Homemade Christmas

Many times in my life I've made the statement that I might have been born in the wrong century. That thought ran through my head again this morning as I looked over our Christmas decorations for the tree. As I touched each one, I felt blessed to see the creativity that our family has in their fingers.

Every year for many years my mother has gifted me with a few tatted ornaments that she's made. Each Christmas when I hang them on our tree, I think of the work that went into them and the time Mom took to give me this gift of herself. Each year the snowflakes and bells and angels and medallions are more precious to me. I recognize that using her creativity is more difficult for Mom as Macular Degeneration has stolen the majority of her eye sight. How she could do that tiny work with the string and shuttle, tatting the knots into beautiful lacey shapes is beyond my comprehension, even when her sight was good, and is even more amazing to me now!

I think of the other handmade things that we place on our tree each year. There are counted cross-stitch Hummel figures and paper quilled items that Kerry has done. There are flat wooden toy soldiers and mittens and reindeer and sleighs that Erinne has painted, and a number of real egg shells that she blew the contents from, cleaned and then painted in a Ukranian style. There are unbreakable patchwork balls of styrofoam covered with fabric that have been hung since the days when Megan was an infant. Many have been made since the day a friend showed me the simple technique of pressing the fabric edges into the crisp ball. Megan, herself, has some that I made for her with velvet remnants. I've crafted a variety of decorations over the years, mostly 'unbreakables' so that the children can touch them. There are small wood birdhouses with snowy scenes, tiny broomstick horses, little lollipops, glass balls which I painted with designs of the season. There are clear beaded icicles which drip off the ends of the tree branches and various felt mittens adorned with felt 'sticker' snowflakes or stripes.

This morning as I surveyed our collection, I thought of other "homemade Christmases." Uppermost in my mind are our childhood gifts. One year Daddy built stilts for us. What a time we had trying to learn to walk on them! Another year he built a go-cart for my brothers, with a pair of real bucket seats for the driver and passenger, a genuine car steering wheel and a lawn mower engine to make it run. When I say he 'built it' I mean just that. He used a metal bed frame, cutting and welding it to form the chassis. I remember my first effort at driving that vehicle! I drove it just fine until I got to the end of the cul de sac and turned the wheel to make the corner. At the age of eleven or twelve, and inexperienced as I was behind the wheel, I had some trouble with the coordination of gas and brake pedals. I took the turn too fast. I ended up in the twisted vines and underbrush of the lot at the end of the street, laughing my fool head off!

An earlier time, Santa brought a doll cradle made by my Dad. A pink doll chest and closet were a gift from my grandfather, who built them for me. I still have those three wooden pieces, and will, until I've left this earth. They are precious to me, and probably stand out in my thoughts because the men were less likely to craft a gift than the women in the family were. My Grandmother, Mom and her sisters were always doing hand work, and I was the recipient of much of it. There's a photo around here somewhere which shows my brothers and I in matching cowboy shirts that Mom sewed for us back in the 1950's. Embroidered pillow cases, lacey doilies or lace-edged tablecloths and towels, knitted sweaters, dresses, patchwork pillows and placemats. The family was a talented and loving bunch!

We've tried to keep some of that 'handmade' spirit alive through the years since the children and grandchildren were born. There have been doll quilts and clothes, even handmade baby dolls, and three large plywood doll houses furnished and fit for any Barbie family. Whatever I could do, I did, as my parents and grandparents did, with love and a hope that it would please the recipient.

As I reflect upon all those past homemade Christmases and the wonderful gifts that came my way, I am warmed by the love behind each one, and I wonder if the givers knew when they crafted them, how much more they left me with than a material gift. They gave of themselves and their time, they gave joy in their sharing, and they left me with a lifetime of memories to treasure. I pray that I might do the same for those I love.

'Tis the Season...

Ok, it's here....the season to be jolly. Party time has arrived, and the celebrations abound, with the goodies piled high and calling loudly to come and taste. For one like me, with a severe weakness for dark chocolate and anything else that looks good, it's a sure cause for a few extra pounds.

It's baking time too. I love to make Christmas cookies. Cut out angels and Santas and reindeer and stars are decorated with frosting and colored sugar and edible glitter. Of course each must be taste-tested before they can be placed out for the public. Candy, also, which I make only once a year, will be made. I use Mom's old recipe for semi-sweet chocolate fudge, sometimes adding peanut butter or coconut to the basic, delicious mixture. Then, there are the orange peel candies, a delectible mixture which I could never turn down. The family's traditional nut bread is yet another 'must have.'

There are some temptations tat pass me which I can resist, but I'm afraid that sweets are not one of them. And, please...don't pass the salty snacks either. Although we use a potassium-based salt substitute in our home and though we choose 'low sodium' products, we still get a good dose of salt in everything we eat. Why does everything on the store shelves need to have so much salt added?

