Value in the Past

As we sing "Auld Lang Syne" and say farewell to another year, I think of the value of memories and how mysterious the act of remembering can be.  Some memories appear as if they will stay with me forever, while others just float on by, not being stored in any particular place for me to easily retrieve them.  I seem to collect an odd assortment of memories in my head, sometimes for occasions that don't seem very remarkable on the surface, so I have made it a growing practice over the past few years to pay very close attention to as much as I can each day, carving special places for my life's moments so that I can replay them whenever I need a lift or a reminder of my blessings.  For instance, over the past year, I remember vividly the evening that Larry and I sat outside of the Chateau at Devil's Lake State Park, listening to big band music as we gazed up at the stars on a clear night.  I hear the sound of joyful voices resonating throughout our church's sanctuary as they sang a cappella hymns at a friend's funeral.  I think of the cheery call of the first red-winged black birds of the year.  I see the card my husband gave me to celebrate the publication of my e-book and the start of my new job, two things that happened within the same week. I recall the scent of the first lilacs blooming outside of our kitchen window last May and the taste of the season's first apple in September.  I hear the laughter of good friends around the table as we shared potluck supper.  There is indeed value in the past.  On this last day of 2013, I reflect on the many special moments of the past year, even those moments that weren't especially easy or joyful, while also anticipating the good that will happen in the new year to come.  May you have a happy, healthy new year.

Up, Down

Winter is full of surprises.  Just when I thought I might be getting used to sub-zero lows and inches of snow, we experienced an unexpected rise in temperatures over the weekend, only to be plunged once again into a deep freeze as the new week began.  Such are winter's whims.  It's a strange thing, but I'll welcome, practically beg for such a warm-up a month from now when January feels interminable.  But, between the holidays, I just wasn't in the mood for 40-degree weather and melting snow.  I somehow think that the holidays are meant for Currier & Ives scenes of light snowfall, air so brisk that you can see the puffs of your breath, and enough of a chill to welcome curling up with a cup of tea and a good book while snuggled under a favorite afghan.  I think of those days between the holidays as naturally "cozy" days.  When it's 40 degrees, I just want to be outside, watching the buds on the lilac and azalea, anticipating spring to arrive any moment. Now that we're back in the big chill of December, I'm back to thinking cozy thoughts while keeping one eye on the stack of books next to my favorite reading chair, settling in for a long winter's night. 

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

This morning, we held our traditional after-Christmas hymn sing during our worship service.  Our service was filled with familiar hymns, sung with a combination of reverence and jubilation. We preceded our singing with the responsive reading of John Wesley's "Directions for Singing" found in the beginning of our Methodist hymnal.  We read aloud John Wesley's words, admonishing us to "sing lustily and with good courage," while also being sure to sing "modestly" and "spiritually." One of the hymns we sang was "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," a piece whose melody dated back to 1665 and lyrics to 1680.  As we sang, my mind went back 40+ years when I sang in our church's junior choir.  Our director, Beverly Westerman, had a way of channeling our youthful energy to make lovely music together.  Ours was a large choir, so large in fact, that I often was relegated to sitting on a folding chair outside of the wood confines of our choir loft.  It was in that choir that I first remember singing "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty" and at Christmastime, "Do You Hear What I Hear?".  Today, while flooded with happy memories, I contemplated the lyrics and how they apply to my life today, "Ponder anew what the Almighty can do....join me in glad adoration."  I dare say that John Wesley would have approved.

