Carol Bossard

June has sped by so fast that it feels like “one busy week!” Within that time, there have been some fun days. We’ve enjoyed breakfasts and luncheons with friends, a couple of alumni events where I connected with former classmates, family time with our returnees from Ireland, hearing all about the green, green lands across the ocean, and family time with our son in agricultural research and daughter-in-law with a Food Bank ---- both dreading the funding cuts that will hurt people immeasurably. The month hasn’t all been fun though; we have heard of serious illnesses attacking two of our good friends, one death in our extended family, and some serious health issues with two of my family members. On a brighter note, our gardens are doing their best to grow amid the rains, and now the intense heat. The lawns are demanding at least a weekly mowing. School is out and motorcycles zoom by our house in a very noisy celebration of summer. All of our breakfast and luncheon dates were very good times, but one was super-good because it addressed some of my health issues, and those of a friend with a brain tumor. Father Peter, a friend who is a Franciscan brother, brought his anointing oil, and in the grill where we were eating, we had a quiet little healing service. Whether it cured all my problems, I’m not sure, but it certainly healed some of my attitude and perhaps that was more important. Our time spent with friends in Pennsylvania was also good; even though we’ve been gone from there for 50 years, our friendships made there are strong.. We are only nine days from July 4th, the celebration of our nation’s beginnings -- Independence Day. All of us should rejoice, from sea to shining sea, and from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico. Those whose ancestors were here when Europeans came bumbling in, those who settled here before the Revolution (my mother’s French family), those who came here more recently; those of us with all shades of skin colors, all kinds of education, all ways of worshipping, or to not worshipping at all. We all belong, and together, have a responsibility to protect the democratic values upon which this nation was built. If you are one who shrugs, and sees no necessity for continual maintenance of our freedoms, then you should re-read the Constitution. Also, the Gettysburg Address, the Emancipation Proclamation, and the words engraved on the Statue of Liberty. You can’t help but see that we don’t practice what these documents preach. After doing so, take yourself to some quiet place, like a Native American vision quest, and think about where your beliefs come from; should they be adjusted? Do our beliefs stem from culture, or wisdom? Consider what you can do that builds this country. Anyone can tear down and criticize, but it takes skill, understanding, and love, to build. Kerm and I watched the National Spelling Bee recently, and it reminded me of our high school contests, including a speaking contest, which I won when I was a junior. I chose to speak about the Statue of Liberty. Sometimes, even a teenager can get it right. Back in 1885, the United States was such a shining light amid all the monarchies and dictatorships, that France chose to send us the State of Liberty as a gift of appreciation. Read here what it says: “Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame*, with conquering limbs astride from land to land. Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightening, and her name The Mother of Exiles. From her beacon hand glows the world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor…’Keep ancient lands your storied pomp’ she cries with silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of y our teeming shores. Send these the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden shore.’”* All countries have growing pains! In the process of separating ourselves from overlords, and from various kinds of class and caste systems, we have been idealistic, we have behaved with cruelty as well as compassion, we’ve been courageous but also grasping. We have made grave errors in policy, but also have tried to create safety nets, correct injustices and continually work for better things. We often disagree about what those “better things” are, and how to achieve them, which is why open dialogue is so important. We must be willing to listen! To change our ideas as we learn more! Maya Angelo said: “When you learn better, do better!” and that generally means change, which none of us like. Without change though, water grows stagnant, butterflies never hatch and we would still be bowing before a monarch across the ocean. I wonder how many of us would have been Tories? It would have been conservative and safe! It is our duty to our forebearers and to all the people who have worked and died, to nurture or save our country. We are great because of the wonderful mix of individuals, along with individual freedoms and responsibility taken on by our citizens. We do not approve of “collateral damage” to gain ends. We uphold our right to protest what we do not like, to work