Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

I will not be making resolutions for the new year. Instead, I want to really take a deeper look at the word: resolve. Re-solve. Solve again ?  That means there are solutions, and they will be called upon over and over. That sounds about right to me, this idea that each day, week, month-- year!--requires that we bring our already-figured-out solutions to each challenge. To acknowledge that we already have skills to use, and solutions that we can depend on, even if we have to tweak them a little, is empowering.  No lie, 2022 pushed me to my limits in a lot of ways, mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Thank goodness for the good friends and family members who helped pick me up when I was flattened by stuff that I could not yet solve. But you know what? When we can take a breath and focus on what we have in our toolkit, add to that with advice and help from others, we build new solutions, new schema. Life will likely require that we use these new tools as we move into the n

When do you put away the holiday decorations? I know, Epiphany. But yet, the tree is starting to drop needles, and Epiphany occurs on a Thursday this year, smack in the middle of a work week. I have the tree lit up this morning, enjoying the twinkle and sparkle of it for another day or so-- I will be undecorating tomorrow, while bread rises. It's time to re-establish the rhythm of busy-ness, I guess. I will leave the window candles until the batteries fade completely, and the wreath will stay on the door a little longer as well. All the excitement and preparation for the holidays leaves me a little tired, but it's worth it. The undoing of all the glitter and glamour takes a lot less time, a lot less thought and preparation. It's a stow-and-go affair. And it's both sad and satisfying.  We don't decorate for Valentine's Day, or St. Patrick's Day, so the house will be boringly normal for quite a stretch of time. I don't even do much about decorating for Eas

I love a good mystery, especially if it's historical. In the case of Enola Holmes 2 , now on Netflix, it's both, and a lot of fun to watch. I enjoyed the first Enola Holmes film, so I thought I'd give this one a shot as well. Yes, it plays a bit loosely with literary characters (Enola is Sherlock's young sister, and their radical, suffragist mother, played so well by Helena Bonham Carter is a fun, added character), but it was spot-on in its blending of Sherlockian deduction, a lot of intrigue, and its putting a spotlight on an event in British labor history as well.  The match-girl strike in 1888 is really worth looking into. In order to produce matches cheaply, factory owners switched to white phosphorous, and, when the workers were dying at a tragic rate from "phossy jaw" --a terrible form of bone cancer-- they dismissed the wave of deaths as typhus, in order to cover it up. The nearly 1400 women and girls who worked for dirt wages were led to strike by on

Writing and revising thrusts me deeply into the work under consideration. I lose whole chunks of time, and I find myself living in my head, sounding words, and sifting through image and memory. Does it make for better poems? I hope so. I hope so because the tangled maze of stressful dreams that often happens afterward is difficult to endure. Sometimes this dreamscape gets so frustrating I don't sleep well, waking up anxious or filled with shadows of sadness that are hard to lift. Other times, something productive comes of wandering in the thickets and brambles of my memories. I really wish this were the case all the time, to make it worth the struggle. For instance, in a dream last night, I was visiting and helping my father in his later stages at his house; there were drifts of flour and sugar, but not salt, all over the floor, and he couldn't or wouldn't tell me what he was trying to do, but there was such a mess to clean up. I was worried he'd put flour in his coffee

You know that part in A Charlie Brown Christmas when Linus takes the stage? And all of a sudden, the whole atmosphere of tension and chaos, disappointment and despair gets put into proper perspective? I tear up every single time I see that holiday special (and I own it on dvd, so I'm not at the mercy of television/streaming services).  This year is the first Christmas I've spent as an orphan. It's not been easy for the last few years, first trying to take care of my dad who was incredibly lost without my mother, and then, as his health further declined and Covid raged, and then finally last year, when he was in the nursing home and still Covid raged and I could not visit him. He slid further into the darkness of vascular dementia, and the daily calls got harder and harder, to where, last spring, he forgot how to answer a telephone. It's been a rocky year, 2022, and I won't miss most of it. So, before we go further into this rabbit hole, I'd like to say that, wh

