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.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
I'm a Sucker for Anything Mother
I'm a sucker for anything mother, but first a little Thanksgiving humor, culled from the children's page of my new newspaper The Everett Herald, sorry The Daily Herald:
What do you get after eating too much turkey? Dessert!
Mothers, my Mother, your mother, mothers in general:
I'm always touched by "Mother" talk. What people's memories are. How they were mothered or mother. I love listening to what gifts and surprises are being planned for mothers at holidays, Mother's Day, birthdays. When I hear good mother talk it brings me joy. Claire had a cute Facebook post this morning about Mothering Judy. And Jackie had an answer about Mothering Claire. I love mother talk.
Two colleagues lost their mother's this year. I understand the grief and pain this causes, but also the tangent joy of remembering. Remembering the good times, the friendship, of being mothered in our youth.
I guess it's reasonable to be thinking about mothers today since my Mother died on Thanksgiving Day in 1984. Thirty years ago and she is still an important part of my life. Besides all the love and acceptance she gave me, she had a wicked, sometimes warped, sometimes silly sense of humor. Christian was conceived during a trip to Disneyland so Mother really, really wanted me to name him Mickey. Yeah, that didn't happen. Can you imagine calling Christian Mickey? An unplanned pregnancy to an unwed mother wasn't an issue, but boy it sure would be fun to call him Mickey. Yeah, she was like that.
I swear she died on Thanksgiving Day on purpose so we would be forced to be thankful -- she was like that.
I know many have complex relationships with their mothers, but I didn't, and if she had a complex relationship with her Mother she kept it hidden. She always talked about our Grandmother Gilbert in glowing terms.
Books, poems, treatise, volumes, whole libraries are written about mothers. Bad mothers to saints, every portrait has been painted and I can't paint a new one. The love we have for our mother's might even surpass the love we have for our children. As Jeff said, When a mother dies we become orphans, no matter how old we are.
But I am thinking of mothers and wish I could write a portrait of mine. No one was ambivalent about her, she was loved or disregarded in just about equal measure with nothing in-between. I feel the same way a lot. Mother was poor, fat, funny, no formal education beyond high school, creative with very limited resources, lusty, lazy, unsure of herself in some social situations, the life of the party in others. Extremely wise.
She had big ole arms and could wrap you up in comfort or love or sheer joy, sitting next to you or talking thousands of miles away. She was like that. She would whoop with delight if she scored big in Scrabble or Dominoes. Moon, I think was the name of her game. I remember that. She would glow with pride over perfect hot rolls or angel food cake, she would laugh at cooking failures, cooking collapses. She loved to experiment; dinner plate size donuts, sauerbraten, guacamole when no one had even heard of it fifty years ago. She listened as Lonnie tried to describe it and how his Mother made it by squashing it with her molcajete. All new. And she did it to be nice to Lonnie, a lonely soldier a long way from his sunny Southern California home. A long way from his Mother. That was her big ole arms wrapping someone up in comforting love. Sometimes she smuggled an alcoholic beverage into our teetotaler home for some cooking experiment. That was mother.
She loved the unlovely, the undeserving. She buried her pride and humbled herself when she had to ask for help to feed her family. I can't imagine that she ever turned anyone away from her home, table or heart. Her religious beliefs were strong but flexible. No religious tenet could keep her from doing what her heart said was right. Yes, she had a dark side. She would get depressed, lonely, feel unlovely, sad, after all she was human with all the ups and downs life has to offer, but that is not her legacy. Her legacy is love.
Like I said, she loved her mother. Mother love going back to where? Moms, where would we be without them? With a gentle touch or a handy smack, Moms make the world go round. I love loving my Mother, I love being a mother, I love being a mother who is loved.
My favorite piece of art? Michelangelo's Pieta, of course.
What do you get after eating too much turkey? Dessert!
