Archive for the ‘Musings’ category

“Games lubricate the body and mind.”

December 27, 2014

Okay, yesterday I was a woman of my word. I didn’t even get dressed. Most of the day I lolled. Today I need to get my laundry out of the dryer where it has sat for at least a week then I can do another laundry which will also probably sit for a week. I woke up at 10:20 this morning because I didn’t go to bed until three. I just wasn’t tired. Mostly I watched Doctor Who and then finished my book.

Winter sunlight is muted and seldom warm but still welcomed. It is here again today with its frame of blue. I was out on the deck to stop a barking Gracie, and though it isn’t as warm as it has been, it is still warm for late December. Gracie has been out most of the morning enjoying the yard. She has yet to take her morning nap, a most unusual occurrence.

One of favorite Christmas presents was my bike. I was around nine or ten. When I came downstairs Christmas morning, I saw it beside the tree leaning on its kickstand. I knew it was mine, not my brother’s, because it was a girl’s bike. I remember that was the Christmas of no snow, and on Christmas morning I was glad. I’d get to ride my bike. When I took it outside for the first time on the day after Christmas, my mother took a picture of me standing beside the bike holding it by the handlebars. I have the biggest grin on my face. I remember how proud I was riding my new bike.

Every year we’d get a new game. On Christmas day, after dinner and seeing family, we’d set up the new game by the tree, lie on the rug and play. If we didn’t know the game one or the other of my parents read and explained the directions as we went along.

I give my friends a new game every year, my way of keeping the tradition alive. It’s getting more and more difficult finding real put your hands on the pieces games instead of video games, but I usually am lucky to find a couple.

I love game nights, our weekly get-togethers. We have appetizers and drinks. We have moaning and cursing. Sarcasm rules the evening. Someone is always dubbed the loser with finger L on forehead. Sorry and Phase 10 are the usual games. Phase 10 is civilized. Sorry never is and never has been. That’s the fun of it.

“Scatter joy!”

December 26, 2014

The day after Christmas needs a name. In England it is Boxing day. Here I’m thinking it’s stay in cozy clothes, lie on the couch and read or watch TV, eat wonderful leftovers, nap and ooh and awe again at the Christmas presents under the tree day.

I slept late this morning, a perfect start to a lazy day. After all the festivities of the last two days, I am exhausted.

We had a wonderful Christmas Day. We opened presents and stockings, ate dinner then Clare read us a Christmas book; it’s one of our traditions. This year it was about a Christmas tree in the forest decorated by animals like Deer, Bird and Bear. I got lots of presents including a Doctor Who sweatshirt with the Tardus on the front and two pairs of slippers. I go through slippers quickly so two pairs are perfect. I’m wearing a new pair now.

Last night the living room was lovely. The tree was lit as were small strings of lights in corners of the room. The tree skirt my mother made for me was covered in opened presents on display. In the dining room I set the table with special plates and with the napkins my mother had made as a Christmas present to me. My friends didn’t want to use them. They switched to paper. My mother would have chuckled and insisted they be used. Small flowers in gold and red vases were the centerpiece. A few Santas stood guard on the red and green table runner. In the corner the ugly tree was lit as were the candles on the table. The room was perfect for Christmas dinner.

The food was delicious. Contrary to current wisdom, I always cook new recipes for special dinners. It is the only time I get a chance to spread my culinary wings. The first thing I tasted was the corn pudding, and it was amazing. The mashed potatoes came close to perfection. The pork was out of this world. The poor carrots, though, had to be saved as I had forgotten they were cooking and some burned. Luckily there were still enough carrots.

After the reading, my friends left. I sat in the living room for a while taking joy in the lights and shadows. I find every Christmas remarkable.

“Christmas time! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose breast something like a jovial feeling is not roused— in whose mind some pleasant associations are not awakened— by the recurrence of

December 25, 2014

Merry Christmas!

I woke up to a dark, rainy day yet again, but I remembered right away it was Christmas, and the day got brighter. Both trees are lit and both look beautiful. The one in the living room, the real tree, is still surrounded by presents I haven’t yet opened. That will come next, when I finish here. I find my restraint remarkable.