toward change and to be able to speak our opinions, openly. In this difficult time, let us not only remember from whence we came, but try to live out those words on the Lady Liberty and in all our founding documents. We’ve nearly reached the end of June, and, will soon find ourselves perspiring into July, often our warmest month. However, the temperatures of this week are too warm for me. In the last few years, “warm”, in many places, has changed to unbearably hot. Did you know that just last week, Fairbanks, Alaska, issued a heat warning for the first time in history? My July days, when a child, didn’t seem overly hot. They were, however, relatively lazy, and sometimes inventive for fun. I read a lot on the shady front porch. Of course, there were frequent calls from reading, to duty in the garden (weeding) or the barn (feeding calves, gathering eggs), or the hayfield (driving tractor) but mostly, summer meant books, long walks in our fields and woods, and playing with a friend or two (Bonnie and Sharon) and my two eldest nieces (Jan and Barbara). We made little villages using stones, acorns, hollyhock dolls and anything else we could lay hands on. We played “dress-up” and were mad about paper dolls. For a couple of years, there were swimming lessons at Canandaigua Lake, and 4-H camp in the Bristol Hills. As a teenager, there were summer jobs, first at Exit 45 Thruway restaurant, the next summer was at the Locust Hill Country Club, then a counselor for 4-H Camp and in college, Cooperative Extension summer programs. Now, my summers fly by, as I spend time in the garden, have a few gatherings with friends, and still, devour those books. There is no one now to call me from a book to other duties, so the books often win over washing dishes, laundry, etc. Now, at the end of June, we all celebrate the ending of the school year - graduations, changes from grade to grade, and freedom! Summer means starry nights, fire flies (if you are fortunate), the sound of lawn mowers, and loud shouts from the village baseball field. It is a time to be glad, glad for our country, glad to remember who we are and from whence we come, glad that it isn’t snowing, and glad for orange popsicles dripping down our hand as we attempt to cool off with its icy goodness. Summer may be a time for trave tool. If so, listen to this bit of advice: “The main value of travel lies not in where you go, but in leaving where you have been. Go to a new place. Have your former gods challenged. Re-examine your axioms. Find out the evidence for your assumptions and you will, with luck, begin to set a true value on the environment from which you come.” ** Do not be satisfied with what is routine and comfortable. Life is full of change ---and some of those changes are good for each of us and all of us. This summer, try something new. Let it be a summer is for growth, for us as well as for the garden. Happy growing! Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *”The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarous. American poet and activist. 1849-1887. Note: The “new” Colossus as opposed to the former Colossus --- “Colossus of Rhodes, a huge bronze man, standing with legs straddling the Mandrakion Harbor, which is technically impossible, but believed to be true. One of the Seven Wonders of the World **Alan Grego --- a physician in family practice in Ohio; apparently a wise man, though my googling leaves me unsure about this quote’s source.

Our gardens are nearly planted now; we’ve had to replant the corn, and we are into full-time weeding. Can you hear the creaking of our back bones and knee joints? I am reminded of the “Spinal Tap” t-shirt. 😊 This is the time when we hope Percy Bysshe Shelley *is right when he says “I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, from the seas and the streams. I bring light shade for the leaves, when laid in their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds, every one.” Our gardens need neither our recent down-pours nor last year’s weeks of sun. They want gentle showers and sunshine on days in between, so, we plant and hope for the best. Kerm and I disagree, slightly, regarding planting. He makes straight rows, measured, and with string. And he reads the back of each packet and plants things just as far apart as the blurb on the packet says. I measure nothing and make my rows straight according to my eyes. Well, you all know my eyes aren’t very good now, so the rows might wobble a bit. And it is my thinking that the closer together the plants are, the less room for weeds. We have had a few words about this in years past. 