Mothers, my Mother, your mother, mothers in general:
I'm always touched by "Mother" talk. What people's memories are. How they were mothered or mother. I love listening to what gifts and surprises are being planned for mothers at holidays, Mother's Day, birthdays. When I hear good mother talk it brings me joy. Claire had a cute Facebook post this morning about Mothering Judy. And Jackie had an answer about Mothering Claire. I love mother talk.
Two colleagues lost their mother's this year. I understand the grief and pain this causes, but also the tangent joy of remembering. Remembering the good times, the friendship, of being mothered in our youth.
I guess it's reasonable to be thinking about mothers today since my Mother died on Thanksgiving Day in 1984. Thirty years ago and she is still an important part of my life. Besides all the love and acceptance she gave me, she had a wicked, sometimes warped, sometimes silly sense of humor. Christian was conceived during a trip to Disneyland so Mother really, really wanted me to name him Mickey. Yeah, that didn't happen. Can you imagine calling Christian Mickey? An unplanned pregnancy to an unwed mother wasn't an issue, but boy it sure would be fun to call him Mickey. Yeah, she was like that.
I swear she died on Thanksgiving Day on purpose so we would be forced to be thankful -- she was like that.
I know many have complex relationships with their mothers, but I didn't, and if she had a complex relationship with her Mother she kept it hidden. She always talked about our Grandmother Gilbert in glowing terms.
Books, poems, treatise, volumes, whole libraries are written about mothers. Bad mothers to saints, every portrait has been painted and I can't paint a new one. The love we have for our mother's might even surpass the love we have for our children. As Jeff said, When a mother dies we become orphans, no matter how old we are.
But I am thinking of mothers and wish I could write a portrait of mine. No one was ambivalent about her, she was loved or disregarded in just about equal measure with nothing in-between. I feel the same way a lot. Mother was poor, fat, funny, no formal education beyond high school, creative with very limited resources, lusty, lazy, unsure of herself in some social situations, the life of the party in others. Extremely wise.
She had big ole arms and could wrap you up in comfort or love or sheer joy, sitting next to you or talking thousands of miles away. She was like that. She would whoop with delight if she scored big in Scrabble or Dominoes. Moon, I think was the name of her game. I remember that. She would glow with pride over perfect hot rolls or angel food cake, she would laugh at cooking failures, cooking collapses. She loved to experiment; dinner plate size donuts, sauerbraten, guacamole when no one had even heard of it fifty years ago. She listened as Lonnie tried to describe it and how his Mother made it by squashing it with her molcajete. All new. And she did it to be nice to Lonnie, a lonely soldier a long way from his sunny Southern California home. A long way from his Mother. That was her big ole arms wrapping someone up in comforting love. Sometimes she smuggled an alcoholic beverage into our teetotaler home for some cooking experiment. That was mother.
She loved the unlovely, the undeserving. She buried her pride and humbled herself when she had to ask for help to feed her family. I can't imagine that she ever turned anyone away from her home, table or heart. Her religious beliefs were strong but flexible. No religious tenet could keep her from doing what her heart said was right. Yes, she had a dark side. She would get depressed, lonely, feel unlovely, sad, after all she was human with all the ups and downs life has to offer, but that is not her legacy. Her legacy is love.
Like I said, she loved her mother. Mother love going back to where? Moms, where would we be without them? With a gentle touch or a handy smack, Moms make the world go round. I love loving my Mother, I love being a mother, I love being a mother who is loved.
My favorite piece of art? Michelangelo's Pieta, of course.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
I'm All Abuzz
Jean flew a mercy mission, again. Thank you Jean for the Cranberry Relish recipe. I plan to make good use of it this Thanksgiving Day.
I've discovered even bad biscuits taste good on a cold, cold day, however bad pumpkin bread is bad no matter what.
I was teasing Ian early the other morning and asked him if he wanted some pumpkin bread before he left for work in thirty minutes. Little smart aleck said "Yes" knowing there was no way I could do it. When I asked I was teasing him, but then I remembered I had some left over bread in the freezer from some distant past holiday baking. I defrosted it while he showered and presented it to him as he was leaving, with a flourish, "Here is your hot pumpkin bread." He scooped it up, with a flourish, and said "I'll share it at work." Taste it first, I pleaded, it has been in the freezer for a while, make sure it is share-able.
