Home for the Holidays

This year, my husband and I will be doing something different for Christmas...we will be staying home for the holidays.  Alone.

For many years, now, we have either traveled to be with one of our children--or we have stayed home and the children have come to us.

But this year is different--as a family, we gathered at Thanksgiving at our son's and our daughter-in-law's home in San Diego. And, after braving a 12 hour flight directly from London, our daughter and our son-in-law along with their two little ones joined the gathering.  We were all there to witness and celebrate the baptism of our son and daughter-in-law's little girl. 

With that momentous a gathering, which was really like a Christmas--complete with gifts for the three little ones--we decided that we would stay in Pennsylvania, our son and family in California, and our daughter and family in England.

But, simply because we are "home alone" does not mean we forgo decorating, baking and celebrating.  To the contrary. We got our usual live tree--and had it fully installed and decorated by the first weekend of December.  I have baked--at least four batches of shortbread by now--and mailed tins of shortbread to various family members.

I even got out the Advent calendar...though I confess I keep forgetting to update it.  

As for gifts--thank goodness for Amazon--wish lists and packages!

So, Christmas day will be quiet--we will roast a chicken (better size for a smaller feast) and make all the trimmings. If we are fortunate, we will see our children via the wonder of Face Time. And all will be merry.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone.

It's Christmas! And it's summer!

A recent blog by a childhood friend of mine (read it here) set me to thinking about my earliest memories of Christmas.

Long time readers of this blog will know that I grew up in southern Africa (what was Northern & Southern Rhodesia, now Zambia and Zimbabwe respectively)--so no Victorian snowy Christmas memories*.  Instead, my Christmas memories are of summertime celebrations, with Christmas and summer holidays all being wrapped into one time off from school.  School in this case also meant boarding school (as the mission station where my parents were was at least a half a day's travel from the nearest government school).  With a school year that ran from January to December, the summer break fell in December.  So of course that meant the boarding school closing, and my coming home.

It is difficult to convey to someone who has never boarded away from home for any length of time what coming home means.  Off and on, in this blog I have written about boarding school--mostly my memories are pleasant.  I recall one or two friends' names. I recall good times with school activities--participating in sports, drama productions, as well as classroom work.  But what I most remember is how Christmas festivities in the city of Bulawayo helped set the mood for Christmas.  I particularly recall the carol singing that was held in a municipal stadium--all of which helped me amass a vast repertoire of Christmas carols.  One of my favorites was "Good King Wenceslas" with  men and women singing alternate verses--men taking the parts of the king, and women the parts of the page.  Oh, my--memories flood back.  But, I digress somewhat.

When Christmas holiday and summer vacation began, all boarders returned to their homes for a 6 week vacation. That time was filled with many little bits of activity that still resonate in my mind.  I previously wrote about the Christmas picnic adventure--of course, Christmas in the summer means picnic. 

Caroling was not confined to the Bulawayo municipal carol sing.  Many missionaries were quite good singers, and of course we sang in four part harmony (still my favorite way to sing...).  I do recall getting up early in the morning, on Christmas Day, and going out caroling singing "Christians Awake! Salute the Happy Morn).   As a young adolescent, I found it highly amusing to be serenading with a Christmas hymn early on Christmas morning.

Christmas also meant that missionaries from nearby missions would gather at one of the missions.  The emphasis was not so much on exchanging gifts as enjoying time together. However, there was one year when some missionary (I don't know who, but it sounds as though my mother--who could be mischievous--had a hand in it) decided to give everyone a gag gift.  Now, I acknowledge you would need to know the missionaries in question to appreciate the humor. But here are some of the gifts given. One was a small planter with a bean plant sprouting in it, along with ceramic PIG salt and pepper shakers.  The missionary receiving this had frequently lamented the blasted pigs who always got into the garden and consumed the beans, or at least broke the budding plants. Another gift was a straw man--a shirt stuffed with straw, and trousers likewise, with a cloth head and a placard that read "a good man." That was given to an unmarried missionary woman who kept hoping--and expressing that hope--for a husband.  At least that's what my childhood memories say we did.  

This time of year does prompt us all to reflect and revel in memories.  If those memories--and certainly my hope for you is that they are--then we return to them again and again.  I am reminded of that fact when I realize how many times I have written about Christmas here, even repeating some of the same stories.  But that's what we do, isn't it? We recall and share.

