Visiting Royalty

I have recently been so blessed to have the most special visitors

come to my house.

Royalty, almost.

My daughter Kathleen and my grandbaby Abigail, 14 months, arrived for the annual February visit. A chance to actually get outdoors without layers of woolens, hats, gloves, boots, etc.

Feel the sun warming their pale skin and cold bones.

Since they live so very far away, a visit is a momentous occasion.

We treasured every minute of every day for the short weeks.

Maybe it's because she is a super active little girl or

maybe because I'm an aging grandmother, but I was astounded

at Abigail's endless busyness.

She says only a few words and we worked constantly to understand her language

as she tried to make her needs known.

She stays on the lookout for things within her reach and played with anything

AND everything she could get her hands on.

This very old cream can (in the picture below) hides behind the front door but she spied it and

then proceeded to drag it all over the house by the little handle.

The metal clanking at least let us know where she was toddling.

I learned to be vigilant about COMPLETELY closing the pantry door

and my bathroom and closet drawers.

She could snatch an item from a drawer I was standing near faster than I could see her come and go with it.

You can almost hear her brain growing and sorting information.

A comical and unique behavior is her wanting to climb inside things.

Her toybox was filled with toys but she would daily toss out some and then climb inside, playing with the remainder of the stuff inside with her.

And she likes to wear things around her neck--stuffed toys, clothing,

and particularly this medal from Relay for Life.

It dangled down so far that she often stepped on it while climbing and then couldn't raise her head, pinned as it was by her foot on the medal.

Oh, how we laughed at her--or should I say with her.

She joined in the laughter.

Then took a bow.

Our little starring gymnast!

Her vast desire to learn, touch and taste was fascinating-

and a bit exhausting! (I must admit.)

One big adventure was watching her walking on GRASS for the very first time.

The unevenness and texture of it intrigued her but she mastered it in one afternoon.

Kathleen and I enjoyed hours of walks with great times for talking and sharing our thoughts and feelings on life. Abigail happily (mostly!) rode along in the stroller.

When her wiggling grew too much, we let her out to run around and explore.

She totally filled our days with joy and energy.

Most of the days' hours were spent keeping her safe, trying to decipher what she wanted,

playing with her, feeding her or trying to get her to sleep.

That pretty much accounted for our time.

But, somehow Kathleen managed to squeeze out enough time to help me with some projects I have been longing to get done for over a year.

The biggest one was to mount a pulley system and hang our big canoe up along the ceiling on the garage. I have wanted it off the floor for 7+ years.

This Wonder Woman used her housebuilding experience to handle a drill like a pro and,

with 2 little pages of instructions, got that big boat out of our way.

I am STILL impressed!

She may be a full time mama, but she is still a sweet and thoughtful

daughter to me, as well.

And every time I walk into our garage, I am reminded of her love expressed

in the task of hanging a 75-lb, 14- foot canoe for me.

That is love spoken in MY language!!!

Lingering on Memory Lane

Hello, dear readers.

I know it's been a long time since I've posted anything, but it's not

because I've been doing nothing, but rather because the days have been full.

My daughter traveled a long way with my wee granddaughter for a visit

and we cherished every minute together.

Kathleen searches for acts of kindness to show her love for me--

she is very precious that way.

One project I've wanted to do is to transfer years' worth of videos onto DVD's.

Daunting, to say the least.

Well, she got me started and I've kept up the momentum.

The only way to do this transfer is by playing the video in real time,

meaning 6 hours per cassette.

I get drawn in to watching our family history as the hours roll on:

birthdays with balloons, cakes and candles,

holidays with the trimmings,

Christmas trees and stockings,

first days of school,

proms,

reunions,

assorted pets,

leaving home for college,

musicals and concerts,

friends and neighbors

and sports events:

Track, swimming, baseball, cross-country, triathlons...

Here's the thing:

As I watch the events roll by on the TV,

I am transported back to the actual time and find myself

smiling, laughing, and even crying as I relive the moments.

