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Category: Celebrations

Christmas Away: A Midpoint Review of the Season

This year I did something different for Christmas. I went to Florida for Christmas week, the week that ended with Christmas Day and the beginning of the Christmas Season. My step-daughter's husbands' family has a condo in Sarasota, which they are planning on selling, and on this, their last family trip, she invited me and her brother's family to join them. And so we did.

It was a mixed blessing for me. Sarasota was unseasonably warm, as has been most of the eastern United States, and 86 and very humid was not kind to my bronchitis. In fact I was much worse, aggravated by my mold and mildew allergy I'm sure. Even in this there is a blessing in that I am now fairly certain that I am not destined to be living in Florida.

Things were much better out at the beach however. The breeze and the salt air cleared my lungs and I could actually breathe, at least until I crossed the threshold into the vegetative interior. Wednesday evening we took a sunset cruise. It was fairly overcast, and the clouds dampened the sunset, but it was lovely anyway. In the top photo we are looking back at the gulf, in that little gap between the two keys, and the photo above, is of downtown Sarasota as we head in to port, the almost-full moon beckoning with promise of light and joy to come.

There were adventures I missed, like a trip to Myakka park, simply because I could not breathe everytime I stepped outdoors in the interior, and it seemed like a trip to misery from my perspective. But I happily stayed indoors, wrapping gifts, drinking tea, and reading some light fiction. Perhaps someday I will return, at a time of kinder weather, without dragging bronchitis around.

And there were moments of great joy as well. One such time involved sneaking back into my step-daughter's condo after Owen had gone to sleep on Christmas Eve, in order to populate the area under the tree with gifts and brightly wrapped packages, and fill stockings. I wanted Owen to wake up that to moment I have always relished, of seeing all the gifts under the tree, that moment of immense hope and joy. (but I forgot to take a picture of the tree fully loaded). Besides one of my grandmotherly duties was to see that Santa's gift arrived.

Even though I did not still believe in Santa by the time I was 9. I have always believed in the joy of Christmas, and in gifts, in the joy and hope of Christmas morning, and the promise and love that is symbolized by gift giving. We give gifts, hopefully out of love and joy, not obligation, as both a reminder and a promise. I still love the Christmas Day rituals, seeing the gifts under the tree, and the joy of opening the gifts. I am still often the first one up on Christmas morning, even if I have been up late at midnight services. Apparently, one mile apart, Owen and I were both up at 5:30, filled with joy. He staring at the tree and reading a book, me singing Christmas carols as I took Tikka for a walk and puttered about in the kitchen, making coffee and browning meat for the Christmas Pot Roast. Cooking and the rituals of preparing food, setting tables, and celebratory meals, the rituals attached to the meal, all of this is a kind of service, a sharing of joy and love, and it is true that I was singing and dancing in the kitchen as I cooked.

I arrived early, before everyone else was up. I still don't understand it, to me the joy is palpable and I cannot sleep. I turned on the tree lights for Owen and we took Tikka for another walk. And then, of course, there was the great unwrapping. I adore watching everyone's faces, and the flurry of paper and ribbon, the anticipation and joy of it all. In fact I want to watch everyone else, more than I want to unwrap my own gifts, although my gifts were all wonderful and included a couple of books I might not have found on my own, but which I will thoroughly enjoy reading, and a photo of my handsome grandson. Then we had breakfast and trooped off to the beach to join the Christmas throngs, where everyone had a good time.

On Saturday I packed up my condo and met with two friends who have each relocated to Florida, in different cities, having lunch with one, and dinner with the other and long fabulous conversations with both. I was reminded that I have been remiss, and it is long past time that I begin making a greater effort.

Then on Sunday we drove to Atlanta for a couple of days, returning home yesterday. We stayed in midtown, where I had not stayed before, and it was a perfect spot for us. We were two blocks from Piedmont park, where Tikka and I took long walks every day, and 5 blocks from the High Museum, in an area that was lovely to walk in with a very people and dog-friendly mix of business and residential areas and a variety of restaurants as well. Even though it was still unseasonably warm, the cooler temperatures were better for both of us, and Tikka seems to enjoy these brief forays as a city dog. But yes, we are also happy to be home. Tikka couldn't wait for a walk around "her" neighborhood, and I was happy to once again sleep in my own bed.

