Christmas 2015

“The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day.”

                                                                                 Dr. Seuss

This was one of the worst Christmases I have ever had due to a long illness that is still unnamed or conquered. But the day inside has been better, enough energy to actually work on a short story and to make a blog effort for the first time in days. Despite not having much to say, I want to post before I have lost my moxie for the page.

Outside, the weather is frightful! The whole country seems on tilt with the weather. The days between Christmas and New Year are often cold, snowy, or icy and some areas have that very thing. Others tornadoes! Here now, we have relentless rain and more rain. The dog will barely go out as there is never a break in the pouring and more is to come. Roads everywhere are closed; cattle are being moved from flooding pastures; buildings have raging waters up to their roof lines and rock slides are happening.

Meanwhile, we have not had to go out for any reason. It is safe in our house on high ground, and we sit in chairs wrapped in flannel. In the Christmas story, these are the days the Wise Men made it to the newborn Babe. Today they and their camels both would be swimming to the stable! Like lines from Cat in the Hat, we sit inside sipping a gift of tea, reading gift books, and nibbling on what is left of Christmas cookies.

My writing life was enhanced by friends this year. The typewriter is an ornament, but I can’t bear to put it away in a storage box after the holidays. So I hung it over my desk as a reminder to stay in the space of “Once Upon a Time”, words that are printed on the typewriter roll bar. A new thirsty stone coaster is great for both hot and cold drinks, but it is my friend the buffalo on the front that will keep me company and maybe inspire some new lines.

I hope all readers are warm and safe and happy wherever they are at tonight.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

Yesterday’s heavens were definitely a winter sky! It was December dark and grew darker all day as the heavy rains approached. The possible severe storms faded out though and we got only the rains—a relief. The temps were so warm in mid-70’s and broke a hundred year old record for the day. Ah, December in the Midwest!

That evening I went to a friend’s church with her. It was the third week in Advent and we both expected a solemn atmosphere emphasizing the hope and promise of the coming birth celebration of a baby Messiah. Imagine our surprise when a band with drums and guitars were in the choir loft! The music was toe-tapping and hip swaying, not your traditional hymns.

The altar had a mini-altar set up in front with a brown skinned Madonna and bright flowers, all accentuated by bright lights. The service was said in Spanish as it was the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, December 12^th. I had heard much of this Madonna as my grandparents saw the original cape or tilman on a trip to Mexico in the 1960’s.

Mexico and Central America, like much of North America, were Christian by the sword and force. The story says that the Blessed Mother appeared asking for a church where her people could practice their faith. She sent a man, Juan Diego, to the local bishop with a cape folded over a bunch of roses to plead her case. When he got there, the roses had become a beautiful painting of the Madonna, a miracle. The fabric and painting still exist today and have been studied by scientists with no answer to exactly what or how it came to be painted.

So last night was a festive adoration and celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The music made us feel like dancing and that was not a bad way to exit a church and face a new week in the world!

A Gift from December

The days keep being bright and cheerful which is a gift in December; the weatherman tells us not to get used to it. Two big storms are coming in next couple of weeks, one on Christmas Eve. I hate to hear that when it will wreck some families’ holiday plans.

One of the best parts of the holidays is the expectation of Christmas coming and getting out among the mood and decorations of the season. Due to illness, I missed a great many stops I had planned for yesterday. By afternoon I was able to get out and do one I really wanted to attend! DH drove, Biscuit rode along, and we all took a drive down Highway 59 in the warm sunshine to see Doug Hall’s new log cabin studio. The artist was holding open house.

                                                                      Doug Hall

Doug lives near the Huckleberry Ridge Forrest and allows a muzzleloader’s shooting range every Sunday on his new cabin’s property. He and friends built the cabin themselves; they took the logs from his mother’s trees. It is darling and Doug uses it as a small gallery for his art work

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Doug paints mostly Shawnee Indians or Woodland people. These are not your full feather head-dressed Natives of the old westerns. These men will scare the bejebbers out of you. Their heads are plucked clean around a stiff and prickly roach. They paint their faces red and black with frightening masks and designs. They are usually bare legged and hunkered in trees, watching. My photos cannot capture the intensity of the paintings largely due to the reflections. I did not feel well enough to fight the issue, but I snapped what I could.

