February 24, 2014
Decisions, Decisions.....

In our every day world it's the philosophical query that we all ponder now and then: paper or plastic. And while it might not seem entirely earth shattering a question, when confronted with it I usually pause contemplatively before uttering a response. Why is this, you might ask. In fact I never really gave this much consideration until the other day when the young check out clerk at the local grocery store posed the question to me. That made me stop to wonder. You see, faced with so many political issues today, I have discovered that the paper versus plastic one ranks right up there with so many of the other hot button topics in the world. You've simply got the paper people and the plastic fanciers. And then there are those who don't much care. Much like the clever bank clerks who dutifully rattle of the first names of every one of their customers, most of the seasoned clerks know the preferences of their frequent customers without even asking. But occasionally I throw them off and stray from my usual choice. I like to keep them on their toes. But it usually depends on what I'm buying. Bakery goods and other perishable items just travel better in a paper shopping bag. Canned goods trend to spew from a plastic sack the minute you leave the store parking lot and before you reach home and roll around the floor of the vehicle. Other things like toilet paper, Jello and fresh meat are perfectly suited to a plastic bag. Paper bags sit neatly on the rear seat of the car. Plastic bags rip when you over stuff them. It's as simple as that. It's one of life's disappointments when the consumer isn't provided the freedom to choose between the two. "So", I told the clerk who asked why, "paper bags come in handy for sorting my recyclables. Plastic bags work great as miniature trash bags." It all comes down to that. So, as I'm standing in the check out line perusing the selection of celebrity gossip magazines with one eye, I find my mind busy determining the answer to the inevitable question with which I will shortly been confronted. After all, it's a decision that I do not take lightly.

February 17, 2014 A "Kodak moment" is forever remembered. Last week, in honor of my baby brother's forty-something birthday on Valentines day, we pulled out a gem of a photo that was taken years ago. It is one of the many shot through the years of us gathered around grandma's table. The centerpiece was always a freshly baked-from-scratch angel food cake and the birthday honoree smiling giddily, surrounded by some of the dozens of cousins in our family. With a count of eight Anthony siblings, seventeen cousins, grandma and grandpa plus many more, there was always the opportunity to celebrate someone's birthday at grandmas farm. And that always meant one of grandma's tasty cakes. Sometimes we even had the privilege of accompanying grandma into the hen house to gather fresh eggs for the cake. If you've never had the chance to do this, then you don't know what it's like to slide your hand under a nesting hen in search of a warm egg. It's positively amazing. It took about a dozen eggs to make an angel food cake but eggs were always abundantly available at the farm. The finished product was topped with candles signifying the number of years being celebrated. This particular photograph featured my brother, aged three, with arms flung protectively around his cake, flanked by us cousins who were clearly eager for the first bite of birthday cake. No doubt this honor was reserved for my brother since it was his birthday. That photo, that "Kodak moment", along with countless others, is a little piece of history. It's a testament to another time and place and without it I'm afraid our memories of the event would be rather blurred, if even available. So don't forget to capture a few moments of your own. Someday, maybe forty or so, you will be glad you did because seeing them will surely trigger a whole lot more memories.  And that's something that just can't be beat.

February 10, 2014

A bird in the hand is always better....

The other day, during a particularly snowy afternoon, I was busying myself alphabetizing my cd collection.  Stacks of jewel cases carpeted the floor around me and I got caught up in looking at the colorful inserts, reading the teeny tiny text, and occasionally popping a disk into the stereo that I’d not heard in ages.

Got me to thinking about things, as usual.

Yes, I’m one of those few souls left who actually enjoy my music in the physical form, on one of those little round disks.  (Sort of like how I’m a little attached to reading real, live paper books). These days it’s all about mp3 and wav files.  But not for me.  I guess you could say I want to really feel my music.

When I was a teen and just getting into listening to and collecting music, of course my favorite place to go was the record store-and in my town that was either Musicland, or Alco, or Woolworth’s.  There you could find an endless array of LP and 45 rpm records – I can just about recall the scent of those cellophane-wrapped albums, hear the whop-whop-whop as you flipped through the stacks,  and see the fabulous cover art.

I even remember the first record album that I purchased:  The Bay City Rollers.  Don’t laugh- they were just about as hot back then as any boy band around today.  (“S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!!”….)