He texted me later and said it wasn't share-able.
Bad pumpkin bread is just plain bad.
My awesome scar at my eye is disappearing. I complained to Jean that it was turning into a "cute" scar. Jean reminded me a "cute" scar was better than no scar at all. Jean is always right.
The doctor's have determined my wobbliness and tremors are probably due to low vitamin B-12. I will start a series of shots for the next six weeks. I canceled the neurologist appointment, I don't really want him poking around in my brain. I'm scared of what he will find, or not. All my other tests were sort of normal.
Jeff if you really really want a handicap-hangy-down-thing you have to be wobbly.
When I went to the medical supply place with my prescription in hand they only had an ugly black cane and an ugly grey cane. If I am going to wobble around with a cane, by golly, it is going to be interesting, I'll just buy the dern thing. Haven't yet.
I somehow wrecked a knee and it is giving me fits. About 15 years ago the doctor told me I needed to have something inside fixed, a meniscus or something like that, of course I didn't do it. Ever since, ever once in a while, it goes out of whack, but this time it seems a little more serious. Oh, woe is me. I need that cane.
My Godzilla plant apparently hates warm weather. I used to pull 20 dead leaves a day off the plant, now that it is cold I get 1 or 2. I think it's holding onto its leaves for dear life.
I bought a fricken newspaper. I have no idea why. I was in the grocery store looking at cookies, lovingly I might add, and almost ran my cart into the salesman. He said, "Whoa there partner, have I got a deal for you." I could get three months for 4.95 a month and they would give me three 5.00 grocery gift cards right then. Okay, I kinda like a newspaper, although not as much at some other family members, and it was for the Everett Herald, Mary's favorite local paper, so I said yes. I still have no idea why, but I didn't buy the cookies and my 39.00 worth of groceries was 24.00 that day. Did I win or lose?
What if you only had six months left to live? You know, the Earth will explode in six months sort of scenario. How would you spend those six months? I knew I never should have read The Last Policeman by Ben Winters. Would you go for the Bucket List, continue on, commit suicide, commit an act of revenge on a long held grievance, forgive a long held grievance?
As I pondered this it seemed to me life is like a river, I live life forward, towards my children, and their children, but this doesn't account for my friends who don't have children. They live life forward also. We won't get out of life alive, but we continue forward somehow. Actually we do all have a metaphorical asteroid heading for us personally, we won't get out of life alive, but in this novel we all go boom together. If we are all going to go boom -- what then would you do? Interesting question that I have no answer for.
I am saddened by bad things happening to good people.
Look at Buffalo.
I am really saddened by bad things happening to good people and there is nothing I can do about it but love them.
I made a comforting soup to help drive away thinking about bad things. I think I would still cook soup if an asteroid was headed my way. You will not be sorry if you make it. I found the recipe when I went through a thousand recipes some time ago. I have no idea where the recipe came from, who gave it to me, or anything else about it, but there are seven other soup recipes on that same sheet of paper and now I plan to make all of them. This is soup weather and this soup is delicious.
Savory Cheese Soup
1 large onion chopped
1 cup chopped celery
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup flour
3/4 teaspoon dry mustard
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce, I used more
2 cups chicken broth
2 carrots chopped
1 large potato cubed
2 cups milk
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
salt & pepper
Saute onion and celery
Stir in flour, mustard and Worcestershire until vegetables are evenly coated and mixture is bubbly.
Stir in broth, carrots, potato
Bring to boil stirring occasionally
Cook about 25 min
Add milk
Cook over medium heat until almost boiling
Do not boil
Reduce heat and add cheese
Not a heritage recipe, but absolutely yummy.
