Ode to Spring, and all that

er- Spring

you perfectly priceless old thing

I'm frightfully bucked at 

the signs that one sees,

The jolly old sap

in the topping old trees. 

The priceless old lilac, and that sort of rot...

It jolly well cheers a chap up.

does it not?

It's so fearfully bright, so amazingly right

and one feels as one feels

when one gets rather tight....

er- Spring

I write from memory, a poem from long ago, 

before I was married...

When I still did secretarial duty

and spent lunch hours

in linen shops

and greeting card establishments,

with a kindred soul.

In the early 1940's - war time

before I had even met the Beloved!

In the midst of another late spring.....

Somewhere in all my 'stuff'

I have this poem

but I moved it from the drawer beside my bed

with other poetry from that era

and I don't know where I put it!!! (she wailed)

Mr. Google has evidently never heard

of this particular

Ode to Spring, and all that....

He quotes Gray and many

others who waxed deliriously about Spring

but this particular poem

which has happy memories for me

if nowhere to be found?

Not even the poet ..

I'm sure it wasn't Ogden Nash,

but someone of his ilk..

It is said
Nash wrote about spring,
although it is expected he copied  "Anonymous"

"Spring is sprung, the grass is riz
I wonder where the boidies is..?
The boid is on the wing,
Absoid,
I always thought the wing was on the bird."

Also written from old memories...school days!

Well, if anyone knows

"Ode to Spring and all that"
and can correct my memory,.
I would be much obliged!!

Tidying and its consequences

April 16th, 2018

Monday morning, - and I should be weaving.

However, I have spent part of the morning tidying, and the other part brooding over a couple of cups of coffee.

I am haunted by great hordes of descendants, rolling their eyes, raising their eyebrows, and asking each other in plaintive query, 'why did Grandma save THIS, do you suppose' - while I rest quietly under a blanket of green!

Of course the consequences of all this tidying is that I will not know where anything is, anymore.  I did have some little brain patterns that would lead me eventually to the object of my quest, - but now????

I can tell you where things were on the farm, - ' that book is on the shelf going downstairs, - third from the top step!'.  Now I have no idea which shelf it's on, or whose!!!  The daily chocolate cake is in the middle drawer next to the stove.....  Daily chocolate cake???  Did I really make a chocolate cake daily for that ravenous horde of precious children (and husband)????

It all started when I decided to put various loom instructions away.  The ones that my youngest son had been using to guide him with the tie up.  That led to a general clean-up of all weaving books, - recent and drafts from napkin and towels exchanges from long ago, - all tucked carefully away in colorful bankers boxes, duly marked.

While I was doing this I came across a little collection of poetry.  At one time in my life I was very much into books by May Sarton.  "At Seventy" (probably when I was seventy) and "House by the Seas"  They lived on the table on my side of the bed on tenth avenue.  Where are they now????

This little poem of May Sarton's expresses quite exactly how I would like my house to be, in all simplicity and peace.  It is called  "The Work of Happiness"


I thought of happiness, how it is woven
Out of the silence in the empty house each day
And how it is not sudden and it is not given
But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.
No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark
Another circle is growing in the expanding ring.
No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark,
But the tree is lifted  by this inward work
And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.

So happiness is woven out of the peace of hours
And strikes its roots deep in the house alone:
The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors,
White curtains softly and continually blown
As the free air moves quietly about the room.
A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall -
These are the dear familiar gods of home
And here the work of faith can best be done,
The growing tree is green and musical.

For what is happiness but growth in peace,
The timeless sense of time when furniture
Has stood a life's span in a single place,
And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir
The shining leaves of present happiness?
No one has heard thought or listened to a mind, 
But where people have lived in inwardness
The air is charged with blessing and does bless;
Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.

Well, we all know that what with music, the piano, the ukulele, the looms, the STASH, the books, the memoirs, the old report cards and Christmas greetings (saved), the drawers of music books, all the linens and the ornaments, the twelve boxes of hard print photos and snaps, and the albums, and a box of old essays, and all the letters Charles and I wrote to and fro while he was training and flying Lancasters, my journals and the shelves of genealogy info  - oh, I must stop........!!!

Perhaps somebody will be delighted and say, "Oh look, - Grandma's old Cookie Jar"

.I would show you the actual cookie jar, but it is on the top shelf and I am not allowed to take a camera up the step ladder to snap a picture!!!  I keep my meagre supply of cookies for Great Grandma in the middle drawer by the stove!!

