Purging for the New Year

The tree is down, lights are off the house, and the Santas are boxed away. However, I can’t seem to turn loose of the red and whites this year. I am leaving the red and white tablecloth on, am not tired of the white reindeer, and am not finished brewing and sipping with poinsettia tea pots and cups. I even left some lights on the sofa table and some more white deer in the bathroom. I am thinking I can live with all this red until deep into January.



DH got Shingles for Christmas. No, not ones for the roof, but itchy ones on his back! Being a stiff-necked man, he would not consider Express Care until December 26th when every coughing and puking person in the county also gave in and was seeking medical help after the holiday, and our home-owned pharmacy was closed for the weekend. He thought he was rallying yesterday, but today is back to feeling pretty miserable again. It looks to be a long winter.


I have spent the last few days trying to form a plan for the New Year. (I am big on plans. I was 16 years old when my best friend and I made our first SIP for summer: Self-Improvement Plan. We were going to tan, make money, loose weight, read so many books to expand our mind, etc. I am great at making plans, but I am less efficient at keeping them!) I decided a plan was better than a resolution, although I rarely keep them either. I decided to focus on words like minimal and accepting. I want to live minimally…less stuff, less frustration, less disappointment. I want to accept the things I can’t change instead of struggling against them, to accept where I am right now, to accept what IS instead of what I want To BE.


I could only start with my office. I decided to weed my books. I bagged up magazines for sharing, returned borrowed books, got rid of books I know I am not going to read—even though they were good and worthy books. Doing all this made about six inches of extra space on my shelves. Still, six inches is a lot if you are walking on stilettos!


I then went into my file cabinet, manila folders and writing basket. I had to face reality. I am NOT going to sell some of that stuff. I am NOT going to crack the Women’s World market. I am NOT interested in writing confessions and then begging for being paid for my sold work. I do not want to write articles on things that don’t interest me. I want to write fiction and poetry with creative lines and imagery. So what if they don’t sell. If I write what I enjoy and am pleased with the product then I have pleased at least one reader. That payment might have to be enough even though it won’t buy bread at Wal-mart. All those great snippets of writing ideas? The ones about to come to completion were kept, and the rest pitched.


I still need to weed CDs that are okay but not great, the ones I rarely choose to play. I still need to tidy a drawer of office supplies like clips, paper punches, and bookmarks I do not use anymore. While the manila folders are reduced in number, I still need to go through the remainder and weed story by story for duplicates and ones that have no future. I have cleaned out the Favorites on my computer, dumped old pieces that are dead end works, and deleted some stored pieces in the computer. I still need to weed pictures and maybe slash deeper in the Documents.


Dumping, pitching and purging are energizing. This morning at dawn I wrote for three hours which included drafts of a short article and a short story. I hope this level of production continues throughout the whole new year—well, at least during the month of January. Once DH’s feet hit the floor, I stopped writing and went back to more pitching. This time I attacked the tea cabinet. I looked at the teas that are good but are bypassed daily for our favorites. I tossed out the unused ones like Russian which seems wasteful, but I wanted to see that minimal look in the cupboard. Try as we might, that smoky taste just doesn’t work at this house. Every pot got dumped down the sink when I brewed it so this morning the tea leaves went to the trash. The healthy acia berry went because it was not our taste. I paused at the green, which is supposed to be healthy too, but I kept it through the round one of dumping. When I drink tea, I want a dark strong brew! I will continue to try to develop a taste for the greens that taste like grass clippings—but only for while.


I look forward to tomorrow’s dawn. I have a short list of submissions to ready and writings to finish. Some egg muffins are already baked for a 45 second warming in the microwave to go with a pot of brewed tea after the first hours writing. I hope my mind works well and produces skillfully. As for DH, he better be on the lookout for a wife chucking things out that don’t look functional!

                                          This poinsettia is about four years old and came from a
                                                      very small plant. I am excited to see it begin to go red.
                                                      To be minimal in this house, I should pitch it, but I hope
                                                      to save it one more year to be moved out to the deck for
                                                      summer.
                   

One Star, One Night, One Baby

Our town lights up its water tower like a hot air balloon. This picture doesn't do it justice. It is a unique beacon of light during the holidays.

“One star, one night, one baby.” Those words really resonated for me and summed up the whole meaning of this season when I heard them last night at our town’s layman’s services. Author Cindy Dagnan was the speaker for the opening night’s program. Although I had been buried in holiday “stuff” all day, the evening was unseasonably warm and I knew I wanted to hear Cindy. I had never heard of her before she spoke at our writer’s guild last fall, but I was pleasantly surprised by a vivacious woman and writer whose enthusiasm for both life and God were infectious.