And though I purchased my share of LP albums, I also bought a lot of 45 rpm records.  Back then the store would put a stamp on the record and write in the date of purchase.  I guess this was to guard against someone taking it home, recording it on their 8-track or cassette player, and returning it to the record store. 

These days times have changed, as they are apt to do.  Who would have thought that instead of recording a favorite song from the radio with the tape recorder microphone held to the speaker, one could actually download the same song in high fidelity from the Internet?! Or if you like, download the entire album while you’re at it. 

It’s that easy.  But it’s not quite the same to me.

I still own my record collection and even play it on occasion.  My records and I go back a long way after all, and they’re pretty good companions on a quiet Sunday afternoon.  Well, not so quiet I guess you could say when I’m cranking the BC Rollers!!!

February 3, 2014

Tough love often the best cure....

Tis the season....

The other day I overheard a young mother bemoaning the fact that her youngster was under the weather.  "All he needs is a whole lot of hugs and kisses," she wisely said.  

Heard from another, "I feel guilty for being happy to stay home with my sick son because he's so much fun to talk to."  Yes those were the days that I so well remember.

Yet still, nursing an ailing tot isn't all fun and games.  In fact it can be downright disheartening. It's at those times when a young one is suffering the going-around-crud, or chicken pox, or a broken bone, that a mother wishes nothing more but to trade places with her child. 

And that is the absolute truth.

It's not easy seeing your little one hurting in pain and I do not think that a parent ever outgrows that pang and sense of helplessness that accompanies those situations.  

When my boys were growing up I'll admit that I practiced the tough love shake-it-off-and-get-back-up method. That usually worked and things most often continued on its merry course.   

When my toddler's head one time met the concrete sidewalk with a wrenching thunk, I turned my own head in painful agony, trying not to let the horror inside of me show on the surface.  He was okay after some loving mother arms held him for a time and soon he was off and running once again-sporting a knot the size of a small fist on his forehead.  

His brother connected with the sharp edge of a wooden doorway once in much the same fashion several years later.  That time, in an effort to spare me the pain of seeing my injured son and the staples that were used to hold the gaping wound together, his father was the one to take him to the emergency room.

Son #1 went on to put me through one trial after another in the injury department beginning with a broken arm at the age of 14.  Legs, arms, ankles.....he ran the gambit. 

But every broken bone mends and the crud eventually goes away.   And you move on.

Tough love, there's something to be said about it. All that a parent can do is be there and be strong. A healing hug and smile is sometimes the best medicine of all.  After all, we know that life's not going to always be perfect and none of us will ever be spared the pain that comes along the path.  

You might as well grin and bear it.  Tomorrow is a brand new day after all.

January 27, 2014

Snowbound Days Challenging Yet Fun

The extreme weather this winter has put a strain on just about everybody. I guess it’s what gives us in the North Country “character”, or at the very least, tolerance. Because after all, what can you do about the frigid sub-zero conditions anyway? 

Grin and bear it that's what. And make the best of it.

The other night though, when the winds outside cranked well past tolerable, and the walls were submitted to a fierce struggle of wills, I lay awake thinking about the storms of my youth. One in particular happened when I was about 12 years old - young enough to thoroughly enjoy the melee without a worry or care.

My dad, on the other hand, lay awake in his own bed that night, his mind churning madly with worries of the forceful winds blowing in the huge glass front window of our split level home. What, he fretted, would he do if that happened. Mind you, the winds were cranking well into 40 and 50 mile an hour range and veritably bending the windows of our house inward while at the same time causing the walls to shudder in disbelieving defiance at the blows.

Dad determined that the best plan of action, if that were to indeed occur, would be to brace the gaping hole with a mattress. Ingenuity has always been my father’s strong part. I’m sure that once he reached that conclusion he was able to sleep peacefully for the remainder of the night despite the badgering blizzard.

Fortunately we weathered the night and the following day…..and into the next while the horizontal winds hurled snow at the house and continued to rattle the windows.

A storm such as that was for me a great adventure. That particular time we shared our home with my best friend Kathy, who lived across the street (whose parents were stranded in town and unable to get home), and a dear friend and coworker of my father’s named Bob Artley.

Bob's daughter Joni, a good friend of my two sisters, ended up with us a well. The three girls had made their way home in the throes of the storm, abandoning they're little Volkswagen beetle down the street and trekking through the drifts to get to the house.

We spent the hours together telling stories, playing games and baking; mom even read to us from a favorite novel. And all the while Mother Nature raged outside we were warm and safe inside.

