Posted tagged ‘Christmas’

« home page
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

“In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours.”

April 17, 2014

The red spawn has me crazed. I run out onto the deck and chase it every time I see it at the feeder. Yesterday I threw a plastic bottle at it from the upstairs window. It ran off as fast as its little feet could move. I’m now thinking a Have-a-Heart trap and relocating the spawn miles away from here but near woods and trees with pinecones. A change of scenery might be just what the spawn needs. I’ll think of it as his summer digs.

Last night was winter cold, in the 20’s. Today is still cold and windy. The sun is intermittent.

When we have a really nice, spring-like day as we did a few days ago, I get hopeful and sit on the deck in the sun. I breathe in air redolent of spring and its first flowers. Off in the distance are the sounds of mowers and grass blowers clearing and cleaning yards, a spring ritual. I am then even more certain winter has taken its final bow but then comes a morning like yesterday’s. A coating of snow-covered the garden and the grass and made walking slippery. The snow had that crunchy frozen sound, and it didn’t melt until later in the day when it got warmer. I love that snow this time of year always has me thinking about my dad. He called it poor man’s fertilizer and now all of us do.

I don’t remember when I started noticing the way the seasons change. I know when I was a kid each season had an identity. Summer was months of no school. It was staying up late, sleeping outside in the backyard and being gone all day on my bike exploring places like the railroad tracks, the farm and the zoo. Fall was school and colored leaves to be preserved in ironed wax paper. It was Halloween and Thanksgiving. Winter was Christmas. It was snow days and sledding down the hill and ice skating at the swamp. Spring of all the seasons has the palest identity. It was shedding the winter layers of clothes, riding my bike to school and it was Easter and the Easter basket, always the best part of the day. I knew they’d be a rabbit with ears prime for eating, a coloring book and crayons and a few more small toys. The grass hid the jelly beans and hard colored candy eggs with white in the middle. I still don’t know if they have a name. New clothes were part of the day but didn’t bring me near as much excitement as that basket.

Now I see the seasons by the changes, not the events. Spring is my favorite season when the world slowly wakes up from winter. I am so excited when I see the first green tips of the flowers in the garden: the crocus, the dafs and the hyacinths. Every day brings more and more flowers to life, and I check the garden every morning so as not to miss a single flower.

Spring comes slowly, and I am still learning to be patient.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 26 Comments

“My mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.”

May 12, 2013

I woke up to the sound of rain, a gentle rain. I stayed in bed a while and listened. I could also hear Gracie’s deep sleep breathing and every now and then a sigh. Today is Mother’s Day. It is the day I honor my mother and my memories of her. Last week my friend and I went out to dinner. She mentioned it was her mother’s birthday and how much she still misses her. She said no one told us it would be this hard.

Every year I post the same entry about my mother. At Easter this year my sister and I laughed about the curses she inflicted on us: the love of everything Christmas and never thinking you have enough presents for everyone, giving Easter baskets overflowing with candy and fun toys and surprising people with a gift just because.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives, and her house was filled. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try to fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jig saw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid. She expertly used mother’s guilt and, “I’ll do it myself,” was her favorite weapon. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly.We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

I still think to reach for the phone and call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her, and I cried a little.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 19 Comments

“Even though it’s dark and cold there is always a shade of light.”

January 5, 2013

Last night was one of those when will I ever get tired nights. Luckily, TCM kept me occupied with a slew of B science fiction movies. I got to see The Creature from the Black Lagoon, Tarantula, The Incredible Shrinking Man and It Came from Outer Space.  It was around two before It returned to Outer Space so I could go to bed. I love those movies as bad as they are at times. That’s the fun of them. In the Creature, a favorite of mine, the jungle is filled with howls and the sounds of animals. It is overgrown with vines and trees. The underwater is almost eerie with plants waving back and forth and trailing in the water. The best scene is when the Creature swims beneath the girl in the water and touches her foot a couple of times but touches it so gently the girl has no idea what is in the water below her. It’s the scene Spielberg borrowed for the start of Jaws though his opening ended a bit less gently. Later in the Creature, the girl, as per the rules of B movies, runs and then falls so the Creature can capture her and take her to his lair, a maze of underground caves. The brave men follow. One man dies. The girl is saved. The Creature isn’t until the sequel.

The morning is chilly, around 35˚, and the day won’t get much warmer. I have to go out for a few groceries. The larder is so empty it echoes.

There is a mouse living in my kitchen. It hangs around behind the refrigerator, and Maddie just sits and waits patiently for the beastie to appear. I have to think it stays well hidden as Maddie would have sent the beastie to its heavenly reward by now. She is a good and patient mouser.

Most of Christmas is gone now. I have a pile of decorations which needs to be taken down the cellar then the pine tree will go last. It stays decorated and is covered by a plastic bag until next year when it will assume its rightful place in the dining room.

