Driving to the grocery store on a dark misty morning for my last fresh vegetable run, I saw a lone woman with her dog out far an early Christmas Eve walk in the park. The solitaryness, the quietness, the beauty of it struck me and took me to other quiet solitary sights and feeling; the lone fishing boat in the vast ocean outside of Glacier Bay, The Nighthawks painting. I remembered years ago another early morning misty drive down the San Bernardino mountains on another early morning misty Christmas Eve.
I went to deep places and wound up 100 million light years away, and here is us in this wee universe, in this wee solar system, on this wee planet, amid all that immensity, 100 million light years away -- to me, and my infinitesimally small speck in that sphere. My heart full to bursting with the glow and love of the season. Thinking of Amber and her "It's snowing.." post on Facebook, Art's surgery, Ian preparing for his Christmas Eve work day, Roger and I making plans to take Connor to Christian's working-man-shop. Such a full quiet life. And this is where I belong, my Earth, my spot, my family, my loves, my hearth and home.
I can dive deep to find my roots, my bedrock, and always come to the same point of this is what I am, this is what I do. 100 million light years away isn't mine, it belongs to some other intelligence. This is my life. My low-keyed Christmas with some beloved faces, some winning grins, some tender friends. My Christmas is as festive as a pumpkin patch, a little dirt, some roots, some color grouped together or separate.
Immensity to me in a single line of being, an entry point into the stream of life. Everything else is so huge, so deep, so wide, it would be an impertinence of me to say what it is. It isn't Christmas 100 million light years away, or even all across the planet, but it is Christmas in my life, in my sphere, in my heart. My family is what matters in my life. My tried and true labors of love. Cooking favorite treats, dishes, pies. Admiring Ian as he wraps up the last gifts, me wrapped up in my life in Mukilteo as I catch glimpses of other family member's Christmas-on-Earth life.
It's been weeks of customers, cooking, Ian wrapping, thinking of silly limericks. My friend had a heart attack, mild but scary. I saw fire engines racing off to somewhere and hoped for everyone's safety, hoped it was a cat stuck up a tree. The grocery store at 6 am had three customers, when I drove by at 8:30 to have breakfast with Claire the parking lot was half full, when I came home at 11:30 the parking lot was packed, then when I drove by for a little Mexican tamales dinner late in the evening the parking lot was back to empty. That is Christmas in America.
I cut myself grating cheese, I always do, I always bleed for my families holiday meals.
I soaked up the energy and fun of Christmas Eve as I had breakfast with Claire, visit with Roger, dinner with Ian. Seeing folks shopping, driving, even gassing up their cars seemed more festive. Soaking up the grace of the day, the grace of family, the grace of love, the grace of Christmas.
I posted a picture of Ian's package wrapping artistry on Facebook. Enjoy your day and Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
Days Before Christmas
Quote from the book Man in the Window: "Everything that comes out right. The dreams that come true.
"Only eight days until Christmas," Connor announced when I picked him up from school. Guess who is counting? Are you?
Connor showed me how to cut a heart and a foxhead out of paper free hand.
I showed Connor how to cut a heart out of paper folded in half.
Connor showed me how to cut a fox out of paper folded in half.
The boy picks up concepts quick.
Did you know you could cut a fox head out of folded paper?
I showed Connor how to fold paper and make a gingerbread man paper chain.
That impressed him.
So we made paper chain snowflakes.
Paper chain snowmen.
Paper chain rockets. Yes, rockets. Connor's request.
The boy is entertaining.
So we folded, cut and paper chained all evening.
Maybe granny is a little entertaining.
The miracle of things that come out right, dreams that come true, from babies to apple pies.
Christmas nights with dreams stacked all around a perfect twinkling tree.
This is the quiet before the main event. Everything that can be done ahead is done. I can't bake rolls or make salad yet. A day of Dr appointments, clean the bathroom and library run. Coffee and chocolate. Nap and solitaire. Newspaper and book.
