Boy, it's cold! It's this kind of weather when I endulge myself, filling the garden tub to the hilt with steamy, hot water and bath salts. I lie in it for as long as I can stand it or until the marrow of my bones warms to a natural temperature. I honestly do not like my garden tub. It's not built for comfort, regardless of what builder's tell you. The faucets are about a foot from the right hand corner, as you face the tub, and they're in the way of sitting on the edge and getting into the bath easily. I have trouble enough climbing over the wall nowadays, without an obstacle course to contend with.
We also have a walk in shower. The size is good, but it has two benches molded into the unit, so that cuts down on the floor space. I will admit that I prefer it to the upstairs bath, however, which is a normal tub and shower combination.
What I wouldn't give for my clawfoot, cast iron tub! It has a new owner, the ones who bought the old house. It's one of the two things that I really miss from that place. (The other is the wood fireplace.) When we built that house in the late 1960's, it had the usual tub-shower combo. After a few years of attempting to lie in that thing which looked somewhat like a shoe box, I told my former husband that I wished we had a deep claw-foot tub like my grandmother had. Eventually we found one, and it became a birthday gift. We paid more to have it installed than we did for the tub, but be that as it may, it was just what I wanted.
When I soaked in it, the hot water stayed hot, due to the composition of the tub. The water came up to nearly my shoulders and would completely cover all by my neck and head when I reclined against the comfort of the slanted end. Oh the joy! I must have spent a good deal of time in that place, as one of my girls wrote as one of her most vivid memories of me that I was always in the bathtub! Well, a gal has to find a release from stress somehow, does she not?
There was a day when my middle child came in as I was bathing. She was three years old, dressed in Healthtex plaid overalls, and she was holding saltines to her eye. trying to look through the little holes. She told me that she had cracks in her eye. Then, she began to break off tiny crumbs and place them into the tub. I asked what she was up to, and her answer? "I'm feeding the ducks." Now, that's one of my fond memories.... a sweet little girl, keeping Mommy company while Mom soaked in a saltine polluted bath! Ah well...
I digress. I miss that tub. Not just for my own comfort and warmth, but for ease as a Mom. It would hold two or three toddlers easily...and we would laugh our way through bathtime while we formed strange horns and hair dos on sudsy heads. We'd giggle as we recited Shel Silverstein's poem...'There's too many kids in this tub. There's too many KIDS in this TUB! I just washed a behind I'm SURE wasn't mine, there's too many kids in this TUB!"
Who else do you know who can wax poetic over a silly bathtub? And who else do you know who misses one so much that it nearly brings her to tears? In my NEXT house, whether here on earth or "over yonder", you can be sure that there will be a comfortable, cast iron bathtub that sits on claw feet!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Winter Kids
As a Grandmother, I watch the kids of today as the entertain themselves. It's so much different from what we did as children, and even from what my own children did when they were young. However, there are some things that don't seem to change very much. It's winter-time fun.
When the snows come, most kids want to be outside to play in the fluffy, cold, wet stuff. They stand with heads back and eyes gazing upward, with their tongues out, attempting to catch the snowflakes on their tonge. They might try to catch a few snowflakes in their mitten-clad hands, in order to compare the shapes, becasue they've heard that no two snowflakes are the same. It's a futile chore, as snowflakes rarely can be compared by the naked eye, and most don't last long enough to compare at all.
There seems to be a universal trait among children in a freshly fallen snow. They love to mar as much of the virgin snow as possible by leaving footprints in it. They will walk miles in a yard, marching in circles or zig-zagging narrow paths around the trees and taller bushes. The shorter
plant life, which lies dormant beneath the snow, will likely be tromped upon, but will emerge in Spring as lively as it was before it began its long-winter nap. Kids don't map their route, they just make it with little thought.
Whenever there is a snowfall, kids build snowmen. It doesn't matter how little or how much accumulation there is, children will attempt to form one snowball after the other to be stacked into a snowperson. Of course, the more snow, the better. This will allow a vast array of architecture to be formed . Each child will have his or her own idea of a snow fort, igloo, or walled structure. It's fun to watch them create.
There is the fun, too, of lying on your back, and flapping your arms up and down to form snow angels. Collecting buckets of clean snow with which to make home made ice cream or just to eat with flavored syrup is a favorite activity too. Friendly snowball fights with neighbors and friends and the bringing in of a snowball to store in the deep freeze are things that kids have been known to do. But, their favorite snow activity would be sledding.