The house seems dark and bare. I have a few electric candles I light in the living room and some pepper lights in the kitchen, and they do help a little to scare away the darkness, but the tree was magnificent. I miss the bubble lights, the red peppers, Santa and his reindeer flying up the tree, the white lights in the middle like stars and all those colored lights. Maybe it should be a winter tree. Christmas time doesn’t last long enough.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 15 Comments

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”

December 27, 2012

It’s a gray day. The rain started late last night and continues this morning. When I let Gracie out, I noticed my back Christmas lights were lit. The timer’s sensor was duped by the darkness. I went out and turned them off then came back in, made coffee and was about to get my papers when the torrential rain started. It pelted the doors and windows. Undaunted, I got my umbrella and ran out to the drive-way for the papers. Right now it’s a quieter rain. I’m just glad it’s not snow.

The car is filled for the dump run. I hope it isn’t raining later, but my rainy day dump luck is generally bad. Usually it starts to pour just I drive through the gates. On my to-do list is also a couple of other errands, but no dump means no errands. I am actually hopeful I’ll be stuck in the house. Yesterday I did nothing all day, didn’t even make my bed. It was my day after Christmas sit around and enjoy life day. Today I’ll get to blame my sloth on the weather!

Christmas was wonderful. My friends and I opened gifts and enjoyed our Christmas feast. I opened ornaments from Africa. They are huts with straw roofs and are already on my tree. In my stocking, I got new socks. That doesn’t sound all that exciting, but if you saw my socks you’d understand as almost all of them have holes of some sort, usually in the toes. I hate to throw away socks with holes if they still cover most of my feet. Now, though, my two worst pairs can be thrown away after a small good-bye and thank you ceremony. My favorite gift is a bird made with PVC pipes. It has a long bill and crane like legs. This summer it will grace my backyard so we can all see it from the deck. Gracie got a new snowman and frosted dog biscuits. She also got a Santa that sings Jingle Bells when she carries it around. That I want to deep-six.

My Christmas tree is lit right now, and it shines brightly in the darkness of the day. Later, I’ll grab my iPod and lie on the couch in the living room to read so I can see the tree. It will be gone soon so I want to enjoy every moment, a year is a long time to wait until the next one.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 17 Comments

“Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends.”

December 25, 2012

Merry Christmas, My Friends

No white Christmas here: it’s raining. I don’t mind though. It’s the day we celebrate, not the weather. My Christmas trees are lit and are bright with color. It took no time for the bubble lights to perk. I watched and waited. My friend and I met for Christmas breakfast, a tradition only three years old. It was at our usual Sunday spot, and this morning every booth was taken. The coffee was free, a Christmas gift from Tom and Nancy who own the diner. I bought bacon for Gracie.

Our gifts were always in the same place by the tree every Christmas. They were artfully displayed with a doll in the high chair, books front and center and games leaning so we could see them right away. We always got new games. The year of my brother’s bike had a different spin. The bike was in the kitchen, hidden so he’d be surprised. My father sent my brother for matches in he kitchen, and he got them without even seeing his bike. Finally my parents brought him to the kitchen and turned on the lights. I remember his bike had blinkers so he could signal his turns. My parents always acted surprised at what Santa had left.

In the afternoon, after Christmas dinner, we’d go to my grandparents’ house. My mother was one of eight children and all of them, but the two who still lived at home, brought their families there. Those two, an aunt and an uncle, were around my age, the aunt even younger than I. We hated leaving our presents at home, but we knew they’d be more when we got to East Boston to my grandparents’ house. Their tree was in the small room, and the room was filled with presents for all of us, for the grandchildren. My grandmother also had chocolates to hand out, Santas or reindeer. Spaghetti was always hot on the stove. It was one meal she could make enough of for all of us, the aunt, uncles and cousins.

We’d stay until early evening when my father would have us gather everything up, say goodbye and thank you to my grandparents then we’d grab our coats and head to the car. We always fell asleep on the way home from East Boston. Christmas was the most wonderful day.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 38 Comments

“Even as an adult I find it difficult to sleep on Christmas Eve. Yuletide excitement is a potent caffeine, no matter your age.”

December 24, 2012

When I was a kid, I knew today was the longest day of the year. It had everything to do with anticipation. Clock watching never helped. The clock’s hands took forever to move from one tick to the next, and every tick seemed to echo. Usually it was too cold to go outside and play so there was little to do to while away the hours. We’d watch television, and we’d watch Santa Claus, who had been on TV every afternoon for a few weeks from a station in New Hampshire. He’d be winding up his TV career, loading his sleigh and saying good-bye to all of us. As soon as it got dark, we pretended to be tired, but my mother knew. We just wanted to go to bed early hoping we’d fall asleep so the night would pass quickly. Supper was light. My mother always had the big dinner to prepare the next day so mostly we had sandwiches and sugar cookies for dessert. The tree looked especially beautiful on Christmas Eve. It was lit the whole day.

