christmas past

it's a few weeks yet 'til christmas, but we are putting up the tree tonight. this is unplanned, but the tree is in the yard, up against the house, and why not now? the not-so-little girl is anxious to decorate, so in comes the tree, we find the stand and the box of ornaments and she begins. she remembers from year to year how she and i like this tree to look: the old red flocked birds are indeed "flocked", all gathered together on one the side of the tree. her great-great grandmother's sequined ball is high up near the top, so you can look up and see all the sparkles reflect the tree lights. delicate ornaments still go near the top of the tree, a reminder of long-ago christmases when we had babies and dogs. 

we listen to christmas music as she decorates and i make us supper. suddenly, she's in the kitchen at my side, with one of the old plastic filagree balls in her hand. there's something inside, she whispers. listen. and i hear the quiet rattle. we investigate, and find something tiny and cylindrical inside. she shakes and tips and tries to bring the object to a large hole in the ornament, but its shape won't allow it to be pulled through. finally we resort to tweezers and gently tug. and out it comes. 

it's paper, and it's old and thin. slowly, carefully, the not-so-little girl unfurls the scrap and reads its contents: december 24, 1985. and it is signed, in a childlike scrawl, by her mother.

how can this be? it's been right there, unnoticed, for thirty-two christmases! we can't wait to share our find with the girl herself! but she does not remember placing such a note and is as astonished as we are. more quick math and we come to the realization that, when she hid this note, she was ten, and exactly the age that the not-so-little-girl is now.

on her own, the youngest of us decides to return the note to its original hiding place and add a second one, this one dated december 8, 2017, and signed in her own childlike hand. she hopes some christmas as she decorates, her own daughter may notice the tiny rolled notes hidden deep inside her great-grandmother's gold filagree ornament, and be just as surprised and delighted by their discovery as we all were this christmas.

one last ride

in this, the month of her birth, the not-so-little girl bemoans the fact that she will soon be too old to ride the mechanical rides at the local outlet mall. for many years, she's been too big to ride them, but every time we're there, she squeezes herself into one and begs for three quarters. being the good grandmother that i am, i, of course, oblige - and off she goes, blissfully a little girl again, laughing and whooping for the two minute ride. but now it's different, because the age limits are clearly posted on each ride, she can read them, and she knows she will very soon be out of the age range.

to mark this mournful passage, i gift wrap a roll of quarters, and off we go, the two of us, on the eve of her birthday, to ride one more time the merry-go-rounds and vehicles and animals that have given her such gleeful joy for so many years. and although it takes more time that we have and more money than we should probably spend, she rides every single one. and that's okay with me.

a spring visit

standing at the open window, washing morning coffee cups and cereal bowls, i am thinking of my mother and how she loved spring. new growth in her garden, geese returning to the river, sitting outside - she was always glad to see winter over. perhaps i get that from her. 

from the corner of my eye, i see something drop like a stone from a high branch of the lilac tree outside. too fast and straight to be a leaf, i think, as i step to the door to investigate. and there she is, right outside my back door.

i have heard cardinals this spring and saw a male from a distance a few weeks back, but never the elusive female. there's no seed out there because i haven't fed winter birds - or winter mice - in years. and there was no male in sight, watching his mate from a high maple or hemlock branch. 

she visits for a long while, then flies back up into the lilac, and finally, off into the deep woods. i took about twenty shots with my telephoto lens, all through a winter-dirty window pane, so as not to disturb and to keep her around as long as i possibly could. 

a birthday in june

this is my grandfather, my mother's father. as a small child, i believe he was my favorite person. he talked to me and he made me laugh. he took me to church, and on trolley rides to boston and ferry trips to nantasket. he called me on the phone and showed me off to my great-aunts and uncles. he spoiled me with banana splits. when i was learning to drive, he gave me his old green two-toned ford. when i needed furniture after college, he gave me his maple bedroom set and didn't mind that i painted it navy and lime. on the day of my wedding, when i went to the hospital to see him, he cried because he was too sick and feeble to come and watch me get married. i adored my grandfather - he was huge influence in my life. although he's been gone now for most of my life, i still think of him quite often and silently thank him for making me feel so loved. he'll always hold an important place in my heart.