Bundled in so many thick layers of clothing that they can barely board their sleds, they waddle to the plastic saucer or their long toboggan, and climb aboard. Down the hill they race, with the cold wind biting their cheeks and bits of ice flying toward their faces. The have little control over their vehicles, but it usually doesn't matter. The ride the hill until the sled stops, or the toss themselves off when they are ready. Then comes the trudging to the summit. It's a bit harder than it was to descend. Often the snow is slippery, and it's a lot of work to climb back to the top.
Thinking back to my own kids, I remember dressing them to go outside to play in the snow. Snowsuits, warm socks, boots, hats, mittens and scarves. Just as the fifth one would get out the door, one of the others would need to come in to use the bathroom. Undress, do the deed, redress, repeat with child # 2, 3, 4 and then 5. By this time, someone was ready to come inside and warm up.
I miss the snow. Here in SC we might see one day of snow per winter, but not yet, this year. The children here get as excited to see the snowfall as we did as children. I watch the three girls across the street, former Floridians, who had never seen snow until the winter of 2006. They were out the door as soon as the ground had a covering of it, no more than a light frosting. They formed tiny snowballs and began to toss them at each other. The laughter was loud, the squealing delightful. I just smiled, knowing that kids haven't really changed much, generation after generation, at least not when it comes to snow.
When the snows come, most kids want to be outside to play in the fluffy, cold, wet stuff. They stand with heads back and eyes gazing upward, with their tongues out, attempting to catch the snowflakes on their tonge. They might try to catch a few snowflakes in their mitten-clad hands, in order to compare the shapes, becasue they've heard that no two snowflakes are the same. It's a futile chore, as snowflakes rarely can be compared by the naked eye, and most don't last long enough to compare at all.
There seems to be a universal trait among children in a freshly fallen snow. They love to mar as much of the virgin snow as possible by leaving footprints in it. They will walk miles in a yard, marching in circles or zig-zagging narrow paths around the trees and taller bushes. The shorter
plant life, which lies dormant beneath the snow, will likely be tromped upon, but will emerge in Spring as lively as it was before it began its long-winter nap. Kids don't map their route, they just make it with little thought.
Whenever there is a snowfall, kids build snowmen. It doesn't matter how little or how much accumulation there is, children will attempt to form one snowball after the other to be stacked into a snowperson. Of course, the more snow, the better. This will allow a vast array of architecture to be formed . Each child will have his or her own idea of a snow fort, igloo, or walled structure. It's fun to watch them create.
There is the fun, too, of lying on your back, and flapping your arms up and down to form snow angels. Collecting buckets of clean snow with which to make home made ice cream or just to eat with flavored syrup is a favorite activity too. Friendly snowball fights with neighbors and friends and the bringing in of a snowball to store in the deep freeze are things that kids have been known to do. But, their favorite snow activity would be sledding.
Bundled in so many thick layers of clothing that they can barely board their sleds, they waddle to the plastic saucer or their long toboggan, and climb aboard. Down the hill they race, with the cold wind biting their cheeks and bits of ice flying toward their faces. The have little control over their vehicles, but it usually doesn't matter. The ride the hill until the sled stops, or the toss themselves off when they are ready. Then comes the trudging to the summit. It's a bit harder than it was to descend. Often the snow is slippery, and it's a lot of work to climb back to the top.
Thinking back to my own kids, I remember dressing them to go outside to play in the snow. Snowsuits, warm socks, boots, hats, mittens and scarves. Just as the fifth one would get out the door, one of the others would need to come in to use the bathroom. Undress, do the deed, redress, repeat with child # 2, 3, 4 and then 5. By this time, someone was ready to come inside and warm up.
I miss the snow. Here in SC we might see one day of snow per winter, but not yet, this year. The children here get as excited to see the snowfall as we did as children. I watch the three girls across the street, former Floridians, who had never seen snow until the winter of 2006. They were out the door as soon as the ground had a covering of it, no more than a light frosting. They formed tiny snowballs and began to toss them at each other. The laughter was loud, the squealing delightful. I just smiled, knowing that kids haven't really changed much, generation after generation, at least not when it comes to snow.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Homesick...