I read an article about de-cluttering your life and all it did for me was clutter up my brain. But my asteroid isn't here yet and I have some things to give away. Summer do you still collect tea sets? Are you interested in antiques, glitzy stuff, sentimental stuff, jewelry, Native American, heritage linens, hankies, turtles, frogs, clowns? Have I got a collection for you, except for a tea set, I don't think I have one of those, but I have everything else on this list. If you want some it's yours just let me know what you collect or what you would like to collect. Love you.
I found some more grapefruit scented soap and that made me happy.
I made soup.
Washed all my throw rugs.
Wrote the blog.
Planned my Thanksgiving dinner
Wrote my grocery list.
Watched a movie, La Danse.
Not bad, documentary about the Paris Opera Ballet.
Talked to Jean for a bit.
Ian told me he wanted a new iron and ironing board for Christmas.
Only Ian.
I'm buying groceries tomorrow since Ian will be available to haul them in and put them away.
Just how delightful can life be, asteroid or not.
I've discovered even bad biscuits taste good on a cold, cold day, however bad pumpkin bread is bad no matter what.
I was teasing Ian early the other morning and asked him if he wanted some pumpkin bread before he left for work in thirty minutes. Little smart aleck said "Yes" knowing there was no way I could do it. When I asked I was teasing him, but then I remembered I had some left over bread in the freezer from some distant past holiday baking. I defrosted it while he showered and presented it to him as he was leaving, with a flourish, "Here is your hot pumpkin bread." He scooped it up, with a flourish, and said "I'll share it at work." Taste it first, I pleaded, it has been in the freezer for a while, make sure it is share-able.
He texted me later and said it wasn't share-able.
Bad pumpkin bread is just plain bad.
My awesome scar at my eye is disappearing. I complained to Jean that it was turning into a "cute" scar. Jean reminded me a "cute" scar was better than no scar at all. Jean is always right.
The doctor's have determined my wobbliness and tremors are probably due to low vitamin B-12. I will start a series of shots for the next six weeks. I canceled the neurologist appointment, I don't really want him poking around in my brain. I'm scared of what he will find, or not. All my other tests were sort of normal.
Jeff if you really really want a handicap-hangy-down-thing you have to be wobbly.
When I went to the medical supply place with my prescription in hand they only had an ugly black cane and an ugly grey cane. If I am going to wobble around with a cane, by golly, it is going to be interesting, I'll just buy the dern thing. Haven't yet.
I somehow wrecked a knee and it is giving me fits. About 15 years ago the doctor told me I needed to have something inside fixed, a meniscus or something like that, of course I didn't do it. Ever since, ever once in a while, it goes out of whack, but this time it seems a little more serious. Oh, woe is me. I need that cane.
My Godzilla plant apparently hates warm weather. I used to pull 20 dead leaves a day off the plant, now that it is cold I get 1 or 2. I think it's holding onto its leaves for dear life.
I bought a fricken newspaper. I have no idea why. I was in the grocery store looking at cookies, lovingly I might add, and almost ran my cart into the salesman. He said, "Whoa there partner, have I got a deal for you." I could get three months for 4.95 a month and they would give me three 5.00 grocery gift cards right then. Okay, I kinda like a newspaper, although not as much at some other family members, and it was for the Everett Herald, Mary's favorite local paper, so I said yes. I still have no idea why, but I didn't buy the cookies and my 39.00 worth of groceries was 24.00 that day. Did I win or lose?
What if you only had six months left to live? You know, the Earth will explode in six months sort of scenario. How would you spend those six months? I knew I never should have read The Last Policeman by Ben Winters. Would you go for the Bucket List, continue on, commit suicide, commit an act of revenge on a long held grievance, forgive a long held grievance?
As I pondered this it seemed to me life is like a river, I live life forward, towards my children, and their children, but this doesn't account for my friends who don't have children. They live life forward also. We won't get out of life alive, but we continue forward somehow. Actually we do all have a metaphorical asteroid heading for us personally, we won't get out of life alive, but in this novel we all go boom together. If we are all going to go boom -- what then would you do? Interesting question that I have no answer for.