the little girl was born eight years ago this month, on the day of my grandfather's birth. i wish they could have met. he brought so much joy to my young life, and she brings so much to these waning years. i love that the two of them are connected in this very small, very special way.

antique shades

my favorite pansies. i'm always so happy to find them again. 

morning crescent

brilliant blue sky this morning with birdsong and a waning crescent moon. already, the sun is warm on my face. these are the days i wait for all winter long.

clearing away the past

for several mornings this week, the little girl and i spent some time organizing her bedroom, a rather large space with lots of nooks and crannies. after breakfast we'd turn on the radio and start where we had left off the day before. as we worked we'd reminisce about toys and books she'd outgrown. we chose stuffed animals to donate to the thrift store. we made piles of action figures, legos, and plastic dinosaurs and found and labeled containers for each. sometimes we'd get sidetracked and have to snuggle on the bed to read parts of a book or get up and dance to a favorite tune. but we'd soon be back to sorting out broken crayons from the whole ones and tossing piles of old greeting cards and first grade artwork. we organized a desk space for homework with sharpened pencils, a ruler, post-it notes, and a few erasers - the best part of the room, she says! we set up a science center with her rock collection and a reading corner with some comfy pillows. it was a lot of work, but we both agreed it was fun and productive and she loves the grown-up space. when will we have to do this again, she asked. never? i replied.

after we'd finished, i brought home the bag of toys to donate and two bags of trash to take to the dump. tonight i was going through them both, just to be sure i wasn't throwing away some important part to a game or a landmark piece of first grade work. and deep inside a box of puzzle pieces, i found this. it's the lyrics to a silly song we made up and recorded one night after dinner years ago. i'm guessing she wrote this note two years ago. i have no idea why she chose to write down these lyrics. all i know is, finding it touched my heart so. and it came this close to going to the dump.

here's the song, as we recorded it that winter night long ago as we had ice cream for dessert.

needful things II

always, i've loved to burn candles - candles everywhere, all over the house! i like the light, the ambiance, the scent, the way a flame quiets the soul. but over the years, i've cut back on candles a lot. they sometimes leave soot on the ceilings. so much of the candle is wasted after the wick is gone and wax remains. and most candles have a link to petroleum products which feels wrong to me. i've replaced lots of candles with the newish battery operated ones and, from a distance, they'll suffice. but the one candle i won't give up is this soy one that i found years ago. heavily and heavenly scented, clean and slow burning, no waste, and i reuse the jars after they're cleaned. it's my other needful thing, my guilty pleasure. i allow myself one candle a month and burn it mostly at night, after the dishes are done and the kitchen's cleaned and dark. while i write or read or work nearby, the scent drifts out to me and the flickering light calms me. 

my order had arrived when i got home too late last night, and i waited until this morning, until i had my tea, to open the carton. i unpacked my april candle first and lit it, and the scent of a maple filled the kitchen. there were other candles as well - lavender lemongrass, chamomile, basil & berries, lemon drop, and for september - indian summer. before i stashed them away, i opened each surprise and i sniffed, a heady preview of the scents of my summer nights! 

morning light

this time of year, when the sun rises due east, i love to stand quietly for a minute and watch the morning light angle its way into the house. it looks hopeful, springlike. and this morning, i hear birdsong.

needful things

so much snow with the ides of march - but warming air brings melting and giant puddles of water with icy bases! i need spring now and hurry off late to see my friend, the local florist. she has tulips and daisy-like mums, shamrocks and roses. but my choice is stock, almost gone by, and she gives it to me at a bargain price. i love the pale yellow of the flowers, but i buy it for the smell. now, hours later, the heady scent of clove wafts across my desk as i write. just what i needed!

missing maine

every summer, my brothers and sisters and i travel to a rented house and visit together for a whole week. some of us bring their children and some their children's children. this vacation has become one of my favorite times of the year. during the days, we all go our own separate ways and do our own things, singly or in pairs, but in the evenings, we gather together for dinner and conversation and red sox games on tv. we laugh, we reminisce, we play cutthroat board games. it's so wonderful to be with my family for this extended period of time, to have endless hours to get caught up on the events of the past year, and to store up new memories for the cooler, busier seasons to come. i miss my family this morning - it's always bittersweet when our time together is over for another year.

