December 22, 2014

There's Magic in the Air

He is mystery and magic, compassion and caring, giving and graciousness.  His legend is celebrated the world over in various fashion year after year at Christmas time and through the ages his gleam has never tarnished nor appeal diminished.   Those of us who believe in magic, whatever our age, celebrate annually the joy of the season, the birth of the Christ child, and the magic of St. Nicholas.

The man, by any other name, would be as sweet, (to borrow Shakespeare's famous line from Romeo and Juliet).  Indeed, he carries many different monikers including Father Christmas in the United Kingdom, Pere Noel in France, Christ Kind in Germany, Sinterklaas in Holland and Kris Kringle here in the United States.  

Whatever his name and however he visits the children around the world, the legend born of St. Nicholas, a  Bishop who lived in the fourth century AD, lives on in infamy.  Story has it that Nicholas, a very kind and wealthy man, was known for helping the poor and giving secret gifts to people in need.  

The custom of hanging a stocking in hopes of it being filled with a secret gift by St. Nicholas, originated from the story that, seeing that a rather poor family did not have enough money to provide a dowry for the eldest of three daughters, the benevolent man climbed upon the housetop and secretly dropped a bag of gold down the chimney where it feel into a stocking that had been hung there to dry.  Nicholas, upon being discovered by the father, begged him not to reveal his secret for he didn't wish to bring attention to himself.  The word got out as it is apt to do, and from then on it was believed that whenever someone received a secret gift, it was from Nicholas.

In 1823 the famous poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas", or "T'was the Night before Christmas", was published by Clement C. Moore, describing eight reindeer and a lively, rotund St. Nicholas.  The reindeer were given names and further immortalized in the story, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer", written by Robert L. May for a Montgomery Ward as a holiday give away, in 1939.  

Santa Claus has remained immortal for hundreds of years and isn't likely to disappear any time soon.  (At least in my home, that is.)  There will always be  magic in the air and a twinkle in the sky on Christmas Eve.  And isn't that what Christmas is all about?  

Merry Christmas to one and all!!

Consider Santa Claus at work...

He must clamber in and out of his precariously perched sleigh, 

To march steadily along the icy slops of rooftops.

He must tiptoe on carpets to cause sleeping dogs no distress, 

Read notes, fill stockings, and empty his pack,

Reflected in the cat's glowing eyes.

Santa will kiss sweaty curly-tops,

Gently bless a cast or bandage, and dry tears,

Fetch a hanky or a very small drink of water,

Or sprinkle sand into sleepy eyes.

He may need to tuck in a blanket,

Plug in a night-light, button a button,

Or zip up a zipper.

He may turn off a dripping faucet,

Or a burner on the stove,

Straighten a rug, draw the drapes,

Or smother an ember at the fireplace.

Then there is warm milk or col cocoa with which to deal,

And cookie crumbs to brush away.

Santa Claus must be a Grampa!

Written by JoAn Bakker

December 15, 2014

Last Minute Shopping Joys & Woes

Here we are, down to the wire as they would say.   I'm not sure what that means but it sounds pretty serious.  I won't even remind you of the dwindling number of shopping days until Christmas because you are either a) one of those souls whose shopping list is pretty much a sheet full of scratched out, checked off notations long before the eve of "Black Friday", or b) are of the group of those that just reminding you that the final 240 hours and soon to be 216 hours and then to be 192 hours is now ticking away can set you into a panic that is akin to realizing that today is your mother's birthday and you have completely forgotten that fact.

The trick to being a last minute shopper is to make it appear that you have spent days and weeks in thoughtful contemplation, pouring over gift catalogs  for new and interesting items, perusing store aisles for that one perfect item, not settling for just ho-hum in the quest to match the one true gift with every person on your gift list.

For those of you who might not be quite on their toes about Christmas gift shopping,  there are still plenty of nice gifts out there for you to pick up for all of those special people on your list (and aren't they all special if they're on your list, after all?)  

My advice? Think practical.  In this case, there's not much time to go any other direction.   And don't cut corners on the presentation - gift wrap your present in the most elegant fashion possible.  If you can't manage that yourself then hire the job out.  It will make all the difference in the world and show that you do, indeed, truly care.

Here are my top suggestions for last minute Christmas gifts.  

1)  A couple new strings of Christmas lights - because surely the ones that were put up on Thanksgiving have already lost half of their illumination, (I suspect they're set on a timer to destruct after "x" number of days.)  They'll appreciate your thoughtfulness and I'll bet by buying them this near to Christmas you'll even get them at a great price.

2)  A calendar.  You should make sure it is for the new year (one time I purchased a calendar at a mall kiosk at what I thought was a great sales price....turns out it was a current year closeout not the new year's model).  It's the gift that keeps on giving day after day after day....

3)  Sign your loved one up for a class or new activity.  The possibilities here are endless.  There's yoga, oil painting, karate, sky diving, bungee jumping, bull riding, etc.  You get the picture.  If it's something you'd love to do, why not share that passion with someone else.  

4)  Chocolate.  Because it always fits.

5)  A "get-out-of-jail-free" card.  You never know when this might come in handy.  Include contact information to reach you in case of emergency, a pre-paid phone card (because chances are a quarter won't cut it if you're incarcerated these days), and the number of your favorite bail bond person.