I think I should walk every day through the year, just to prepare for the extra calories consumed at Christmas-time. But, alas, I don't follow that thought. Instead, I add the goodies to the 'saddlebags', and have to deal with it however I can, after the fact.

Well, it is what it is. The fact is that I have very little self-discipline regarding my diet, so let the party begin!

Do You Hear What I Hear?

So...this is Christmas. I heard the bells the other day in front of the Walmart...silver bells rung by the tired, cold and wet Salvation Army member who hoped for a few donations in his bucket. Jingle, jingle, jingle went the handful of coins the child before me dropped through the slot in the red pail.

There's a star in the East, shining brightly on these cold winter nights. It reminds us of the First Noel, when Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ, was found by Three Kings, away in a manger in a little village of Bethlehem. On a very Silent Night, the shepherds watched their flocks, and one might have said, 'hark, the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born king!' In the deep mid-winter, long, long ago, that Christmas time was very different from the way we celebrate today. People saw a child who'd been born in a manger, and they asked, 'what child is this?' Today, most of us know in our hearts that it was the birthday of a King, and yet, we continue to deck the halls with bows of holly and have ourselves a merry little Christmas, with too little thought of the real significance of Christ's birth.

I wonder, as I wander, how we've gotten so far from the true meaning of Christmas. How did Jolly Old Saint Nicholas become a star of wonder? Are the wrapped presents he brings more precious than the son of God, wrapped in swaddling clothes? Is the mystery of such a special child being born to become the Savior of all mankind so much less important than the mystery of a fat, bearded man who has reindeer who fly him through a dark night?

As we watch the faces of our tiny tots, with their eyes all aglow with the reflection of Christmas lights on the tree, let us teach them to bow and offer thanks to God for the blessings He gave us when He sent us the gift of His only Son. When we walk through the winter wonderland, surrounded by the holly and the ivy, let us focus on the rugged stall in Bethlehem and what happened there. While we are filling the stockings before the fireplace, let the bright flame of Jesus abide in our hearts and let Him fill us with the love He'd have us to give to others.

However you choose to celebrate this season, we wish you a merry Christmas, Joy to the world...and may God rest ye, merry gentlemen!

Log Cabin Life

Sometimes, throughout my life, I've wondered if I was born in the wrong century. I've always loved old things and am interested in the ways things were done before machines did the work for us. For most of my life, I've dreamed of living in a log cabin. There's is a certain charm to them, a warmth and coziness that doesn't exist in many stick built places with stark sheet rocked walls and wall to wall carpeting. The charm must be the wood.

In the 1980's we had an opportunity to purchase or rent a newly built, 3 bedroom cabin in the woods in the Springs. We had hoped to buy the place, with a 'rent to own' sort of deal, and the owner was in agreement with that sort of arrangement.

We moved into the place, putting all of our antique stuff and faux antique furnishings into the cabin. They fit better there than they have in any other environment we've ever tried to use them. Our old bed frames and quilts looked as if they belonged there. The long harvest table, surrounded by bow back chairs gave us plenty of room to feed our own mob, as well as the guests who made their way to the dinner table.

There was a wood burning stove in the large, front to back, room which housed our living room and our dining room. It was a good-sized stove, and when loaded, the fire would last all night, keeping us toasty and warm. We rarely had to use the hot water heat. A few times we cooked meals on the wood stove, due to an electrical outage. It did the job quite nicely!

The wide board pine floors and the flat log interior walls made the house feel so homey. We placed rag area rugs in the rooms, but not room-sized ones. We liked the noisey wood floors, and they are so much easier to keep clean than carpets or large rugs are.

The front porch was wonderful too! We could sit outside, day or night, rain or shine, and listen to the birds, feel the breeze, watch the squirrels and marvel at the ever-changing world around us. All in all, it just felt like 'home'.

Unfortunately, circumstances did not allow the purchase of what we called "the Log Nest", but I've never been sorry for the time we lived there. Since moving out, I've kept the dream in my heart that we'd one day own one. We did have the chance to buy property from my brother and thought hard about the idea of building a log home there. But, for many reasons, we chose a move-in ready, newly-constructed tract home. It turned out, in the long run, to be the best choice for the time being, but there still lives the memory of 'the Log Nest' . The hope remains that one day we will have the chance again to build and live in a fairly roomy log cabin, warmed by a wood stove, walled inside with wood, and entered by way of a front porch. It so appeals to the 'old soul' within me.

A Few Thoughts about Christmas

It's here...the Christmas season has arrived. I don't know how it managed to barrel in so fast, but it's all around us now. The stores have had trees lit, decorations on display and Christmas music playing since the Halloween things were taken out. A few of the neighbors have had some of their outside lights and wreaths up since mid-December.


However, for me, it's too early if all this begins before mid-December. I like to enjoy the anticipation, but then I like to have it linger 'til at least mid-January too. Most of the people we know dismantle the decorations the week between Christmas and New Year's Day.