Saturday night - the 14th of April, 2018

My New Mantra........

I have a new mantra, and I have included it in a Thankfulness Post about a year ago,

 but these days I have added, as well as Thankfulness........ Acceptance!!! 

Praise What Comes!!!

Not only because it is a gift of grace, but also because it is a lesson learned!

I am so grateful for a long life, good health, wonderful children, 

a place to be independent, the looms, my stash!, 

the piano and the ukulele and the garden...a chance meeting with old friends,

(so few and far between and I usually see them at funerals!!)

 or a phone call.....oh my, I am besieged with things to praise...

But what I have learned is that I must praise what comes with all its imperfections, 

and lean into the years I have been granted gently and without any bitterness 

that the cutch grass grows 

along with the peonies, 

- that  I make mistakes in threading, or the shuttle skips over threads and I don't notice it until the weaving is off the loom.  

The bread pudding doesn't turn out quite as delicious as bread pudding used to, 

or the pork chop is not as tender and juicy as I remember they once were

when they came from the oven.

  The home-made bread is a little heavy.....and so is the loom beater 

that I used to be able to move around quite easily, as needed!!

One paragraph, and already I am whining!!!!!

Praise what comes!!  Never mind if it is not quite up to par!!!

 It is here, I am here, and life is good.

The neighbour's apricot tree is about to burst into bloom

and all up and down the valley the green leaves grow

and the scent of the orchards is heaven.

Here is the poem which inspires me into acceptance of life with its endearing imperfections!!

(In case you missed it first time around)

Praise What Comes

surprising as unplanned kisses, all you haven't deserved

of days and solitude, your body's immoderate good health

that lets you work in many kind of weather.  Praise

talk with just about anyone.  And quiet intervals, books

that are your good and your hunger, nightfall and walks

before sleep.  Praising these for practice, perhaps.

You will come at last to praise grief and the wrongs

you never intended.  At the end there may be no answers

and only a few very simple questions;  did I love,

finish my task in the world?  Learn at least one

of the many names of God?  At the intersections,

the boundaries where one life began and another

ended, the jumping-off places between fear and

possibility, at the ragged edges of pain,

did I catch the smallest glimpse of the holy?

This poem was written by Jeanne Lohmann

It is pinned on the cupboard to my left

along with a casual snap of me and my beloved...

smiling!

Happy days- Happy memories....

Praise what comes!!!

March 30th, 2018

March!!!

I welcomed March at the beginning of the month, and gave a nod of the head to this wild rapscallion of a month, - wind and rain, - a touch of irascibility, and the only sweetness to be found here in the Similkameen was in the scent of the violets that began to carpet the greening lawns....

I say goodbye to Him (March - I'm sure he's male) and prepare myself to welcome April, who I know can be frivolous and sometimes "cruel", - but the month ahead will see the daffodils, the tulips and the windflowers, and the lovely scarlet stubs of the peony parting the rich earth.

The days are milder now, - gentler, and sometimes even tender.  But still the west wind stirs up the mountain snows and brings the colder air down into the village.

Christina Rossetti says  - " I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
                                          If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,

                                          If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
                                          And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
                                          Sing robin, sing:
                                          I still an sore in doubt concerning Spring"

Well, we do have robins, and I have heard them sing. 

And the tulips and the daffodils reach higher each day 

with their sword like leaves.

The Daphne is in bloom in the corner of the garden...

the forsythia in a bucket in the bathtub!

The altar flowers are waiting in my kitchen 

and a couple of lovely lilies

hoard their many buds until they bloom 

for Easter.

"Spring is made of solid, fourteen-karat gratitude, the reward

for the long wait.

Every religious tradition from the northern hemisphere

honors some form of April hallelujah,

for this is the season of exquisite redemption, a slam-bank 

return to joy after a season of cold second thoughts."

Barbara Kingsolver

Tomorrow we will go and change the hangings to White. 

put Easter flowers in the brass vases

and crowd lilies around the Altar. and all rejoice in

this "exquisite redemption"...

although, alas, Easter is not what it once was

in this secular society we live in.

Oh tell me, are White Gloves and Easter Bonnets

part of the Easter Tradition any more?

even a frivolous part?????