6)  Time.  Not much explanation needed here.  Perhaps the most precious gift you can give someone.

7)  A smile and kind word.  Again, you can just about afford to give everyone person you ever meet this gift.  And it means so much.  Hey, and returns are always welcome when you give a smile.

8)  Scotch tape because, hey, it's not pretty when you run out of tape during a late night wrapping session and they will appreciate the fact that you are thinking ahead for them in preparation for next year.

9)  A book.  Any book.  One with pictures or one without.  Doesn't matter. Better yet, get them a library card - it's free and it keeps giving.....for a lifetime.

10)  A notebook.  And a pen.  Because at some point we all just have to start making that "bucket list" and unless you write these things down, well it's not truly a list.  

December 8, 2014

No Batteries Needed

Since I'm a grandmother in training, I have of late been paying attention to little ones who I encounter and how, in particular, they are amused by we bigger ones.  I have but five months to brush up on these tactics so I of course welcome any suggestions from other grandmothers on how to best prepare for the big event.

It's been quite some, you know, since I've been in the baby tending business.  And though one might say that just like riding a bicycle, it will all come back to me, I have my doubts.....I'm that much older now than in those baby rearing days and will I know just what to do to keep the little tot in joyful stitches rather than a stream of tears?

Well, I can tell you one thing:  my sisters and brother and I had a dad who was filled with imaginative, playful tactics and wasn't afraid to get on the floor with us and make a general fool of himself.  He did that, you know, because of the joyful gladness of hearing our peels of laughter and giggles of gladness.

Well, maybe he was just giving our mother a break from full-time, stay at home motherhood.  It's a Dad's job to do that after all.

Whatever the case, Dad let us romp upon  him, after he'd get into his "wrestling" clothes, and ride him like a bucking bronc in a rodeo.  He usually managed to buck us off after the 8 second rule but we'd come back even stronger, determined to tame the beast.

Another favorite Dad game was the chair he fashioned from his outstretched hand.  Every time we'd go to sit down on the chair it would break and we would collapse in fits of glee.  Then Dad would make a deal of fixing the broken chair with nails and glue and invite us to sit upon the throne, only to shatter it once again.  His horsey leg was apt to break as well.

Dad also possessed what might be called "monkey toes".  Strangely, he could manipulate those digits to pick objects up or to deliver a brutal pinch that we all tried desperately to avoid.  To this day I don't believe I've ever met anyone with such manual dexterity and control of one's toes.

Games played with Dad also included tossing and catching the baseball, drop kicking and passing the pig skin, and whipping a Frisbee dexterously through the air.  And learning the fine arts of the game of chess.  We may have been the youngest in our neighborhood to take to that difficult game of strategy.

Whatever the case, Dad always seemed to make time to provide us with plenty of homemade entertainment.  I guess that shouldn't be too hard for me when the time comes to be a grandmother, considering the training I had once upon a time when I was but a little tot.  

But if all else fails, I will start practicing my silly faces.  For what kid can resist laughing at a grown-up who is making a complete fool of oneself?  Who cares, because it's all about having fun and making that little one smile, isn't it?

Yes, and that is something that I think I can definitely manage.

December 1, 2014

Tracks Lead to Discovery

It snowed last week in the north country and the landscape was covered with an expanse of white carpet where once was frozen ground littered with random dried leaves.

As I made my way out the door and down the driveway to check the mailbox, I came across the usual array of various tracks on the pristine walkway:  mouse, rabbit, cat, dog, deer, cougar - all recognizable and familiar to me.  

The willy-nilly scratches in the snow led me to believe that there is a good deal of activity that goes on when we think the world has gone to sleep at dark-fall.

Then my eyes lit on a set of tracks that at once startled and baffled my senses.  At least a foot and half in length, the tracks were a sight to behold.  Could it, I wondered, be the famed Yeti of legend, or perhaps the Abominable Snowman, or yet even Sasquatch in these northern climes?  In our neighborhood??  Just the mere notion gave me goose bumps.

The tracks jutted out in a full ninety degree angle and the stride was mammoth in size.  Whoever, WHAT-ever made these tracks, I supposed, was a force to be reckoned.  

I followed the tracks, like any wise, curiosity seeker would do, along the path to the street and to the mailbox.  Where they abruptly ended.  And then they circled around and retreated homeward toward the house.  

It was then that I came to realize that the owner of these foot prints had walked right up the driveway and into the garage, further into the back door of the house (I deduced this by the puddling paths of debris that were left by the gigantic pedactic paddles on the garage floor.

Should I have been alarmed?  I was at first, until I realized that the foot prints had been made by none other than my own dad on his early morning trek to the mail box.  Dad's gait is recognizable for its jutting, somewhat birdlike manner. (Albeit a gigantic, possibly emu-like creature).   It is one that I, upon being likened to at times, have striven rigidly to avoid.  

Quickly I dashed back to the driveway to examine my own foot prints to the mailbox that morning.  Have I?  Did I?  Do I walk just like my father?  With relief I noticed that, near the birdlike indentations in the snow, was a set of completely parallel prints next to them.  Mine.

I have inherited many traits from my father, but apparently the bird walk is not one of them.  Okay, that's a relief, I must admit. 

And I am happy to report than Sasquatch is not in the neighborhood.