Christmas Eve

Hello, animals. Merry Christmas!

My morning is with NPR, listening to King's College choir, live from Cambridge England. The solo introduction, with its own story of who will sing it in any given year, is hauntingly beautiful. Ed would protest, but he is still sleeping. So here I am, following along with the story of a holiday that is mine by tradition, by ancestry I suppose, most certainly by choice, my own choice, selecting those elements that I love, not paying much attention to those that I find alienating or too fanciful.

 

 

 

And then Ed does come down and we eat a breakfast of croissants and fruits.

He spends the morning trying to understand what's wrong with our internet (it's down) so that he can be sensible once the Spectrum repair person shows up in the afternoon. Me, I study recipes. I have a lot of oven use coming up and I want to make sure I can accommodate all of it.

In the afternoon, the two older kids are here... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

... to bake cookies. Simple but good. Santa needs a few to sustain himself tonight, though God knows he's got it easy weather wise. No great chill out there. We have a weekend of relative warmth. (And by evening, plenty of fog.)

In the evening I bring the kids home and I stay with the young family for dinner. 

 

 

 

A traditional one for us, in that I used to make the same thing for my kids all those Christmas Eves of now long ago.

And we have a FaceTime with the Chicago young family. Some of the kids want to put on a Christmas show. Snowdrop has written a poem about snowmen and one about Christmas trees, Primrose sings a wonderful rendition of Rudolph, and Sparrow gives Jingle Bells his best.

Juniper tunes us all out and Sandpiper sends his vocal regrets. Maybe next year.

I linger, watching their spirited antics, smiling at little Sandpiper's first Christmas Eve.

 

Christmas Eve. Beautiful thoughts of holidays and everydays spent just like this -- with the ones I love so much, with the frills and thrills of ribbons, bubbles, glitter, sprinkles on cookies and the sparkle of their high energy, their beautiful young faces, reflecting the wisdom of the ages: search for happiness and share it with the ones closest to you.

Merry Christmas, with love...

home

If home is where the heart is then I have three places in which to shelter it, even though only one stores all my personal belongings! I love my daughters' homes and all that's in them. And I love those moments when I pass through them -- at the end of the day, when I drop off a kid or two and my daughter is in the middle of dinner preparation, or on these visits to Chicago, walking the same blocks that the young guys know and love, shopping at their bakeries, eating (take-out these days) at their local eateries, discovering a good tea or a yummy wine (this time La Petite Soeur blanc) at their warm and welcoming home.

 

My older girl and I are to meet up with Juniper and parents (Primrose is in school one last time this year) after they run their morning errands -- drop offs, appointments, and a trip to Mindy's for breakfast treats. It's our final time with the little one. I wont see her again in person until next year, so do forgive me for my camera work. I want many images dancing in my head. Here are a few to share with you:

 

Is it "deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la..." or a yawn??

My breakfast buddies, attacking treats from Mindy's Bakery. With my milky coffee? Heaven.

"Hey, is anyone going to attend to my breakfast? Or maybe it's a second breakfast? Or third?"

That satisfied smile... (with Aunt Goat)

Irresistable... A newborn still, but not for long!

Candy cane...

Parents and child...

And toward the lunch hour, we drive home.

Meanwhile, back in Madison....

And at the farmhouse: the internet is down, the new high chair pieces don't fit together (we are on our second one already), the cats knocked down some ornaments. But the tree is lovely nonetheless, the extra ruglach cookie from Mindy's is delicious, and the candle gives us its magical Christmas glow.

This has been an enormously beautiful December for me! Without doubt a standout month. It had its share of tense moments, but they all resolved beautifully into this sea of warmth and love. I am so full of smiles...

And a partridge in a pear tree...

one week old

I woke up just before dawn. Lots to do! The gift of an early rise is that I get to see the pinks and oranges on the crab apples as the sun gives the first blush of color to the landscape.

I didn't want to wake Ed for breakfast. On a rare occasion, it actually feels okay to have a solo morning meal. Today was one of those times. 

 

 

 

I turned on NPR and listened to a story that was as warm and tender as could be. I'll let you listen to it, or read it on this click.

I thought about the legacy each parent or grandparent wants to leave their child or children and I know everyone views this differently, but in the end, I'm with the narrator in the story: I want my kids to think that despite the flaws or missteps, my world was one where we felt at ease and happy to express love and the joy of being together. To laugh together (even though I can't say the one liners!). To spontaneously embrace, perhaps sing, certainly hug and take from each other all the very best.

 

I return to Chicago today, this time with my older daughter. Juniper is a week old, certainly old enough to entertain an important visitor from "up north!"

The plan is to drive down early, spend the day, overnight at a nearby hotel, and return the next day, because, you know, there's Christmas and someone needs to do Santa's work, and someone else needs to light up the stove for more holiday baking.

But all that holiday-ing is not for today. This Wednesday once again belongs to Juniper.

 

Primrose is in school, but at the end of the day, she is home too and now we are many! I wont be here when all the cousins meet, but I can imagine the chaos then. A happy chaos of kids, aunts and uncles. For now, though, it's a bunch of grownups, loving the antics of two little ones.

We eat, then soon after, we leave because us northerners go to sleep on this side of midnight. To rest from the travel, from the grand play with the wee ones, to think about how lucky we are to be able to gather as a family again. And to see firsthand how quickly the youngest ones are growing...

With love...

Solstice

We have begun the countdown to summer!

It's a cold day, but there is no snow. We wont have a white Christmas, though the day after the holiday will bring the usual deep chill and that spell of cold weather will last (possibly longer than we may want it to). 