😊 This year, however, my energy being what it is, Kerm planted more of the garden than usual. And I mostly kept quiet; he who plants gets to do it his way. So, this year, anyone may come and admire straight, well-spaced potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, cosmos and sunflowers. The peas, green onions, lettuce, and zinnias --- my contribution ---- may wander a bit! On the 14th, we have a day for many things, but first and foremost, it is Flag Day - a neglected holiday, in recent years. Flag Day marks and celebrates the adoption of our stars and stripes banner in 1777. After my parents’ generation, flag information and protocol have been neglected. In fact, I would guess that very few in Congress or the White House are cognizant about Flag Day. The flag should never touch the ground or floor, or be wrapped around one’s shoulders or used to sit on. When it is presented, everyone should stand, and it is hats off for the men. There should be no fooling around or lack of attention when the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, and/or the Pledge is given. Many people have died to keep that flag flying and to keep our nation free of tyranny, and apparently, the struggle is not over. Awareness and respect are due to our national symbol regardless of whose politics you do not like. I’ve always thought that burning the flag is a bad way to indicate dissatisfaction with government. The flag represents all of us, not just those in power. It represents all of our originally fine ideals in the Constitution, the Bill of Rights. So, when destroying the flag, we are showing our rebellion against the very ideals upon which our nation was formed. I’m sharing here the last two stanzas of the poem, “George Washington” by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet:** “Sing for Emperor Washington, the hero of renown, who freed his land from Britain’s rule to win a golden crown! No, no, that’s what George might have won but he didn’t, for he said: ‘there’s not much point about a king, they’re pretty but they’re apt to sting, and as for crowns -----the heavy thing would only hurt my head’ he said. Sing for our George Washington! (At last I’ve got it right!) the first in war, the first in peace, the goodly and the great. But when you think about him now, from here to Valley Forge, remember this ----- he might have been a highly different specimen. And where on earth would we be then? I’m glad that George was George!” George Washington is often called the “Father of our country,” and now, in June, we celebrate our own fathers. Father’s Day, early this year, June 15th. I’ve written about my father recently, so you all know about him; a man who was flawed but intelligent and caring. In addition to Dad, my three older brothers often had fatherly (and sometimes annoying) impact. My brother, Frank was 20 years older, so I grew up with some of his children and was underfoot. Later, he enabled my presence at NY State Fair for a couple of years; he was superintendent of the hog barn there and he allowed me to sleep in the back of his truck (on a soft bed of straw), so he could keep an eye on me. He subsidized my lunch money when I was running low, but not without a lecture on money-management. My middle brother, Donal, taught me to shoot and in later years, stopped by my office to chat. My third brother, Ken, took me on a couple of trips (when he was buying Berkshire pigs), supposedly to help keep him awake. He taught me to walk on the inside of the sidewalk, to order properly in a good restaurant and forgave me when I fell asleep and neglected my duties. My brother-in-law, Raymond, checked out my dates. He sat in our living room when a new one came to pick me up, and the next day, would give me his opinion. 😊 There are many excellent fathers in this world; men who are a role model for not only their children, but others too. Kermit is one of those. He worked with many, many kids through 4-H, and at home too; our house was usually full of teens. As for my father on this day? I wish I could share with him his favorite dessert; a dish of home-made vanilla ice cream with real maple syrup. June is full of special days, and on the 19th is Juneteenth. This is a celebration of the final enforcement of “no slavery in the United States.” After the Civil War, some places, at a distance from news and Washington, DC, apparently didn’t get the mandate, or ignored it. Juneteenth marks the day when finally, nation-wide, slavery was known to be illegal. I am quite sure if I had been a slave, I’d want to celebrate as loudly, as fully, and as long, as I could. This should have been a holiday decades ago, so there is a lot of celebrating due to make up for all those years of neglecting this occasion. We should all be rejoicing that we’ve become civilized enough to recognize that holding people as property is immoral and a contradiction to all of our principles. The Summer Solstice is a week away. And along with that comes Mid-summer Night’s Eve, a magical, pagan observance. Pixies, elves, faeries, and gnomes - all part of the legends surrounding this day and night. The days have stretched out to their limit, and from then on, until the Winter Solstice, the daylight will diminish. I keep thinking that I will go out on Mid-summer Night’s Eve, just to see if I can find an elf or two,or perhaps I will roll a burning wheel downhill as they did in some Celtic communities. But sadly, when night comes, I’m usually falling asleep by 10:00; staying awake until the wee hours is no longer so easy. And of course, since we have visiting bears