Here is Bing Crosby singing "Easter Parade"

Charles and I met on Easter Sunday, April 25th, 1943

Perhaps that is why I am so sentimental
about Bing's version....

This was 'our' song....

Such a mish mash of a posting, but it's been a while
since I have settled down and gathered my thoughts!!!!!

Spent March weaving....more on that later....

Monday, March 12th, 2018

My Blog time has been cut off at the knees by the Briar,  a week-long Men's Curling Event!!

Such a noisy and breathtaking week....

A pleasure to see young  men spending their time being enthusiastic about sports 

instead of finding their danger and excitement 

in the skies and the battlefields of Europe, 

as it was in my generation.

Charles spent time as a young man in Scotland training on heavy bombers.

Today young curling enthusiasts go to Scotland to indulge in that wonderful ancient game of chasing rocks around the ice.

Today, as it was then, the conflict is  about skill and dedication and comradeship

 but the activities that bond these young people is healthier

 and doesn't bear with it the terrible danger and loss of life.

The bonds between participants are probably not as intense 

as those between the bands of brothers

 who have faced flak and searchlights and missiles -

and ten or twelve hours flying,cramped and cold

over enemy territory,

never assured of their safe return.

but there must be a fondness, or maybe a passion

 for the game,

 and those who you share it with ,

that follows you into your more mature years. 

 At least judging by the old fellows who cheered and hooted and hollered in the stands.

and its long and ancient history

Towards the end of March the Scotties Tournament of Hearts,

a women's curling event

 will dominates the sports channels

for a whole week!!!

I am weaving these days so I will have a

stock of tea towels to hem

while I watch.

February 28th, 2018

A Reminder....

Prepare yourself for the March Hare!!

and perhaps picnics with the Mad Hatter!!!

Picnics, anyway...

Spring is bound to come

eventually!

Emily Dickinson welcomes March so warmly...

Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before,
Put down your hat -
You must have walked -
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me.
I have so much to tell!

I got your letter, and the birds,
The maples never knew
That you were coming, - I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But March, forgive me -
And all those hills
You left for me to hue;
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.

Who knocks?  That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.


Are you as pleased to see March come as I??

February 12th, 2018

A special Remembrance

Among other things I remember V-J Day and the end of World War 2,
and how we celebrated it.

Almost 73 years ago, and we had been married not quite three months.

I was at a friend's beach house, looking after her children
when I heard what sounded like a locomotive
roaring down the winding road that led from the highway
to the beach.

I shaded my eyes, and around the corner came our sporty yellow roadster,
(with rumble seat)
carrying two sporty looking Airforce officers
who had attached a locomotive whistle
to the exhaust of the sporty yellow car
(with wire wheels)

in celebration!!

Here is Charles, standing by the roadster that day
smiling happily.

He and his friend, a boy he had grown up with
and who had enlisted with him on the same day
in 1942
toured the town,
whistle blowing,
rejoicing.

And at the same time
grieving for the brothers
who lay buried in Europe
and would never be there to celebrate.

***********

Charles would have celebrated his 94th birthday today.

He lived his 88 years with enthusiasm
and commitment.
A full, rich and generous life
contributing so much during his time on earth.

And setting such a particularly fine example....

A man who 'Stayed the Course'

We miss him dearly and remember him with a precious love.

my love and tender support

Potatoes Anna (Pommes Anna)

Our children are most kind to me in the most surprising and practical ways.

Since their beloved father died I have never been allowed to feel lonely or neglected (well, sometimes at nights the longing leaves me rather bereft.....)  However, they do all the loving and comforting things that we would hope most children do for their widowed parent.  Tall sons change light bulbs, fix water problems, visit and converse, sometimes on the most amazing topics which the younger generation seems to understand better than I.  They take me for rides along country roads where the meadowlarks sing and the wild grasses grow, and sometimes up into the mountains where the eagle flies!  My phone is no stranger to their daily calls - our youngest son now understands the workings of the eight shaft loom as well as I do, after he came out of the North to put it together for me.

And they keep me supplied with goodies, - so it was not surprising when our youngest daughter told me she was making Potatoes Anna to take to a friend's dinner, and asked if I would like to have a small portion!!!

Oh, Potatoes Anna - how I love them, and what memories they contain in their buttery goodness.