Ed is keeping an eye out for chickens on Craigslist. Why, you ask. (As do I!) Well, we currently have four layers and one rooster.

Having once had six, he's tempted to keep that number going, especially since in the winter, it's not impossible to imagine that we'll lose one of the old girls (Peach or Henny), or have a predator grab one of the little ones (everyone is hungry for chicken meat in the cold months). 

Buying chickens on Craigslist is risky. You could introduce disease into your coop unless you are super careful. Too, there is a reason why the seller is trying to get rid of his or her chickens and that reason may not be so innocent: they are angry chickens. They don't lay eggs. They don't get along with others. You don't like them and they don't like you. Nonetheless, Ed has this belief that most people are good and thus most Craigslist sales are good and we can screen out the bad eggs out there. 

[I am forever surprised by Ed's faith in the marketplace, given that he is, overall, a pessimist. Just the other day I asked him where on the continuum of pessimist/optimist he would place himself and he answered -- at the 30% level. But that low number does not translate to unhappiness with his daily life. It merely reflects his belief that the planet is doomed! Now, can you guess where on that same continuum I reside? I'll give you a hint -- he and I do not share the same side of the spectrum. He says I'm between 70 and 80%. I agree -- probably closer to 80, and the missing 20 is there only because we have had to endure a raucous political scene, a pandemic, and climate change, all pretty much in the same few years. Also, I don't like the fact that most animals have to kill others to survive. Doesn't seem fair.]

 

(Breakfast)

 

In the afternoon, I do the last school pickup of the year. A pajama'd girl, happy as a clam to be in her night time garb.

It's also Snowdrop's last solo visit to the farmhouse this year. (Her brother will be coming along at all other times.) 

We use it to read, to talk, to munch on a half dozen fruits and on her beloved indulgence here -- potato chips. Oh, don't tell me I should do better! It's just a small handful and they are reduced-fat. (Like I said, we always have ready justifications for our bad behavior.) 

(Ed is stretching his back; she says she is stretching his tummy)

I drop her off in the evening and drive home on the crisp first night after solstice. Already one minute shorter than the night before -- how good is that!

(yeah!)

eve of solstice

Remember when we all thought 2020 was the worst year ever and we would soon put all worries behind us?

Well now.

But in fact, 2021 gave the vast majority living here so much to be grateful for, including a rapid, coordinated response to Covid. Most of us benefited tremendously from the vaccination program -- the super quick distribution, the continued science that allowed us to get the booster just when we needed it so badly, the vaccination of most of our kids. All this was huge. [To say nothing of the political calm that we have been given. No one can deny that no matter how divided we remain, the screaming from the top and therefore from the bottom has receded substantially. If noise ruins hearing, then I would bet in 2021 everyone's hearing has improved tremendously and I say this as an older person who especially values the calming of the decibel output around me. From the CDC: Noise above 70 dB over a prolonged period of time may start to damage your hearing. Loud noise above 120 dB can cause immediate harm to your ears. Now isn't that the truth!]

I have a calm day today. I was to drive down to Chicago with my older girl, but we postponed that due to some small snafus that sometimes happen when you have a newborn. We'll try again the day after tomorrow. Practically, this means that today is suddenly uncomplicated, but the days before Christmas will be a bit of a whirl. That's okay. I can handle holiday whirl!

We are today on the eve of winter solstice. Whereas in June we begin losing precious light from our day's routines, in December, we start getting it back. Today, on the eve, the sun rose at 7:26 and it will set at 4:25. Tomorrow, on the day of this year's solstice, it will rise in Madison again at 7:26. And here's the thing: the sun will then set at 4:26. People forget that solstice happens at a moment in time. For us, the reversal begins tomorrow at 9:59 a.m. and by afternoon we will already have claimed back a minute of light. So it's not actually true that the so called shortest day is really the shortest. Oftentimes the day before (today!) holds that honor.

But here's where science and perception collide: this day may be the true shortest one, but on the other hand, the sunshine made us feel as though we suddenly jumped into a wealth of more light.

(the hens, racing to follow me)

 

Breakfast, with a Northlands Keap candle, was positively bursting with light!

(Candle continues to guide me into the afternoon and evening.)

Thought of the day? Well, I was thinking about the upcoming days and how I may feel obliged to make resolutions. It's a frustrating exercise because let's admit it: older people do not change their habits and ways with ease. For instance, once long ago I may have worked hard on being more funny in person and in writing (I like the idea of making people laugh), but these days I know that that bird has flown. I cannot be funny. I have worked with words all my life, yet I cannot generate a sentence at the snap of my fingers that would make you hiccup with mirth. Not only am I not Seinfeld, I'm not even as quick to spot the ridiculous as is my three year old grandson. He can make you laugh. I cannot.

So what's left? I suppose you can always tell yourself to be better at all that you already have been doing. That's terribly uninspired. Let's see if I can be more original. How about this: eat fewer vegetables. Ed and I probably eat too many. 

And so I go round in circles, looking for ways to set goals for change in the new year, even though I am pretty content with my wee corner of the universe right now. [I could do without the pandemic, but I cannot fix that one. I do mitigate as best as I can, but I am human and I am capable of succumbing to temptations. For example, in Chicago, I entered a local food shop, which broke my record of going 21 months without entering a grocery store. I figured that I HAD gone into pastry shops in Paris so why should this small Chicago specialty foods shop be different, but then I know we always seek to justify our actions to make ourselves feel better about the path we followed.]

And so for now, the young families are doin' okay, I have a wee Christmas tree and I am for that and many other reasons, grateful and content.

With love...