                                                           Model drives a COKE truck

I asked Doug why he paints the Shawnee. He doesn’t really know. He is crazy over Indian lore and just found researching the Woodland Indians so fascinating. The red color is abundant in his painting, as is the use of filtered light in the tree leaves. He paints from models, men who dress and portray the Shawnee. He says they look ferocious to him even. One of the models drives a COKE truck for his day job!

                                                                  Great red boots!

Outside guests were treated to free hamburgers, hot dogs, and chili cooked on a campfire. The wood smoke on the beautiful day smelled marvelous. The Cookie, as cooks on cattle drives used to be called, is actually a husband and wife team. The undercarriage of the cook wagon is original but the man built the wagon box new. It was an original Springfield wagon, built in Springfield, Missouri in its day. The owner made sure he trimmed the wagon with the dash of white stripes which was a pattern of the original wagon maker.

                                                     

                                                      "What cha lookin at, Mister?"

We weren’t there long, but I soaked up everything I possibly could like I was a dry sponge! Someday when I am better and maybe on a cold day, I want to go down again and sit around that potbellied stove and soak up those beautiful paintings. Oh, but I will be watchful for any sudden movements out of those Woodland faces!!!

Lockets of Yesteryear

This morning I read Phillis Hoffman DePiano’s piece on lockets. It was so interesting to read about the bracelet Prince Albert gave to Queen Victoria with eight lockets, each with a hair clipping from their eight children. I was also impressed to learn that Anne Boleyn’s daughter, Queen Elizabeth, wore a locket with a painting of her and her mother.

This reminded me of a locket I have but have not worn for a while. It is gold and I wore it many days teaching or going out to dressy affairs. But since being at home, I have kept to the family tradition of sliver brackets on my arm and simple necklaces. They go better with the jeans and sweat pants I wear now!

But I am digging out the locket today. It was my great grandmother’s piece. Although hard to read in the script, her initials for Louise Toy Brasher are etched on the front. Inside she carried pictures of both her daughters when they were young women.

My great-grandmother died when I was a freshman in college. I can’t remember how I came to have the locket. But at some point, I took out my great aunt’s picture and put in my future DH’s picture. I thought my Granny and he were my loves! I still have the small picture of my great aunt somewhere. I need to find it and return to it to its place, the one my great grandmother loved.

The publisher of Victoria magazine writes a blog that you can view here: http://www.theribboninmyjournal.com/the-secret-life-of-antiques-lockets/#comment-17221

Do you have a locket?

The Switch Is Made

Thanksgiving is now like a stepchild trying to find its fit in the family of holidays. Christmas bullies it around with commercialism that isn’t the Christmas holiday’s fault. But this year, the season will be short, and we in the Midwest were reminded of that with snow, ice, rain, and cold over the Thanksgiving weekend. Here we were lucky that Thanksgiving Day was balmy until late in the afternoon when the sprinkles started. In the night rain fell…and fell…but remained rain. Our loved ones were all safe and warm at day’s end.

So the next day it was wet and dark as I put the pumpkins and turkeys away. Why do things never go back smoothly into the boxes they came out of just a few weeks ago? While putting them away, I pulled out Christmas boxes at the same time. Each year I weed, but still there is much to handle, to choose from as I have no room for everything. I no longer put ornaments on the tree although I keep them lovingly boxed. I love the tiny white lights; they light up this season of the shortest days and longest nights.

The table has made the transformation to the red and green holiday. I want it ready for any spur of the moment tea pot events! Everyone is so busy, but sometimes a cold shopping day can turn into a warm pot of tea and conversation…my favorite part of the holidays. Shopping is NOT my thing anymore. It is time with friends and good tea and loving cards from far away friends that make my holiday.

So lighted tree is up, table is set, kettle is at the elbow, and the season starts. I wish you, dear readers, could stop for a sip! 

                                            Father Christmas made by my mother-in-law years ago.

And It Is Good...