(sunrise from our hotel room in Atlanta)

And there were more presents. We came home to a big box from my aunt which contained two beautiful red glass vases, which I already know how I will use in next year's decorations – promises of Christmas future.

December 30, 2015
A Few Seasonal Treasures

I'll be spending Christmas with my fabulous step-children and their families and will not be posting on either Christmas Eve or Christmas day this week.

Rather than a long post, I thought I'd share a few small ornaments and decorations, little things that spark joy.

This little angel was the first ornament I ever purchased for myself, back in my early 20s.

Like the angel, these paper mãchè balls aren't precious in any monetary sense, but just bringing them out each season makes me smile and a tree without them seems lacking.

If you celebrate Christmas, may it be filled with Love and Laughter. No matter what your traditions, I hope that the light of the season will suffuse your life with joy. I'll be back next week.

December 22, 2015
Thursday Morning at 7:56 AM

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tikka and I took a nice long walk this morning, after which I poured my second cup of coffee and moved here, to my desk. My favorite candle is burning, and the 11-day-old roses, salvaged from last week's party, are looking faded but still make me smile. My fingers are just a tad numb because I forgot to wear gloves this morning, thinking it was warmer than it has been, which is true, but 35 is still chilly on unprotected fingers.

There have been very few Thanksgiving of my adult life, well, post-college life, that I have been home and am not cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. Even in those first few years, in my early 20's I cooked for a motley group of friends and neighbors and the tradition continued throughout my married life. Even though my step-children rarely joined us for Thanksgiving, the table was always full and the company good. The only years I didn't cook were probably when we were away, mostly at either my mom's or my brothers'. Although there was one year we spent Thanksgiving on a cruise of the Amazon and Coastal Brazil, and another year in Puerto Rico. No wait. I cooked in Puerto Rico, everyone in our little vacation villa complex contributed a dish, and we had Thanksgiving outdoors surrounded by mangroves.

Three years ago, my step-daughter hosted, and I brought sides. That was much the same as this year, when I am bringing Brussels sprouts and stuffing/dressing. But three years ago, George was still alive, and I also had to cook breakfast and lunch, and I would watch him, joyfully, while he sat entranced by the Thanksgiving Day Parades. This year feels different, but not in a bad way. The house is quieter. I had a leftover piece of cake with my first cup of morning coffee, before my period of silent meditation, before our morning walk. And I give thanks that this year, I am more comfortable in my skin than I was at this time last year, more comfortable in my home too, as it has been a year of settling and rearranging, a year of growth and acceptance.

Although I remember that there was a period where I was too stressed and too overwhelmed to enjoy cooking, that seems like ancient history to me now and I actually miss the hustle and bustle of cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. I still love to cook, but it is not just the cooking itself, it is the act of making something delicious and special for others, for food as an expression of gratitude and welcome and comfort, of reaching out to others, and the sharing of food, food prepared with joy and love as an act of community and acceptance.

But some time in front of the fire with a good book and some furry companionship also sounds lovely, and there will be plenty of food and conversation later on. Besides I got my cooking fix by inviting the cook and her family over for dinner last night and a brief respite from shopping and cooking and general holiday madness. It was a simple meal, but the joy is in the sharing as much as the making. We had these peanut-crusted chicken kabobs, one of my grandson's favorites, and mine as well. And I tried this cake, which was surprisingly good, rich, mellowly spicy, and buttery tasting despite being both gluten- and dairy-free, with an interesting bit of crunch, which took getting used to, but which I think I like, although the cake is better the day it is made.

And so, I hope you all have a day filled with joy, and peace, and the knowledge that whatever the world throws at us, we have much to be thankful for.

Photo of roses: mine

Photo of chicken kabobs courtesy of Foodandwine.com. See link above.

Blog Title inspired by Lisa.

November 26, 2015
Yellow Flowers and Dreams of Sunshine

These Flowers came Friday.

See, no matter what the weather is doing outside, I have my own sunshine right here on my dining table. Today is my 57th birthday and I embrace it. My gift to myself is to allow myself to lose myself, and for now, that means that I am finally setting up the sewing room. I couldn't be happier.