easter 2013

a suddenly quiet holiday this year as the little girl became ill mid-morning and her family could not come for dinner as planned - and greatly anticipated. there was a quick visit to the girl's house to deliver easter goodies and dinner, but for the most part, the day was oddly still and quite uneventful. i did, however, receive my easter balloon again this year. still wondrous after all these years.

i just realized this: it's the same balloon as the 2012 one. perhaps the easter bunny buys in bulk?

sneakers!

first day i've worn these since november, maybe. what a liberating feeling to not be wearing something heavy and dark, with big ole grooved, slip-resistent soles...

heart day, the day after

best valentine ever. 

the fire breathing dinosaurs are my favorite.

reading!

i always write short messages on this kitchen chalkboard, hoping the little girl might be just curious enough to attempt to read them. and today, she was. and she did! 

gathering greens

a saturday walk in the woods to gather some last minute greens for inside the house. so still there, quiet, with only the sound of the stream coursing down the hill and my boots crunching in the leaves and the snow.

simple gilfts

one of the many joys of teaching - handmade gifts of love from small, important people. i don't know a single teacher who doesn't cherish these mementos. and this christmas season, they seem all the more beautiful and meaningful.

what started as a normal saturday

today was the day for a long-awaited shopping trip with out-of-state relatives. we shopped all morning at the mall, buying shoes and scarves and kitchen gadgets, then drove to a nearby restaurant for lunch, to sit leisurely and visit and get caught up on each others lives. while we were there, many dark suits began appearing and, before we knew it, they were announcing the president of the united states was coming to the restaurant. the president. the president! and arrive he did. he came over to our table. he shook my hand. he smiled and asked my name. he looked me in the eye and told me we need more teachers doing what i do.

this must be what bieber-fever feels like to a teenager. today, i met the president of the united states.

the circus

this past week, the circus came to our town. the little girl and i had had our tickets for weeks, and we had talked of little else. we drew circus pictures, read circus books, looked at circus websites and we counted down the days.

the morning of the circus, she and i were up and out early with a picnic breakfast to watch the big trucks roll in to our small town. in the clear morning air, we watched the lead trucks park and saw the first workers disembark, dressed in jeans and sweats, with ponytails and caps, ambling around slowly, yawning as they drank from big paper cups. presently more long red tractor trailers arrived, some with clowns painted on the side, some with windows suggesting animals on board. we watched while workers swung wide their trailer doors, popped the sides on campers, released small dogs into pens, and began the work of setting up the cages for the tigers. in a while, animals emerged from the backs of trucks, slow-moving and old, plodding down ramps to be tethered or caged. tigers. camels. a zebra. llamas. we so hoped for elephants, but we could not wait. in time, we needed to move on to other less exciting events of the day.

by late afternoon, we were back for the first show, elated to see the ball field transformed with cages, canopies, and wagons. in the middle sat the giant circle of a tent, reaching high above the midway and festooned with pennants. inside the big top, we sat high in the bleachers, laughing as pink cotton candy dissolved in our mouths while we waited for the show to begin. to our delight, the ringmaster appeared, calling out, "la-deez and gentlemen, and children of all ages...", just as we knew he would. for the next two hours, we marveled at acrobatic tricks and laughed at the slapstick antics of clowns. we hooted as a swashbuckling pirate balanced on two, then three, then four cylinders. we held our breath as the aerialist swung so high and so fast, she touched the top of the tent with her toes. we applauded elephant tricks and the sequined ladies who climbed up high and rode astride them. we were amazed by the tigers, standing and dancing on hind legs as they pawed the air and roared for the crowd.

all too soon, the show was over. a wobbly camel ride and the purchase of an overpriced inflatable elephant finished the evening. reluctantly we walked from the circus grounds, stealing glimpses back, knowing we would have been happy to attend still another performance, to visit again with the elephants, to experience the magic well into the night.

and as quickly as it came, the circus was gone. the next morning, the field was empty, with not even a discarded ticket stub to show that such an amazing event had taken place there the night before. the circus trucks and trailers were gone, taking the animals and the clowns and the sequined performers to some other rural spot to thrill some other little girl - and perhaps her grandmother, even more.

little things

a lovely fragrant end of year bouquet from a student's family, beribboned and presented in a canning jar along with a note of thanks. such a sweet gesture, so very much appreciated.