I can hear all through the family the rustlings of Christmas.
I'm thinking of family.
Julia is snipping and wrapping with care.
Jane is baking, she has lots of family to share.
Jean is taking it easy, or so she claims.
Art is contemplating getting out of pain.
Amber is wondering how to get it all done.
Summer is busy in a retail war zone.
Jerry is stirring and shaking Chex mix.
Cathy is shopping with visions of cruises.
Mark is giggling over Christmas surprises.
Jason and Claire are doing their bit.
Some are traveling -- all are basking
In their Christmas time loveliness.
My mind is on family as they prepare for gatherings.
As I prepare for mine...
"Only eight days until Christmas," Connor announced when I picked him up from school. Guess who is counting? Are you?
Connor showed me how to cut a heart and a foxhead out of paper free hand.
I showed Connor how to cut a heart out of paper folded in half.
Connor showed me how to cut a fox out of paper folded in half.
The boy picks up concepts quick.
Did you know you could cut a fox head out of folded paper?
I showed Connor how to fold paper and make a gingerbread man paper chain.
That impressed him.
So we made paper chain snowflakes.
Paper chain snowmen.
Paper chain rockets. Yes, rockets. Connor's request.
The boy is entertaining.
So we folded, cut and paper chained all evening.
Maybe granny is a little entertaining.
The miracle of things that come out right, dreams that come true, from babies to apple pies.
Christmas nights with dreams stacked all around a perfect twinkling tree.
This is the quiet before the main event. Everything that can be done ahead is done. I can't bake rolls or make salad yet. A day of Dr appointments, clean the bathroom and library run. Coffee and chocolate. Nap and solitaire. Newspaper and book.
I can hear all through the family the rustlings of Christmas.
I'm thinking of family.
Julia is snipping and wrapping with care.
Jane is baking, she has lots of family to share.
Jean is taking it easy, or so she claims.
Art is contemplating getting out of pain.
Amber is wondering how to get it all done.
Summer is busy in a retail war zone.
Jerry is stirring and shaking Chex mix.
Cathy is shopping with visions of cruises.
Mark is giggling over Christmas surprises.
Jason and Claire are doing their bit.
Some are traveling -- all are basking
In their Christmas time loveliness.
My mind is on family as they prepare for gatherings.
As I prepare for mine...
Friday, December 12, 2014
Christmas Traditions
It's that Christmasy time of year.
Downtown is lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, every building, crane, office, tower, deck, or window has some swag. Shopping is half done. Everyone is sniffling, coming down with or getting over the flu. If this were carbon dating we would be at half life. If this were a novel we would be at the-plot-thickens. If this were a cooking show we just put it in the oven. If this were a mountain hike we are almost to the saddle.
Ian is half way through the wrapping. His packages are a work of art. I always used as many different wrapping papers as possible, Ian uses as few as possible to be absolutely, always, tastefully coordinated. I'll send you a snapshot.
Hope, peace, joy, love reigns along with reindeer, snowmen, candy canes and jingle bells.
All those symbols and icons of Christmas, all the myriad traditions; boat parades, midnight mass, singing Christmas carols. In our growing up household no iconography dominates, no tradition endures. No train rides, carousels, tree lighting, Santa visit, not even a dependable Christmas storm.
Oklahoma with its undependable weather never cooperated in creating a tradition. Some growing up Christmas' we had enough snow to build snow forts, others we cavorted around in our shorts. No annual ice skating on the community pond for us like my friends from Boston or other chilly locals. I remember a few downtown Christmas parades, a few stunning department store windows, enough to amaze my young eyes, but nothing that qualifies as traditional. No Nutcracker ballet, winter festivals or Christmas pudding.