On a completely irrelevant aside, when people wish me happy birthday, I always want to say "and Happy Birthday to you, too" which is kind of silly, because it is not their birthday. But it could be. Granted we are only born on one day, and the anniversary of that birth is well worth celebrating, but it in our minds and hearts we carry the potential for everyday to be a new birthday, a new day, a new birth, and a day where we carry our own sunshine with us.

And so. Happy Birthday to all of you, from me. I'd like to share the joy, share in the celebration of life, and I hope that some new sunshine is born in each of your hearts and lives today.

July 5, 2015
Happy 4th of July

This is a re-posting of my July 4th 2012 post, with minor revisions.

I love the 4th of July. I love the parades and the fireworks, the campfires, fired up grills, and the happy spirit of people gathered in town squares and lawns. At its best this holiday honors people at their communal best, of what brought this country together and what makes us great.

On the Fourth of July it seems that all our bickering should be put aside and we should just celebrate how lucky we are, or at least have a piece of pie, some ice cream, or a snow cone.

Although my original plans for today were washed out, weather permitting, I hope to meet some friends downtown, enjoy a concert, and see some fireworks.

Hope you have a lovely 4th!

July 4, 2015
Curled up with Dvorak

We have snow on the ground this morning, but the temperature is hovering around the freezing point now, at noon. If the forecasters are right it will warm up, the precipitation will turn to rain, and it will not freeze again until tomorrow night….. At this point I am simply happy for the soft crunchy beauty of the snow, as opposed to the ice that plagued us this week past, and the warmer temperatures. Photos in this post were taken on Tuesday, following Monday's ice storm.

I didn't really go out of the house, with the exception of walking Tikka, until Thursday afternoon, although I could have, my roads were passable. But I had overextended myself cooking for a party on Sunday, which was fabulous, and the ice gave me a lovely excuse to curl up in front of the fire, snug as could be, and recover from the remnants of my cold.

I did go to the Knoxville Symphony's performance of Dvorak's Stabat Mater last night (Friday). I was somewhat surprised that attendance was so low, as the skies were clear and the snow was not supposed to begin until late, but I suppose people were overly wary at the end of a difficult week. The concert itself was lovely enough, and enjoyable, but not inspiring. I suppose it is on occasions like this that I realize how spoiled I have been by past musical experiences. I have heard this piece in live performance at least 2 and probably 3 times. I also have several very good recordings of the piece, and although I don't usually compare live performances to recordings, as even in a less exacting setting, one can find moments of bliss and new perceptions. In this case it was difficult.

The choir needed more practice; they usually sing with the orchestra in late spring, and the lack of preparation time was evident. They were mostly together, although slightly less so in the last movement, the most difficult movement of the work to sing. But there was no real precision and not enough variation in tone and phrasing. But I can't blame my disappointment on the choir. The orchestra also was somehow uninspiring as well. The opening bars of the work are incredibly beautiful and filled with emotion and pathos, and yet they fell somewhat flat on my ears in this rather measured performance. I would have preferred a performance that played up the romantic aspects of Dvorak's work, a performance with more subtlety in the phrasing, a performance where the orchestra, soloists, and choir worked more deftly together. Of the soloists, my favorite was the bass, Benjamin LeClair, who had some moments of great beauty, especially in the fourth movement, even with its extremes of range. If only he hadn't been occasionally drowned out by the orchestra, but then all of the soloists were occasionally overpowered by the orchestra. I also enjoyed the tenor, Dustin Peterson who I felt had a strong voice that was best appreciated in those movements that required simplicity and clarity.

Although I enjoyed the performance, I came home thinking something was missing. I stayed up too late listening to the work again, this time in a performance by the Staatskapelle Dresden lead by Giuseppe Sinopoli. I would say that Shaw's and Sawallish's versions are more beautiful, but I had only uploaded the Sinopoli into my iTunes account and the I still haven't set up the CD played and speaker. Living alone, listening to a lossless recording through audiophile quality ear buds on my phone works well for me most of the time. I am reminded however, that perhaps it is time to set up the stereo and the speakers.

Back to Dvorak. The Sinopoli version of the Stabat Mater is very dark and brooding, an overtly operatic and romantic version of a romantic work, and ultimately transcendent. The choir is controlled, with breathtaking phrasing, almost angelic. Only the bass disappoints. Whoever he is, as I can't see that on my phone, Benjamin LeClare was much better.