I am saddened by bad things happening to good people.
Look at Buffalo.
I am really saddened by bad things happening to good people and there is nothing I can do about it but love them.
I made a comforting soup to help drive away thinking about bad things. I think I would still cook soup if an asteroid was headed my way. You will not be sorry if you make it. I found the recipe when I went through a thousand recipes some time ago. I have no idea where the recipe came from, who gave it to me, or anything else about it, but there are seven other soup recipes on that same sheet of paper and now I plan to make all of them. This is soup weather and this soup is delicious.
Savory Cheese Soup
1 large onion chopped
1 cup chopped celery
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup flour
3/4 teaspoon dry mustard
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce, I used more
2 cups chicken broth
2 carrots chopped
1 large potato cubed
2 cups milk
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
salt & pepper
Saute onion and celery
Stir in flour, mustard and Worcestershire until vegetables are evenly coated and mixture is bubbly.
Stir in broth, carrots, potato
Bring to boil stirring occasionally
Cook about 25 min
Add milk
Cook over medium heat until almost boiling
Do not boil
Reduce heat and add cheese
Not a heritage recipe, but absolutely yummy.
I read an article about de-cluttering your life and all it did for me was clutter up my brain. But my asteroid isn't here yet and I have some things to give away. Summer do you still collect tea sets? Are you interested in antiques, glitzy stuff, sentimental stuff, jewelry, Native American, heritage linens, hankies, turtles, frogs, clowns? Have I got a collection for you, except for a tea set, I don't think I have one of those, but I have everything else on this list. If you want some it's yours just let me know what you collect or what you would like to collect. Love you.
I found some more grapefruit scented soap and that made me happy.
I made soup.
Washed all my throw rugs.
Wrote the blog.
Planned my Thanksgiving dinner
Wrote my grocery list.
Watched a movie, La Danse.
Not bad, documentary about the Paris Opera Ballet.
Talked to Jean for a bit.
Ian told me he wanted a new iron and ironing board for Christmas.
Only Ian.
I'm buying groceries tomorrow since Ian will be available to haul them in and put them away.
Just how delightful can life be, asteroid or not.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
A Silent Life
A Seattle kind of day: A spectacular moon full and quiet, a drenching rain storm blew its way through to somewhere, clouds bantered about from horizon to horizon, the sun burst forth with fierce intensity, wind picked up speed and action. It was glorious fall in all its luminosity.
A graceful interlude of silence. My quiet home, quiet time, quiet habits, my quiet life.
...and then I watched the movie World War Z.
I had breakfast with Claire, lunch with Lynn, playdate with Connor, a doctor appointment where she told me 19 more things wrong with me. One mammogram, three vaccinations, multiple vials of blood, ten tests for this and that, a handicap hang tag for wobbliness and tremors, an appointment with a neurologist for wobbliness and tremors, a prescription for a cane. Yeah, that's what I said, "You need a prescription for a cane? I thought you just walked into a store and bought one." It seems if you have a prescription insurance will pay for it -- maybe.
A cold front moved in, winter coats came out, heaters cranked up. People were driving insanely. Some days the driving seems so bad you just want to get home alive. There were accidents, cars stalled, traffic so snarled and slowed down cars started jockeying for positions, jumping lanes for a fractionally better advantage -- crazy man crazy.
And pedestrians practically knocking you over to get around, ahead, or go faster then my wobbly old gait allowed -- crazy man crazy.
I forgot today was free street parking in downtown Seattle and I paid my usual $16.00 -- crazy man crazy.
So it goes, some days are silent and some days aren't.
The day the wind blew I drove to Mukilteo Beach to watch the wave action. It was fierce. Possession Sound was covered in white caps. If you have been to Mukilteo Beach you will be amazed when I tell you the tide was so high only about four feet of beach remained above the sound. High, high, high tide and people about -- walking dogs, babies, each other. It was something to see.
Speaking of silence, I haven't heard anything since the heart doctor appointment. How is Jean?