*Oh, my little opening comment about no snowy Victorian memories--I have a theory that many of "our" Christmas memories are shaped by "A Christmas Carol" or by Currier and Ives prints.  We see gaily decorated Christmas trees, complete with "candles" which Prince Albert from Germany helped popularize in England.  And we talk about a white Christmas. When it snows, it immediately kicks us in celebratory gear.  But these associations do NOT happen when it's Christmas and it's summertime.

Merry Christmas to all--whether near or far, whether north, south, east or west.

Getting the Details Right

I am as guilty as the next person.  At this time of year, I love to decorate the house for Christmas, and one of the prized possessions on display is a lovely Nativity set.

Each year, I try to arrange the pieces in as natural a looking scene as possible.  And yet...and yet, deep down I know that I am not getting the details right.

Why? Because it simply didn't happen this way.  How can I say something so outrageous, especially at this time of year.  Because--I will tell you why.

When I was in college, I took a wonderful course in the Gospels from one of my all time favorite professors.  He taught us to read each Gospel carefully and in its own right.  When you do that, you will come to understand that each Gospel was written by a particular author for a particular purpose.  So, the details the writer was selecting were intended to deliver a very specific message.

So, the writers of Mark and John simply skip the Christmas story.  That's right.  Not one mention in either Gospel of any of the details we associate with this time of year.

That leaves Matthew and Luke.  What have we done with their accounts?  Well, we have mashed them together into one grand scheme, rather like a Hollywood production.  Cue the angel Gabriel announcing to Mary what is to come (Luke).  Cue Joseph planning to break the engagement because Mary is pregnant (Matthew).Cue Caesar Augustus sending out a decree to have "all the world registered" (Luke).  Cue Joseph and Mary traveling to Bethlehem where she gives birth and places the baby in a manger (Luke).

So, who tells us about the shepherds?  (Luke)
The angels singing? (Luke)
How about the wise men visiting? (Matthew)
And what of Joseph and Mary journeying to Egypt because Herod plans to kill all the baby boys? (Matthew)

Do you begin to see the issue?  We have taken two separate accounts that do NOT duplicate details and have made of them one story.  And that story gives rise to the nativity scene.

So no where in the Gospel accounts do we ever have a grand scene with everyone coming to the stable.  And what about that stable?  Who tells us about that?  No one.  That too has been part of the presumption.  The brief cryptic statement in Luke's gospel is that the baby was laid in a manger "because there was no room in the inn."  Of course, our presumption is that an inn must have been like a motel, sort of the Bethlehem Marriott or some such.  One writer, however, suggests that what the statement may be referring to is that there was no room in the guest room.  Not quite as picturesque, is it?

In the process we tend to lose the reason that the account in Matthew focused on details such as the visit by the wise men.  And, where did the THREE wise men detail come from? Again, no where--except that there are three gifts mentioned.

We also lose the reason that the account from Luke focused on lowly shepherds.

Oh, I will keep my nativity.  But I won't assume that the story that is being told is one grand continuous uninterrupted narrative.  Because it isn't. 

Merry Olde England

Several months ago, my husband and I decided that it would be nice to spend Christmas with our daughter and son-in-law. They are currently living in England, so we began planning. Things began to fall very nicely into place.

After making sure such a trip would fit with their plans, we first secured a place to stay.

We made arrangements to stay at a pub with lodging rooms. The place has only 4 or 5 rooms, and bookings fill up quickly.

When we first walked in the door, we hesitated. The check in desk is...the inside of the pub. A very charming place--and with free Wi-fi!

Our daughter had made various arrangements to make our Christmas trip a festive series of events. Herewith, a quick review.

First, a Christmas concert at Royal Albert Hall.

Then on Christmas Eve day, a performance of The Nutcracker Suite Ballet--a Christmas favorite. The photo below is of the screen curtain before the performance began--no photos permitted once it began.

Afterwards, we walked down to see Parliament buildings, and the mounted guards.

For Christmas Eve service, we went to St. John's Wood C of E church. The service included a performance of Haydn's St. Nicholas Mass--a very small choir of only eight singers, but it was one of the best choral performances I have ever heard.

We had Christmas dinner with our daughter and son-in-law at their flat. Among the foods prepared--gammon. That is fresh ham. Everything was very tasty.

The day after Christmas, Boxing Day in the U.K., we walked first to Primrose Hill, where there is a commanding view of London, then to the Regent's Park. The sun sets quite early in the more northern latitude of London.

Our final treat, on our last full day in London, was a trip to the British Museum to see its current special exhibit on the Book of the Dead. No photos from us, but you can get a taste of the experience if you visit the museum's website.

Somehow, we were fortunate enough to fly to Heathrow after all the problems that snow had inflicted on the airport, and we returned home after East Coast airports had reopened following the Christmas blizzard. Not sure how we did that, but we are grateful for traveling mercies.

So, it wasn't the twelve days of Christmas, but a lovely five days of Christmas.

Hope your Christmas was as merry and happy as ours.

HAPPY NEW YEAR to all!

A Christmas Adventure

One of the most vivid of memories that I have, growing up as a child in southern Africa, is how the missionaries celebrated Christmas. It is quite a different thing to celebrate Christmas in the southern hemisphere. So many of our images—reinforced in carols and stories—are of an idyllic kind of Christmas, probably from the Victorian era. But, in a place where Christmas falls in the middle of summer, the images of celebrating Christmas are quite different.

In Southern Rhodesia, where my parents were, missionaries were in the habit of getting together around Christmas to have a Christmas picnic. With Christmas falling in the summer, a picnic was a natural way to celebrate. There was one indelibly memorable Christmas picnic, in 1958. The missionaries had gathered at Matopo Mission, in the heart of the Matopo Hills (photo above on Matopo Hills taken by my nephew) near Bulawayo, for Christmas. The picnic location was one of the out-station schools, which was about eight miles from the main mission station. (An out-station school might consist of several rough buildings, but not proper enclosed building.)

The missionaries in Southern Rhodesia and their children were gathered, some 50 or 60 people in all. The festivities included a picnic lunch and a program that we missionary children had arranged. In the middle of a baseball game, it began to rain lightly, and then it poured. People dashed for the open buildings at the school to wait out the rain. They proceeded to eat the lunch, have the program and then readied to make their way back to main mission.

The road to reach the school included crossing a dry river bed. When the entourage of cars, vans and pickups reached the river bed, they now found a raging river. The rain that had disrupted the baseball game at the picnic site had dumped massive quantities of rain further upstream. There was no way to cross the river. Consequently, two missionaries men hiked back to the mission through the Matopo Hills. They were able to reach the mission without having to cross the river, as they did not have to follow the road. Once back at the mission, they got the mission tractor to drive back and rescue the stranded missionary party. The tractor had a diesel engine, so even though the water was still high, they were able to drive it across the river. They had attached a flatbed trailer to the tractor, and had brought along chains. The plan was that the missionaries could be loaded on the flatbed trailer. However, on examination, the adults finally decided they could have all their passengers inside the vehicles, and then hook up and tow each vehicle across the swollen river.

And that’s how the picnic ended. Bit by bit, the entire party was rescued. I can still remember how much fun we children had with this most adventuresome picnic. Now, more than 50 years after this event, I can still recall the Christmas picnic where we were flooded!

The Annual Letter

Yes, you know what I mean, don't you?

The annual Christmas letter. This is a tradition that I maintain, and that my husband...perhaps is less enthusiastic about. My contention is that it helps me keep up, ever so briefly admittedly, with family and friends--particularly those who are far away.

And then came blogging--and Facebook. Is it still necessary to keep up with far-away folk? I contend it is, and here's why.

For me.

That's right--you read correctly. The annual Christmas letter has become a kind of year in miniature about our family life. Oh, true, I try not to tell embarrassing things. And I omit those objectionable photos. But, each year I have written a one page letter, and now with computer technology, I can sometimes include a photo or two. I have these letters, still saved on my computer (I even went back in years and imported old letters!), going back to the early 1990s. So, I have almost 20 years of letters.

I can read through these letters and see snippets--my thoughts on our children's graduations from school, my grief on my mother's death, celebrations of marriages of our children, sadness on having pets die, joy at bringing new pets into our lives, fun times with friends, and other passages--retirements, Penn State victories. And on and on the list goes.

I do not keep a daily diary. I am just not disciplined enough to do that. Admittedly, now with blogging, I can also go back and read of some of these same events. But the Christmas letter is our lives for a year written in miniature.

So, I will keep the annual tradition. I will try to be sparing--not just the length of what I write (a page limit helps), but also of not sharing too much. But I will write.

And I will look forward to reading those Christmas letters we receive and that I read. Hearing about your lives in miniature too.

And now, the informal poll--Christmas letter: yes? or no?
----------------------
Candy cane stationery available at http://www.northpolestation.com/printable-christmas-stationary-1.html

I can't help myself--GRRRR--stationEry when it is a letter. Of course, maybe they mean that the North Pole isn't moving, as in stationAry. But with global warming, it might ...

Telling the Story

In our house, we have a small nativity scene. The figurines are made of bisque and are painted in soft pastels. Everyone looks perfect--Mary, hands slightly raised. Joseph, attentively leaning in. The wise men--lined up as three sumptuously dressed kings bearing gifts. A shepherd boy, sheep slung over his shoulder. A sheep turns to look at a baby in a manger, while a donkey waits patiently.




This scene is so familiar to those of us who celebrate Christmas.

I would venture to say that few of us stop to think--wait. They couldn't all be there at once. What we have done with our imagined Christmas scene is place all the participants in one space at one time.

A number of years ago, I read a marvelous book by the Catholic theologian Raymond Brown, entitled The Birth of The Messiah. He explained as lucidly as anything I have ever read WHY the various aspects of the birth story were included by the Gospel writers.

Stop to consider for a moment several things about the birth of Jesus stories. First, only Matthew and Luke tell us anything about his birth. Mark is too rushed, plunging headlong into the "good news" account that he completely omits any reference to the birth. John is too poetic to deal with mundane details liking someone being born. So, it is up to the writers of the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke to tell us any birth stories.

Second, these accounts were written long after the events of Jesus' life. One implication of that timing is that it is unlikely that these stories were to be considered eyewitness accounts, as we might think today of a newspaper story. They were written by writers living within early church communities, and they were intended to appeal to that community. The symbolism selected for inclusion in the story had a very specific purpose. So, for example, Matthew's gospel emphasizes the Jewish tradition. Luke was written by someone attuned to Gentile sensibilities. It is Matthew who tells of the wise men; Luke tells of the shepherds. Neither gospel tells of both simultaneously. So, the combined crowded manger scene is a convenience we have constructed.

Third, Brown argues that the gathering of materials that formed all the gospels likely followed this sequence. Immediately after Jesus' death, which would have been a stunningly catastrophic event for those who witnessed it first-hand, his followers would have recalled his death. So the death stories were the first to be gathered. Then, his followers would have recalled events from Jesus' life and ministry. You can almost hear them saying--remember when he . . . So the works and words were gathered next. Finally, as their understanding grew, they would have asked--was not this Messiah known from the moment of his birth. Was his birth not marked by special events. And so, they gathered the birth stories, emphasizing NOT eye-witness history, but emphasizing all the important signs and symbols that said--this is the Messiah.

In some ways, we have corrupted these marvelous accounts. By lumping them all together, we lose the singularity of a baby being born; of an unmarried young woman--a teen--discovering she is pregnant; of an honorable older man defying convention and deciding to marry his pregnant (by someone else) fiance anyway; of wise men from other countries, studying religion and seeking in the stars some sign marking a new revelation; of shepherds who were tending their flocks at night, simple folk engaged in an age-old occupation.

We have even added some of our own symbolism, that has formed part of our vision of the Bethlehem scene. We imagine snow on the ground, and a hard cold night. The image in our mind's eye is more attuned to the visions implanted by Charles Dickens and his wonderful evocative A Christmas Carol than of first century dusty Palestine.


As someone who loves to write, I can really appreciate the skill of telling a story--and a good one at that. A story can convey the truth, without every detail having to be true.

Return of Saturday Soups...and More!

My husband and I began decorating for Christmas right around Thanksgiving. We are not really trying to rush the season--it's just that with us both (mostly) retired, we can do things on our own schedule.

Today, we finished up with the last touches on the Christmas tree. It began snowing in the morning, and all day a light gentle snow fell--not enough to accumulate, but enough to give a cheery Christmas look to the outdoors. Trees both indoor and out are decorated.

So, herewith, the pics, and then soup--I promise.

Now to soup. Tomorrow is our church's annual Soup Bistro. I have written about this topic before, explaining that everything is donated--the supplies, and the volunteer time. The beneficiary is a local organization that helps people in need.

We made the New England Fish Chowder--yum. Lots of chunky vegetables, and fish (of course) along with whole milk and cream. Oh, oh, oh. . .

Tomorrow we will be tired--but tonight we are happy.

NEW ENGLAND SEAFOOD CHOWDER
12 SERVINGS

Ingredients

8 bacon slices, chopped
2 large onions, chopped
1 Tbsp. dried thyme
2 bay leaves
4 cups seafood stock or clam juice
1 tsp. saffron threads **
2 cups diced peeled white potatoes (1/2 inch dice)
3 cups diced peeled butternut squash (1/2 inch dice)
1 lb. chopped frozen kale
5 cups whole milk
1 cup half and half
2 tsps. salt
3 lbs. mixed fresh white fish, cut into ¾-inch pieces.

Method

Saute chopped bacon in heavy soup pot until fully cooked and all fat is rendered. Remove bacon from pot and discard bacon fat, leaving only a small amount of fat for sautéing onions.

Add onions to the pot and sauté til soft, about 5 minutes. Add thyme and bay leaf and stir over low heat. Add seafood stock and saffron and bring to a simmer.

Carefully place potatoes and butternut squash cubes into the hot broth. Bring the broth just back to a simmer. Add chopped frozen kale. Immediately add the milk, the half and half, and the salt. Add bacon back into the soup. Bring to a low simmer.

Add fish pieces to soup and turn off heat immediately. Simmer until all the ingredients are cooked through.

** On the off chance you don't buy saffron threads every week, I would suggest you can skip these. A small portion--a teeny tiny amount in a regular spice bottle--cost us about $15 in a local grocery store. I gulped, but bought it anyway. Since it adds just a touch of flavor, and mostly is used for the yellow color--I would say. . .skip it. Really.

Bit Players at Christmas

I am sure the challenge each Christmas is to find a newness in the story that we have heard or told time after time.

And I am also sure there are times that we get so caught up in the demands of the season that we completely miss the arrival of the Christ child, albeit in a guise that we were not expecting.

When my husband and I first moved to our city, we went church hunting and shopping. We settled (for a time) on a church within the city limits. We liked the minister and his thoughtful challenging sermons. We were not overwhelmed with the congregation’s friendliness, but figured maybe it would just take a bit of time.

One Sunday during Advent, a small crisis occurred. This church was some 20 blocks from the center of town, but it was on a main street, and as all churches are, it was a magnet for people in need.

That Sunday, a seedy looking man came wandering in. He asked one of the greeters for help. She pushed him aside, intent on her duties of welcoming and greeting people coming to church. Next, the seedy man encountered one of the more senior church members. That member pushed the man aside, saying—you’ll have to see the pastor, but he’s busy right now.

(photo from the BBC)

Finally, the man in need encountered the pastor. Now, it was just time for church to begin. SO, the pastor who was donning his robe temporized and asked the man to wait around until after church. With that last brush off, the seedy needy man left the church and went back out into the winter cold.

Something about the pathos of that moment struck the pastor. As it happened one of the carols for the service that day was “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem”. Whatever the pastor had planned to preach got shelved, and instead he spent the time musing on the well-known words of the carol.

He slowly read through the first verse. . .

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.

As he concluded those words, he just paused and then he said—yet in the dark streets shineth the everlasting Light. . .OR DOES IT?

Well, the church sat in complete silence. And it was a guilty silence.

Then when as a congregation we sang the carol, it was all we could do to choke out the words:

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is giv'n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heav'n.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him, still
The dear Christ enters in.

-------------------

painting of Nativity by Gerrit van Honthorst

Sometimes we encounter the Christ Child just as we are rushing around getting ready to announce his coming. Or just as we are greeting members and friends of the church, or just as we are getting ready to preach the word about the good news.

The moment of grace that Sunday was that the pastor redirected his words to make us connect the words we sang with our actions. Of course, we would much rather focus on a helpless newborn baby. We would much rather listen to singing angels. We would much rather ogle mysterious visitors bearing gifts than deal with just one of the bit players of Christmas.

At this time of year, remember the bit players--they have far more need of our attention than angels, or shepherds, or wise men. It may be that in the bit players, we encounter the Christ Child.

Saturday Soups-- # 8 Winter, 2008

Tomorrow, which it almost is, ushers in winter. Hee hee--some of you are already deeply mired in winter. Snow up to where?

Anyway, I'll keep the soup recipe REAL simple this time--not one from my church bistro which, I admit, can be arduous at times to prepare. This recipe is so easy, even a caveman. . .oops. I don't want to be guilty of specism.

We have snow forecast for tonight, and somehow on a snowy evening nothing pleases me more than honest to goodness simple potato soup. So, here it is--this is pretty much the recipe my mother followed when making potato soup. . .