The countdown is on and Thanksgiving is rolling in as are the clouds, rain, and cold air. Today is the last of our Indian summer kind of days, warm, sunny and breezy. We have picked up the last of the flower pots, dumped the frozen and now thawed squash, turned over chairs for winter. I have made the last food run; I have vacuumed carpets and set the table. I have chopped and diced. Tomorrow I will bake pies, chop some more, and finish up a dab of laundry.

Despite some rough spots I refuse to think about right now, the autumn has been beautiful. Each year that I get older, I relish the pretty fall days more with colorful leaves and a sun still radiating brightness before the coming solstice and winter. My heart sings in a sun that showers warmth but not blistering heat.

Our Thanksgiving will be small this year, many people gone one way or another. I always loved the Norman Rockwell holidays where there were many people stretched around a long table. Now I am grateful for anyone at any time because each day we are alive and still kicking is a holiday! We shouldn’t wait until one day or one weekend state on a calendar to be grateful or to celebrate.

Thanksgiving opens up that frenetic season of buying, running, grabbing, sighing, moaning, and yes, some outright complaining. I refuse to get into it any more than I have to. I try to find some way to celebrate people, as individuals, and not necessarily with something I have bought. It is a time for quietly thinking of those I miss now. I remember a lot during this time by candlelight and soft music and sometimes falling snow.

The world is full of conflict and anger and hate now. It will take more work to remember the gratitude and peace we claim to celebrate. But the world has been a mess before and survived…I hope it gets turned around to goodness again. Maybe this coming season of love will rebalance us all.

                                      I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

I Am OWL

What could have been an ugly day turned into an uplifting experience. I constantly have to miss things anymore, have my plans changed by responsibilities or weather or something. Friday night I was ready to throw in the towel on getting to Branson to the Ozark Writers League (OWL) for the last meeting of the year. I had already missed the Friday banquet, was it worth the four hour round trip for the Saturday session?

But DH arose at 5:30 and said GO. We packed up dog, coats, gloves, water bottles and such and hit the road. Snow was coming down fast furiously. Big, fat flakes that would have accumulated into fluffy piles had the ground not been so warm. The temperature was hovering at 34 which could have been nasty had it dropped, but the weatherman promised the day would warm. The snow faded away near Branson and the sun tried to peek out. We arrived early enough to have a half hour opening for breakfast which is DH’s favorite thing. So he considered the day a success at that early hour.

      New OWL officers headed by Diane Yates of Fayette, Missouri

The OWL group has had a terrible year of reorganization and disappointment and change. I was not in the know about it all, and I don’t want to know. What I did know was that a number of steady members were trying to reorganize and save the day. I wanted to be supportive if nothing else. While I have not done a great deal in the group, I hope it stays strong, will be there when I need it, and that I can help in small ways. The minute I walked into the room on Saturday morning I could feel warmth and welcoming floating around the room.

                                Author Rodgers speaks on writing fiction 

I was interested in the Fiction speaker who was Kathleen Rodgers. To be honest, I had not heard of her before. However, she had a lot to say about perseverance as a writer. (She has been contributor to Family Circle and Military Times.) She talked about her prize-winning second novel Johnnie Come Lately published this year and how she came to write it. I enjoyed her talk anda felt newly inspired to come home and pound the keys!

For more about Kathleen Rodgers check out her web page at www.kathleenMRodgers.com.

                  Brenda Black and me speaking with author Kathleen Rodgers

I have to admit the day was totally sweetened by my name being announced as winner in four categories of the autumn writing contest. Believe me, after a really dry year of acceptances, this is the way to end 2015. I won first place in the Romantic Short Story, and three third places in Poetry, Western Short Story, and the Gene Andereck Short Story. I was awarded a golden OWL, my first!

Writing can be a lonely business and it is helpful if you have some way to connect occasionally with other writers. I am so, so grateful for the writer groups that allow me to be a part of them, even from a distance. If you do not belong to OWL, I invite you to join up. Dues are $25 a year (before February), and while the meetings are beneficial, you still are kept in the loop of news and networking if you can’t attend the meetings. Check out the OWL website and look for the new things popping up—like an OWL shirt that is great! http://www.ozarkswritersleague.com

Dog, Man, and Writer Wife all came home yesterday evening tired but happy.