I was introduced to Potato Anna early in my culinary career when we moved

to Cawston and joined with other veterans in establishing orchards

on the Cawston Bench.

Alex was one of these veterans.

A little bit older than the average age of these men

and quite a bit more sophisticated.

Not a sharp end soldier, but someone involved in other military aspects.

He first became Charles' friend, and then a welcome friend to all our family.

An intelligent man, and extremely well educated.

he broadened our lives in many ways.

A Master bridge player, he improved our skills

at the game and we spent many happy hours around the bridge table.

Very knowledgeable about Music it was he who encouraged

me to hone my musical skills (such as they were)

on one showy piece that would be a standby

should I find myself having to play unexpectedly...

and so I practised the "Pathetic" until

I could play it passably well and with some confidence!!!!

Well versed in the elegance of cooking,

he introduced us to a marvelous Baked Salmon recipe,

to Cherries Jubilee,

a fabulous apple pie recipe,

and, of course

*Potatoes Anna!!

Who would have known that the lowly potato could be so fashionable,

and delicious...

To make Potatoes Anna you need a nice deep pan

or a heavy iron frying pan.

Using a sharp knife slice about three or four potatoes thinly

(about 1/8th of an inch - not paper thin)

Don't dip in water, - you need the starch to bind the potato slices together.

Butter the pan, generously, and arrange the slices in concentric circles.

Season the first layer with a little salt,

drizzle with melted butter,

and then repeat until you have three layers..

Tuck a bit more butter in around the edges 

and season again with salt.

Put a lid on the pan and bake for about twenty minutes in a 375 degree oven.

Remove the lid, and bake another 25 or so minutes,

until the tops are golden and crispy.

Remove from the oven and run a knife around the edge of the pan.

Place a serving plate over the top

and flip the whole delicious concoction on to the plate.

If you wish the crispy potatoes to be on the top

repeat with another plate

and then cut into wedges to serve.

Absolutely marvelous with that Salmon recipe I spoke about earlier....

Just the thought of this lovely dish brings back wonderful memories of Alex, of our time on the

Cawston Bench, of the friends we entertained with the great recipes he shared, how easy it was to get those beautiful salmon from our First Nation friends, fresh from the Fraser River, and oh, - just all sorts of sweet and poignant feelings!!

Alex married a few years after we all planted our orchards and created a community, and his wife,

Elizabeth, became one of our dearest friends.

*Pomme Anna recipe dates from Napoleon's time..

named after one of the lovely ladies of the Court

Monday,
February 5th, 2018

Once I had a friend - a War Bride from Lancashire who married a Cawston Lad and came here, to British Columbia, as did many other War Brides who were dazzled by Canadian Fellows.

She lived in the village and I lived on the "Bench" where Charles and I were establishing an orchard and bringing up all those lovely children.

We were both Anglicans.  She was here before me, and when I arrived she took me under her wing and introduced me to the village, the church and the adjoining town.  She also re-introduced me to the Jelly Roll, which a friend of my mother's used to make but which I had never tackled.

It was her Piece de Resistance..

She made the most marvelous Lemon Curd filling for those light and wonderful concoctions that she baked in a 10x15 inch pan, turned out on to a clean towel covered with icing sugar. slathered it with that lovely lemony sauce and then rolled it up tight and waited for exclamations of appreciation.

Which I must admit were many, - it became her trade mark, - that and her fondness for "Knees up Mother Brown" at Saturday night parties!!!

Today, when I was looking for a recipe for Potatoes Anna, I found in an old book a wonderful recipe for a Lemon Jelly Roll, and the years faded away and I was young, and she was young, and our husbands and families were young, and the world was a wonderful place.

Tomorrow, or the next time I write here, I will tell you about Potatoes Anna and the sweet and exotic friend who taught me how to make this enticing dish...

Saturday, January 20th, 2018

Oh, today I ventured outside!!

Lovely......

Finally the snow lies diminished 

and the icy spots are easy to avoid.

I put on my gardening coat

and a pair of clogs, -

grabbed my 'stick'

and slipped through the side garden gate

to where the birdseed is stored.

What a treat!!

Both for me and the birds,

(although my son-in-law has been keeping them well fed, I'm

sure they would be glad to see my familiar face again).

That done I moved along the fence line

to where a small mound of snow lay,

covering the new clematis I planted last summer

and the Lenten Roses!!