Artley, the renowned artist, sketched me I recall and to this day I treasure that drawing. It brings to mind that horrific storm that stopped the world for that one week in January.

And it also reminds me that it wasn't so awful after all.

When the winds subsided we emerged from the
shelter of the house and discovered beauty in the sculpted drifts as we trudged through the pristine snow. The abandoned car was chock full of snow and completely buried. Digging out took about as long as it had taken to put the white stuff there.

But we did it. We survived the biggest storm of the decade.

So when nature does its level best to throw us off guard with extreme storms and temperatures think about the things that make real memories.

Because though you will surely remember the hardships, try to recall the best parts of all: the survival and ability to rise up to the challenge put before us.

January 20, 2014

When Two Sides Collide...Mayhem Follows

The other day I was reading about the intricacies of the human brain; you know the left and right brain phenomena that dictate just the kind of person that you are or how you process information.  I’ve always believed myself to be in the right frame of mind and turns out that is exactly where I am. It’s fascinating stuff, or data I should say.

Julie Zuehlke, Ph.D., writes in her book “Words For Sale”, that the brain isn’t one piece with organized pockets of information available at will.  The left brain and right brain, she says, do separate things and at times can even interfere with each other.

Well that explains everything to me.  How many times have you found yourself arguing with yourself about something?  Or doing something that seems completely against your “better judgment”?  That is merely your two brain hemispheres conflicting with one other.  It’s enough of a storm to produce a whopper of a headache at times I should think.

But anyway, the psychologist goes on to say that the left brain, or the verbal side, is the talkative sort that provides factual and technical information.

The right brain, on the other hand, is the creative side.  It’s what allows us to have originality and creativity.  It’s where all the ideas are hatched and stored.

But in order to function as a whole, the brain needs a left and right side working in tandem.  While the left brain applies logic, stores details and accumulates facts, the right side makes sense of all of that information and allows us to express individuality and find new ways of look at things.

So now I think I understand it.  I know why I can get emerged in a project that I lose track of time and space completely.  And why I tend to drown in mire when faced with factual data. It’s good to know there’s scientific backing to help explain this situation.

Bottom line is we need both types of thinkers:  left and right.  And all I can strive for is to quell those arguments inside my own brain when right and left sides collide.

January 13, 2014

Sometimes  You Have to Pay the Piper....er Kitty

Anyone who has ever played poker knows that each hand begins with an ante into the kitty.  In other words, to play the game you have to pay a fee first, so to speak, and anteing into the pot is a requirement.

I thought about that the other night while on the phone with my parents.  At Christmas time I had done a little holiday decorating at their house and removed their beloved old pottery kitty bank from its appointed  spot on the bathroom counter in order to put a little holiday decor’ in its place. 

In a somewhat frantic-toned voice on the phone, my mom asked me where I had stowed the kitty.  (I guess the spot where she usually sat in the bathroom was pretty empty without the bank.) I stammered a little as my mind raced in an effort to recall where I had left the keepsake.  Finally, thankfully I remembered where I’d safely stuck the kitty bank, and needless to say she was found and returned to her rightful spot in short order.

From as far back as my memory bank is wired, that kitty  has graced the bathroom of the house where we lived. I never gave it much thought although sometimes I wondered just why that was the case…..

Until now.  In the space of a few minutes, a secret regarding the keepsake kitty bank that I had never known was revealed to me.

Turns out that when my parents were first married the cat bank sat in the bathroom of their first home. Times were hard and every penny was counted in those days. Jokingly, my mom said that they used to charge their friends and relatives a fee to use the facilities.   Ten cents for youngsters, a quarter for adults, or something like that.  In effect their visitors had to ante up before they could play the game, I suppose you could say. 

That slush fund in the bathroom bank was then tapped whenever mom and dad wanted to see a drive in movie or take in the stock car races, or have some other sort of fun times together. And they never broke the bank but carefully used a knife to coax the coins out of the slot.  

So there is the rest of the story as they say.

A shake of the bank these days won’t bring one single ker-klink so I guess they drained the pot somewhere along the line.  But nevertheless the kitty bank is filled with my many memories and perhaps a couple of theirs as well.  

I have a feeling, now that the story is out, that there may just be some anteing going on in my parents’ bathroom kitty one of these days.  

After all you've got to pay to play!

January 6, 2014

Daily Commute Was Always Interesting...