I remember one year on Christmas Eve my mother sent me to buy some ingredient she’d forgotten. I rode my bike to the red store. I couldn’t believe my mother had me doing an errand on such an important day. It just wasn’t right. Christmas Eve was too special for a simple errand.

If we were lucky, A Christmas Carol, the perfect movie for Christmas Eve, was on TV in the late afternoon or before dinner. I have never tired of watching Scrooge and his redemption. This year I have seen two different versions, both excellent: George C. Scott and Alastair Sim.

Just before bed, it was time to hang the stockings. They were red with white cuffs. Our names were on the cuffs and had gold glitter on them. The bannister was a small one but we managed to fit all four stockings. Though we didn’t have a fireplace, we never worried. Santa would find a way.

We’d lie in bed and talk from room to room until finally we’d drift off to sleep.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 21 Comments

“4 am—if I’m ever up that early, it’s because I’m up that late. ”

December 23, 2012

It was another one of those what time is it mornings when I first woke up. It was still dark, but when I looked out the window, I saw three houses ablaze with light. It being Sunday and all I figured it was late at night, but I was wrong. It was 4:45. Knowing I was done with sleep, I came downstairs, cranked up the heat and made coffee. It’s far too early for the papers.

Television is interesting this time of the morning. Infomercials rule the air waves. I think my favorite title was Holiday Hair Gain. I watched a bit of The Thing From Another Planet, but I’ve seen that so many times I know a lot of the dialogue. James Arness, though, does make a great Thing or Mr. Thing, I’m not sure of the protocol when it comes to flesh eating aliens. Dante’s Peak is on now. It is one movie which proves the rule that you can kill people but never a dog. The grandmother gets it, but the dog finds refuge and is saved. Obviously I’ve seen this too many times as well. A main character is now talking about how wonderful a town it is for raising children. Good luck with that.

Vampires are out. Their blood sucking days are over. Zombies are in though they are far uglier and tend to be less discriminatory about which parts of the body they enjoy. Zombie actors also come a bit more cheaply: no speaking parts. I think the only directions they get are to drag their feet and try not to drop dangling body parts.

I watch all sorts of Christmas programs. Yesterday I saw a movie I’ve never seen before, Carol for Another Christmas from 1964. It has quite the pedigree as it was written by Rod Serling and has a Henry Mancini score. The movie was made for TV and is a dark version of A Christmas Carol. Peter Sellers appears in a strange role in Christmas future, a devastating future. When I looked up the movie on IMDB, I found out, “Presented without commercial interruptions, this “United Nations Special” was sponsored by the Xerox Corporation, the first of a series of Xerox specials promoting the UN.” I watched all of it without enjoying it much. I was just curious as to how Mr. Grudge would find redemption. Now I don’t need ever to see it again. Give me Alastair Sim every time.

No white Christmas this year. Rain is forecasted. Good think Santa is magical.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 19 Comments

“As long as we know in our hearts what Christmas ought to be, Christmas is.”

December 18, 2012

As I was walking downstairs this morning, I could smell the Christmas tree. I smiled. I love that smell and can’t think of no better way to greet the morning. Right away I went over and turned on the tree lights. They brightened the room and chased away the clouds and the rain.

Yesterday Gracie and I went about doing a couple of errands. She got her nails trimmed, and while I waited, I bought her a few surprises for Christmas. I also stopped at a favorite bakery to get cookies to bring to the library for this week’s Christmas open house. The bakery owner, whom I see all the time, was there and asked what I was looking for. I told him about the open house and the library. He said he loved libraries and then he gave me three packages of his cookies as a gift to the library. How kind that was! How generous! I am forever thankful for the goodness in people.

I got a call from my friend Bill who had somehow managed to track down Patrick, another volunteer with whom we had served in Bolga. I had looked for Patrick for a while but never found him. Bill found a story in an Iowan newspaper about Patrick and send an e-mail last September asking if the Patrick he’d found was our Patrick, but Bill didn’t get an answer until now when Patrick called him. Pat’s memory is a bit fuzzy. He barely remembered Ghana let alone any of us. He asked Bill if there wasn’t also a gal in Bolga. I can’t remember the last time I heard anyone say gal. Bill told him I was that gal. I had to chuckle as did Bill. I have Patrick’s phone number and am aimin’ to give that galoot a call. I’ll introduce myself as a gal he knew from way back when.

