Deck the Halls and other Traditions

Every year after the Christmas decorations are up and the tree is glistening in all its glory, I play my favorite CD that was purchased at a Christmas pageant called “Child of the Promise” written and produced by Michael & Stormie Omartian. My husband also purchased an album because we were not yet married, and we each wanted our own copy.

Hearing Bible verses sung by Donna Summer, Steven Curtis Chapman, Vince Gill, Amy Grant, and Michael W. Smith, to name a few, really gets me in the mood for Christmas.

After my divorce from my children’s father, and the scattering of my children to the far corners of the U.S; I was left feeling shattered and broken. I had always loved this Holy holiday, but after this I could barely deal with Christmas. When the last two were gone, I stopped decorating altogether. It brought back too many precious, but painful memories.

It wasn’t until I met my current husband 16 years ago that I finally began to celebrate Christmas in baby steps. 

My dear husband helped me to heal. He stood by me, cared for me, and restored my faith in myself and in my God.

I remembered those long ago years when I filled up the empty spaces in my heart with work and good deeds. I Decked the Halls to excess, and cooked up a storm for friends and family. I started so many new traditions each year that I could hardly keep up with them. So in looking for a topic for this blog, I decided to forewarn you: beware of what you start. It has to be done each year (others will demand it), and what you add makes your annual job get bigger and bigger.

My traditions started with the making and decorating of a Gingerbread House. Of course, the children plastered the house and yard with so many candies that the roof became top heavy, but that was part of its charm. After Christmas, they looked forward to smashing the house and eating the candy-covered pieces. I also rolled out gingerbread men for ornaments at the same time.

Then there was the making of doughnuts for our Christmas morning breakfast. I prepared cake doughnuts and risen ones that were frosted and sprinkled with coconut, slivered almonds and candy. I served these with slices of orange for nutrition and home-made eggnog. We never worried about salmonella back then. I guess we were either lucky or blessed.

I also baked various cookies and arranged platters for some of our friends. One couple said it was the prettiest tray of cookies they had ever seen. Of course, their praise gave me incentive to widen my list and bake some more. I also loved to make mini poppy-seed cakes for gifts and family, and special breads like stollen, and muffin sized cherry cheese cakes.

We lived in Kansas City and had incorporated local menus into our holiday traditions.  Barbecued brisket was a favorite, along with the usual trimmings, cheesy potatoes, green beans cooked with ham bits and onions, fresh whole cranberry relish, crab dip and a shrimp cocktail that was made to be drunk in a cup. I cooked so much that in my “old age” I cannot even bear to read a recipe let alone cook one.

Now I’m apt to buy some or most of our traditional meals unless my husband decides to cook his favorite stuffing for a turkey. He does almost all of our cooking, anyway. Whenever I risk a foray into the kitchen my nerves start to frazzle and all the work I did in the past comes barreling back like a bad dream rather than a cause for rejoicing.

But the most important parts of our family traditions have stayed with me. After our Christmas Eve banquet, we’d gather together dressed in our robes and towels and read from the Bible re-creating a live Nativity Scene. 

I can still see the number of new babies in our household that played the part of baby Jesus over the years. A child would progress from baby Jesus to angel, and then to Shepherd. The older ones played Joseph and Mary.

When I listen to “Child of the Promise” it brings those images back, in a good way. There are times when I wish I could have my children all with me once again. I loved the hours spent rocking in their grandfather’s old chair. Drying tears, comforting sorrows, bandaging skinned knees and all the other motherly services performed of which I never grew weary. Each task was special in my heart. 

Imagine rocking the Christ Child?  I treasure the words to my favorite Carol “Mary did you know.”

Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?
Did you know
That your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you've delivered
Will soon deliver you

Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will calm a storm with His hand?
Did you know
That your baby boy has walked where angels trod?
And when you kiss your little baby
You've kissed the face of God

Mary, did you know?
The blind will see
The deaf will hear
And the dead will live again
The lame will leap
The dumb will speak
The praises of the Lamb

Mary, did you know
That your baby boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will one day rule the nations?
Did you know
That your baby boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?
This sleeping child you're holding
Is the Great I Am

Oh Mary did you know?

An old favorite by Kenny Rogers and Winona Judd

A more modern version with Pentatonix:  

Enjoy Each Blessed Moment and make Happy Memories

Greetings from Florida.

Join me to the tune of “Sleigh Bells Ring.”