Growing up on the edge of town, riding the bus to school was a daily affair during the school year for us kids.   I recall trudging down the street at 7:30 a.m. to the bus stop to catch the big stub-nosed bus #33 every morning.  Along the way we'd meet up with my neighborhood friends, then ride the thirty minute commute to school.  

It seemed to take forever to reach our destination as along the way we picked up riders at various stops who quickly filled the large bus.

 

The ride home at 3:30 was much more enjoyable as I recall.  It was always a boon to claim the big back bench seat, which filled the entire width of the bus.  Away we'd go for the long ride home, spilling out riders along the way.  

Sitting in the back of the bus we'd bop haphazardly along, and as we hit every bump in the road we'd increase the thrill by bouncing in the seat in an effort to reach optimum air.  If strategy was correct we'd even hit our heads on the ceiling of the bus.

 

Riding the bus was a necessity but we'd sure make the best of it. 

 

Other times I'd use the commute to bury my nose in my latest favorite book, blocking out the squeals and tomfoolery that was going on around me.  

Sometimes we'd even be lucky to have at the wheel a college student who would crank the latest rock and roll tunes to our delight.  Riding the bus was always an adventure.

 

One day my classmate brought his pet black widow spider for the ride, introducing it to the rest of us.  I recall keeping my distance from him that day.  It seems that there was always something interesting happening on our ride.  By the time we finally reached our stop we were happy to disembark and scattered to our homes for an after school treat. 

 

"Mom we're home!!" we'd holler, shattering the blanket of tranquilty that we found when we raced through the door. 

 

I wonder how many hours of bus riding I had in my school years.  One thing I know is that I have great respect for the operators of our school buses. 

 

The other day I found myself stranded without a vehicle because of a mechanical mishap with my vehicle.  It didn't take long to determine the solution for transportation:  the local Heartland Express bus. 

What a nice ride I had!   And though I didn't sit in the back seat and bounce over the bumps, I sure did enjoy the experience. 

 

Driver Gerald Giesen was a wonderful chauffer and saw to it that we riders were delivered directly to our door stops, even seeing to it that we didn't misstep as we exited the bus.  What a service and how fortune we are to have it at our fingertips at a moment's notice.

 

I guess one never outgrows the thrill of a good bus ride.  Try it some time and I think you will agree.

December 23, 2013 Starring as a Snowflake Can Be Hard Work Everybody loves a parade  rightt?  Picture this:  a crystal clear, brisk winter evening, thousands of twinkling, multi-colored lights, store windows displaying mouth-watering displays of merchandise....put it all together and you will have the Minneapolis Holidazzle Parade, an event of epic proportions that, in 15 years of existence, has become a must-see tradition.  Enchanting to watch, most definitely. But to participate in:  incredible.

Years ago I had opportunity to experience the Holidazzle parade.  Intended as a surprise to my then 10 year-old son, my oldest sister and I originally planned on taking him to the parade and attempt to get him on a float as an extra volunteer.  What we did not anticipate, though, was that we all would become a part of the production.

As we arrived, our first impression of downtown Minneapolis, on the Nicollet Mall, was one of awe as we stared at the sparkling-lit trees strewn down the street.  Merchandise in the store windows were artfully displayed in a dreamlike manner.  A bevy of red-clad Santa Clauses greeted us, wandering the street, sipping cappuccino drinks.  Just prior to that they had participated in an organized race on the downtown mall.

We registered our names to be 'extras' and hoped we would be needed.    As we dawdled in the hallway of the Hyatt Hotel amongst hundreds of other participants ranging in every age imaginable, a distant casting call was heard, "We need two more flakes over here," the man said.

Could we handle the assignment?  Could we do it?  

We decided to give it a whirl and stepped forward to volunteer.  In the blink of an eye, or the twinkle of a light, we were whisked away to the staging area where a 16-pound power pack, resembling a small car battery, was strapped to each of our lower backs. As snowflakes, we were told, we would come very last in the parade, announcing Santa Claus in his glorious glowing float.  Mulling about the street outside the hotel, we could not help but wonder what we had gotten ourselves into.

