that works for you.

The first write in will be at Caleo Café’ on Friday, November 8 from 2-4. (Oh lucky us, we can order coffee!) I will secure the table up front so come on in. If we are not friends yet, we soon will be! On November 13, we will write at the Angola Carnegie Library. Karen Holman has offered us the large table in the basement where it will be quiet and we can work. Our last write-in will be in Wells Gallery in Taylor Hall on the Trine Campus. This event will be from 2-4 on Sunday, November 24. That space is so beautiful the words will just flow.

Bringing your laptop is the easiest way to write when you want to count words, but I have written many stories by hand also. Bring pencils, pens, paper, laptop, and a sparkle in your eye. If you have questions, I can answer those for you, but most of all we will hear the sound of the keyboard or the scratch of the pencil on your paper. Maybe there will be wind or rain outside the window. We will not even notice. 

Sylvia Plath once wrote, “And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”