I tend to purchase gifts all year long, and I'm usually finished with the buying in October...giving me time for wrapping, for making my Christmas cards and getting those out in the mail within a reasonable time. Then, around the middle of December we drag out all of the ornaments and garlands and lights and greenery. Since we still cling to our old tradition of a real, and fragrant, cut evergreen tree, it can't be placed in the house too early, as can the artificial ones.


Artificial...hmmm. It has suddenly occured to me that most things about Christmas these days are somewhat artificial. Yes, the trees, the garlands, the lights which used to be candles. Some of that is for safety reasons, of course. But...today's views of Christmas tend to be out of whack, in my opinion. It seems to be all about what to buy, how to meet the financial strains, giving out of obligation, rather than a truly giving heart. And...what about the REAL reason for the season... the birth of Christ, the God-man who came to bring salvation and love to a world lost in its own way? When I look around and see what happens at Christmas, I feel that many of us are still lost in our own way.


It would be so nice to hear "Blessed Christmas" and know that the words mean what they say. It would be wonderful to lay aside the day where we would really focus on the gifts that God gave to us on that very first Christmas night. It would be so different if we sacrificed the spending for presents, and chose, instead, to dream up real gifts of giving: time, services, talents. I think it would seem more like a true Christmas season if everyone did that.

Please don't misunderstand. I enjoy Christmas, all aspects of it...the lights, the smells, the busy days, the thinking of what to give or buy for someone. I enjoy it, yes, I do. But the best part of it all for me is a candlelight service at church, totally devoted to the holiness, the mystery, the wonder of the true Christmas story. The hymns with words that tell of the coming of the promised Savior, the songs that proclaim, as the angels did, "Glory to God in the Highest. Peace and Good Will to men".

There are some who would disagree with some of my thoughts here, and they are free to do so. This is my blog of my thoughts and opinions, and certainly, I give my reading audience the right to have their own views. After all, it is the season of giving!

Thanksgiving Day

Families near will gather round
Friends will join us too
Food and drink will abound
And there is much to-do.

Enjoy the gathering kinship
And relish the special day
But don't forget to include the worship
And to give thanks in a special way.

Count the blessings we've been given
Count each one with prayer
For there would be not one given
If not for God being always there

From His hand these gifts come
From His heart, with love.
Whether you're near or far from home
Today, thank the Father above.

KBW

Another Thanksgiving Memory

The week of Thanksgiving, 1985 was a gloomy one. My father, who had been diagnosed with lung cancer two years before, succomed to the disease on that Monday evening. The days following were a whirl of activity, getting my brothers to NY from SC, making sure my children were cared for, being Mom's constant companion, making funeral arrangements.

Since our pastor, Carl V. S., was away for the holiday, we had the added chore of finding someone else who would officiate over the service. Fortunately, a phone call to Fred Jones, in Georgia, brought success. Fred had been the pastor of a small Baptist church in EH where Mom and Dad had attended before Fred and his family were moved to Georgia. Fred had ministered to my father while he was sick, and led Dad to his salvation in Christ. It seemed fitting that Fred would be the man for the farewell services, and we were so thankful that he would leave his duties and family holiday to meet our needs.

Through the week, I seemed to be running on nervous energy. I cleaned Mom's house, comforted her, made phone calls, and basically took care of business. Thanksgiving dinner, and also my birthday that year, was the last thing we worried about. My brothers arrived, taking up residence in their old bedroom. The Pastor arrived, and we put him into the guest room. My husband returned from his trip and took over my child care duties.

Thanksgiving dinner was pulled together without much thought, but I remember it being the same foods we have on the table annually. It was not the joyous gathering we'd enjoyed in other years, but it was a family gathering, none the less.
I found myself thanking God for having the opportunity to know and love the wonderful man who'd lived only 61 years. My heart ached to have him back at the head of the table. I longed to hold his rough hand as we circled in our thanksgiving prayer. I hurt so much that I couldn't cry.

The funeral services were held on Saturday, much later than we'd have liked, but due to the holiday and travelers, as well as scheduling at the morticians, it couldn't be helped. I remember that it was a 'good' service, as funerals go....honoring Dad. I don't remember much of what was said, however. I was catering to my mother, who seemed to be in a deep fog for most of the week. At the cemetary, I made sure that my brother was at one side of her, and my husband on the other. It's a good thing, as her knees buckled, and she would have gone to the ground, had they not been there.

Thanksgivings come every year, and the memories do, too. These days I trade the sad memories for happier ones. I remember well the man I made a Daddy on the morning after Thanksgiving 1947, who worked hard to provide for his little family and for the future of his wife. I remember that he was a patriotic veteran of WWII, serving in Italy and in North Africa. I remember his smile, and his hearty laugh, and some of his comical sayings. I remember so many things about him. I remember....and I miss him.