  

Outside on the street, waiting our turn, we stuck together with the rest of the 'flakes'.   The crowds gathered along the 7-block route at a rate of approximately 3,000 per city block.  An estimate of total spectators was about 30,000 or so, all out to take in the holiday extravaganza. Before long, we happened upon a very small snowflake, adorned just the same as we were.   This experienced little flake told us that it was easy, all we had to do was 'high-five' everyone and say “Merry Christmas!”  Assured that we could indeed handle the assignment, we awaited the lighting of the floats that signaled the start of the parade.  Soon Santa boarded his sleigh and we were off.  We walked ahead of the float, serenaded by Santa, who sang Christmas favorites to his fans of every age.  Now, setting aside our doubts, it did not take long to fall into the snowflake characters, presenting Santa to his adoring fans. We danced and twirled, we high-fived them, and we hollered "Merry Christmas!" to the spectators.  Sparkles of joy danced in their eyes as we were transoformed from mere human beings to utter star status.  (Though we were technically snowflakes, as the stars came first in the parade, we were repeatedly mistaken for stars.)  When all was said and done, we had shaken hands and greeted hundreds of people along the route. By the time we hit the last block we snowflakes had begun to melt.

I suddenly remembered the battery pack, and how heavy it really was.  All of us snowflakes had melted somewhat as we made our way along the trek.  Awaiting us at the end of the parade were several metropolitan buses  aglow  in a sea of twinkling lights that shuttled us back to where we began.   We disembarked, eager to shed the adornments. Together we had resembled a unified, impressive sight to the crowd.  But in doffing the elaborate snowflake headpieces, we realized that each was a unique flake in our own right.  We had lived up to the adage that no two snowflakes were completely alike, for they come in all sizes and shapes. More than fifty thousand Christmas tree lights covered the costumes of parade participants. And that's enough to light up the night sky completely, not to mention the many faces that we encountered along the way that night.

December 16, 2013

People Watching Costs Less Than Shopping....

I happen to be a people watcher.  I enjoy looking at groups of people or just a lone straggler.  Doesn't matter, I'm still entertained by what I see.  When I go to a shopping mall I derive more pleasure out of sitting in the courtyard and observing the vast variety of people who are shopping than I do at finding the best sales items.

 

That was the case this last weekend when I found myself at the grand daddy of shopping meccas, commonly known as the Mall of America.  It was the annual Christmas visit to the monolithic mega mall and I will have to say I thoroughly enjoyed the visit.

 

For one thing, we marveled at the massive, 4-story Christmas trees that deck the main lobby of the mall.  All I can think is that adorning those trees took quite a bit longer than decorating my 8' fir tree. 

 

Everywhere you turned oversized ornaments abounded and lights dangled from the ceilings overhead - it was a sight to see I'll tell you.

 

But even more entertaining than the holiday lights or the amusement park rides or even the stores, for me that is, was watching the plethora of people scurrying and bustling hither and yon.  Most have no idea that they are being studied by this curiosity seeker.....they have but one thing on their mind and that is to quickly and efficiently black out their entire bingo card gift shopping list and then of course go home and put their aching feet up for a well deserved rest.

 

I have nothing against embracing the spirit of giving and there's hardly anyone who loves finding just the perfect gifts for my loved ones than me, but somewhere along the line you could say that things have gotten just a little bit out of hand.

 

Nevertheless, it's good humor watching people.  I can't help it but I often write their story in my mind - paint a picture of who they are and what their tale is.

 

There's the young woman who is darting from table to rack in the women's clothing store.  Close behind her follows her guy, loyally sticking to her like a loving golden retriever (eyes glued to his cell phone which I'm sure makes ladies apparel shopping much more palatable for him).

 

And the loving man following a step behind his wife, at the same time toting her handbag while she corrals the stroller and toddler.  I was touched by that sight. 

 

And the two guys, out on a desperate shopping spree together - maybe there's strength in numbers when one finds himself just days before Christmas and not a clue what to buy his sweety. The moral support never hurts I'm sure.

 

Then there's the dear, sweet aged man sitting across the way from me on a comfy seat, nodding his head into a blissful nap.  I'll admit I was jealous of those few moments that he dozed.  Upon waking he said to me with a smile that he should have brought his pillow along.

 

Yes, shopping can be exhausting labor.  But it's not all about the stores and the spending.  Next time you are in the shopping mall, take a few minutes to watch some people.  I guarantee you'll be entertained, will spend less, and  leave the place feeling a whole lot happier and more relaxed than when you arrived.

 

 

 

December 9, 2013

Shopping for the Perfect Gift 

It was a frosty December evening downtown hometown of Worthington.  Only a couple of weeks before Christmas, the stores were filled with customers seeking the perfect gifts for their loved ones.  I was about 9 years old at the time and mom and dad had bundled us up, packed us into the car,  and headed downtown for some shopping.