I have a story I like to tell this time of year about my first Christmas in Ghana, my very first ever away from home. I was   homesick and sad. My mother tried to help so she sent me a small tree, ornaments from our family tree, brick crepe paper so I could make a fireplace and a small stocking to hang. I decorated my house but it didn’t help much. Besides, the weather was all wrong. It was the harmattan, the driest time of the year with a hot, dusty wind which blew each day and covered every surface in my house with sand. The heels of my feet cracked from the dryness, and I had to walk on tiptoes until the skin hardened. The only redeeming parts of the harmattan were the nights. They were cold, put a wool blanket on the bed cold. I’d leave all my windows open so I could snuggle under my blanket. It felt a bit like winter.

The nights in Bolga were quiet. They were bright with stars which seemed to blanket the sky. I was in bed trying to fall asleep on a night close to Christmas when I heard a small boy singing. His voice carried though the night air. It was the only sound I could hear. He sand We Three Kings, every verse. His voice was beautiful. I don’t know where he was. I guessed he lived in a compound near my house, but that didn’t really matter. He gave me one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received. He gave Christmas.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 40 Comments

“Christmas cookies without sprinkles are like raisins without wrinkles, and like sleigh bells without tinkles are Christmas cookies without sprinkles”

December 17, 2012

A rainy dark day again today, but it is a warm day which makes the rain more tolerable. I need to go out to do a few errands a bit later, but I have a short list. Yesterday I had no intention of doing much, but I did. It all started with a potholder. I pulled one out of the drawer and found it had been gnawed. I was grossed out by the idea of a rodent in my kitchen drawer so I pulled out everything, threw away the gnawed and washed the washable. I scrubbed the drawer. In it I found a cache of rice from a bag of rice I had foolishly left in a cabinet. That beastie had to have carried each kernel through two cabinets and up to that second drawer. A feat of sorts I suppose. The rice came from a long time back so I doubt the beastie is still around. My cat has not cabinet watched for a long while. Now I can boast the neatest of kitchen drawers.

It was always an event when my mother made her Christmas sugar cookies. She had silver cookie cutters made from heavy aluminum. I remember a Christmas tree, a bell, a reindeer, Santa carrying his sack and a star. My mother did all the making, all the rolling and all the baking. We got the best job, the decorating. When the cookies were ready for our artistic touches, my mother would put on the table bowls of different colored frosting and sprinkles. My mother let us decorate any way we wanted. The trees, of course, were always green, but we decorated them with sprinkles and colored jimmies (the kind you put on ice cream which I know some of you call sprinkles. Around here they were and are jimmies). The sprinkles looked like sugar and were green or red. I’d concentrate so hard trying to sprinkle the red to look like loops of tinsel on my tree then use the colored jimmies for lights. Santa, of course, had a red suit, a white beard and a white pom-pom on the end of his hat. My sisters’ cookies were always thick with frosting. They were the heaviest to lift. The finished cookies were put on racks until the frosting was dry, but we each got to pick one to eat. Every time, we picked one of our own.

I have the same cookies cutters. One was my mother’s and the rest I collected along the way as did my sister Moe. I put the cutters out in a basket every Christmas. They remind me of that messy kitchen table, the bowls of icing and how proud we all were of our beautifully decorated cookies.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 16 Comments

“The great man is he who does not lose his child’s heart.”

December 16, 2012

The morning, besides being dreary, is cold at 37˚. Rain is expected later. When the alarm went off this morning, the house was cold so I stay snuggled under the covers reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed and the dog beside me, but I had no choice. It was time to get up, get dressed and go out to my usual Sunday breakfast. I think most people were wiser than I and chose to stay in bed as the roads were empty.

When I got home, I ran upstairs to get into my cozies then came back downstairs and turned on the tree lights. They are shining especially bright in the darkness of the day.

The week or so before Christmas is the longest stretch in time for any kid. The days move at the slowest pace imaginable, and counting down only makes it worse. Anticipation just can’t be contained. School drags on forever. Every kid knows the finale, Christmas Eve, is the longest night of the year, despite the calendar. Bedtime never comes. It is 4 o’clock, 4:12 and on and on. For the first in our lives, bedtime can’t come soon enough.

My parents had ways to amuse us. Every year was the drive to see the lights. In Saugus was the ultimate light show. The houses competed with one another for the glory of being the most decorated. My father would drive up and down the streets, and we’d be glued to the windows not wanting to miss a single house. Our heads would whip back and forth from one side of the street to the other. On each of houses the lights were all different colors. Not a tree or a bush was left undecorated. It was a spectacle in all its glory.

My favorite was always the trip to Boston. It didn’t happen every year so it was special. We’d walk by the department stores to see the windows with all their animated figures. Santa’s workshop was always the busiest window with elves hammering toys and Santa checking his list. We’d then walk through Boston Common which always seemed a fairy land to me. All the bare trees were hung with strings of lights, and they shined on the walkways. I don’t ever remember feeling cold. I just remember wanting to run to see everything and being filled with an excitement I could barely contain. I wanted to hold open my arms and take everything with me for always.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 37 Comments

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »