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:  

Photographs and Sketches May Refresh Your Last Great Idea!

"The Cook" 11x14 acrylic on canvas

I delight in painting children. There is such a freshness and openness in their faces. No masks to hide emotion. No walls to put distance between them and us. Their innocence invites us to experience life anew as we once did when we were children.

My latest painting took me much longer to complete because of health issues. I didn’t want to clutter the background with details that would take the viewer’s eyes away from the center of interest. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of “busy” paintings. I like to spend time wandering through a scene and taking it all in. Restaurants, unusual rooms, people involved in talking or working are some of my favorites.

"Fish Market" acrylic on canvas
(When I did this painting, an artist friend scolded me for putting in too much detail -- I ignored her. The
painting did get in a juried gallery so I was pleased!)

But there are times when the main event can get lost in too much detail. One of my favorite artists is K. Henderson who knows how to use detail to her advantage. She works in oils but also uses watercolor and illustrates a journal that she shares with others.

Kay is a naturalist, artist and photographer. She travels extensively to areas such as Alaska, and as far away as Manitoba, CAN.  Her dialogue and her web site are well worth checking out if you aren’t familiar with her body of work.

Here is a link to her Indian portraits: http://khendersonart2.blogspot.com/  

This painting is another good example of an innocent child surrounded by the detail I love to paint.

"An Open Book" mixed media. Prints available.

I do a lot of photography in making painting and composition decisions. I file them away and review them when I'm looking for a certain detail or subject. Photographs can preserve memory. When you add it to a quick color sketch the scene you captured days or weeks before can quickly come to mind.

(the first slap of paint on canvas)
(I was going to reflect a beater but changed my mind)

 

Natural Wonders can Supply a Tapestry of Beauty

"Seedlings from a beechnut tree"

I’m a saver, a scrounger, and a lover of nature. If there’s an unusual seed or leaf out there it ends up in my house.

We were in Phoenix for my grandson’s wedding, when a black twig caught my eye as we were walking. My son thought it was a twig of seeds from a beechnut tree. Although they were black from the cold winter mornings, the pods had dried perfectly, showing a split that revealed the empty seed pockets inside. I brought it back home in my suitcase. It still adorns a table in my living room.

A few months ago, I spied a large palm frond. The leaf is usually trimmed while it's still growing on the tree, and the remaining woody husk continues to grow and harden. The one I found on the ground had already bleached out in the sun and the green had long since disintegrated. 

I took it home and brushed off the dirt and grit, sprayed it with Raid and left it for a few days. After washing it off with water and drying it again, I began my search for the face that was hidden inside. The shape was a little off, but I turned my woody palm into a Florida panther which will one day hang on someone’s wall.

"Florida Panther" for SALE on Etsy" (16 x 21)

Another piece of palm is awaiting its identity. I know from experience that many coats of paint are required to satisfy this thirsty wood. After its features are complete, I will seal both front and back with coats of varnish to give it sheen and a long life.

If I had my “druthers,” I would decorate my home with accessories only from the natural world of nature. One of the most enchanting Christmas trees I've ever seen used a long-needle pine and had only pine cones and bright red velvet bows on its branches. The students who decorated the tree could not afford expensive ornaments or trim and had used what the surrounding terrain had provided. The tree was simple and elegant. The smell from that pine was a gift from Heaven!

One February, when we lived in Phoenix, I dragged home the woody branches of an old Joshua tree that had died in the desert. I loved the way its branches told a story of strength, dignity, and endurance. I placed it in my flower garden by the back fence. When I shared this story with friends, they had to see it.

(Gazebo and butterfly garden completed by the Garden Club for the community)

When I showed them the cactus that I had embellished with pride and an artist’s vision, I saw their faces slump. Their expectations were higher than the reality they saw. “Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder.” We must remember this as we put paint to canvas to reveal our inspiration and imagination. Nothing is ever what it seems to be. We all see things through our own prism of experience.

I’m always saddened by people who rush by and can’t see the color and richness that abounds right under their noses. A car commercial showed the manufacturer's pride and joy racing over the Sahara desert. They wanted you to focus on the car and its tremendous speed and agility. 

As for me, I scanned the rolling hills of sand, the flowing ripples of each dune. What I saw was a masterpiece of serenity, texture and rhythm. The car I barely noticed.

Some people may never give your artwork the nod. They don’t know that you struggled and nursed "your baby" into existence and new life. They may view askance at your efforts to capture a singular shape or a few grains of sand on a canvas; skillfully layering it with values of monochromatic color and harmonious blends. 

We keep painting because that’s who we are. We convince ourselves that the joy of overcoming will one day triumph. But what if it doesn’t? My friend, what better way to spend your time than in pursuit of perfection? The brush grows lighter with use. The joy of creation is mother’s milk to the suckling artist. We indulge. We drink. We become.

(My next acrylic on canvas will be titled: "The Cook" using Amelia as a model)