The layman’s services are a 60 year old tradition in our town and are non-denominational. Each year during the holidays, a quick program of music, prayer, and reflection is offering in the wee morning hours before people go to work. It is a quick touch with the true meaning of Christmas with the first service of the week being held in the evening. Last night’s program was only about 20 minutes long followed by cookies and fellowship if one wanted to stay.

Using Scripture and her razor sharp wit, Cindy zeroed in on all the frustrations of shopping and decorating and then zapped us with a poignant reminder that those things are NOT Christmas. We all know that fact, but oh, how we forget. So there was Cindy, sparkling as tree tinsel, reminding us not to get side-tracked from that Baby’s story.


I was no different than any child those many years ago, I adored Christmas. I distinctly remember gluing cotton ball beards on construction paper Santas and dropping red glitter on a glob of white glue that would become Rudolph’s glowing nose. I loved the music at school, preparing for that yearly Christmas program with the music teacher shrieking at us to get things right. I still hear her screeching, not-so-good violin solo of “Oh Holy Night” that occurred every year to a captive audience of parents who only wanted to see their darlings perform. I haven’t forgotten relatives and in-laws, neighbors and friends who argued and fussed over who got what hour of Christmas Day to “celebrate". I also remember well being pregnant with my babies during Christmas; I always felt extra close to the Mother Mary when I too was “with child”. This year I wait for another baby, a grandson, who will come right after the holidays.


Over the years, people, circumstances, and life have tried to steal my childish wonder from me. I admit that I find age and aging hamper the marvel of Christmas sometimes, but I never want to lose entirely the innocent but comforting glow that comes from pondering the miracle of that special Baby born so long ago. This year I have seen so many people sore, surly, and wounded by disappointment and hurt that it has been hard to stay focused the true meaning of Christmas myself. It sometimes takes extra work to fight sinking into the mire of the distressed world around us.


So today on the Winter Solstice and the darkest day of the year, I am going to remember Cindy’s words last night. “One star, one night, one baby.” She became a star herself, leading us right back to the true meaning of Christmas. No matter what your religious beliefs are, it is fitting and right to be a shining light to others around you in some way, for just one day…or one night. Take the shove or slight with grace, drive past the parking spot hog with a grin, toss a coin in a kettle, call a shut-in, or merely step out into the crowd with a beaming smile. The smile you give may save your own; it is the true meaning of Christmas.

For more information about Cindy Dagnan, visit her website at: http://cindydagnan.com/

Changes at the North Pole

This is today's entry in Jenny's Saturday Centus. For more stories and how to play, please visit Jenny at:
http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/2010/12/saturday-centus-week-33.html. Today's prompt is highlighted in red.




                    Changes at the North Pole!
hen Santa decided to break with tradition, the common belief was he would come to his senses before Christmas Eve. But he vowed no more cookies, lost a hundred pounds, shaved down to a Tom Selleck mustache, and bought a new Ralph Lauren blazer. He retired Rudolph and bought a GPS. He asked world class designers to compete for a new uniform for his workers.



Designer Gordon was stitching in a tiny green zipper; tunic in an emerald satin, a jade belt with gold buckle cinching a blousy waist, hung nearby. Time was about gone when realization hit.


"What was he thinking? OMG! Elves are soooo 2009..."

January is Coming

The days are busy right now, pleasantly so for the most part. The nice part about the bustling right now is that one knows it is a short season, that it will come to an end soon. So one can sit back and enjoy the demanding days. Stopping for tea and candle moment are even more meaningful right now. This morning I took some time and see I have two new followers! Welcome Rebecca and Ames. You join Betty, Sara and Lady Estelle from a short while ago. I am glad to see a “crowd”!

On the other side of Christmas are the long days of January. I never minded that month myself. I mentally prepare for hibernation like a grizzly bear. I eat and party in December, but I curl up and hunker alone inside during January. I am socialized out and ready for a hide away. I use this dormant period for reading, writing, knitting, movies, and just restoring body and soul.

I usually have a January project list by now, but this year I am running behind on making one. I know I want to write, but I have no inspiration, at the moment anyway, for any specific story or essay to capture on the page. I am never caught up on reading, but I do have the book club selections read for the spring months already. I did buy one batch of yarn for a possible afghan, but I am not overly excited about the pattern. I have no snazzy articles in mind to set the needles clacking.

The last couple of winters I have made various shawls and had DH on whipping out shawl pins, but there are only so many a gal can wear! After knitting about 10 full lenth shawls, I switched to these short shoulder ones that really are more like a scraf with my sized stitch.I make them from simple washcloth cotton, making them very inexpensive but colorful.                 