What to do with a vacation week? I have no plans. I used to feel bad about not having plans, so I'd quickly cook up some stuff to do: hockey game, museum trip, shopping sales, etc. That is a whole lot of busy! And I feel pretty glad in some ways I don't have an itinerary this week. Covid taught me a whole lot, I think. Why would I want to go mingle with hundreds of other people in an enclosed area? And more importantly, why did I feel I needed to do so? Social pressure, and an artificial ticking time clock, are so demanding. During the past two Covid winters, I also had to take care of my father's needs, as well, which filled some days and weeks past what they could hold. Enough, already. I still like doing fun things, but I don't think I need to pack them all into the week after Christmas. I want to read, rest, and see what each day brings. I got some nice gifts videos I want to watch, so I will.  Isn't that feeing? Just to claim the time to fill your own cup? My b

Happy Christmas to You and Yours-- Home. Whether it's a mansion or a studio apartment, a yurt or a shelter built by your own hands, or any other dwelling place, home is the greatest gift of all. Home is not just a place, it's a sense of comfortable well-being, of being centered and able to rest. I hope your home is warm and bright. Here's the Dolce Domum chapter of Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows . It speaks so profoundly about home-ness.  I hope you home is warm and bright this Christmas Day. C

I'm grateful. I know, sometimes it doesn't come easy; we tend ( I tend?! ) to focus on what is not right, not happening the way I want it to, not the thing I wanted. But truly, there is so much that is right, that it makes sense to focus on the gifts, if you know what I mean.  Like, the power stayed on last night. All over town, all over the country, -- okay, all over the world-- people were in the cold, in the dark. Here, the temps plummeted from 50 and hard rain, high wind (and a t-storm!) to 8 degrees overnight. We lost the little bit of snow cover, rivers are flooding, and then, we got snow again on top of it. But we stayed safely warm, dry, and under cover. How many people would rather be us? I'm betting millions. So, I'm very grateful to the linemen and a bit of good luck. I have a fridge full of holiday food. I have a plethora of cookies that I shouldn't eat. I grumble about the leftovers that take up space. I need to stop grumbling-- again, there are million

Yesterday, I was feeling a little pressured to GET IT ALL DONE. You know, the "it" that is somehow instilled in us over our formative years. The house must be spotless. The cookies --several dozen of several kinds-- must be baked. The decorations must adorn every flat space. I was contemplating going out into the hordes to find Christmas-themed bath towels. Stop it. It's raining and gusty out, I have soft Christmas music playing, my decorated-enough tree is blinking, and I find my eyes drawn to the manger scene. I have the pieces grouped in conversational poses, all going about their business of sheep-herding or the selling of vegetables, tending birds or chasing dogs. Life is like that, isn't it? So busy. Adding on extras seems unrealistic, and I do not know why we feel we have to do all the stuff that we've been hoodwinked into believing we must.  Who is going to eat all those cookies? We surely do not need them. And who is coming to call? No one I need to impre

Last night, I listened carefully as Ukrainian President Zelenskyy made an impassioned and historic speech to the joint members of Congress. Among other things --and with great feeling-- he reminded us that our comforts have come to us at great cost, many times over in the history of our country. He didn't remind us about this out of any sense of envy, but instead to show that Ukrainians are going through a similar situation; a battle for the heart and soul of a nation that is being harried by an aggressor state that would strip them of dignity, freedom, and their soul.  He seems to be a good man, and it was useful (and politically astute of him) to address the American people in our "house"-- he asks not for charity, but for an investment in global security. His speech was met with frequent outbursts of applause and shouts of encouragement from both parties (with a few exceptions). His thanks to Congress and to the American supporters was honest and heartfelt. Zelenskyy r

