Posted tagged ‘Holiday’

“Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!”

February 14, 2012

Before Valentine’s Day, we’d spend one art class making our valentine boxes out of shoe boxes brought from home. We’d use crayons and construction paper and, for those of us lacking any creative talent, our imaginations. Boxes were covered in paper then decorated with red hearts and a few flowers. We’d make slits in the tops of the boxes so all the valentines we expected would fit inside. In those days, the valentines were small, made from light cardboard, and they had silly sayings on the front. The backs were empty so we could sign our names. They even came with envelopes we addressed with our classmates’ names. My mother would buy a few boxes of the valentines, and we’d sit at the kitchen table and write them out then put them in the box to carry them to school. They never went into the school bag. They were too precious. The boxes were carried by hand with great reverence.

During the day we  had to keep the boxes under our desks. That was the worst as the day went so slowly, and we could see each others’ boxes just sitting there while we wasted our time on arithmetic and English and whatever else was forced into our heads. I doubt we learned anything. We were clock watching, just waiting and biding our time until the party.

All of us brought something for the party: sugar cookies in the shapes of hearts, cupcakes with red frosting or bags of conversation hearts which said Be Mine or True Love or I’m Yours. None of us ever believed the sentiments. We just ate the candy.

The party was always the last part of the day. Away went the books and on our desks came the boxes. We’d take out our valentines and students, called by rows, would walk around and put an envelope in someone’s box. Sitting at my desk, I’d hold my breath hoping I’d get a valentine or two or several.

Once everyone was finished, the party began in earnest. We’d get to chat and eat and open our valentines. I remember hoping for one from my latest crush and being thrilled when I got it. When school ended, we’d walk home talking the whole way about the party and showing off our valentines.

We carried our boxes home with even more reverence than we had carried them that morning. The valentines inside were special.

“With luck, it might even snow for us.”

December 27, 2011

Okay, I finally figured it out. The sun has gone on vacation somewhere warm and left us with gray skies and temperatures in the high 40’s, which really aren’t so bad, but it would nice to see the sun again.

Today I have a couple of errands to do so no lolling around for me. Yesterday I watched a few movies, took a short nap and was totally unproductive.

After Santa’s visit, Christmas vacation was always my least favorite when I was a kid. There was nothing to do unless there was snow or a new bike needing breaking in. It was just too cold to play around outside so mostly we played our new games inside, and I read my Christmas books. If there was snow, we were out all day and only came in when we were totally soaked and our lips had turned blue.

Our street was the best one around for sledding. It was a long hill. In those days, no salt was added to the roads so the hill always had a layer of snow. The first few sledders helped pack down that snow, and soon enough, the hill was perfect for a mouth dropping ride. Our sleds were the wooden ones, and the runners used to get a bit rusty over the summer so the first few runs down the hill had brown blade marks as the rust wore off in the wet snow. At the bottom of the hill was a street so we used try to stop before we’d cross the the street, but if the sledders at the bottom signaled no cars we’d let our sleds zoom across the street to the field. Then it was walk back up the hill holding the icy rope and dragging our sleds behind us. At the top of the hill, we’d hold the sleds on each side, quickly drop them to the ground then jump on them, stomachs down and feet in the air, to ride down the hill. Our feet were the brakes. We’d drag them to slow the sleds down.

Once we’d had our fill of sledding, we’d stick our sleds upright in the pile of snow left beside the front steps from my dad’s shoveling, and we walk around to the back to get into the house through the cellar. Our wet clothes went on the line. I remember my legs were red from the cold and my fingers were always stiff, but that never mattered. It was all about those slides down a really fast hill.

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

December 22, 2011

55° on December 22nd just doesn’t seem right. When I went to get the papers, I stood a while outside and took in the morning. We have sun and blue skies for the first time in days, but it all seems wrong. Where’s the snow? I should be seeing my breath and be clad in wool from head to toe. I’m sure it sounds like complaining, and I really don’t want winter as I’m loving this temperature, but it’s Christmas time. It’s sleigh bells ringing and Frosty dancing. It’s even the first day of winter. Mother Nature is behind her time.

Every kid counted down to the big day, Christmas Eve. The lucky ones, like us, had advent calendars which let us know how many days were left without having to ask. I swear that’s why my mother started giving them to us. We just counted the unopened windows and knew how long. Later, when we were older, we did the math. I have to admit that still being in school until the 23rd helped. We were forced to be busy so the days went more quickly. Christmas Eve is the longest day of the year, not the summer solstice. Just ask any kid.

I don’t remember the specifics of most Christmas Eve days except night was a long time in coming. I bet we drove my mother crazy. It was never a day for us to play outside or wander. It was a close to home day. The TV was always on in case there was a Christmas show, just what we needed to heighten the excitement. We wondered what Santa would bring. Would he follow our list or be creative?