Christmas Eve was great fun. We drank egg nog and ate appetizers but mostly we worked on our gingerbread houses. We each had a kit with house parts and some candies for decoration. Clare added different candies and off we went. The frosting was sticky and my fingers were covered. Some bits fell on the floor as the frosting hardened quickly. This year, while the walls of the houses were drying, we decorated. We laughed when colored round candies hit the floor, bounced and then rolled, and there were several. Gum drops, we found out, needed lots of frosting. We landscaped. The last step was for us to attach the roof parts. We each had two pieces. Mine caused the walls to collapse, a construction set back, but I added icing and reconnected the house. It dried, and I gingerly added the roof, and it stuck. The three of us created masterpieces. They are the best houses yet.

When I was a kid, the first look at the tree on Christmas morning was jaw dropping. It was lit and surrounded by presents. It always looked brighter and taller on Christmas morning. I had to stand just a second on the stairs to marvel then I went to my spot, my special present spot under the tree. We each had one, and it never changed over all the years.

We’d take turns opening up a gift so could watch each other open. The stockings were the only exception. There we were on our own though neat stuff was held up for everybody to see. Stockings always had neat stuff. My mother was a stocking maven.

We’d play a while then go to church for Christmas mass. Because my parents went at midnight, my brother and I walked and went together. Mostly we went to early masses which were quick and had no sermon. It was just the old ladies and us.

Dinner was always a roast of some kind, usually roast beef, which we didn’t have often. Mashed potatoes and gravy were a necessity. Only the vegetables could change from year to year. After dinner we did whatever. Mostly we played near the tree. Sometimes I’d start a new book. For supper we had hot roast beef sandwiches covered in gravy. My mother always toasted the bread first.

We went to bed early on Christmas, exhausted by the festivities of the day. It was always a special day filled with surprises.

I love Christmas still and take joy out of finding neat stuff, the kind you hold up to show, for bags and stockings. Speaking of bags and stockings, I’m done here. Merry Christmas!

“Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.”

December 24, 2014

It’s raining, and it’s 50˚, but none of that matters. It’s Christmas Eve. When I was a kid, it was the longest day of the year. The clock never seemed to move. I remember begging my mother to let me go to bed around six or seven. Tired had nothing to do with it. I was filled with anticipation, and I remember believing sleeping the night away was the quickest way to get to morning and to Santa’s surprises. It, of course, was always the one night I could never get to sleep. I remember having conversations with my brother down the hall while both of us were still in bed in our own rooms. Periodically my mother would yell up the stairs for us to stop talking so we could go to sleep. I used to wonder why she didn’t realize sleep was far away on Christmas Eve. Hers was a silly request.

Every year my mother put a few presents under the tree. Every year my sister Moe poked tiny holes in each present to see what was there. It was during these hole poking days she developed an aptitude for guessing exactly what each wrapped present was. Holes were no longer necessary. One Christmas is legendary. She was going to a Christmas party with Rod, my brother-in-law, and had nothing to wear. She felt a few presents from my parents and found her outfit, felt a few more and found new earrings to match her dress. She called to thank my mother who then became the tale bearer of my sister’s latest Christmas miracle.

We could open one present on Christmas Eve, but we never got to pick the present. We always had to open the pajamas. New pajamas were part of our Christmas tradition.

I can still see the tree at 16 Washington Ave. in its usual corner with the wrapped gifts underneath, the ones from my parents and grandparents, the ones with the tiny holes. The lights in the windows seemed especially brilliant on Christmas Eve. TV Santa, the one from New Hampshire we watched every afternoon, wished us a Merry Christmas, waved and left for his big adventure around the world. We hung our stockings on the railing going upstairs. We had no chimney. We watched a Christmas show or two on TV then we went to bed. Eons later we all fell asleep.

Today is still all about tradition. This morning I opened number 24 on my Advent calendar. It is the crèche scene, the same as it always is. This afternoon I will work on tomorrow’s dinner, and tonight my friends and I will build gingerbread houses, eat some appies and have a drink or two. That’s one of our favorite Christmas traditions.

Happy Christmas Eve! I hope you’re all on the good list.

When Tuesday Is Wednesday

December 23, 2014

Usually I take Wednesday off from Coffee but not this week. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I really want to post. Today I have five errands as well as a to-do list so come on back tomorrow!

I am posting music as I don’t want to miss a day. Besides, I figure I owe you something for dropping by to visit.

Enjoy!

Like snowflakes, my Christmas memories gather and dance — each beautiful, unique and too soon gone.

December 22, 2014

Last night it rained. I never heard it so I was surprised to find everything still a bit wet this morning. The sun keeps trying to break through the clouds but hasn’t quite made it. It is a warm day, in the mid 40’s. Today is a baking day for me.

I have a memory of a day much like today, a warm, cloudy day, the day before Christmas. I think I was nine or ten. My mother sent me on an errand to the white store probably for milk or bread, staples we seem to run out of often. I could barely believe she expected me to do a plain, every day errand on Christmas Eve, but she did. I took my bike out of the cellar, walked it around front and then rode down my father’s grassy hill, the one we were never to ride down but the one we always did. I remember riding around the corner, passing the brick house, stopping at the next corner to check for cars then pedaling as fast as I could straight away on the next street and around a corner to the stop at Spring Street to check for cars all the while muttering and   bemoaning my fate. I made that trip to the white store so often I can still see the streets and the houses in my mind’s eye. There were two odd houses. One was the brick house near my street and the other was a ranch squeezed on a small lot among houses built in the 40’s. It always looked out-of-place. I remember putting the package in the front basket of my bike and using one hand to hold it so it wouldn’t bounce out at bumps in the road. My other hand was steering. The ride home that day seemed endless, far longer than the ride to get there. I think it was the bumps and the package and the day before Christmas.

“The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.”

December 21, 2014

The Winter Solstice is official at 6:03 EST tonight, the longest night and the shortest day in the Northern Hemisphere. We are moving back to the light.

It always seemed unfair somehow when darkness came so early. We had the street light curfew so winter afternoons for playing outside were short, and if it was cold or snowy or windy, we sometimes didn’t go out at all. We played games, watched TV, did our homework and read. The afternoons felt endless. Supper always seemed to be late, deeper into the early evening, but it wasn’t. The early darkness fooled us.

Today is the same as yesterday, a grey day, and it’s cold so I’m glad I don’t have to go anywhere. The inside Christmas lights are lit so the house looks bright. Multi-colored lights are my favorites for the tree though I do put a strand of white lights around the trunk, starlights in the middle of the tree. My window lights are white candles, bright white candles, which shine in a circle of light above the bulbs.

It is easy to create beauty this time of year. The tree is in my living room in the same spot it always is. Sometimes I stand at the edge of the room just to look at it. I’m always taken by how lovely it looks, a bit of bias I suspect. My dining room is lit by the window candles and by the small tree in the corner. The table runner is bright red and green. The centerpiece is a tree made of blocks. Each row is a word or phrase spelled out in the blocks. All of them have to do with Christmas. It was once my mother’s. My kitchen has a red pepper bunch of lights and a string of scallop shell lights. I never mind going from room to room to turn them on. Their light is welcome especially tonight.

“I love Christmas, not just because of the presents but because of all the decorations and lights and the warmth of the season.”

December 20, 2014

The grey day doesn’t phase me at all. My trees are lit. The chili pepper wreath, the painted gourd and the scallop shell lights are also lit. They are bright and warm and the rooms feel cozy in the light. Today is make a batch of cookies day, orange cookies. Of all my cookies, the orange ones were my mother’s favorite, and they are also my friend Clare’s favorite because they remind her of her mother’s orange cake for which the recipe was lost. I remember my mother hiding some of these cookies because they disappeared quickly when company came, and my mother wanted a stash.

I am not going anywhere today. I’m doing the laundry, making the cookies and wrapping gifts. I’ll watch Hallmark movies this afternoon and be wary of my sugar intake. This evening, in keeping with the spirit of the season, I’ll watch the premier of the Syfy movie Christmas Icetastrophe. The only description says,”Christmas turns deadly.”

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen them. I still watch all the old Christmas movies. A Christmas Carol is my favorite dating all the way back to Seymour Hicks, the gruffest of Scrooges, but, as I’ve said many times, the 1951 Alastair Sim will always be my favorite. In The Bishop’s Wife Cary Grant plays Dudley the angel. One of my favorite scenes is when Dudley magically decorates the Christmas tree by just a wave of his arms.

It seems Christmas angels have odd names, not just Dudley but also Clarence and Gideon and probably more I’m forgetting. Gideon is the angel responsible in The Magic of Christmas, a movie I like though it isn’t on TV often. In the night scene, the street lights have almost an eerie glow. Snow is piled high along the sides of the roads. The roads still have a layer of snow. Their breaths can be seen as Ginny and Jack, the two main characters, talk. In that pivotal night scene is one my favorite sounds, the squeak of boot on snow as Jack takes a walk.