Potato Cheese Soup

Serves 4 (please note, this is less than the usual recipes I post)

Ingredients:
4 medium potatoes, peeled and quartered
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 cup water
1 tsp. salt
2 cups milk
3 Tbsp. butter (or margarine) melted
2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
2 Tbsp. minced fresh parsley
Dash of white pepper
1 cup shredded Swiss cheese (or cheddar)

1. In a saucepan, bring potatoes, onion,water and salt to a boil.

2. Reduce heat; cover and simmer until potatoes are tender. DO NOT DRAIN.

3. Mash potatoes slightly.

4. Stir in milk.

5. In a small bowl, blend melted butter, flour, parsley and pepper. Stir into potato mixture.

6. Cook and stir over medium heat until soup is thickened and bubbly.

7. Remove from heat; add cheese and stir until almost melted.

Stay warm, and enjoy.

I will suspend posting soup recipes for a couple of weeks--I send Seasons' Greeting to you all and wish for you a Joyous Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa--whatever you celebrate.

And I pray for a better New Year than we have seen for a while.

The Goose WAS Getting Fat. . .

Yesterday, we had our second Christmas dinner. Since we were in London for Christmas Day itself, we waited until Epiphany to celebrate a Christmas dinner with our son, his wife, and my father and stepmother. It was a wonderful occasion, and our meal was delicious. We had roast chicken, which was once considered a Sunday special dinner, along with the usual trimmings--mashed potatoes, broccoli, corn, crescent rolls and cranberry sauce.

Ah--the goose, you are wondering. What goose was getting fat? Well, that would be the goose we had for our first Christmas dinner. Before we traveled to London, our daughter asked if we would like goose for Christmas. Hmmmm--I could not recall ever having had goose, for Christmas or otherwise, so--sure, why not? After all, the song says "Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat. . ."

Getting the provisions for Christmas dinner is why we went to Borough Market (see previous post). In addition to the goose, which came from The Ginger Pig, the other foods included: brussel sprouts still on the stalk, and fresh carrots and parsnips looking as though they were just harvested.

My daughter and her fiance had done all the reading on preparing a goose. So, while one set about rendering the goose fat, the other salted and peppered the goose. Oh, and then filled the goose with mashed potatoes made with goose fat. All ready to pop in the oven.

It seems that there is practically a cult of goose fat in the UK. Read all about the benefits here. We didn't go to quite the lengths extolled on the Internet. No potatoes roasted in goose fat. But I was amazed at the lack of any odor from the goose fat.

With the Christmas dinner all prepared, and set out on the table, all that remained was for us to enjoy.

And we did!

Shattered Shells

I could also title this blog--Ice storm Redux.

Here is the visual evidence of all the clatter last night. Even as we went to sleep, we could hear the ice crashing into the house. Nothing more broken, but most unnerving to hear!

This is a brick walkway between our sunporch and our pool, now covered with fallen ice.

Close-up of same brick walkway.

And finally, our blue-tarp covered picnic table now littered with ice shards. Looks as though someone had a mad party smashing champagne glasses all night--and sounded the same way!

While driving around this morning, running errands, we saw many trees that had lost limbs. I cannot remember such a bad ice storm in central PA.

ANNOUNCING TWO WEEK HIATUS

We are off to London--to see the Queen? Probably not, but to see our daughter. No blogs written or read until we return.

Cheers to all--Merry Christmas

Happy New Year!

It's Beginning. . .

. . .to look a lot like Christmas!

(Sorry, since I have now embedded that song in your brain for the remainder of your day.)

Considering our holiday schedule this year, and our impending trip to London, we decorated our house earlier than usual for Christmas. But, until today, I wasn't really in a Christmas mood.

Oh, I had the radio tuned to an XM channel that played lovely classical Christmas carols all day, and the house smelled of bayberry and pine. But my mood hadn't kicked into Christmas mode. And then, today, it did.

It snowed!

I am bemused at how much snow puts me in a Christmas spirit. Having grown up in the southern hemisphere, where Christmas falls in the middle of summer, I should be able to find any weather Christmas worthy. But somehow, the mental picture I have of Christmas is very Dickensian, and it absolutely requires snow.

So, today sets the mood.

Even the one cat and the dog got into the mood.

Inside and outside, all decorated for Christmas.

Daytime and night all set for Christ-

mas

Now, if I could just get the baking, the shopping, the Christmas card sending all done. Then, I'd really be in the mood.