Seagulls sing, are you list’nin’?
At the beach, surf is glist’nin’,
A beautiful sight, a sunset tonight,
Walkin’ in a winter wonderland.

Stored away are the snow skis,
Here we stay in our short sleeves,
You sing a new song, “This is where we belong!”
Livin’ in a winter wonderland.

In the yard, we can trim a palm tree,
Then pretend to shovel lots of snow,
You’ll say, “Do you miss it?”, I’ll say, “No ma’am,”
“I feel younger by the minute don’t you know.”

Later on we’ll conspire,
And grill some shrimp on the fire,
The plans we have made include sun and shade,
Walkin’ in a winter wonderland.
News Press, McGregor ©1993
(and thanks to my friend, Junie)

(My sister's festive house)

(Oak trees get a glimmer of Christmas in Florida) 

As we celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah and other religious and spiritual celebrations we need to be more respectful of each other’s customs and traditions. These practices are what make families strong and nations great. They are the threads that weave through society and hold people together. Our differences should not divide us, but create pattern, texture and variation.

Small people and small minds create walls. Character builds bridges. Character and empathy brought the Berlin wall down. Hatred diminishes, engulfs and finally destroys.

“I found that by forgiving them (the Nazis), I held the ultimate power and the pain stopped.” From “Finding Rebecca” by Eoin Dempsey (great book!)

Grace and forgiveness brought God’s son to earth in the form of a babe to bring salvation to mankind if they would but believe.

"Mother and Child" brush drawing in oil (My beautiful daughter Holly with her first daughter.)

Hatred nailed Jesus Christ to the cross denying His divinity but fulfilling prophecy found in Isaiah 53 and Zechariah that the Messiah would be born in a little town of Bethlehem. And “He would be called wonderful, counselor, the everlasting Father the Prince of Peace.”

Even non-believers get caught up in the spirit of the “Season of Giving.” For one blessed night commemorating the eve of His birth brotherly love is felt and experienced. Wars are often paused. Sickness is healed. The chains of hatred and sin are broken as people around the world worship His Holy name.

Palm trees wrapped in lights.

Sadly we’re in a political season of mud-slinging and division. This quote from George Orwell over 50 years ago still holds true. We’d do well to remember it.

“Political language . . . is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.” George Orwell

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah everybody! Have a blessed season.

Christmas and Holidays Cement important Relationships

(My son and his family at Thanksgiving)

My dad wanted a boy when I was born. It became obvious when for Christmas one year, I opened my Santa present and there was a small green and yellow caterpillar tractor. My dad worked for Caterpillar in those days, and had purchased one of their models. I guess he had no one to give a tractor to except me. I was so disappointed, but tried not to show it. I had abandoned my dolls, and was confused by this “boy toy."

When the gift exchanges were opened, and there were no other presents under the tree, I was listless and forlorn. My mother reached inside the topmost branches of the Christmas tree. “Well, what's this?” she said pulling a small wrapped package from its hiding place. She read the inscription aloud: “Merry Christmas, to Carol from Santa.” My mouth must have dropped open as she handed me this wonderful surprise. 

My fingers flew as I tore the wrapping from the box. Inside was the wrist watch I had wanted. Although this strange Christmas started out badly, it finished on a high note. I had always been told that “good things come in small packages.” Now I believed it.

(A walk in the hills of Georgia)

Memories, whether good or bad, accumulated over time become the foundation that builds character and provides a springboard for who we become. Our preferences and choices come from these early beginnings. Like bits and pieces of energy, they mold and shape our personality; our likes and dislikes.

When people view a painting, they are drawn to a composite of colors and lines that relate to their experience and inner vision. No two people are the same. No two paintings are exactly alike. There are “vibes” that call out to us in a myriad of ways. Some people seek excitement and brashness. Others may be seeking recognition of something familiar. Still others may long for something hidden and long forgotten that reaches out and calls them back home.

(Work in Progress -- Peaches 'n Cream)

Whatever the reasons, pushing a painting on someone else in a triumph of salesmanship rarely brings contentment. Choosing artwork is much like choosing those intimate objects of our lives that are selected because of some secret wish or longing. The feeling is indescribable and personal. Sometimes we can’t  explain the reasons ourselves. We only know that we must have it because it already feels a part of us.

Personal, unforgettable and totally unexplainable. These are the reasons people make the choices they do. Sometimes we do things for the wrong reasons and regret it later. For whatever reasons we may buy, it is not always about the money nor the beauty. The bottom line may be simply filling a void.