All the icons of Christmas we only dabbled in. I sung carols, once, with the Girl Scouts. Gingerbread houses came with adulthood, yet it is a strong growing up tradition for so many. No treasured Creche was brought down from the attic, but the three hand painted plywood choir boys came out, as did the electric window candles that mother loved beyond all reason. The Christmas tree was a cedar tree daddy cut out of the pasture and wired to a board, usually a little forlorn and lopsided, but always big. Our Christmas' didn't smell like pine or plastic, our Christmas' smelled like cedar and fudge. Mom's fudge.
Memories rise; food bakes, cooks, burbles on the stove.
Mom and Dad spending a Saturday shopping.
A child size handmade cupboard with adult sized dishes that Mom had saved from the oatmeal boxes, green I remember, a baby doll or two, a purple sweater. Aunt Josephine and Uncle Beaty blazing into town in what ever new car they were driving. Christmas Eve meant Uncle Beaty taking us for a Christmas light tour while a visit from Santa was orchestrated at home.
Family always family; aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings, parents, in-laws. Always the constant tradition.
Christmas and shopping the hard part.
Christmas and cooking the delicious part.
Christmas and work the necessary part.
Christmas and surprises the fun part.
Christmas and family the love part.
Daddy giving us all a nickle candy bar.
School plays.
Church pageants.
Mince pies.
Divinity.
Laughter and love...
Downtown is lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree, every building, crane, office, tower, deck, or window has some swag. Shopping is half done. Everyone is sniffling, coming down with or getting over the flu. If this were carbon dating we would be at half life. If this were a novel we would be at the-plot-thickens. If this were a cooking show we just put it in the oven. If this were a mountain hike we are almost to the saddle.
Ian is half way through the wrapping. His packages are a work of art. I always used as many different wrapping papers as possible, Ian uses as few as possible to be absolutely, always, tastefully coordinated. I'll send you a snapshot.
Hope, peace, joy, love reigns along with reindeer, snowmen, candy canes and jingle bells.
All those symbols and icons of Christmas, all the myriad traditions; boat parades, midnight mass, singing Christmas carols. In our growing up household no iconography dominates, no tradition endures. No train rides, carousels, tree lighting, Santa visit, not even a dependable Christmas storm.
Oklahoma with its undependable weather never cooperated in creating a tradition. Some growing up Christmas' we had enough snow to build snow forts, others we cavorted around in our shorts. No annual ice skating on the community pond for us like my friends from Boston or other chilly locals. I remember a few downtown Christmas parades, a few stunning department store windows, enough to amaze my young eyes, but nothing that qualifies as traditional. No Nutcracker ballet, winter festivals or Christmas pudding.
All the icons of Christmas we only dabbled in. I sung carols, once, with the Girl Scouts. Gingerbread houses came with adulthood, yet it is a strong growing up tradition for so many. No treasured Creche was brought down from the attic, but the three hand painted plywood choir boys came out, as did the electric window candles that mother loved beyond all reason. The Christmas tree was a cedar tree daddy cut out of the pasture and wired to a board, usually a little forlorn and lopsided, but always big. Our Christmas' didn't smell like pine or plastic, our Christmas' smelled like cedar and fudge. Mom's fudge.
Memories rise; food bakes, cooks, burbles on the stove.
Mom and Dad spending a Saturday shopping.
A child size handmade cupboard with adult sized dishes that Mom had saved from the oatmeal boxes, green I remember, a baby doll or two, a purple sweater. Aunt Josephine and Uncle Beaty blazing into town in what ever new car they were driving. Christmas Eve meant Uncle Beaty taking us for a Christmas light tour while a visit from Santa was orchestrated at home.
Family always family; aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings, parents, in-laws. Always the constant tradition.
Christmas and shopping the hard part.
Christmas and cooking the delicious part.
Christmas and work the necessary part.
Christmas and surprises the fun part.
Christmas and family the love part.
Daddy giving us all a nickle candy bar.
School plays.
Church pageants.
Mince pies.
Divinity.
Laughter and love...
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Christmas Dithering
Christmas dithering. It's that time of year. I have a list a mile long and -- the dithers.