The year could be 1996 or 1998--it doesn't matter.

I am once again a mother with 3 real characters for children, being goofy

in the garden, at the table, raking the lawn--making me laugh then and now.

What a blessing!!!

To demonstrate just how absorbed I get in these old family "movies",

I have watched HOURS of races-- in the pool, on the track,

or woodsy cross-country trails.

I hear myself screeching "Go! Go! Go!"

(Heavens, was I a "soccer mom" before the term was coined?)

Strange as it may seem to you (and it does to ME),

my heart beats faster and my hands grip the chair

as I watch my children compete.

My brain may know that this particular event happened over 15 years ago,

but still I hold my breath as Hillary flies over the hurdles on the track,

Kathleen dives into the pool off the blocks and Jonathan pitches strikes.

My mother's heart skips beats wanting each child to be successful

but also (and mostly) safe.

Those two facts are not mutually inclusive.

I ponder the direction these children's lives have gone.

The critical importance of running hard, swimming fast, pitching straight--

the medals and awards won...do these matter today at all?

I believe they do. That same effort

(and what amazing effort and work, as I view them now--whew!)

is still a part of them today. Perhaps not in the sports arena, but in the everyday

of who they are--in business, healthcare administration, and homemaking.

On the screen tonight, I viewed the faces of acute disappointment when the best of efforts did not result in the outcome they wanted, chests heaving from the physical demands.

I watched their disappointment turn into determination to push even yet harder the next time.

And I sit, alone in my living room, on the edge of my chair,

cheering and hoping that THIS time she will win!

I am astounded at the physical demands these children of mine put on their young bodies--pushing to the limits. Beyond reserves.

And I recognize the same determination and perseverance in each of them in 2012.

I am as proud of them today as when I sat in the bleachers or theater seats years ago.

Not for successes, but for efforts.

And I am thankful for these videos-

though the quality is often poor and the pictures blurry,

the images evoke strong memories that bring me great joy.

I love to laugh and these dear children of mine are giving me that gift-again!

If there are still DVD players around when I go into the nursing home,

you'll hear me laughing even then.

Proof Is in the Sprouting

Here are the pictures to go with my excited words (written a few days ago)

about signs of January springtime in Central Texas:

Buds of jonquils carry the promise of blossoms to come...

and delicate little purple flowers peeking among both fresh green leaves

and old, dry brown ones.

I don't know their names but I appreciate them all the same.

A bit closer, even the leaves are pretty.

A few years ago I took home several pots of Easter lilies

that sat unclaimed in church after Easter Sunday.

I planted the brown, dried up plants in various places, not sure what would happen.

The following Easter and each one after that, the lilies have faithfully come up, spreading actually, to bloom with tall, white flowers. They have already started for this year.

Crocus don't have to break through the ice and snow here,

yet their cheery yellow brightens each spot where they come up.

And the final proof of spring, no matter what the calendar reads:

the dandelion! Each one calls out to little hands everywhere,

"Pick me! Pick me!" and bouquets of them hang limply over the rims of

juice glasses on every kitchen table.

Yay for robins and flowers and green, sprouting things!

Color, noise and life anew.

Yay for spring!

Springing Up Spring

It is late January and spring is evident.

Hip Hip Hooray!

The night temps can still dip into the 30's and the morning hours chilly until that faithful sun warms up the afternoons and the thermometer reads above 70.

The grass, designed for hot temps, is still dormant and brown,

but other signs are springing up all around.

Springing up Spring!

A bouncy sound.

Spring IS bouncy...busy...energetic.

I am strongly aware that the arrival of springtime is not nearly so magical

(and therapeutic) as it was during most of my years

when I lived in the North Country of New York.

Those years winter lasted from late October until April.

They were the times when, if there weren't signs of spring hidden

among the melting snow,

we would all just about lose our minds.

In a type of desperation, I would go out with a shovel and dig at the piles of snow that lingered in the shadows at the edge of the woods.