As I’ve watched people, including myself, accumulate goods and services, I’ve come to the conclusion that we fill up the emptiness of our lives with things. Not a good reason for purchasing something.

As we approach the holiday season, try accumulating pleasant and joyful experiences that become fond memories. These may well fill up those empty spaces just as well and for less money.

Rev Up those Engines --- ‘tis the Season!

"Kayla learning to feed herself"

If ever there were a good time to sell, it has to be from September through February. Each holiday trips quickly over the heels of another as the gift giving season draws near, and more product is sold during these few months than during the rest of the year put together.

I always tell myself I’m going to prepare early, and then I don’t. How do you get in the spirit of celebration six months in advance? Unemotional, logical retailers know the importance of stocking inventory for the seasonal rush. We should all take a tip from their play book!

Sometimes I allow competition to discourage me from creating Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas cards. I save my old cards from the previous year solely for ideas; but somehow, they never leave the drawer where they are stored.

(Chris and Lyla at Christmas)

I gloat over the online cards and kick myself for not following suit. Unfortunately, my passion-o-meter is running low. Without excitement for what you’re creating, the results usually fall flat.

I’m sure that the best remedy is to imagine and invent “while the iron is hot.” That means designing in your head while drinking hot cider or cutting fresh apples for a pie. The sights, smells and sounds of frivolity and fun just might be the edge you need.  You’ll stay ahead of the game and be ready for the upcoming season.

Then again, many people (like me) get depressed over the course of the holidays. The children are gone, the grand kids live far away in other parts of the country. I actually breathe a sigh of relief when the holidays are over. Give me routine and structure any day of the week. I’m fine with that. I’ve always been a workaholic. I thrive on stress and busyness.

I used to bake enormous batches of cookies and doughnuts and freeze them for giving away later to neighbors and friends. My creative drive was all used up in the process of making and baking. My own children helped frost the raised doughnuts I made. They loved dipping them in colored sprinkles, slivered almonds and coconut.

We made a gingerbread house together each year. The children placed small spiced gumdrops of red and green on the frosted roof and sprinkled red cinnamon candy on the white sugar snow. Their favorite part of the candy house was playing wrecking ball on the day after New Year’s. They smashed and devoured the crunchy pieces of frosted cookie until they were stuffed.

Traditions bind us to each other. They remind us of our humanity and sameness. Joy gives birth when we honor those sacred ceremonies and share them with others. If I could capture that special feeling in a box, I’d have a winner!

In the meantime, I’ll continue to grapple with my self-inflicted quandary and hope my muse doesn’t take a much-needed vacation.

A Christmas Wedding takes my Holiday Plans into Overdrive

"Saguaro Cactus"

My tail is dragging; how about yours? Sooo hard to get back to work after the holidays; and, of course, another celebration is looming ahead.

I’ve been on the fly, literally. We had company on Christmas day, and the next morning, we flew out for my grandson’s wedding in Phoenix, Arizona. I had jet lag the whole time we were there. Couldn’t sleep in the full-sized bed (no tossing and turning allowed!) and kept awake by strange and unfamiliar noises.

A fallen cactus, petrifying; illustrates how pourus they are

On the return flight, Sunday, I simply couldn’t keep my eyes open. I spent the whole flight bobbing my head and snapping my neck whenever my mouth began to sag. Our flight had a layover in Indianapolis and left an hour late because of a freezing rain. The warmth that greeted us when we stepped off the plane in Fort Myers was a huge welcome home.

"Joshua Tree" and desert terrain

I once lived in Phoenix, so I was eager to return and find out what I’d missed. Couldn’t believe the changes that had taken place! The city had gone from a sleepy, Mexican hacienda-like atmosphere to a thriving metropolis with super highways and luxury accommodations. Still, the desert’s resounding voice spoke volumes about constancy, permanency, and the wisdom of the ages.

Saguaro cacti, the sentinels of the desert, reminded us of our eternal nature and the timeless quality of our existence. I photographed Joshua Trees, prickly pear cactus, and the unusual vegetation and trees that grow in spite of the intense heat of summer. For we Floridians, the evening temperatures seemed frigid; plunging from a daytime high of 74 and then back to 46 degrees overnight.

My fourth child was born in Phoenix. This was her first time back since she was three years old. One of our family pleasures was to take walks on the desert floor in late January and February when the cacti were in bloom. Colorful splotches of pink, yellow, and red were masterfully dotted over the terrain with a Master’s brush. The sand underfoot became a velvet cover of green that would burn off by mid March.