What to get for whom. Watch this movie or that. I sit down, then hop up to do nothing in particular. It just seems wrong somehow to sit, after all there is so much to do; cards to write, packages to wrap, candy to make, a bit of shopping. Plus lots of thinking going on.
My mind is not really focusing on anything. It flits. The Monkey Brain syndrome. I think I should boil some eggs because my doctor said I needed more protein, make soup stock from my left over turkey bones, what about a musical instrument for Connor, it's between a ukulele and a roll up piano, call sisters, check fingernails, do I want a manicure today, go throw away that last piece of left over pumpkin pie, get my b-12 shot, holler for Roger to come help with a fuse so I don't kill myself days before Christmas.
And dithering about the blog -- it's family and friends time of year and I'm dithering about dithering. I rarely take part in Facebook tests and such, but here I am taking a test to see if I think like an adult or a child. Like I don't know this? My mental age is 29 if you're interested. Yeah, surprised me too. I talked to Jean who was making goodies for the family Christmas breakfast. I was a bit jealous so I started thinking about Costa Rican monkeys, the chittering kind, and a wedding practically a year away. Should I wear my Ugg boots today, should I charge my phone or clean the toilets.
What movie to buy Connor. It's between The Lego Movie and How to Train Your Dragon part Two. After all thinking about Connor is not dithering.
I read in the book The Fault in Our Stars, page 14, "You and you alone know us as we know ourselves." Shogun said we had three faces, "One for strangers, one for family and one for ourselves only." Or something like that. It's about the same thing or is this just more dithering?
I followed Lynn Burnell's Facebook post about Kabalarian philosophy and name analysis. Why am I reading this? Read Facebook, read the newspaper or read a book? I'm investing time and energy into reading about bird watching in the Pacific Northwest this winter. Why? Isn't this Julia's domain?
I'm thinking about Tal and trucks and fishing. Jeff and biking and playing. Julia's birds, Jean's cookies, Janice's crossword puzzles, Jerry's reading, Hannah's red hair, Art's achy leg, how busy work has been. Isn't retail supposed to be busy in December? Working from home, hearing aids, baby dolls, school pageants, Santa pictures, snow on the mountains, and cold, lots and lots about cold temperatures.
There is a native canoe show at the Hibulb Culture Center, Journey with our Ancestors; Coast Salish Canoes. They have a store with lots of native arts and crafts and I want to go and see if they have a beautiful, native, ethnic belt for Jerry's purse. I know he wants one.
I lost the Turkey Coloring contest at work. Mine was awesome, I just knew I had won. When I congratulated the actual winner, she said, "Your's was better." Music to my ears.
Stephanie put a post on Facebook about sharing stories/memories about ourselves through the month of December; December to Remember: I love that idea. Memories; like Lonnie trying to be gallant and carry me from the boat to dry land and dropping me in the water. Favorite Christmas movies: Love Actually and Millions.
An unfocused mind is a wistful thing...
Memories: Mother sent me a card after Little Lonnie was born with the phrase "dithering idiot." I loved that card, and yes, I have it still. Aunt Josephine was goofy about Lil' Lon, but he loved Aunt Janice best.
Love. All this dithering brings you down to the basics doesn't it? A straight line to Love. Christmas a time for family, friends and love. Claire's brother passed away five weeks after her sister. That made me think hard about family, siblings and friends. I'm sad for Claire, but I'm sad thinking of my family also as we face this in our future.
What cookies I make, or not, has little relationship to the love of the Season.
Ian's car heater went out.
Jacquie Wishnewsky and I shopped on Black Friday.
I love Chris' new car.
I'm constantly amazed by Jason's motorcycle obsession.
What can I find at Trader Joe's.
Roger went running on Thanksgiving.
and more b-12 shots, only six more to go.
Roger told me "No" Doesn't he love me anymore? I'm not over it yet. He didn't want to put a fuse in a live electrical fuse box and said he would pay for an electrician. Maybe that is love. Tough love.