Every now and again something will cross my mind and a memory will emerge from some hidden place in the heart. Most often, when that happens, it relates to someone or somewhere in my life, which is no longer in it. Whether these people were taken from me in death, or moved on to other places in life, or a thought of a place I've lived or visited, it brings about emotion. Sometimes I call the feeling 'homesickness.'
Christmas time comes and in that season, my husband has moments of melancholy. It isn't that he's sad about the time of year, in fact, it's his favorite season. But, from the depths of his memories, some ghosts of Christmas past rise up. He grows homesick for his native state across the continent, and he misses the family members he knew as a child. They have all passed away now, and he is the patriarch of his family. He knows he cannot bring his loved ones back to this world, and it isn't so much that he wants to. But, the memories are so engraved in him that they haunt him. Christmas traditions which they practiced are among those thoughts. I've offered to incorporate them into our holidays, but even if we recreate them, they will not be the same, for the people who are gone were a part of those traditions. They cannot be recreated.
When a fragrance wafts through the air, or the sky looks a particular way, or a specific song is heard, each one of us might find themselves thrust back in time to a person or a place which we find ourselves missing. I think that is ok, for each experience we've known should be a remembrance of a good time or a lesson learned. I don't think, however, that we should dwell in that memory too long. We can never go back, and we will never go forward or enjoy the present time if we look back for too long.
Be homesick for a moment. Let the memory transport us to that old location or that beloved person. Then, put it back into the memory bank, lay it on its shelf and close the door on it. Live life as it is now, and enjoy making new memories. The ones worth remembering will not ever be forgotten.
Christmas time comes and in that season, my husband has moments of melancholy. It isn't that he's sad about the time of year, in fact, it's his favorite season. But, from the depths of his memories, some ghosts of Christmas past rise up. He grows homesick for his native state across the continent, and he misses the family members he knew as a child. They have all passed away now, and he is the patriarch of his family. He knows he cannot bring his loved ones back to this world, and it isn't so much that he wants to. But, the memories are so engraved in him that they haunt him. Christmas traditions which they practiced are among those thoughts. I've offered to incorporate them into our holidays, but even if we recreate them, they will not be the same, for the people who are gone were a part of those traditions. They cannot be recreated.
When a fragrance wafts through the air, or the sky looks a particular way, or a specific song is heard, each one of us might find themselves thrust back in time to a person or a place which we find ourselves missing. I think that is ok, for each experience we've known should be a remembrance of a good time or a lesson learned. I don't think, however, that we should dwell in that memory too long. We can never go back, and we will never go forward or enjoy the present time if we look back for too long.
Be homesick for a moment. Let the memory transport us to that old location or that beloved person. Then, put it back into the memory bank, lay it on its shelf and close the door on it. Live life as it is now, and enjoy making new memories. The ones worth remembering will not ever be forgotten.
Monday, December 21, 2009
There's a saying that goes, "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the number of things that take our breath away." So often we get too busy to notice those amazing things around us. How sad! Life is so full of breath-taking moments and how special it is when we are actually able to experience those.
Last winter while doing his walks around the yard, my husband discovered something he had never seen before. He ran in to get me, so that I, too, could see the wonder. When I walked outside with him, he showed me what looked like faceted 'sticks' of ice coming up from the ground. I thought at first it was grass that had a good layer of ice upon each blade, but it wasn't that. Each crystal was actually like a multi-sided, icicle which rose up from the clay soil. We are still baffled by the 'how' of it all, but it seems to happen when weather conditions are 'right' for it, as we've seen it a few times since that first day.
Daily we are aware of our sunsets, each one different from the last. The trees stand dark against the setting orb, back lit by the ever -changing color of the skies. It is something we watch for, and the reason we placed so many windows in our sunporch. Not only can we see the sky shows at dusk, we can watch the opening of day from there, as well. (Of course, being a morning dove married to a night owl, I am generally the only one who sees the sun rise. What a peaceful joy it is to sit in comfort in the porch, and watch as the dark sky brightens with gold and pink and blue!)
We enjoy the watching of the clouds, too. We're like kids, sometimes, seeing the shapes and naming the animals we see in them. The Spring weather changes in minutes around here, and it's interesting to watch the storm clouds roll in or the flashes of lightening to the tune of the rumbling thunder.