Is it snowing where you speak?
I have a list of some foodie movies for Chris Miller, good foodie movies. And a few heritage recipes for the foodie in you.
Foodie Movie List
Big Night
Babette's Feast
Mostly Martha
NOT the American version No Resevations
Eat, Drink, Man, Woman
The American version isn't bad, Tortilla Soup
The Lunch Box
Dinner Rush
The Trip
El Bulli: Cooking in Progress
Jiro Dreams of Sushi
Tampopo
Ratatouille
Heritage Recipes:
Lora Gilbert's Southern Spicy Gingerbread
2 eggs
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup molasses
3/4 cup melted shortening
2 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons soda
2 teaspoons ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup boiling water
Mix sugar, molasses, shortening
Add beaten eggs
Add dry ingredients
Add hot water
Pour greased and floured pan
Bake 350 degrees 45 minutes
Homestead Vinegar Pie Great Grandmother Gilbert's (Frank's Mother)
1/2 cup sugar
2 Tablespoons flour
Cinnamon (no amount given)
2 Tablespoons cream
3/4 cup water
2 Tablespoons vinegar
sufficient for one small pie
No other information or instructions -- good luck.
And good luck with your quiet life.
A graceful interlude of silence. My quiet home, quiet time, quiet habits, my quiet life.
...and then I watched the movie World War Z.
I had breakfast with Claire, lunch with Lynn, playdate with Connor, a doctor appointment where she told me 19 more things wrong with me. One mammogram, three vaccinations, multiple vials of blood, ten tests for this and that, a handicap hang tag for wobbliness and tremors, an appointment with a neurologist for wobbliness and tremors, a prescription for a cane. Yeah, that's what I said, "You need a prescription for a cane? I thought you just walked into a store and bought one." It seems if you have a prescription insurance will pay for it -- maybe.
A cold front moved in, winter coats came out, heaters cranked up. People were driving insanely. Some days the driving seems so bad you just want to get home alive. There were accidents, cars stalled, traffic so snarled and slowed down cars started jockeying for positions, jumping lanes for a fractionally better advantage -- crazy man crazy.
And pedestrians practically knocking you over to get around, ahead, or go faster then my wobbly old gait allowed -- crazy man crazy.
I forgot today was free street parking in downtown Seattle and I paid my usual $16.00 -- crazy man crazy.
So it goes, some days are silent and some days aren't.
The day the wind blew I drove to Mukilteo Beach to watch the wave action. It was fierce. Possession Sound was covered in white caps. If you have been to Mukilteo Beach you will be amazed when I tell you the tide was so high only about four feet of beach remained above the sound. High, high, high tide and people about -- walking dogs, babies, each other. It was something to see.
Speaking of silence, I haven't heard anything since the heart doctor appointment. How is Jean?
Is it snowing where you speak?
I have a list of some foodie movies for Chris Miller, good foodie movies. And a few heritage recipes for the foodie in you.
Foodie Movie List
Big Night
Babette's Feast
Mostly Martha
NOT the American version No Resevations
Eat, Drink, Man, Woman
The American version isn't bad, Tortilla Soup
The Lunch Box
Dinner Rush
The Trip
El Bulli: Cooking in Progress
Jiro Dreams of Sushi
Tampopo
Ratatouille
Heritage Recipes:
Lora Gilbert's Southern Spicy Gingerbread
2 eggs
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup molasses
3/4 cup melted shortening
2 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons soda
2 teaspoons ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup boiling water
Mix sugar, molasses, shortening
Add beaten eggs
Add dry ingredients
Add hot water
Pour greased and floured pan
Bake 350 degrees 45 minutes
Homestead Vinegar Pie Great Grandmother Gilbert's (Frank's Mother)
1/2 cup sugar
2 Tablespoons flour
Cinnamon (no amount given)
2 Tablespoons cream
3/4 cup water
2 Tablespoons vinegar
sufficient for one small pie
No other information or instructions -- good luck.
And good luck with your quiet life.
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