There is magic in the desert. Silence is broken only by the chirp of a bird or the monotone humming of bees. There is space. The vastness of the land spreads endlessly before you and as far as the eye can see making you feel small and insignificant in return; a good place to put your life in perspective. Problems seem minuscule in comparison.

I wish we’d spent more time there. When I made the reservations, I was thinking in “wedding” terms only. Now I wish we had stuffed in a few extra days for sightseeing and pleasure. As always, hind sight is more valuable than making snap judgments. I hope your holidays were well spent and enjoyed. In the meantime, Happy New Year everyone!

"another Joshua Tree"

"prickly pear" cactus

Site of a family hike; all the way up to the rock ridges and the top!

The Holidays are not always Merry and Jolly

Christmas Lights and Gates within Gateway

The Holidays are difficult for many of us. My children happen to live in the far corners of the U.S. and I see them infrequently. Of course that makes me sad. I almost died one Christmas which was the precursor to a divorce that also clouds the holidays. But let me explain.

It was Christmas time. The freshly cut spruce we had purchased days before was decorated and waiting. My baking was complete; our freezer loaded with cookie trays for friends and casseroles for company and unexpected guests. I was on my last round of cleaning, adding the final spit and polish that “make the season bright.”

We wrap our palm trees in twinkle lights

Two things happened that day to add to the confusion: 1) I banged my wedding ring finger on a table and wondered if I'd broken it, and 2) I cleaned ever-so-efficiently behind the toilet bowl in our guest bathroom. At the time, a strong stinging sensation in my finger caused me to pull my sudsy hand back. It was the same finger I'd banged earlier. On my initial examination, the skin had been unmarred. Now the water-soaked skin had a slight abrasion or opening in the flesh.

I shrugged and finished my scrubbing. I was taking the kids to a holiday movie and put the events of the day out of my mind. Half-way through the movie, I was in a fit of agony. My finger felt like it was on fire, but its temperature was as cold as ice. What was going on? To make a very long story short, the continued pain sent me to three different hospitals over the course of the holiday weekend. A medic cut off my wedding ring as it cut into my flesh and restricted blood flow. An x-ray revealed there was no break. Puzzled, the nurse on duty sent me home and told me to soak my finger.

Love these tall graceful palms wrapped in lights!

At the next ER, I was feeling extremely ill. They asked if I'd been bitten by a spider, but I had no recall of such. On the surface, the finger didn't look that bad, nothing to warrant such pain. They sent me home with more instructions, none of which helped.

A third trip to another ER in the middle of the night proved as useless. While there, my whole body became immobile. I couldn't blink. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move one solitary muscle. I heard them say I had probably hyperventilated. It would pass. They sent me home. I was given no medication or antibiotic on any of these visits.

On Monday, I saw my own medical doctor. By this time a bright red streak ran from my finger to under my arm. My skin had a yellow cast, and my gums were purple. The doctor pronounced: "blood poisoning,” and asked again:” Are you sure you weren't bitten by an insect? " None that I could recall, I told him. When I mentioned the diagnosis of hyperventilation, he shook his head. "You were probably going into convulsion,” he said.

My ultimate favorite: a southern oak tree wrapped in lights. Spectacular!

I was placed in a private hospital room, and x-rays were ordered for my heart and lungs. The doctor had prescribed a complex antibiotic IV drip, but since the hospital was under staffed, they waited for my IV, wanting to avoid attaching it and then having to unhook me for x-rays and then having to start it up again. The IV was put off until after my x-rays; a six hour delay as it turned out.

Over the next few days, Gangrene set in my finger. A dermatologist was called in. He was the one that finally recognized my condition as the results of a brown recluse spider bite. He took one look at me, read my record, and said: "You should have been dead in 36 hours." It had been 72 hours before I received my first IV antibiotic drip. If they had known what it was from the beginning, they would have administered cortisone as well.

Moonshines -- Abstract mixed media on canvas (on my online gallery)

After my recovery, I analyzed the holiday puzzle. I remembered seeing tiny spiders in the toilet water during the holiday week and wondered how they got there? We later concluded there must have been a spider's nest behind the tank. So much for thorough cleaning! 

I never repaired my wedding ring or put it on after that. I looked upon it as a foreshadowing of what was to come. In spite of the good things that have happened to me since, whenever Christmas rolls around, I remember my near death experience, a separation and a divorce that became imminent one holiday long ago.

A Sandhill Crane in my neighborhood painted on black. Christmas Colors!