The night was mystical and magical with snowflakes drifting blithely down from above.  The street light poles were dressed in colorful holiday decorations and strings of garland were strung from one street light to the other across the roads.

Christmas music played magically down the length of the sidewalks that ran in front of the many stores on main street.  As I walked, my feet cut a trail in the light dusting of snow, and I smiled at the people I met along the way.  It was a "silver bells" evening.

Dad had given each one of us kids $10 and sent us out to seek the things on our list:  those items that we would carefully wrap and give to each other come Christmas morning.  I was on a mission to find a watering can for my mother, who was in dire need of a new one as her old one had rusted through the bottom. 

To my dismay, Woolworth's Dime store had no watering cans, nor did Ace Hardware, Ben Franklin, or Rickebeil's Hardware store.  
Dejectedly, I trudged back to our meeting place at JCPenney's department store just down the block.  There I found the rest of the family waiting patiently for me.

"I checked everywhere but no watering cans," I told them, wearing a disappointed frown.  There was a silence as everyone looked at me with wizened eyes.  The look on their faces said it all:  I had spoiled my big surprise for my mother. 

But mom just smiled and said nothing.

I do not believe that I found a watering can that Christmas, but when Mother's Day came around the following May, there were plenty to be found in the local stores and you can bet that mom finally got her new watering can.

To this day, the song "Silver Bells" remains my very favorite Christmas carol because hearing it always takes me back to that special Christmas shopping night so many years ago....

"City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style.   In the air there's a feeling of Christmas.   Children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile, and on every street corner you'll hear:   Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city.  Ring a ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas Day!

Strings of street lights, even stop lights blink a bright red and green, as the shoppers rush home with their treasures.  Hear the snow crunch see the kids bunch this is Santa's big scene, and above all the bustle you'll hear:  Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city.  Ring a ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas day."

December 2, 2013

Christmas is a Time for Memories

Memories. Traditions. Symbols.  It's the essence of what wafts from the cherished boxes  of decorations that are opened every year at this time. 

 

Memories of the hunt for the perfect tree...shaking one after another to find just the right one with branches that will be filled with cherished heirlooms.  Of carting it home and placing it in its stand, twirling it until its best side is front and center, hiding the bare spot against the forgiving wall. And then reveling in the familiar aroma that fills the room with delicious holiday scents. 

 

Traditions of opening the boxes so carefully packed the year before with the treasures kept for use once a year.  Discovering the ornaments so soon forgotten yet no less precious:  the trinket that adorned ones first borned cradle, the gift from a long-passed grandmother, so simple yet no less valued than the sparkling crystal jewel, the ornament given by a cherished childhood friend.  Each one holds special meaning and brings to life the spirit of the season.

 

The symbollic placing of the Angel atop the tree before any other adorments are added.  Of stringing bright colors of sparkling lights around the green boughs. And hanging endless bobbles on the branches.

 

It's what Christmas is about.

 

Days gone by mingle with the here and now in a delightful dance.  And when all is done, it's a delight for the senses.  Who can say why - it's just that way.   

 

As the calendar fades to December, it's time to turn and look back a bit on Christmases past. 

 

One of my favorite delights as a child, when everyone else was asleep, was to sit in the darkness with the tree aglow, squinting my eyes to make the lights glimmer and glow.  I'll admit I still do that and still find it magical. 

 

Memories of my dad  anchoring the tree to the wall with fishing line and the year he didn't and it toppled on top of  my sister.  Of family portraits taken in front of the tree, all smiles and happiness. Placing carefully wrapped gifts under the branches. Sneaking peaks of wrapped presents and wondering.  

Photographs of Christmas morning gift giving at the foot of the tree. 

 

Because Christmas is a time of of mystical joy and the tree a tribute to the wonder of the season, may you, too, discover that same magic this year.

 

November 25, 2013

Simply said, "Thank you"...

Gratitude.  For some its comes easily, others not quite so.  But nonetheless, it's something that we as a nation collectively come together at this time of year to celebrate.  Or perhaps better yet, to recognize and contemplate. 

 

It seems to me at times that these days there's much less thankfulness than there should be.  Much more taking for granted and even more selfishness than there should be.  So it's a good thing that we celebrate once a year the notion of thankfulness.