We always got a new game or two for Christmas. As long as I can remember, we were a family of game players. Learning to play cards started with war then we worked our way up to more complex games as we got older. My parents, figuring they had built-in partners, taught my brother and me whist. We also played all sorts of board games either sitting on the living room rug or at the kitchen table. Santa always left the games front and center under the tree leaning upright against other toys. They were often the first things we saw. I don’t remember asking for games on my list. They were Santa’s choice, but we never complained.

I still try to give a game at Christmas. It’s one of those traditions meant to be carried on year to year. The one change is we just can’t manage sitting on the rug to play. It’s too hard to get up.

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

December 17, 2011

Last night was cold, but today we’re back up to 50°. The sun is in and out of the clouds making the day bright but not sunny. I have to refill the feeders later and I’m glad my fingers won’t freeze. Earlier was already warm enough for me to stand outside for a little bit watching Gracie. She ran like a crazy dog around the yard, came in and got her snack, always two biscuits, then she flopped down on the couch for her morning nap. That’s where she still is. One cat, Fern, is on the couch in the living room, and the other, Maddie, just went down the cellar. I suspect she might be mouse hunting.

Later I have some shopping to do so I’m gearing up to fight the crowds at the supermarket and curse the wagons left in the middle of the aisles. My list is small and for that I am thankful. I hate grocery shopping.

Gracie and I went for a ride to see the lights the other night. I was far more enthused than she. I pointed out to her all the wonderfully lit houses, lamented the dark ones and laughed a bit at the “at least they did something houses.” I saw lit Christmas trees through windows and a few plastic Santas on lawns. Those Santas reminded me of my childhood when plastic Santas were the newest Christmas decorations. I have a few myself I’ve collected over the years but haven’t used them in a while. I think next year they’ll be perfect for the deck. It will be like a Santa convention.

When I was young, we used to string popcorn for the tree and a couple of times we added the cranberries. We’d sit at the kitchen table with the bowl of popcorn in the middle for us to share. It took a delicate push to get the needle through without breaking the kernel, but no matter how gently we tried, the table was usually strewn with broken pieces of corn kernels. We’d munch as we worked figuring the popcorn was as much for eating as threading. When our strands were ready, we’d each take our own and place it on the tree looped from branch to branch. We’d then step back to admire our work and how pretty it looked on the tree. When Christmas was over, the strands went outside for the birds.

We stopped doing popcorn when my dog Shauna decided the Christmas tree was for snacking. We caught her eating the popcorn enough times that we gave up before she pulled the tree down during her snack time. Shauna was a great one for sniffing out treats from just about anywhere. She always found her present under the tree. She’d pull it out from the pile and unwrap it then settle down to eat her present. She was always on Santa’s nice list.

“Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus! There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.”

December 15, 2011

Today is cloudy, but a few patches of clouds are backlit. That’s where the sun is hiding. The day is damp as it rained during the night, but it’s warm, the last warm day for a while. I went to UPS and sent the packages for Colorado on their Christmas trek. That was the most important item to cross off my to-do list. The other items have no time constraint other than the big day. My back is a bit iffy today so I’ve decided today is my do little or nothing day.

I remember one Christmas Eve when my mother sent me to the corner store, probably for bread. I rode my bicycle so there wasn’t any snow. I remember riding my bike down the grass hill beside the steps leading to the street, something my father always hated us doing, but it was fun so we did it anyway hoping not to get caught. I was going to the white store, the closer store. I never minded doing bike errands for my mother, but I was annoyed that day. It seemed to me my mother was taking the day far too lightly. I couldn’t believe that she would actually send me to do an errand on Christmas Eve. I thought it odd she didn’t realize Christmas Eve is one of the sacred days for kids, not a day for errands. It was a day for dreaming and for hoping to fall asleep as early as possible.

When it got dark, we always got restless. We watched the clock and waited. My mother let us open one gift on Christmas Eve, and that one gift was always new pajamas. Every year we argued that we should pick the gift, but it was inevitable that we’d get stuck with the new pajamas.

Back then Santa Claus was on TV every day in the late afternoon starting a few weeks before Christmas from a station out of New Hampshire. He was in his workshop and had one elf. Every Christmas Eve, the last show, we’d watch as he filled up his sleigh and we’d listen to his reminder about being fast asleep before his arrival.

Bedtime was never more welcome than it was every Christmas Eve.

“His eyes–how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!”

November 22, 2011

Last night was cold, no way getting around it. It was in the mid-30’s, and that sounds an awful lot like winter to me. I watched the Patriots’ game. I could see their breath, and Brady was wearing his hand warmer, more wintry signs. I figured they must be playing somewhere like Green Bay, but no, it was Foxboro.

Today is on and off sunny and for the first time in days there is no wind. My usually quiet street is filled with the sounds of leaf blowers as yards are being cleaned. I heard the sound when I woke up this morning, and it still continues but from another part of the neighborhood.