I was just reading about the discovery of 168 more geoglyphs in Peru; these are now part of the World Heritage Site there. These mountain-side images are amazing; I've never seen them in person, but I'm left in awe, thinking about not only the efforts it took to create them, but the whole "why" of it. I think the creation of images like that, in fact, the creation of any art, is a strong vote of confidence about the continuance of the human species. Art is hopeful; even when the art depicts sad or angry imagery, the sheer act of creation is an act of hope. Much like the birth of a baby, or the planting of a tree, hope resides in the fact that something new has been started.  We don't start something new unless we believe deeply that it will matter.  These days, hope feels a bit far away some days-- the pandemic, the global climate crisis, so much pain and suffering all around us, makes it very hard to engage in creation. But we are hard-wired to create, aren't

The "January 6th Commission" has come to some very serious conclusions, most of which we felt were true, but they have carefully and methodically assembled the evidence in order to present their findings and recommendations to the DOJ.  Before anyone starts whinnying about how this is "unprecedented" and so on, just stop for a second and think: this is exactly the reason actions must be taken. If this American Tragedy is allowed to stand, then it will be only the first of such tragedies, and therefore will set precedent. This is very dangerous territory. When outlandish or unspeakable things accumulate because a people  does not know what to do about them, then we have even more horrible things to contend with. And that projection is not unprecedented; history is full of power-sucking narcissists who have made millions of people suffer for their pleasure.  Protecting the American Experiment requires doing the hard things, forging ahead into uncharted territory. Anyt

My dad always said, "Don't wish your life away" when I was itchy and wiggly and could not bear waiting for something to happen. A little morbid, perhaps, but true enough. We find ourselves in a strange interim week between the fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas; for a lot of children that is a long, long time to wait. For some of us adults, given the way the last year has been so fraught and unsettled, our own version of "I can't wait" is perhaps a little more grimly resolved: we would like the troubles to pass, and a calmer future to appear. Yesterday's homily focused on the principles in the Nativity story, and how waiting for the birth of Jesus was a whole lot more personal for them. Yes, "the world in solemn stillness lay" (well, that's what the song says-- I'm not sure that the world is ever solemnly still), while waiting for the Christ-child. But for Joseph and Mary, it was the anxious anticipation of a baby. There was enough t

I've been thinking about familiar Christmas songs; not carols, necessarily, but the songs of the season. There are some songs that can only be sung by certain people, right? I mean, yes, many songs are covered by just about every popular singer in existence, but really-- does anyone else do "White Christmas" better than Bing?  Other favorites range from Eartha Kitt singing "Santa Baby" (yes, I know-- but she makes it so much fun and sassy), Harry Belafonte's "Mary's Boy Child," and Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song."  And so many others. They are old friends who have been there sing my childhood (and clearly, before my time as well). I grew up with these voices, and no one sings Christmas songs better. Okay, there are a few newer versions that are pleasing as well and they are welcome to the family.  Next post, maybe I'll chat a little about favorite holiday "specials" like Andy Williams... Enjoy your Sunday! C

This is the fourth weekend of Advent, and I get to read at church tomorrow. This period of preparation is not about the wrapping, baking, house cleaning, and the general frazzlement we tend to get into. It's a stretch of time to, to build a metaphor, clean our own spiritual houses. There are so many distractions! So many events, issues, and problems to clutter up our internal places in which we live. It's really hard, I know, to sweep that all out and see what we really have for space, and to choose what we will fill that space with. It's worth a try. I hope you have some moments of quiet today.  Enjoy! C Lindsey Stirling, "O Come, O Come Emmanuel"

I was going to rant a little about the ludicrous "big announcement" that TFG45 teased all week, but it, like Musk's "Twitter Files" dribbles, is a non-story. But one little rant-lette, please?  The person who deems himself the most powerful man in the world, and the only person to save the country (!!), is SELLING NFT. For $99.00 of your hard-earned money, you, too, could own a digital trading card of 45 as a superhero. Seriously. You can't make this up. That said, I do have the snow day I was hoping for; the snow is on the way (images on the TV of places not too far away show that it is coming). I have plans to wrap gifts, bake some cookies, and saturate myself with both coffee and cheer in the form of holiday movies. Likely, there will be some shenanigans with Holly and Meg, too.  Be safe, drive carefully, and if you have a spare C-note, please consider donating to food pantries. There are people who are going hungry, and an investment in your neighbors wo

