Tales of Christmas

I nabbed this image and forgot to get the artist's name, but he/she has my thanks!

Do you have a favorite Christmas tale? Besides the one that started it all, mine is A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN WALES.

But I've never read it. Somehow, somewhere I stumbled across an audio tape of Dylan Thomas reading it and bought it, probably without knowing anything other than I liked Thomas' work. Dumb luck.

Driving from central Illinois to upper Kentucky one cold and wintry evening I listened to him read it and best remember going through Cincinnati and being enthralled but needing to pay attention to the road.

I'd never been thru Ohio before and I was all too aware of my tendency to drive beyond my exit when I got caught up in a story. It was night and I'd been on the road a few hours already. It was snowing and I was driving a sports car. I finally had to rewind a bit of the tape, stop it for awhile and drive on till I was out of range for the city lights.

That was a strange trip: an ordeal with a Schneider transport truck - a big meanie trying to shove off the road. (I don't carry a grudge - not much!); discovering Frankenstein University, seeing Louisville Sluggers HQ across the river, and wandering into a religious college's art guild/store - Berean, I think it was - wood and wool and pottery items. Something like that.

I came back a different route, past Santa Claus, Indiana. I listened to the tape again.

There's something about hearing a book read by the person who wrote it. That enables getting the understanding the author wants the reader to have. The way the words sounded in their heads, when they wrote them, are they way they speak them for us. In this case it was particularly grand and I felt transported.

As a child my favorite story was THE LITTLEST ANGEL. Oh, how I wore that book out! And a few years ago, when on-line shopping became popular, I sought out an old copy of it and found it - just like the one I had. Who knows, it could have been my copy but I had/have a habit of putting my name in books so perhaps not. Anyway, I read it and weep. Simple. Direct. Sentimental. Meaningful. I guess that's why I like THE VELVETEEN RABBIT too. Same basic format. Lesson-filled. Get real, seriously.

I can't help but see some of that in the longer, image-filled A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN WALES. This makes me a creature of habit then, when it comes to reading. I want my heart warmed at some point. If it costs me a few tears, fine. If I throw myself at my pets or my husband, OK. If I jot a note, send an email, make a call, good. The line between fiction and non-fiction becomes blurred when I think about these 3 books.

Gosh, there were much simpler times in this world when people were where they belonged instead of always trying to get where they thought they belonged. We strung popcorn and apple slices, made paper chains and other ornaments for the tree. People used English correctly as well as sparingly, and listened. We saved money in Christmas Clubs at the bank so we could buy gifts, or we used lay-away. There were secret Santas. There were school concerts. We knew and sang 2 or 3 verses of each Christmas carol and gladly went around serenading folks at home and accepting a cookie or hot chocolate. It was called Christmas.

I'm glad I got where I was going that year. Gladder still that I got home safely, wiser for what I'd discovered along the way. I was where I belonged.

We don't need to bring everything from our pasts forward but wouldn't it be nice to re-start just one old habit, one childhood tradition? Now, when everything is tumultuous shouldn't we re-establish our appreciation for what matters?

Start with the Christmas Story itself, and then recall your favorite Christmas tale. Share it and take it from there. You may surprise yourself at how easy it is to enjoy being where you are, where you belong.

A House Divided

...cannot stand. How ironic that this was said by the very man who financed the house in the street, Lincoln. See November 21st blog posting, please.

The chatter and clatter continues. Most recently the alderpeople decided to vote down what is now $279k to put in a foundation. When this first started I had heard the cost for the foundation was to be $150k. But, the economy sucks so I can understand the price change. The contractor may not have more work lined up yet.

The day after the vote to withhold the funding the radio was a-buzz with people yammering about this topic and showing how well-spoken central Illinois residents can be - not. If there is money to dish out, and I doubt there is, it should go to grammar rehabilitation programs. But, I digress.

So now what, we wait for the house to implode, crumble or reach a destination on its own? The folks who own the lot and structure face $1000/day fines from the owner of the moving firm if the "wheels" aren't returned by the 15th. They can't move it back where it came from as that land is quickly becoming a lovely plot of concrete with tasteful striping.