 

Traditionally Thanksgiving is a time of decadent feeding frenzies.  But it isn't all about the roasted turkey, brimming dishes of mashed potatoes and candied yams. (Though I will state for the record that the latter has never been one of my favorite indulgences.) 

 

I recall the times when mom could be heard in the kitchen at 4:00 a.m. preparing the 20 pound turkey that would roast slowly, tickling our tastebuds all morning long, and satisfy a multitude of hungry folks later in the day.  A plethora of pies would line the countertops and side dishes of every sort were lovingly prepared.

 

But it isn't always about the feast.  There have been Thanksgivings that I've spent far from my family, or with close friends or even by myself.  Those times have given me the opportunity for quiet introspection to truly grasp what is most important.

 

I remember the year that our family trip to the annual family gathering that was shattered by a last minute snow storm that grounded us at home.  That was the year, when caught unprepared, that we feasted on a dinner of meatloaf and baked potatoes.  I will add that it was the most delicious meatloaf I'd ever tasted.

 

We were together and that's all that mattered.

 

Other years my family welcomed to our table those without a family with which to share Thanksgiving.  Friendships were forged and bonds made that would last a lifetime.  Because that's what Thanksgiving is all about.

 

I am grateful for so many things. But at the top of  my list this year is my loving family, wonderful friends and a terrific community of caring souls in which we live,  who have all been there through thick and thin. 

 

Because that's what it's all about.

 

Thank you.  I am truly grateful.

November 18
All Things Gone with the Wind.....

I know why they're called leaves.  When those lovely green appendages reach the end of their lives and the trees let loose of them they sure do scatter in a hurry and leave crunchy carpet piles in their wake. 

When I was a kid we never raked them up.  Dad's credo was that the good Lord  put them there and he'll surely take them away.  And I must say that this fall he has done his best to accomodate by providing plenty of hefty winds to scatter them hither and yon.

But I'll admit that due to the sheer bulk of leaves this year in my yard that I've had three sessions of leaf abatement this fall.  I don't know where they all came from and I must say that among the plethora of maple leaves from my own trees, I spied a few oak leaves as I raked.  Now I know there aren't any oak trees in the near vicinity of my neighborhood, but I guess Mother Nature decided to share the wealth so I can't complain.  

Dried leaves are truly lovely with their array of colors and shapes and I love them all. There's hardly anything quite as satisfying as shuffling through a pile of dried leaves. It's almost like breaking a path in freshly fallen snow.

This year son Patrick ran his nifty leaf sweeper over the lawn and together we removed three brimming truck loadfuls and a trailerful initially.  Then a few weeks later, pending a forecast of snow I attempted another round of leaf removal just hours before the white stuff fell atop them.  Satisfied that I'd taken care of them for the year, I was disappointed when the trees deposited yet another rusty blanket  on the yard.  So in a third round I raked them up for the final time this year. 

My leaves joined the mountain of leaves at the tree dump.  Aren't we fortunate to have such a wonderfully maintained tree brush dump in our community?  It's open for anybody in city limits to access.  In the past there were problems with inappropriate dumping there so it was locked up and accessible only by visiting city hall for the key.  Three cheers to the responsible use by citizens now, which allows for open access to the dump at all times.

Frankly I never understood the concept of stuffing ones leaves into big plastic bags just like trash when they make such perfect mulch.  But leaving a thick blanket of leaves to smother the tender grass isn't a great idea either.  I look at raking leaves like having a good aerobic workout. It's a win-win situation I suppose.

When my kids were little we'd rake the biggest pile of leaves possible and then take turns leaping into them.  It's one of life's greatest joys enjoyed by not only the littlest ones.  Yes you'd emerge with itchy  leaves down your back and in your hair but it was oh so much fun. 

This year intent on removing them, alas I didn't take the time to do any leaf pile jumping.  I'll admit  though that it was tempting to scale the towering mountain of leaves at the dump and wallow in them  just a bit. 

I restrained myself.  But it wasn't easy.

November 11, 2013

Deer Hunting Marks Beginning of Holiday Season

It's that time of year again:  the thermometer registers "brrr", snow flakes are in the air, and chili is on the stove. 

Yes, folks, it's deer hunting season.

When I was growing up my dad took an annual deer hunting excursion "up north" every year.  It was one of the few times that he ever went anywhere without my mom and a time that we kids anticipated eagerly.  