What to get for whom. Watch this movie or that. I sit down, then hop up to do nothing in particular. It just seems wrong somehow to sit, after all there is so much to do; cards to write, packages to wrap, candy to make, a bit of shopping. Plus lots of thinking going on.
My mind is not really focusing on anything. It flits. The Monkey Brain syndrome. I think I should boil some eggs because my doctor said I needed more protein, make soup stock from my left over turkey bones, what about a musical instrument for Connor, it's between a ukulele and a roll up piano, call sisters, check fingernails, do I want a manicure today, go throw away that last piece of left over pumpkin pie, get my b-12 shot, holler for Roger to come help with a fuse so I don't kill myself days before Christmas.
And dithering about the blog -- it's family and friends time of year and I'm dithering about dithering. I rarely take part in Facebook tests and such, but here I am taking a test to see if I think like an adult or a child. Like I don't know this? My mental age is 29 if you're interested. Yeah, surprised me too. I talked to Jean who was making goodies for the family Christmas breakfast. I was a bit jealous so I started thinking about Costa Rican monkeys, the chittering kind, and a wedding practically a year away. Should I wear my Ugg boots today, should I charge my phone or clean the toilets.
What movie to buy Connor. It's between The Lego Movie and How to Train Your Dragon part Two. After all thinking about Connor is not dithering.
I read in the book The Fault in Our Stars, page 14, "You and you alone know us as we know ourselves." Shogun said we had three faces, "One for strangers, one for family and one for ourselves only." Or something like that. It's about the same thing or is this just more dithering?
I followed Lynn Burnell's Facebook post about Kabalarian philosophy and name analysis. Why am I reading this? Read Facebook, read the newspaper or read a book? I'm investing time and energy into reading about bird watching in the Pacific Northwest this winter. Why? Isn't this Julia's domain?
I'm thinking about Tal and trucks and fishing. Jeff and biking and playing. Julia's birds, Jean's cookies, Janice's crossword puzzles, Jerry's reading, Hannah's red hair, Art's achy leg, how busy work has been. Isn't retail supposed to be busy in December? Working from home, hearing aids, baby dolls, school pageants, Santa pictures, snow on the mountains, and cold, lots and lots about cold temperatures.
There is a native canoe show at the Hibulb Culture Center, Journey with our Ancestors; Coast Salish Canoes. They have a store with lots of native arts and crafts and I want to go and see if they have a beautiful, native, ethnic belt for Jerry's purse. I know he wants one.
I lost the Turkey Coloring contest at work. Mine was awesome, I just knew I had won. When I congratulated the actual winner, she said, "Your's was better." Music to my ears.
Stephanie put a post on Facebook about sharing stories/memories about ourselves through the month of December; December to Remember: I love that idea. Memories; like Lonnie trying to be gallant and carry me from the boat to dry land and dropping me in the water. Favorite Christmas movies: Love Actually and Millions.
An unfocused mind is a wistful thing...
Memories: Mother sent me a card after Little Lonnie was born with the phrase "dithering idiot." I loved that card, and yes, I have it still. Aunt Josephine was goofy about Lil' Lon, but he loved Aunt Janice best.
Love. All this dithering brings you down to the basics doesn't it? A straight line to Love. Christmas a time for family, friends and love. Claire's brother passed away five weeks after her sister. That made me think hard about family, siblings and friends. I'm sad for Claire, but I'm sad thinking of my family also as we face this in our future.
What cookies I make, or not, has little relationship to the love of the Season.
Ian's car heater went out.
Jacquie Wishnewsky and I shopped on Black Friday.
I love Chris' new car.
I'm constantly amazed by Jason's motorcycle obsession.
What can I find at Trader Joe's.
Roger went running on Thanksgiving.
and more b-12 shots, only six more to go.
Roger told me "No" Doesn't he love me anymore? I'm not over it yet. He didn't want to put a fuse in a live electrical fuse box and said he would pay for an electrician. Maybe that is love. Tough love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