I listened to the Stabat Mater curled up on the sofa with Tikka, Sam and Moises and a lovely glass of wine, from the bottle pictured above. The bottle was given to me by a friend, and when I first opened it I almost feared it was past its prime as I was almost overwhelmed by an aroma of overripe fruit. Drinking however was another matter. This was a wine well suited to the music, perhaps a bit upfront in its flavors, soft and lush like the finest cashmere, slipping on the tongue in a rather sensuous manner which I can only relate to the slip of silk charmers on the skin.

All in all, a lovely end to the evening.

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February 21, 2015
Happy Anniversary to Me, And A Fabulous Symphony Performance

Oops. I got busy arranging and sorting yesterday and lost track of time. Really, arranging and sorting and cataloging things puts me in my happy place. So instead of writing yesterday. I get to post today.

Today today would have been our 28th anniversary. I plan to spend the day puttering. I had other options, but I am also behind on too many things, behind enough that I would rather spend the day catching-up, with brief putter-breaks. That thought makes me happy.

But perhaps I am also happy because I went to the symphony last night. It was a fabulous performance. Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique seemed to me to be almost magically realized. In fact the entire concert was excellent, both in the combination of works presented (the Berlioz followed Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain" and Dukas' "The Sorcerer's Apprentice") and in the performance itself. This was by far the best performance I have heard the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra perform, the dynamics, the timing, the interplay between the musicians, everything flowed beautifully. I don't know how much of this was due to the guest conductor, Sameer Patel, and how much to some other mystical confluence of events, but the music was enchanting and it still echoes in my thoughts. I can only wish that performances like this could become the norm.

October 18, 2014
A Distant Symphony And A Question

In Knoxville, we have Boomsday.

My first year in town I drove to the top of Sanderson Hill, not really near town, but with a good view of the fireworks, after George was in bed for the evening, and watched the last bit of the fireworks. I wasn't a part of the festivities, but I enjoyed seeing the show.

Last year I didn't feel up to going at all. I didn't want to go by myself, and I somehow didn't, or couldn't manage to, find someone to go with. This year however I intended to go and see what it was all about, despite my general ambivalence about dealing with traffic. After all, if I waited around for someone to show up, I'd never do anything, would I?

Instead I awoke with a vicious sinus headache, a headache with which I struggled all day. In the end, I stayed home. But I could hear the fireworks from my house. I wandered outside early, on the cusp of dusk really, and I couldn't see anything. But I heard the fireworks coming from the direction of downtown. As it grew darker sometimes I would see a glimmer of something, although it may have just been my imagination, a dream of fireworks.

Then the thunder started, Mother Nature singing harmony to the man made melody arising from the river. Sheet lightening followed, interspersed with occasional sparkles of color. I sat outside, on the lawn, in my comfy chair with a glass of wine, listening to this impromptu symphony with the added lightshow. There was something peaceful about it, hard as that may be to explain. I've been in some powerful and even frightening storms, but unless you are in that place of imminent danger, there is something awe inspiring about thunderstorms. Just as I love fog but hate to drive in it, I love thunderstorms, even when they are terrifyingly close. In their overwhelming power and beauty I see that I am but a helpless speck, that I have no control and can change nothing. It should be terrifying, but it isn't. In relinquishing the idea of control one gains the possibility of peace.

Soon the deluge began and I returned to the comfort of a roof and four walls, where I was lulled to sleep by the sound of retreating thunder.

Today is Labor Day, a day devoted to the rights and achievements of workers both socially and economically. It is also one of the biggest retail sales days of the year. Am I the only person who finds this incongruous? A day meant to celebrate the rights of laborers is a day where many who labor in underpaid retail jobs must work so that the companies that hire them can make more money. Don't fool yourselves, the labor day sales are all about money. I remember when holidays were holidays, and stores wee closed. Laborers were off on labor day, even in retail sales. Of course there are those who must work, those who protect us and care for us, who provide necessary services. Yes, having stores open is convenient, but isn't it a false convenience, robbing of us of the spirit of celebration, of honoring those who work so that this country may thrive? By making Labor Day and Memorial Day into big shopping holidays have we really gained more than we have lost?

Photos from Knoxville News Sentinel, here.

September 1, 2014
A Visit to Mohonk Mountain House

When we gathered together in the Hudson Valley to scatter George's ashes in the Hudson, I wanted us to stay someplace condusive to family activities, yet also with enough to offer that we could all find pleasant ways to while away hours, both individually and together. To this end, we stayed at Mohonk Mountain House.