Left on its own, that icy snow refused to melt and disappear

until the sun rose high enough to reach those dark, protective areas.

But I simply couldn't bear the sight of snow into mid-May.

I tossed the old stuff haphazardly out into patches of brown ground and laughed like a crazy woman when it melted.

Just doing my part to loosen up winter's grip on the land.

So, in retrospect, spring's arrival in Central Texas is not nearly so dramatic nor necessary for my presence of mind. There is no cabin fever here. Some of the trees, like the Live Oaks, for example, never even lose their leaves until March so the trees remain green and vibrant all winter long.

Still, the sight of fresh and new green leaves peeking up in the empty flower beds quickens my pulse. (Who doesn't get a thrill from the predictability and hardiness of perennials?)

The birdsong has changed and its melodies speak of nesting. One of our birdhouses is being inspected even today by a busy, little wren.

And the calendar is still on January!

And then, this evening a major flock of robins suddenly filled the sky.

Hundreds of robins, circling the trees around us.

Landing then launching again, chirping and singing.

The redness of their breasts glowed in the late afternoon sun.

Wonderful!! Incredible!!

They won't stay here (sadly) but are migrating through--

on their annual migration northward.

Get ready, those of you who are still covered with snow,

these definitive harbingers of spring are on their way to you!

Now that is pretty sweet, you must agree.

PS: I took pictures of these growing things but am unable to post them presently.

Sorry for the post of words only.

I promise to get those pictures on the blog very soon.

They are just too exciting to pass up sharing with you.

Meanwhile, if the view from your windows is not yet like mine,

rejoice in knowing that springtime WILL come... in time.

Remember, the robins are on their way.

But Where Are the Pine Trees?

I always loved decorating the house for Christmas with fresh greens.

This meant putting on boots, hat and mittens and taking a brisk walk

out into our snowy yard or the adjoining woods. There were countless, tall and

fragrant evergreens--firs, pines, and spruce.

I returned to the house refreshed, pink-cheeked, covered in pine pitch

and oh-so-happy!

I often made my own garland by wiring boughs together into long strands.

Each tree produced an abundance of assorted pine cones,

from very small cedar ones to the long White Pine cones.

I'd bake them in a low oven so they would open up into full, beautiful cones

then I'd tuck them into the green branches along the many window ledges,

tops of furniture and stair railings.

The house smelled like fresh outdoors. Ahhhhhh!

So, when the time came to decorate this year,

I gazed out the windows at trees that looked like this:

Lovely, I know.

But this would work for autumn decorating, not Christmas.

What to do?

I was sad and uninspired. I longed for the northern woods,

the crunch of snow underfoot, the sticky pitch on my mittens.

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

Someone recently sent me an email which included the following quote:

Life is not the way it's supposed to be . . . It's the way it is.

The way we cope with it is what makes the difference! ! ! ! !

So, I guess I needed to cope with this better.

I looked beyond the autumn leaves and...

in the tree just beyond, the Live Oak (Don't laugh, that's the official name.),

clumps of mistletoe grow. And they just started blooming with these waxy, white balls.

Before moving to Texas, I'd only seen plastic mistletoe hanging in doorways...

This was the REAL thing!

In our front yard are several pretty holly bushes that also happen

to be blooming right now, covered with cheery, red berries.

I rushed to the garage to grab the clippers and dragged in an armful.

Little vases filled with with the holly and mistletoe looked

festive and seasonal.

I began to hum the tunes of the familiar carols, my spirits lifting.

Once I started, I was on a roll.

Back out with the clippers, I cut branches of cedar,

rosemary, winter berries of some bare tree and more holly.

The fragrance was fantastic as I stuck them in that floral stuff

and built up the "bouquet" around a tall, fat scented candle.

A few little red balls and a match and voila!

God's natural materials (mostly) turned into a pretty centerpiece.

My hands smelled like rosemary and the table looked nice.