It wasn't because we didn't want Dad around.  My little brother in fact wanted to go hunting with him so keenly that he even tried stowing away in the trunk of the car one year.

No, the reason we loved deer hunting weekend was because of the annual "shopping" trip that we kids and mom took to the local hardware store every year at that time.  As soon as the taillights of dad's car had disappeared from view we'd bundle into the car and off we'd go to Fleet,  transformed magically for the Christmas season, (which I might add, never began before the start of deer hunting season in November), from an ordinary farm supply store to a veritable toyland delight.

Filled with all manner of goodies for our eyes to feast upon, it was Christmas come to life from top to bottom.  Lights twinkling everywhere, music lilting throughout the store, toy boxes piled as high up as we could see.

 Mom would keep an eagle eye on us all as we leapt through the aisles one after another dreaming of just what might be......of the things that could be, just might be....our very own.

There's nothing wrong with dreaming and wishing and hoping.  It's what makes the REAL things in life so much sweeter after all.  Window shopping was usually about all that happened on those deer hunting weekends, though mom always made sure we all came home with one trinket or another. 

The annual deer hunting weekend toy shopping adventure provided mom with some very vital information; you might even say she had ulterior motives for this traditional rendezvous:  to discover what each of us kids wanted the very most...and what was a the top of our Christmas lists that year.

That was in November.  Days and weeks flew by and all the begging and wishing and hoping faded.  By the time Christmas rolled around you can imagine the delighted and surprised children that we were when we opened our special gifts one at a time on Christmas morning. 

It's just what we always wanted!! I wonder how our parents knew??

November 4, 2013
Variety stores were treat to the senses

Slayton has a brand new store and its shelves are filled with all manner of goods.  It’s truly exciting to have this addition to our town’s retail armada. I just love variety stores.  There’s nothing quite like our beloved Hometown Variety, Loopy’s, and now the brand new Family Dollar store.

               

Wandering through the maze of aisles in any one of these stores brings to mind two of the favorites from my hometown: Woolworth’s and Ben Franklin’s.  When I was a youngster, stepping through their doors was always an exciting experience for me.

The Woolworth “dime store” was amazing – a true one-stop shopping store.  There you could find clothing, hardwares, household items, gift items, record albums, office supplies, yard goods, and so much more. 

Of course one of my favorite spots was the Brach’s candy counter-a veritable sweet tooth fantasy, that was located strategically in the front of the store.   There shoppers could purchase chocolates by the pound – filling a bag from the bulk varieties.  

Mmmm, I can still smell the delightful confections tickling my nose.

Woolworth’s even had a soda fountain and café with booths, counter and barstools.  On the counters bubbled tanks filled with delicious soda varities.  Waitresses bustled to and fro refilling coffee cups and waiting on diners.  A treat for me and my siblings was to drop in while Dad was coffee breaking with his work buddies. 

It was there that I had my very first experience sipping soda through a straw.  Granted I was but a toddler, but I recall sidling up to my orange soda and instead of sucking in on the straw, I blew on it and sprayed orange drink all over.  Other times we’d enjoy a delicious cup of hot chocolate that was topped off with a generous spurt of real whipped cream.  Nothing quite as tasty in my opinion!

But perhaps the best thing about the store was located in the far back corner.  That's where I could most often be found when it was time to leave.  It was the fish and pet department.  There I’d be hang out for as long as I was allowed, chatting with the delightful mina bird and mesmerized by the vast varieties of tropical fish in the huge tanks. 

Fascinating indeed. 

Down the street a ways was the aged Ben Franklin store.  I can still hear the creaking old wooden floors in that wonderful store. The aisles were close together in the dimly lit store but one knew where everything was located and you could find what you wanted without fail.  Not, I might add, like the super stores of today where one can wander aimlessly and often in vain to locate something.

Being the creative soul that I was, it was where I always shopped for yarn and other crafting supplies.  The Ben Franklin store stocked Red Heart yarns and embroidery thread of every hue imaginable and it was truly a magical feast for my eyes.

Sights, sounds, smells, tastes – to this day my senses recall them all so very vividly. Indeed I will never forget any one of them.

Those stores of my youth are so dear to my heart.  Perhaps that is why I delight that there are still such shopping experiences available right here in our town.  If you haven’t tried shopping them I suggest you do so.  Perhaps you too will fall in love with them. 

I, for one, am sold on the old fashioned variety store.  As we enter the gift giving season, why not give them a try and you may be as well!