who come unannounced, sitting outside in the dark doesn’t seem all that sensible. June brings haying season, which emits a more desirable aroma than the earlier spring processes of spreading barn waste on the fields. Growing up on a farm naturally included helping in the hayfields. Our farm had a round baler, not one of those huge things of today, but one that made bales of lighter weight than the square bales of the time. Bales that we girls (my nieces and I) could lift. Mostly we just tipped them from the wagon onto the elevator that then took them into the mow. In June, if the cows are lucky, they are out into the fields. Some cows are kept inside the barn 24/7 all year. They are the unlucky ones.) Animals should be treated kindly ---- and time outside in the fresh air with freedom to run is one of those things they deserve. Seeing cows released from the barn onto a green field is a delight; they kick up their heels and gallop in visible joy. There is a lot of work in June, but there must also be time to enjoy this month of peonies, roses, mock orange, iris and poppies. The fragrance floating around outside just has to be full of health-enhancing energy. Even the poets say: “What is so rare as a day in June?” *May your days, this month, be full of perfect sunshine, light rains and hours of peace. Carol Bossard writes from her hoime in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Percy Bysshe Shelly –English poet who was known for his romantic poetry and his radical social and political views. 1792-1822 **Rosemary & Stephen Vincent Benet---American writers, poets. Stephen is also known for his writing :”The Devil and Daniel Webster” . ***James Russell Lowell ---American poet, editor, critic and diplomat. 1819-1891.

We are coming to the end of a rainy but beautiful May. Those gardeners who didn’t succumb to the early-planting bug (who already have little green shoots in nice, neat rows) are planting gardens now. We were out yesterday putting in sunflowers and cosmos. Supposedly we are frost-free by the end of May, but I do remember a couple of June frosts. You’d have seen us running around and putting brown paper grocery bags over the tomatoes and old sheets over the corn and cucumbers. Lawns need mowing more often now. Peonies will soon be in bloom and roses will follow, to scent the air. Memorial Day is just past; it seemed very early this year. This holiday was quite special to me as a child, because I accompanied my parents to the cemeteries in Orleans County, where many of my mother’s family were buried, and Fairport, where my father’s father and aunts rested. When we went near Holly, that always included a visit to Grampa and Grandma Dusett. My mother took flowers (sometimes to plant), and as we went along, she told me about the names on those cemetery stones. In that way, my ancestors became quite real to me. Some of the names are so unused that they are enchanting: Huld Elizabeth Weatherwax (formerly Weiderwax in the Netherlands), Selenda Pellett, Abner Dusett (a carrot farmer), Aunt Belle Dibble, Jenny Mae Allen, etc. They are part of the tapestry that our family has become. I didn’t think much about the actual reason for Memorial Day back then, although I did have family members who were in WWs I and II, and in the Korean Conflict. My two older brothers, who were in WWII, taught me their military anthems for the Army and the Marines. I was only about 4 or 5, but with one finger, I could plunk out those two tunes, and also learned the words. Later, high school and college friends went to Vietnam, the sons of friends were called for the Gulf War, and a nephew served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now I know a whole lot more about Memorial Day and wars. Currently, we are watching innocent civilians become collateral damage at the least, and perhaps even genocide, in Africa, the Ukraine, and the Middle East. As General Sherman said: “War is Hell!” And not just for soldiers---- for entire populations, for those who lose loved ones, for the economy of wherever the war is happening. Civilized people ought to be able to figure something else out, but apparently our primitive tribalism lingers. Even as we wish there were no wars, we have this special weekend to honor the people who did what they had to do because we haven’t figured it out. When celebrating Memorial Day, I mustn’t forget our local parades. My school didn’t have a special marching band at that time, but the concert band members became marchers for the Memorial Day Parade down the Main Street. In Junior Hi, even though my instrument was the flute, I marched with the Bell Lyre. I suppose they had enough flutes at that point, so I was assigned this large, instrument much like an upright xylophone. Its center spine fit into a leather pocket which was attached to straps over the shoulders. Then the 18-inch instrument tilted out from the body so it could be played with a “hammer.” And, hopefully, I could hammer the right metal strips while also marching along in, usually, heat and humidity. But small negatives like those didn’t deter us, for, who