Okay, I admit a guilty pleasure, the 1997 horror movie Jack Frost. I first saw it one Christmas Eve while my mother and I were talking and laughing. We couldn’t believe it, but we got pulled in and watched the whole movie. Jack Frost is a serial killer on his way to be executed when his van crashes into a truck filled with genetic material. Jack mutates into a killer snowman seeking revenge on the sheriff who arrested him, the sheriff of Snowmonton. Residents of the town are killed in horrific Christmas themed ways. Spoiler Alert: a blow dryer plays a key role.

“Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, Eating a Christmas pie. He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum, And said, ‘What a good boy am I?’”

December 19, 2014

It is quite late for me because I had several errands. I also treated myself to lunch in between as I had a half hour wait before I could finish my last errand. Today is a still day, a windless day. It is dark and cold. Everyone was bundled up and was moving quickly from store to store.

I need to get out of my public clothes into my cozies. I’ll be glad when I’m really old because I’ll wear whatever I want in public and people will chalk it up to old age.

The Christmas tree lot at Stop and Shop is gone. A few trees are on the ground, the leftovers I expect. Agway is still open but has very few trees. I remember my mother talking about her Christmas tree and how it was decorated when they were in bed on Christmas Eve. They’d wake up in the morning to a glorious tree and gifts from Santa. I like having the tree around longer. I get to admire it in the living room, and I get to sit and read surrounded by Christmas. Both trees are lit now. They have given the day its only color.

Fern has taken to sleeping on the tree skirt. She falls asleep warmed by the lights and sleeps so deeply she snores but ever so slightly. I have to listen closely to hear her. Gracie, on the other hand, snores loudly, like a grown man, a big grown man. She snorts as she sleeps. Sometimes I can’t fall asleep for the racket. Boxers tend to be snorers.

A few Christmas jobs remain. I have my baking to do, presents to wrap for my Cape friends and Christmas dinner to plan. I ordered a pork roast from the butcher, but that is as far as I’ve gotten. I know I’ll do an apple dish and some sort of potato, and I’m thinking baby carrots for color and one more vegetable yet to be decided. I’m going to do a relish tray. My grandmother always had one on her table when we ate there. I was always drawn to the celery. I have the perfect dish to use: a very old glass sectioned plate just like the one my grandmother had. The old touches are always great memories to add to the table.

When I think of dessert, I think of the Cratchits and their Christmas pudding. The flame was always so dramatic and such a splendid finish to dinner.

“The Christmas tree is a symbol of love, not money. There’s a kind of glory to them when they’re all lit up that exceeds anything all the money in the world could buy.”

December 18, 2014

My Christmas tree is beautiful. I finally finished decorating it except for the star. The top branch is too high though I could try standing on the couch or a table, but I know my history so I’m waiting for a friend who will do it today. The tree decorating began with the lights. I wound them around and tried to hit the inside dark spots. I have regular colored lights, two strands of chili pepper lights and one special set of lights which is always last. It is Santa with his eight reindeer and each hangs separately. I have the reindeer flying to the top of the tree. Next I hung the cranberry and popcorn, colorful beads and a strand of stars. Last were the ornaments. The first ones hung were three from Ghana my friend gave me. She had bought them in Kumasi in 1969. As she doesn’t usually have a tree, she thought I would be a good caretaker. I keep them in a special box, and they are always first.

My tree is so many things. It is my childhood with the glass bulbs my mother gave me. Some of them have lost their paint, but they are all still bright with memories. Other ornaments were stitched by me. I had given them to my mother as a Christmas present one year, and they came back to me after she died. She loved sheep and lambs and two of the ornaments have lambs. Places I’ve visited have special ornaments. There is a stitched heart from Hungary and ornaments from England, Portugal, Italy and Germany. I also have some really ugly ornaments I love for their whimsy, their ugliness. One is an angel with just a few strands of hair, buttons for eyes and a cloth body with arms holding a piece of greenery. On her chest is stitched Joy. Another is a beach goer who is carrying a folded umbrella, a towel and is wearing a bikini. She has wispy hair,what little there is of it. A couple of circus clowns in bright colors are always on my tree. One is holding a tiny umbrella, far too small to hold off the rain. I have a few Cape Cod ornaments and others with no pedigree. I just liked them.

The last ornament I always put on the tree is made from children’s blocks. I had made an ornament for every member of my family with each name spelled out in blocks for the last Christmas we spent together. I have my mother’s. It says Chick, which is what everyone called her. When I put it on the tree, she is here for Christmas.