The forecast is calling for a winter storm of real proportions: 5-10 inches, with up to 18 in the mountains over a couple of days-- sustained heavy wet snow. Of course, this gets my inner panicky person going into O NO mode. I wonder what would happen if we re-learned how to live with the conditions instead of fighting against them? We, as a culture, feel a drive to do what we think we need or want to do, regardless of logic. We are shamed into dealing with adverse conditions. We are "necessary" (but are we?)-- That all said, I would welcome a snow day tomorrow. I have not started baking or wrapping for the holidays. But then I walk from window to window, worrying about my family members who must head out and into the storm. Here's a poem by Robert Frost that pretty much captures the anxiety heavy snow brings out in me.  Have a great day, and please be safe! C Storm Fear When the wind works against us in the dark, And pelts the snow The lower chamber window on the east,

Recently, I read a thread on Facebook written by a young friend of mine regarding her angst over how her ten year old is Questioning the Existence of Santa. The conversation was uniformly both helpful with suggestions to help him accept a different understanding of Santa and compassionate for this young mom. She has other smaller children as well, so the discussion focused on preserving the magic as long as possible. I still believe. Don't you? I remember reading " Yes, Virginia " years ago when I was about eight years old, and it's stayed with me ever since. Santa is a feeling of care for one's community, for human-kind, for our environment. So, of course I believe. I *am* Santa, as are you, if you choose to be.  Yesterday, I heard on NPR that there is a Santa shortage in our country; while the piece meant that there are fewer people willing to put on the suit and hear children's deepest wishes in malls and craft shows, I think that the whole idea that there

  I'm always interested in learning more about the true roots of common songs or sayings. For example, "Time heals all wounds" has little to do with the passage of days. Instead, it really means "thyme heals all wounds," which is more apt: thyme is mildly antiseptic. Historically, plant lore holds a lot of almost-forgotten wisdom for healing, and this knowledge has almost always been kept by women. No wonder men, when irritated and confused by illnesses, accused women of witchcraft. They didn't know the healing arts through plants, instead choosing such horrid things as bloodletting. (Gross.) There are a few lovely artifacts of healing texts at the Currier museum in Manchester, NH, if you are interested in seeing them.  So that brings me to another of my favorite Christmas carols, "The Holly and the Ivy." I know ivy leaves have a medicinal property as an antihistamine; ivy extract is used to calm chronic bronchial asthma in children. Holly leaves,

Well, we finally got a little snow. Very little, but it covers the crunchy grass and brittle leaves pretty well. So many people get so excited about snow-- I think it's pretty too, but it makes usually courteous and competent drivers lose their minds. The local businesses are pleased; we live in an area where winter sports drive the economy, and snow equals survival, in a strangely logical equation. So, I'll be off to work, watching for the icy spots and for lunatics who decide that passing me while I'm doing the speed limit is the best way to greet a Monday. Then, I'll hear all about kids "doin' donuts" and putting their "rigs" in a ditch. Sigh. I like snow better when I can stay home and watch it from the window with a cup of coffee in my hand. No matter: there's a brand-new red sled waiting for the Tiny Tyrant, and snow is a must! Have a great day, and be careful out there! Here's James Taylor singing one of my favorite modern Christm