Skirting the Issue

While browsing a local antique store, I spied a Christmas tree skirt made of felt and sequins, similar to the tree skirts from my childhood.  It was well preserved and bright, despite the decades that had obviously passed since it had been made.  Someone with whom I work told me recently that she was going to wear a Christmas tree skirt around her shoulders to an "ugly sweater" party.  That got me to thinking about the year that I wore a Christmas tree skirt -- as a skirt.  I was in a high school girls' club called Thalia.  One of our annual activities was to entertain area elementary school children at Christmastime.  My role one particular year was to help lead the children in the singing of Christmas songs.  We all dressed in costume. I dressed as an elf.  As I created my costume I pondered, what better skirt for one of Santa's elves to wear than a Christmas tree skirt?  Mom had made it of Christmas-green felt, edged by holly leaves and berries of lighter green and red felt.  The skirt was bright and cheery, surely something a female elf would wear. Standing in front of that felt and sequined tree skirt in the antique store recently, I was suddenly swept away to the past, remembering where we stood in one of the schools' gymnasiums, surrounded by little children sitting cross-legged on the floor, singing away to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."  Isn't the memory an amazing and blessed thing? Just the act of admiring a vintage Christmas tree skirt brought back the vivid thoughts of a happy time from long ago.  If the skirt is still there the next time I visit that antique store, I just may have to try it on for old time's sake.

Mitch Miller and Me

As a little girl, my family watched "Sing Along with Mitch" on our black and white television. Wearing his characteristic goatee, Mitch Miller entered our homes with his orchestra and invited us to sing along with his music by following the lyrics that ran across the bottom of the TV screen.  From a small child on, I have loved to sing and Mitch Miller helped inspire that love.  Although not much of one to watch television, for the past several weeks, I've often had our TV tuned to the cable channel that played Christmas music around the clock.  Mitch Miller has been one of the recording artists and conductors featured in the rotation of holiday music.  And, living up to his 1960s television show, I've sung along with Mitch every time. Christmas music is now just about over for another year, but until the channel stops playing holiday favorites, I'll keep singing along with Mitch and Perry Como and Andy Williams and Robert Goulet and Eydie Gorme and Rosemary Clooney and....

A Visit From Jack Frost

There was magic on the first day of winter last Saturday.  As I awoke and looked out the window, I was greeted with a fairy tale scene of hoarfrost coating every tree and shrub. Jack Frost had arrived. There before me was a dazzling sketch in charcoal, white, gray and silver.  My day's activities took me out into the countryside to the home of a good friend who had invited me to see the ice castle creation she had built on the deck.  Kitty's creativity seems to know no bounds.  She had emailed me throughout the week, recounting her experiments to construct such an ice sculpture.  The castle, complete with turrets, rounded windows and two drawbridges, was a magnificent crystal diorama made even more beautiful by the white lights that back-lit the structure.  Against the hoarfrost, it was as if the castle was from a fantasy world.  I didn't want to pull myself away from the beauty of that castle and the scene surrounding it, but other activities were on the schedule. After caroling, shopping, saying farewell to a friend who had recently passed, visiting other friends at our local nursing home and attending a party, Larry and I ended the magical day with a winter solstice event at Devil's Lake State Park. Truly, I could think of nowhere else I wanted to be on that longest night, celebrating the start of winter and the incremental return of daylight.  We joined new-found friends around the campfire, sharing stories and roasting marshmallows.  There were no stars overhead, as a snowstorm was coming our way.  The sky was thick and had a pink hue to it.  Whatever storm pattern was moving toward us was going to be big.  The sky told us so. And so the snow came, white and silent, reminding us that winter had indeed arrived, filled with hoarfrost, pink skies and an ice castle that made it all enchanting. 

Angels All Around Us

The most interesting angels are those without wings and halos.  They're not always easy to identify, but they are there, all around us every day.  They are the good folks who tirelessly devote their energies to doing good for others, whether it's linked to the Christmas season or not.  They are the ones who are ever looking for ways to serve.  They don't carry harps or wear long, white flowing gowns, but they are angels all the same. Over the past couple of days, I have had the pleasure of witnessing such angels in action as they organized, prepared and served a free Christmas dinner to the community.  With the merriment of Santa's elves, these angels gave up time with family to cook turkeys and hams, peel and cook pounds of potatoes, chop vegetables, donate salads and desserts, set tables, provide music and offer words of Christmas cheer to all who entered our church to share the Christmas feast.  I saw time and time again demonstrations of love. Larry and I were richly blessed to play supporting roles to the work of these selfless individuals.  I can think of no greater Christmas gift.  Merry Christmas!