A few delicate white blossoms poked

through the snow,

and I used my cane to move more of the broad

green leaves and sweet white petals

into what may possibly be sunshine if the clouds clear away.

Yesterday I was struggling with a difficult linen and fine cotton warp..

Today I might even take a book out into the sunshine

(if the sun deigns to favour us!!)

and dream of spring....

violets, the first crocus, some little white snowdrops!!

and I am awash in memories of chubby hands and bouquets

shyly offered, -

the first yellow spring blooms,

and the years when we were all young and life was still to be lived.

bygone times

I have been going through old pictures today,

looking for one in particular,

but finding many others that bring back memories or stir my curiosity about

days gone by...

One cannot guarantee that recollections and stories told

will be perfectly recalled,

or that they will correspond in every small detail

with the recollections of others dear to me.

I have been reading dire things about the reliability of memory,

and things that have been passed on to me have made the journey

through many a brain, but surely pictures do not lie

and they represent a sweet and common heritage.

Here is a picture taken on my great-grandfather's porch

shortly before my grandparents left Ontario for the West.

Clustered on the porch is a great aunt and her little one,

my grandparents, my father, an aunt and an uncle.

My great grandfather occupies the rocker.

The handsome fellow leaning nonchalantly against the post is another uncle,

and to the far right my two aunts

who died in the 1918 flu epidemic.

If this was a farewell visit I can imagine the poignancy of saying goodbye.

I don't know exactly the relationship of the two young girls sitting on the steps,

but the most interesting thing about the girl who sits on the bottom most step

is that she looks exactly like our granddaughter, at the same age,

born almost a hundred years later.

Our lives are all woven together,

and the pattern repeats itself randomly,

to add richness to the tapestry.

Confined to Barracks

The 10th day of January, 2018

And I am Confined to Barracks!!

Having spent the first forty years of my married life

as a farmer's wife

on a Veteran's Project.

I found my vocabulary changed considerably,

and I adopted many a military phrase, --

like being thoroughly Brassed Off

that I am in the midst of a

SNAFU
(situation normal, all fouled up)
ladies' more elegant interpretation

in that I am Confined to Barracks on account of

the snow and ice that has put my family in a Flap

that I might Fold Up and Hit the Deck!!

This would never have happened Yonks
(a long time ago)

when I was the one who was in a Flap because it was

quite possible the rascals were AWOL

and I had to do Bed Checks every night!!!

Ah well, times change...

but as much as I appreciate their concern

I do yearn for a little freedom to be

out and about......

Small patches of blue sky right now and soon

the sun will be peaking over the mountain top,

and maybe I will take my lunch out to the porch and dream

about what all the little bulbs are doing,

under that ice and snow that limits old ladies

from going sledding and skiing!

Or even to the grocery store....(whinging..)

Sunny Side Up

I had a pancake left over from last night's supper, and for breakfast this morning I decided to have it with an egg, and a rasher of bacon...

and then I decided that I would cook the egg sunny side up, as my mother used to do when I was a child.  

(here is a 'stock image' but you get the picture....nothing lavish)

A foggy morning, and it seemed to call for something that had a little brightness to it!!

As a matter of fact, I am inclined to prefer my whole life, "sunny side up", 

remembering the good things, rather than the sorrowful or agonizing, 

or just plain irritating events

 that continue to pop up along with joy and pleasant times.

It makes life more enjoyable 

to be a Blue bird

rather than an Eeyore

(and I have run into my share of "dark cloud" people

over the years..)

How about you?  How do you greet a gloomy day?

Do you cherish happy memories?

.....or is life full of regrets and annoyances

and melancholy?

Here is Pharrell Williams to help release

your serotonin, your dopamine, and your endorphins!!!!

Be happy!!!

Z for zip

ABC Wednesday
January 2nd, 2018
the letter is Z, for Zip

Today is my 93rd birthday.

It coincides with the ending of the alphabet

and I have chosen Z for Zip

Thinking that it is time I went Zipping along......

as much as I have enjoyed participating in

ABC Wednesday for lo these many years.

I will be reading all your posts,

but only contributing when the spirit moves me.

I will concentrate this year on the letter W

for Weaving!!

and G for Gardening

when the S for snow goes!

in the meantime
lots more Zs here at ABC Wednesday
Thank you Melody....

will see you around!