I say, re-route the street around the house, swapping the lot for the asphalt area, or just shorten the block. It's really not a busy through street at all and it would just extend the Lincoln tourist area. People need to walk more anyway. It'd be good for everyone.

So this Maisenbacher house won't be open for guests till things settle down and now the governor has thrown his propeller beanie hat into the mix by keeping his rarely kept word and closing down state attractions. Another house issue crops up in conversations all around town. That would be the now closed Dana-Thomas House in Springfield. It's a Frank Lloyd Wright design/construction and the Christmas highlight for many who annually trek there to see the house lit only by candles.

Frankly (no pun intended towards the late Mr. Wright), Bloggo should have just shut down the governor's mansion. No one lives there nor has anyone lived there since Hot Rod became governor. The tours are very limited and rarely annual journeys. That would save a lot of money in energy costs and staff costs. The wife likes Chicago and he's on a short leash we think. I like the city too but I live here. It works.

As for me and my house? Well, we remain in place and open for friends and relatives and the occasional wandering stranger.

Kitchen Which

There was a time when I had a cute little kitchen witch hanging around here but it's long gone. Still the play on words is worth doing.

The true topic is old time kitchen smells vs. kitchen designs. Reflecting upon the flaws I find in my own kitchen I have concluded that none are so great that they cannot be overcome by the familiar smells associated with something cooking or baking.

Who among us doesn't love walking into a place where the aroma is the ambiance, the experience, the memory? [Apologies if you have scent-deficit-disorder.] Not the fancy-schmancy candle scents. I'm talking about the real thing.

Kitchens I remember are mostly those in relatives' homes. Stands to reason, as when we ate away from home it was usually at one of those houses! But there was the pink kitchen at Aunt Margaret's. As I recall it was what she always had wanted. And, we ate at a big long table in the dining room once we were old enough. I remember her checking the turkey and then suddenly ,when it was close to carving time, all the women went into action: whipping potatoes, mixing the gravy, putting out the relishes, those brown and serve rolls...dressing, jello salads - the works! It all mixed in the air and was the call to the wild to come, to come, to come and indulge.

At Aunt Grace's it was grapefruit. I remember visiting there and that is what she was serving for breakfast. I'd never had it, had never even seen it. But it didn't smell sweet. There was no surprise that it didn't taste so sweet. I ate it, using the special edged spoon and still squirting juice on myself and others. Soon I was allowed to go the room I was sleeping in and read LITTLE BLACK SAMBO, a book from the shelves in there. As I recall, the tiger ran around in a circle and melted into something. I think it was butter. Not a PC book for these times.

When I went to the country, nearby where I live now, Aunt Edie always had more overflowing dishes and more people than the table could hold. Chances are some of what we were enjoying came from somewhere in the yard or garden. What I remember most is the smell of freshness, of "just picked". There's the scent of hands being washed, of sunshine on warmed skin - all mixed with the smell of ice cold milk and also great iced tea. And I remember the china cabinet we had to avoid bumping and the party-line wall phone and the steep steps to the upstairs and the cowboy motif in my cousins' bedroom.

So, instead of changing the kitchen I will opt for a ceiling fan and lighting placed more appropriately. The heat seems to be captured and stored in the work area. That has got to cease. And, instead of wanting something that could go in a magazine layout I will opt for what can't be seen. I will keep on cookin' and bakin' to fill the air with great scents. After all, nothin' says lovin' like something from the oven, right?

Now, go to the kitchen. Inhale. Ahhhhhh.

Coming early this year

Unless you are at least 95 years old you have never known an Easter to come as early as the one this year. And, it's going to be a LONG time before it happens again.
Isn't time an amazing concept? Calendars and clocks, not to mention all the electronic gadgets we carry around or hang on our bodies.
Why? Man invented time. Has it proven worthwhile? Do we miss a lot by being timely, on time, just in time? Yes, the BIBLE clearly reveals God created the Earth in 6 days and then rested 1 day. But we do not know if that was a day as we know it or a day to Him. In our minds it would take an eternity to create this world. We use it while God waits for us. In time, in His time, that's what will happen. Enjoy St. Patrick's Day and then go all out for a terrific Easter celebration!