Today is Gaudete Sunday-- rejoice! This is a beautiful celebration in most of the Western Christian churches: including the Roman Catholic Church, the Anglican Communion, the Lutheran Churches and many of the mainline Protestant churches. We get a little break in the penitential course of Advent, and the candle that is lit on the Advent Wreath is pink. Ok, that's all the outward signs. But I think the day also asks us to consider what we have to rejoice about. Truth be told, there's so much ugliness and strife in the news, it is often really hard to find a happy moment some days, at least on the national and global scale. Even joyful events have their detractors-- case in point, the negotiated release/ "swap" of Britney Griner for a notorious arms dealer. People just don't want to be happy for her and her family, it seems; yes, a former Marine is still in Russia, but the accusations made against him are much different than less than half a gram of hash oil. There&

  Every now and then, we have the debate: Real tree?  Plastic, pre-lit tree?  Ok, I admit to a little bias there. For many people, artificial trees make sense. They are relatively easy to set up and don't require clean up or maintenance. They suit smaller spaces. But... THEY DON'T SMELL GOOD. That's one of my arguments; I want the crisp, clean smell of the tree in my home. Other arguments involve such things as supporting local farmers, better for the environment than plastic and metal, etc.  But it's really all about the balsam or --in this year's entry-- Fraser fir.  Yes, it'll be sappy. Yes, I will have to clean up needles, water it, and there are obvious gaps to fill with larger ornaments. But I have a beautiful seven foot real tree, purchased from local people who could use the influx of seasonal cash, and we got it set up, from purchase to put in the stand, in about 20 minutes. (Record time!) Meg and Geoff did the lights, Holly helped, and I stayed out of

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVp5AGte_4Q I grew up watching A Charlie Brown Christmas and the original Grinch animated specials, all bundled up in my flannels and learning about the true meaning of Christmas. The message was clear: amid all the bows, bags, and busy-ness, there is a fundamental "reason for the season" that should be the focus. Christians everywhere will quickly parrot, "Jesus is the reason for the season," and for the most part, it's not a wrong answer. But then, we have to think about " why Jesus?"-- yes, we celebrate his birth in December (but scholars have already questioned our calendars, and logic should prevail). So there must be a deeper reason. Why Jesus ? The world was a turbulent place, and, as the salvation story goes, humanity needed a corrective. A "new Adam" was needed-- the Holy Reset Button, if you will. Looking around us now, it would not be too strange to start wondering if we are in dire need of a rese

The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. This is from the Gospel of Luke, and it tells of how Mary was chosen to be the Holy Mother. This was a Big Ask, in today's colloquial language. All throughout the Bible, there are times when faithful but generally unprepared people are asked to take on hard things, and they do so, "greatly troubled at what [is] said" to them. But they do it. They risk public condemnation, they go forward feeling really out of step with what has to be done, and they have no clue how it's all going to turn out. All they know is that for some reason, they have been selected to tackle a problem or a task that is almost far beyond their own skills. They

 In Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice , Elinor Dashwood admonishes her youngest sister, who is prone to asking questions that are considered impertinent or too familiar, to reserve her conversation with non-family members to the state of the roads or the weather. This is in hopes of curbing her enthusiastic interest in other people's lives, but only serves to create a stilted conversation. That all said, the weather around here is wacky. Two days ago, I got up and it was 15 degrees. Today, 43. December is not the cold, snowy month it was some years back, and the conversation about the weather has taken a turn to contention. (So take that, Elinor.) I'm not a scientist, but I live in this country and on this planet. I understand the critical difference between weather and climate, and I also understand the link between them. The fraught nature of the climate crisis conversation is only going to get more so, as we sluggishly limp toward the first of many necessary deadlines to

I wonder why, when the holidays approach, we tend to want to construct a version of our dream-Christmas season? We want snow, and sledding, hot cocoa and crisp walks to find the perfect tree. We need the perfect wrapping paper, the just-right cards, and all of the festive trappings to decorate our otherwise pretty mundane daily lives. The manger is set up and the wreath is on the door, come hell or high water. I used to choose a color theme for each year and make sure the paper, the bows, even the candles on the table coordinated. Each person had their own wrappings for gifts, and woe to the person who used the wrong paper to wrap other gifts!  Maybe all of this external order helps us deal with the fluster and business that winter and the early darkness brings. We hope to stave off the loneliness and seasonal depression with tinsel and gingerbread. Christmas is my favorite holiday, for many reasons. It's not really about the glittery parts, and it's not completely all about th