What a wonderous world we live in! There is such a variety of color, of shape, of plant life, of living things, of weather. No matter where we are, no matter what we do, there's something new to see all the time. There are wonders all around us, we need only to open our eyes and ears, and be aware. We might just find our breath being taken away.
Friday, December 18, 2009
New Traditions
There are traditions that die hard. Holiday meals are one of those, at least where my Mom is concerned. She's always cooked the same meal for Thanksgiving and Christmas. ...turkey and all the trimmings. When she was doing the meals, we had no complaint, but now that we are providing the feasts, we'd like to throw in some new ideas. We are generally met with a bit of resistance, although nothing is ever left uneaten, I've noticed!
On Christmas morning, we have the family around the tree. The littlest and the oldest of the grandkids are here with their parents, and my mother and brother show up shortly after rising from their own beds. Twelve of us open gifts together, and then move on to have some semblance of simple breakfast. Generally we've tried to pull together the full turkey dinner at Christmas. We barely get through the morning meal and clean up before we're we're sitting down to our one o'clock dinner table. It's not an easy task to do that and try to keep it all hot until everyone is seated and served.
This year we've decided to break tradition. We'll cook a turkey breast rather than the entire bird. We'll bake a big ham too. We'll prepare it all the day before Christmas when there are fewer people in the house. The table will be set on Christmas Eve as well. On the big day, we will devour our cold buffet of meats, salads, and finger foods. We'll have many choices, since we have a very fussy bunch of eaters. There should be something for everyone's palate, but fare that is easy to prepare, allowing us time to enjoy our day and our family.
Traditions are good, and they are to be cherished, but I think there is always room to add a new one or two. We'll see how all this works out. It may just become our new yearly Christmas dinner.
On Christmas morning, we have the family around the tree. The littlest and the oldest of the grandkids are here with their parents, and my mother and brother show up shortly after rising from their own beds. Twelve of us open gifts together, and then move on to have some semblance of simple breakfast. Generally we've tried to pull together the full turkey dinner at Christmas. We barely get through the morning meal and clean up before we're we're sitting down to our one o'clock dinner table. It's not an easy task to do that and try to keep it all hot until everyone is seated and served.
This year we've decided to break tradition. We'll cook a turkey breast rather than the entire bird. We'll bake a big ham too. We'll prepare it all the day before Christmas when there are fewer people in the house. The table will be set on Christmas Eve as well. On the big day, we will devour our cold buffet of meats, salads, and finger foods. We'll have many choices, since we have a very fussy bunch of eaters. There should be something for everyone's palate, but fare that is easy to prepare, allowing us time to enjoy our day and our family.
Traditions are good, and they are to be cherished, but I think there is always room to add a new one or two. We'll see how all this works out. It may just become our new yearly Christmas dinner.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Christmas Past
So many Christmases past flutter through the corridors of memory. I remember only a few that were not 'holly jolly' ones. But those need not be mentioned today. In this entry, I'll focus on just a few of the many merry ones.
My earliest remembrance of Christmas is of one when I was about eight years old. We were living with my Grandmother at her house. Santa had come, bringing me a 'grown up' doll, the predecessor of Barbie dolls. She was about eighteen inches tall, and had blond hair. She came with a full wardrobe, which was made by my Mom, although I didn't know that at the time.
She was my favorite gift that year, and she got a good workout! I believe that it was also that year that Santa made a 'repeat' visit on New Year's Eve, bringing just one more gift for each of us. Mine was a cute little soft plastic, pastel colored tea set.
In our family, Christmas meant visiting. We saw a lot of my maternal aunts and cousins throughout the year, but my seeing father's side of the family (except my Grandparents) was less frequent, for whatever reason. When Christmas came , however, we'd get together with Dad's sister and some of my cousins. Usually, after the gifts were unwrapped and breakfast was eaten, we'd load into the car, and begin the hopping from house to house in East Hampton, collecting gifts from each of my aunts. The visits weren't lengthy, but each family member of the family was graced with our family's arrival on the door step.
After we'd seen the maternal side, we'd go home for dinner, and afterward, all the aunts and cousins would pop in to see what we got for Christmas, and to receive their gifts from us. After the last of the bunch had left, we'd get in the car again, and go to Amagansett to my father's sister's house. There was no gift exchange there, but there was a visit. Often we'd go next door, too, to visit a cousin who was married with a young family.