Yesteryear

ABC Wednesdasy
December 27th, 2017

The letter is Y for Yesteryear

Times gone by........

"That one of the most striking lines of poetry on beauty's impermanence

was written by a priest-killer and a thief, 

is among literary history's many seeming incongruencies".

"Where are the snows of yesteryear"

appears in a ballade in the middle of Francois Villons "Testament"

a long, otherwise irreverent poem 

skewering French noblemen, priests and prostitutes.

Villon wrote the poem in a Paris prison,  and was

never heard from again after being banished from Paris.

But Dante Gabriel Rosetti was one of the first

to translate the famous ballade into English,

coining the word "yesteryear: to capture the sense

of the French word 'anten'

which means 'last year' but also 'once' or 'in the past'.

D.H. Lawrence, in 1928, included in Lady Chatterley's Lover

the haunting question

"Where are the snows of Yesteryear"

Here are the snows of today....

More Ys here at ABC Wednesday

ABC Wednesday
December 20th, 2017

The letter is X 
for The OXEN by Thomas Hardy.

The Oxen

by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
an Elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in the hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years!  Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come, see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

This poem has been with me for a long, long time
and when I was first married,
a city girl, learning to love the farm,
I was tempted on those Christmas Eves,
at midnight,
to slip into the barn
where the cow and the ewes
 and an occasional early lamb dwelt,

"Hoping it might be so"

More Xs here at ABC Wednesday

Oh Well.....blame it on the warp and weft.

ABC Wednesday
December 13th, 2017
The letter this week is evidently W
for Warp and for Weft

It seems I missed a week somehow during the first part of December!!!

How did I do that?

Oh, I know how I did that - 

I was so delighted to have my eight shaft dressed and in harness 

and was too busy throwing the WEFT through the WARP

and making kitchen towels to give away at Christmas.

Just a little short Warp to help balance the loom

while my son  patiently tied

all the cords and the strings and the heddles

to dress Her Ladyship.

More Ws here at ABC Wednesday

now we're back on track.

Vintage Christmas

ABC Wednesday
The letter is V, for Vintage Christmas cards and music
December 13th, 2017

Those Vintage years, 

when Christmas meant more than a rush to get ready......

And each of these cards was accompanied

by a loving Christmas letter......

some lovely Christmas music to waft through the house

while you write those

messages of friendship and love from tender hearts

Dinah Shore

more Vs here at ABC Wednesday

The First Sunday in Advent

December 3rd, 2017

The First Sunday of Advent

I rummage around in a box of old candles

which we have accumulated lo, these many years, -

and I find the stub of a little purple

wax wonder.

I put it in a small brass cup passed down

from my grandmother's house

first putting a bit of wax in the bottom

to make it stand true and sturdy.

Then I set it alight in the middle of the table,

and left it glowing while I breakfasted

and contemplated Advent.

There is Lent

and then there is Advent

and somehow Advent 

has always been for me

the time of soul searching...

busy as it is, with glitter and greenery,

it has always meant for me a time of

small quiet minutes in the midst of baking

or wrapping, or writing cards of love and greeting....

a time of wonder at the reality of our life,

here on earth,

and what it is meant to be.

" Emanuel

You come in silence

to my world of crooked noisy places,

places rough with agendas

that leave me bruised,

spirit light low,

a bare glowing ember.

Emmanuel

I will give you quiet moments,

bits of silence stolen

in the clamor of the streets.

Let my silence straighten

a way for you

to smooth my rough spots,

to heal my bruised spirit,

to fan my faith's faint flame,

to prepare in me a vessel

for your incarnation."

A poem by Lisa Wells Isenhower

for which I have much empathy.

and I am reminded too of Mary Oliver's lovely poem

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good,

you do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

When the children were growing up

Sunday dinner in the Advent season always included

an Advent Wreath

which the children took turns lighting.

There was also a little box of names to draw from,

and to be kept secret throughout the week,

but with the understanding

(and expectation)

that you would do something kind for that person

each day.

I hope this is a memory they have.....

and that it was an opportunity for them

to widen their thoughts beyond

Santa Claus

and the Christmas Pageant.

Post Script
I think that I was rather a naive mother...
as a matter of fact, the older I get and the more they confide 
(or reveal) 
the more I realize that this was surely the case.....