Sometimes I just need to rethink things and cope better.

Beauty comes wrapped in different packages.

And it's all beautiful.

The Day After the Day Before

Thinking as a mature adult, one would imagine a late morning rising

following the excitement of Santa's deliveries, grandparent visits,

new toys and nighttime Candy Cane Lane romping.

Right?

A mature adult, mind you...

The bodies of 4 and 6 year olds aren't programmed the same way.

*Yawn*

5:45 AM and 2 quiet little people entered our bedroom then stood fairly

motionless--inches away from our faces. Their warm breath woke me.

It was still black out.

Nonetheless, tummies were growling and ideas were brewing.

Time to get up.

The high energy level didn't last for very long, however.

A touch of mellow hung in the air.

Thank goodness for On Demand videos.

There is minimal conversing at 6AM.

The day after Christmas.

I just couldn't enforce the "no thumbsucking" rule this one time

as Cash slumped lower and lower.

Breakfast was repeated 3 times over 4 hours,

in progressive elaboration--

First Cheerios... then pancakes, eggs and bacon...

then waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausage.

Orange Julius with all, of course.

The sugar and maple syrup did the trick and we spent the rest of the day

outside with the out-of-control remote car

(I couldn't get any pictures of that because it was all a blur!),

avoiding the licorice traps in Candy Land,

creating wild and wonderful tales with Story Cubes and

fishing for the elusive Clown Fish, among others.

After Mommy came to take her little ones home,

Shoeless Joe gave a long sigh and closed his eyes.

He wants to know when that silly bow on his collar can come off...

Christmas 2011 is now a wonderful memory.

00000000000

Candy Cane Lane

We had an extra fun ending to our Christmas Day celebrations.

A double bonus, if you will:

Mommy and Daddy requested a night out and, better yet,

a day-after opportunity to sleep past 6 AM,

so we brought our grandchildren back home with us.

Darkness arrived in Georgetown at about the same time we did,

so an exciting adventure visiting "Candy Cane Lane" happened.

Thanks to one of the more enthusiastic neighborhoods here in Sun City,

this street was full of fun and magic.

Each mailbox looked like this:

The little ones and Shoeless Joe raced from house to house,

glorying in the child-sized decorations spread on the lawns.

This golf cart's wheels kept spinning

and the red tree trunks were fascinating as they even made the children

glow in shades of red.

Sort of camouflaged, right?

As in: How many tree trunks do you see? 3? 5?

Gigi posed for this one--two angels and a pup, right?

I loved this picture--

my favorite gifts tucked in wrapped boxes!

Cash tried to hold the hand of this bright soldier.

Fun to find a world just the "right" size.

I'm not sure what Gigi was doing--

maybe practicing her "royal" wave.

All the running and squealing with delight helped use up the last of the energy of these highly sugared and frenetic little ones and they finally climbed back in the car to head home.

Ready for baths, supper and bedtime.

But first our wish as written here:

Merry Christmas, y'all!

Anticipation

My favorite day of the entire year is Christmas Eve.

A day of culmination.

The day when weeks of preparations are complete.

Cards are written and sent,

cookies baked and shared,

ornaments gently lifted out of tissue paper wraps and set about,

presents carefully chosen and lovingly placed under the tree,

adorned with colorful paper, ribbons and bows.

All is made ready.

Like a breathy, long sigh heard above the Christmas carols on the radio.

I am a young child again on Christmas Eve.

My memories are acute and imagination active.

I have lived through many Christmas Eves,

though I won't admit the number.

Lots of my decorations are aging with me but I cherish each one.

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

My grandchildren's eyes sparkle as bright as the candle's flame.

The magic of pretty dolls whose arms move

and tiny glass houses with even tinier people.

I have known some Christmas Eves without my family nearby

and that makes their presence all the dearer to me.

I am made rich by them.

And sharing a meal, conversation and then some cookies with

friends gives us good reason for smiles.