In many ways it was the perfect choice. George's mother had gone to Mohonk. When his children were small, George would occasionally fill-in for a colleague as the in-house weekend doctor and his family would spend the weekend at Mohonk. Even though George and I had never stayed as guests, I knew the grounds were beautiful we had been there many times. As a testament to the power of memory, even though Mohonk has been updated and renovated, George's son's first comment to me upon arrival was "It smells just as I remember it from childhood".

Our rooms were in one of the oldest parts of the hotel. My room was not large, but was bright, clean and charming, neither too old-fashioned, nor too blandly modern.

The view from my balcony was fabulous. But as I wandered the hotel and the grounds it was hard not to concede that the view is probably gorgeous in all directions. The hotel has been beautifully maintained and beautifully decorated, in a way that maintains ties to its history without being overly fussy or overdone, with a nod to the past, but also fully accommodating itself to the present.

Walking down the hall toward my room, another row of balconies. These face the sunset.

The view from the large sunset porch.

There were beautiful gardens, also beautifully maintained, a kids activity center, and trails for hikers and nature lovers of every interest and ambition. I stuck to the simple and well manicured paths. The gardens were extensive and beautiful, but as usual I was too enraptured by being there to spend much time taking pictures.

I also walked around the lake, a simple trail, while others in the family ventured forth on steeper and more rocky climbs. I was perfectly content with small vistas and easy walks.

Even so I managed to log at least 5 miles every day we were there, a level of activity I've had to work at maintaining since I've returned to normal life.

Admittedly I still managed to sneak in a nap or two. The youngest member of our group was far more interested in feeding the fish.

Even the food was fabulous, at least the menu service was, although even I, the pickiest member of our little coterie, have to admit the buffet was excellent, for a buffet. Alas, I didn't take pictures of the food, I continue to be old fashioned-enough that I can't quite bring myself to cross that line.

Overall, it was a fabulous vacation, and I would happily go back if I had the opportunity to do so. It was relaxing and envigorating. Everyone was helpful and accommodating and the hospitality staff exceeded expectations in working with our group to plan special events and transportation to the dock in Beacon for the clearwater sail.

July 29, 2014
Weekend Fun

Its been a busy few days here and I am amazed at how quickly life just jumps in and fills up the space once you give it just a little bit of an opening. And no I am not complaining. I haven't figured out if this past weekend was the last summer weekend, or the kickoff of fall. Certainly my fall schedule begins in earnest this week, and the often empty days of summer have been banished.

Friday was filled from dawn to dusk, beginning with my daily walk, watching the sunrise and barely making it home in time to get to work: volunteer work answering phones, but on a schedule nonetheless. In the afternoon I rushed home and started baking in preparation for an evening social event, a picnic/potluck on the lawn, a chance to meet new people, and a local band playing favorite songs from my youth. What can be better than sitting in the grass staring up at a cloudless September sky, with a glass of wine and new friends?

I think I spoke to more people than I probably had in months. All the baking paid off as well. There is nothing like a batch of chocolate chip cookies as a conversation starter for those of us who are small-talk challenged.

The band continuing playing until ten. Just as darkness fell, the band played Black Water, that 1974 hit from the Doobie Brothers, and it reminded me of another outdoor concert long ago. I had my first real kiss dancing outdoors in the dark to that song, with a boy from another town, a boy who didn't know me as the girl in the Milwaukee brace… Of course I'd been out of that brace for a year that summer evening, but I grew up in a small town, where it is hard to escape the backward pull of history. Even a late start is a start afterall and that song always reminds me of the joy and wonder of new beginnings.

And yes I danced a bit this weekend as well; I couldn't not dance after all that. I'd forgotten what a joy it is to just forget oneself and just dance.

But that was just the beginning of a weekend filled with friends, family, food, and fellowship. But not to worry, amidst all the hullaballoo there was also some quiet time, time to retreat and just let my mind wander, to read a book, to enjoy the silence. Perhaps not quite enough time, but sometimes it is good to let abundance overflow. And then of course, there was baseball. There is nothing quite like watching very small boys playing their first baseball game: the eagerness, the determination, the joy.

Life is good.

September 10, 2013