 I've been posting a Christmas carol daily on my Facebook in order to try to festive-up that medium, at least for the few people who regularly see what I post. I have always been drawn to the much-older carols, most of them in a minor key. They seem so haunting, so lovely, a way of embracing the uncertainty and the hope of the season, well before plastic, reindeer, and maxed out credit cards.  I particularly love the Wexford Carol, the Coventry Carol, and others like it. When I was little, my favorite was "We Three Kings"-- and I truly despised "Up On a Housetop" and other perky bits. I was puzzled by the calm acceptance of possible infidelity in "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," but I loved the peace and quiet of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."  When people say they want to know a little about me, I have a standard "short cut" answer: I like my coffee black and my whiskey neat, no ice. I think I'll add that I like my Christma

Today, I move the wise men a little closer to the manger scene. We started married life with a lovely little nativity set started for us by my parents. We had the principal characters, a manger, one camel, and one angel. Now, 35 years later, we have quite a crowd, because we've made it a special practice to add at least one piece per year. We have a lot more barnyard animals, and many villagers from all walks of life (there are a lot of shepherd types, though). For a long time, I placed the wise men in the scene from the start of Advent, but then, a couple of years ago I chose to do differently. Partly due to a conversation I had with my friend Ruth, but also in reaction to the huge "Elf on a Shelf" industry.  I hate that whole elf thing, I really do. Pesky little prankster, red-clad little snitch. I'm not one to rail on about the commercialization of Christmas (I leave that up to Linus, thank you very much), but that elf thing is so creepy. I read a nice post on Face

  Okay, buckle up for breaking news. Not soccer, not climate, not the economy--global or national-- it's about this coming calendar year's trending "it" color, as announced by Pantone.  For over twenty years, Pantone has chosen the hot new color for each year (I have NO idea why that's even a thing)-- be that as it may, the color Pantone has selected for 2023 is Viva Magenta 18-750 , which it describes as "a shade rooted in nature descending from the red family and expressive of a new signal of strength" ( NPR ). 👧 So, screaming hot magenta is indicative of strength and power.  I'm there for it. Have a great day! C

 I woke up to hear the news that a "rail crisis" has been averted in our country, by Congressional intervention at the behest of the White House. On the one hand, I'm sad-- workers' rights to strike, their reasonable demands for a few paid sick days, and a desire for improved general working conditions were at the heart of their discontent. On the other hand, we have to consider the potential consequences of such a strike: it's not just very likely that it would blow a gaping hole in the national economy, it also would affect health and life safety for so many across this country. I, like so many other average citizens, never really give it a thought about how we have clean water to drink. Yes, we get outraged over crumbling infrastructure (geez, is the water okay in Flint yet?). But the chemicals required for water treatment are only able to be sent safely by rail. To strike is to threaten how people live-- not just their comfort, but their very lives. That makes

 Last evening, we discovered that there is a Norway rat in the cellar. We heard a thump and crash, and opened up the door-- the bold rodent scurried off into the darkness. O HELL NO. The war is on. Granted, it was torrential rain all day, and windy weather was making being outdoors a bit unpleasant. But this unwelcome intruder is not going to be long for the world.  I'm not a violent person by nature, but I draw the line at rats in the basement. Norway rats are pretty large, and relatively sleek and apparently well-fed, at least this one is. We live with a horse barn and paddock conjoining our backyard, so it's no wonder where this critter has been snacking.  The US Men's Soccer Team plays the Netherlands next in the World Cup. Perhaps this rat is a spy working in their network. It won't find out much here; we are a baseball-hockey-gridiron football kind of family.  So later today, the large traps will be set. I hope we can dispatch this interloper rather quickly. It is