I love the shawl pins DH makes, so many sizes and woods. I never can choose between the woods because I love them all. Hedge has made a great pins because it yellows with age, a totally different shade than the darker hard woods. Also, he gets the hedge from the family farm making them more special than a boughten plank.

DH also has been making biscuit cutters from hard woods. I love them even though biscuit making is not a daily job here. I first saw a hard wood cutter at Branson in the mill at Silver Dollar City. DH has been working on getting them right since then.  While he made me one from dark walnut, my favorite, I can't stand to see the rejects thrown away so I line them up on my kitchen window sill. These are cherry, hedge and walnut.

The dark dawn is turning light so I had better move on for today. I know December is here in force, but January is a coming!

Tea Cup Tuesday, Snowmen Cups

This is part of Martha's Tea Cup Tuesday. For more cups and a linky, visit Martha at http://www.marthasfavorites.com/2010/12/tea-cup-tuesday-almost-forgotten.html#comment-form.

I ordered two of these snowmen tea cups a couple of years ago. They have little snowmen of various kinds all over them although they don't show up well here. They are charming to use during the Christmas holidays along with poinsettia cups, but they can stay out all of January and still look right at home.

While this blue snowman tea pot does not match the cups, it goes well also through winter. It is large enough to make a big pot to fit under the cozy for many cups of hot tea on cold days and night!

Thrift Deluxe

Over Thanksgiving, we were driving by the grounds of the Mother Co-Redemptrix when I spotted "stuff"! Stop the car I cried when I saw a real find! The Vietnamese Fathers and Brothers often set out old chairs, desks, and file cabinets that are no longer needed with the idea that someone in the community might have use for them. What I saw was an old library card catalog. Now, I know that is junk to some folks, but I love the old library tables, catalogs, and chairs. No computer desk, ipad, digital card file will ever have the warmth of those old oak pieces where folks' thumbs flipped cards, where fingers and wooden #2 pencils jotted down ideas, facts and figures.

Much to our son's embarrassment, his folks were out on a busy road backing the van over the grass to cabbage onto this find. Within five minutes someone else stopped wanting whatever we did not take. DH and son unloaded the very heavy piece into the shop. The piece was actually two pieces and DH had fun separating and searching and fiddling with the parts. The drawers looked like cherry so he  remade the top with a piece of cherry in his wood pile. Things were looking good.

Okay, WHERE was I going to use this thing and how? I had no idea; I just knew I loved it. But we did not want to put a lot of money into it so DH used a lesser wood from his stock pile and made a small stand for the drawers to set on. Wow, isn't it pretty for a junked piece? We toted it into my office area, shoved things around and found a place for it. I know it is crazy but well, I love the piece.

The remaining piece of the same size DH was going to take for screws, nails and such in his shop without refinishing. However, once he saw this finished piece, he has decided to find more cheap wood for a stand, strip the drawers, and redo nicer for his own use in his office over the shop.

You won't find my home in House and Garden or Modern Home. There is no bonus room, great room, or whirlpool bath, and no one would long to own this 60 year old ranch. But you got to admit, this place is a conversation starter with pie cupboards made of barn siding from the family farm barn (complete with holes drilled by Kansas wood bees!), bathrooms with doors to the deck, wall paper applied sideways, a carpenter's tool trunk used as a coffee table, a plate rack built into the wall between studs, and now a library card catalog...and it was free!

*************************************

In the fall, I gave a friend an extra set of glasses I had. Look how she decided to use the stemware.

I got one of her gifts back and isn't it lovely? The fragrance is a delightful cinnamon.Thanks, Pat!

Saturday Centus/If the shoe doesn't fit....

This is Saturday Centus . The prompt must be used word for word somewhere in the story on not more than 100 words.The prompt is highlighted. For complete rules see:http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com.

Today's prompt: an involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the shoebox and saw the pointy-toed shoes

                                    If the shoe doesn't fit......

I was cleaning the overstuffed closet, tossing out peeled sweaters, trousers with missing buttons. Purging was harder than it used to be--bending, squatting, reaching, puffing for a tad more air.


I tossed out sandals missing buckles, loafers with heels worn to an angle, and hats with crushed brims. Then an involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the shoebox and saw the pointy-toed shoes...


I looked down at thick ankles, felt aching knees, a lump formed in my throat. I wouldn’t wear toothpick-thin red heels ever again. They still sparkled, but I didn’t. When had it happened, the loss of elastic body, that dash of vigor, the zest of youth prancing on dainty feet?