Looking back on it, I don't remember any complaints. I would think my brothers and I would rather have stayed home with our presents than to travel hither and yon to visit with relatives.
Yet, when I married and we had children of our own, we did precisely the same thing! We dragged our kids from place to place all day long, with time enough for dinner at one set of parents or the other.
Christmas is a time to reconnect with all that is truly important... spiritual things, relationships and remembrances.
My earliest remembrance of Christmas is of one when I was about eight years old. We were living with my Grandmother at her house. Santa had come, bringing me a 'grown up' doll, the predecessor of Barbie dolls. She was about eighteen inches tall, and had blond hair. She came with a full wardrobe, which was made by my Mom, although I didn't know that at the time.
She was my favorite gift that year, and she got a good workout! I believe that it was also that year that Santa made a 'repeat' visit on New Year's Eve, bringing just one more gift for each of us. Mine was a cute little soft plastic, pastel colored tea set.
In our family, Christmas meant visiting. We saw a lot of my maternal aunts and cousins throughout the year, but my seeing father's side of the family (except my Grandparents) was less frequent, for whatever reason. When Christmas came , however, we'd get together with Dad's sister and some of my cousins. Usually, after the gifts were unwrapped and breakfast was eaten, we'd load into the car, and begin the hopping from house to house in East Hampton, collecting gifts from each of my aunts. The visits weren't lengthy, but each family member of the family was graced with our family's arrival on the door step.
After we'd seen the maternal side, we'd go home for dinner, and afterward, all the aunts and cousins would pop in to see what we got for Christmas, and to receive their gifts from us. After the last of the bunch had left, we'd get in the car again, and go to Amagansett to my father's sister's house. There was no gift exchange there, but there was a visit. Often we'd go next door, too, to visit a cousin who was married with a young family.
Looking back on it, I don't remember any complaints. I would think my brothers and I would rather have stayed home with our presents than to travel hither and yon to visit with relatives.
Yet, when I married and we had children of our own, we did precisely the same thing! We dragged our kids from place to place all day long, with time enough for dinner at one set of parents or the other.
Christmas is a time to reconnect with all that is truly important... spiritual things, relationships and remembrances.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
A Different Kind of Hostess
There are those among us who decorate their homes with style and entertain with aplomb. There are others who, try as they will, never seem to be quite satisfied. I fall into the latter bunch.
One of my friends recently stated that she loves to entertain, and fantasizes that she was meant to be the First Lady of the country. She probably could pull it off as well as any of the President's wives have. As for me, I'd be like the proverbial wart on a frog's back if I even thought of attempting such elegance.
Picture this scene. The limos pull up to the front entrance of the White House, and one by one the couples file in, dressed to the nines in their glamorous gowns, diamonds and tuxes. At the entrance to the dining hall, the guests (each with invitations in hand!) are met by the hostess....me. I'm dressed in a comfortable pair of slacks, probably jeans, and a sweater. My sterling silver hoop earrings gleam against the turtleneck, and the burnished silver framed oval of onyx lays upon my chest. My hands, rough from gardening, with fingernails of uneven lengths, reach out to greet these dignitaries. I attempt to make small talk with them, but we have so little in common that there are long pauses as we greet each other. These are not people I know. They are above me in elegance, in attitude and in social standing. The china gleams in the candlelight which bounces off the crystal. The huge dining room is picture perfect, except for one thing... me.
Now, flash this one through your mind. It's a simple setting with a warm fire glowing, dim lighting, a Christmas tree clad handmade ornaments from family members. There is little glitter, but for the lights woven into the branches of the evergreens. Soft instrumental music of harps, dulcimers, cellos, violins, guitars plays across the air, as I greet those at my door, and invite them in. We chat about jobs, and grandchildren, neighborhood news and local events. We eat at a large, square table laid out with a red plaid tablecloth and white ironstone dishware. A few snowflake candles floating in a cut glass bowl offer the lighting at the table. It is a buffet meal set out on the kitchen island with seating for each guest at the dining table. After dinner, we turn the music off, and all of us gather in the living room, some on the floor, some on the furniture, and someone plays his guitar, while we all join in singing Christmas carols.
It is a Currier and Ives scene, simple, warm and real, and somehow, I fit into this picture just fine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)