I did some Christmas shopping this morning in the warmth of my house without a crowd. My fingers did all the work. I’ve been shopping the last couple of days whittling my list, and I haven’t even set foot in a store.

I don’t remember my parents carrying bags or even going Christmas shopping. We were Santa believers so my parents must have hidden stuff in the trunk until we were all in bed then they’d carry the toys inside and stash them in the attic. When I was older, they woke me up when they were bringing stuff down from the attic so I knew that had been a hiding place. Our attic had hidden stairs. You had to take off the cover in the ceiling then pull down the stairs, and, because most of the attic was unfinished, it wasn’t a place we ever explored so it was a perfect hiding spot for Santa toys. I stayed awake a long while that Christmas Eve and even sneaked down the stairs to watch my parents put out the gifts. We were an unwrapped Santa gift family so that year I watched as the toys were being put under and around the tree. My dad would hand something to my mother who would then artistically place it in the right spot. We all knew our spots. They never changed from year to year.

I must have moved and creaked the stairs because my parents finally heard me and sent me back to bed. I know I fell asleep right away, and I know the morning was quick to come.

That year I wasn’t disappointed at having seen a few of my gifts but rather I felt part of a conspiracy of wonder and joy, of seeing my Santas do their magic.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”

November 19, 2011

Streets and backyards are covered with brown oak leaves, recent victims of the last three days of winds. Pine needles in the front yard cover the lawn and garden. My world is drab and messy.

Today Miss Gracie is six years old. After I finish here, we have to go to Agway for dog food so she’ll get to pick a couple of gifts and a treat or two. Gracie won’t think this too special as it happens almost every time we go to Agway. Dogs are meant to be spoiled.

I sent out my Thanksgiving cards today and they got me thinking. Thanksgiving is the least pretentious of all the holidays. No colored lights gleam in the darkness, no special decorations or costumes or new spring clothes are any part of the day. Christmas has Santa and Easter has its bunny, but Thanksgiving just has itself which is more than enough. It is the one holiday without the hustle and bustle of days of preparation. It is a day when we can take time to remember the people we love and the people we have loved. We get to be thankful for being together, and we get to share a sumptuous meal. I think the sharing of food is one of the most intimate moments which brings people together.

When my Ghanaian student, now a woman in her fifties, was here we all sat and ate a Ghanaian dinner. It was the sharing of a culture, of my memories and experiences and of the bond which has held strong between Francisca and me despite the forty years since we last saw each other. It was more than a meal: it was a celebration of friendship and family.

On Thanksgiving, most of us have a turkey at center stage. We cook foods we’ve eaten since childhood, foods which connect the years, strengthen the bonds between family and friends and touch all of our memories. I can’t imagine a Thanksgiving without green bean casserole or Tony’s grandmother’s cole slaw or my mother’s squash dish. This year, as on every Thanksgiving Day, I will be thankful for the years of memories, for the gifts from this one unpretentious day.

“November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.”

November 5, 2011

I just noticed I hadn’t turned the October calendar page over yet. Maybe it was a subconscious attempt on my part to keep the coming winter at bay. I can’t believe it is already turn the clocks back night. I used to rejoice at the added hour of sleep, but now I don’t care. My VCR remote doesn’t seem to work despite the new batteries so it will be off an hour until fall. That will drive me crazy.

The sun was shining when I woke up but has since disappeared. I spent the morning putting Halloween away and putting up Thanksgiving which is the reason for the lateness of this posting. I made multiple trips up and down the cellar stairs. For Christmas, Skip, my factotum, will be called into service.

Today is perfect for a sci-fi movie day. There is nothing I have to do so lounging on the couch watching bad movies sounds wonderful. I’m hoping for cheesy special effects, screaming women and tall heroes.

I miss the smell of leaves burning and the sight of my father wearing his red jacket and standing with his rake by the fire. The other night I could smell a fire burning from someone’s chimney, and to me it is one of the most wonderful of all smells. Winter is the stark season when the world is gray and lifeless, but it is the season with the most memorable of smells.

A house filled with the aroma of baking starts the season. All Thanksgiving morning the smell of turkey fills the kitchen. The dog and the cats never walk by the oven without sniffing the air. I never walk by without stealing a bit of the crusted end of the stuffing. The windows are steamed from the baking and cooking of all the traditional foods which have graced our tables since childhood.

I always think of Thanksgiving as pies and Christmas as cookies. Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie. My mother also made blueberry and lemon meringue; the last is not a usual Thanksgiving pie but it was a family favorite so my mother obliged. After Thanksgiving will begin the marathon of baking for Christmas. My mouth waters at the thought of sugar cookies fresh from the oven.

I figure I can handle the drab winter because I know what’s coming.