This year, the most amazing thing of all--

my dear mother now lives just a few miles away.

Though weary with the unpacking from this recent move,

she still made the effort of decorating her own Christmas tree, wrapping gifts and joining in our holiday plans.

No matter what our age,

each of us holds some quiet, unshared dreams on this night of nights.

I, too, believe in flying reindeer and listen for sleigh bells.

But then, all too soon, the goodbyes are said, the dishes washed and put away,

and the silence prevails.

Tomorrow will arrive and with it rejoicing, singing, laughter and bustle.

But THIS is my time to pause...sit...remember...pray.

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

The room is dim, lit only by the tree lights, candles and fireplace.

The carols are hushed and their lovely chords float around me.

I let my mind travel on the familiar sounds and my thoughts and memories blend together, the lines distinguishing old from new now blurred.

Details of Christmas Eves from the past hover around me like old friends.

Some memories cause me to smile, others bring a tear.

I know I have so much to be thankful for and I am. Oh, I am.

Especially this Night of Nights.

The clock chimes midnight and still I sit.

I am complete, not perfect, because of the King of kings born on this very night.

Not born in a palace rich, but a cave used as a stable for animals.

As I ponder this old story, I am there, listening.

I hear the rustle of the cows and sheep as they shift in the hay, their tails swishing.

I hear the soft voice of a young, weary woman singing a lullaby.

I hear the tiny noises that every newborn makes.

My heart swells within me and I find it hard to breathe.

These humble beginnings for so great a God prevents anyone from believing

he or she may be rejected because of poverty or station.

All can believe. All are loved.

Such a Wonder. Such a God. Such a Plan.

Thinking such, I recognize that this night is not so much a culmination

but more of a beginning.

A wondrous beginning.

Christmas baking-Yum!

For a number of years my heart has just not been into

Christmas baking.

To me, the task is not about the end result of tins and containers

stocked with cookies, sweets, and candies but rather the

event of baking: getting out the recipe cards all stained with food coloring,

sugar and butter and then choosing the ones to make;

listing the ingredients to buy;

selecting the perfect cookie cutters to use;

measuring, pouring, beating, you know the drill.

The happiness that came from this activity was not in the sweet smells from the oven, but the chatter of children's voices above the Christmas carols being played in the background.

Somehow, after my children grew up and moved away,

missing them during times like baking for Christmas was too much.

I stopped baking more than a token of basic cookies.

I longed for the spilling of sprinkles and red sugar crystals, the sticky floors,

the laughter, the little angel wings broken while frosting, the pleas of

"Can't I eat just one more?"

That whole exhausting bustle of it all.

This pre-Christmas week's visit of my granddaughter revived the baker in me!

Dust off that rolling pin and let the vanilla pour!

Of course we wear sundresses under our aprons when baking Christmas cookies--

it is Texas, after all!

Licking the beaters has become a controversial topic due to the raw eggs,

but a taste shared with a black and white friend didn't seem too risky.

She carefully and selectively frosted every one of the shapes,

choosing the colors wisely.

"The stars MUST be yellow, Grandma!"

Creamy mint candies were tedious as the rolling of the balls went on forever.

She stuck with it and we had lengthy conversations about life and Santa Claus

and best friends while we rolled.

Occasionally we broke into spontaneous song as a favorite came on the radio.

The following day, the various tins were laid in a row and we made up plates of

our pretty fancies. Christmas cards were addressed, bows applied and my little elf skipped through the neighborhood, delivering the goodies to the houses.

She looked like Little Red Riding Hood who traded her hood for a Santa hat.

Our street is so safe, but Popeye watched for any signs of the Big, Bad Wolf.

Just in case.

Her enthusiasm and happiness spread cheer to all.

Her brief delivery visits were sweeter than the goods in the basket.

And I am humming and smiling as I scrape dried cookie dough

off the floor and cabinets (and the dog!).

I remember why I enjoy Christmas baking.