doesn’t love a parade? Other kinds of parades come with college graduations, and, in some states, high school graduations. High schools in NYS, graduate students in late June because of the infamous (my opinion only) Regents Exams. Graduations can be exciting, or merely an expected closure, depending on one’s attitude. High school graduation was exciting for me. I think we seniors all realized that life wouldn’t be the same anymore; that we, as individuals would be different the next time we saw each other, we would be experiencing a multitude of things from military service to marriage, to college or jobs. Graduation was, perhaps, more of a family event then too, rather than a time for a series of parties, as it is now. College graduation was, for me, sort of mundane. I was glad to be getting a diploma after four years of work and fun, and I dutifully listened to President Perkins, but I was far more focused on my wedding coming up that September. A lot of years have passed between that summer of wedding plans ----- and now. There have been difficult times, scary times and some grief-filled times. But mostly, they have been incredibly good years, with more fine memories than there are scrapbooks to put them in. One of the blessings of being old/elderly/aged/age-challenged 😊 ---- is that most of us have learned what really matters in life, and what can be shrugged off. One question we’ve learned to ask ourselves is: “Will this really matter in 5 years? In 10 years? Even a day from now?” We’ve learned that people we love should never be taken for granted, nor should disagreements become separators. We all need the love and affirmation we feel from family members and good friends, so nourish it. This little excerpt from Cowboy Lyrics by Robert V. Carr* sums it up nicely: “What’s the use to worry, or even to fret for the things of this world you will never get? An’ likewise it’s true fer me an’ fer, you, there’s jus about two tricks that we can do. Be as good as you know an’ cut out the bad, an allers be cheerful, an’ never get mad; For the frownin’ face gathers the wrinkles, my friend, an’ the smilin’ one stays like a boy’s to the end.” If you are on FB, you probably have seen several lit candles, suggesting that FB- users keep the candle burning for any number of causes. One I actually liked, suggested that we keep a candle burning in a window of our home, to let people know that “hope lives here.” I like it because, for many people, hope has been replaced by despair. Many observe the growing disturbances, and suffering around the world and in our own country. Whether it is the world situations, our national politics, or illness, people simply cannot see any light at the end of the tunnel ---- unless it is that proverbial freight train coming at them. They bear a daily burden of anxiety and discouragement, as they focus only on what is wrong. Since I believe we are all called to be beacons for someone; probably for more than one someone, the next questions must be “When things are so desperate, how do I keep my inner light burning brightly?” “Who lights my path? Who lights your path?” For some, it is a central spiritual belief; a tenet of faith that strengthens. For some, it is the experience that “this too, shall {eventually} pass.” Also, we should keep ourselves aware of all the good in the world as well as the bad. Frequently, the light comes from other people sharing their lights, metaphorically as we do at a Christmas Eve service. In that way we are beacons to each other. As I thought of people, over the years, who have kept me from despair, I realized that there were many. There have been family members, family friends, teachers, speakers and writers whose material has struck a chord. My parents lived through four wars and the Great Depression, and yet could still plan for the future, laugh with friends and go courageously ahead. So they were good examples, usually. All along the way people have shared their sparks and their radiance with me. Isolation is terrible for people. We need each other - we learn from each other and we hold each other up. It is a current practice in prisons to use isolation as a punishment. Perhaps a short-lived time out is appropriate, but continued isolation will only make that person desperate, unstable and even angrier. Therapy would be more useful for reformation although our prisons do not have restoration as a priority. Older people, living alone suffer from isolation. As one’s ability to move around, to drive, to hear, to participate in a social group dwindles, there will often be days and days without visitors or conversation. If you know someone who is alone, and home-bound, it would be a kindness to visit them, or even take them out for a ride. We may sometimes think that solitude away from this troubled world would be good, but too much of a “good” thing is not good for us! “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of anyone else.”** As we step out of May and into June, even as I wonder how May could possibly vanish so quickly. I’m hoping for a few more days of sunshine and rain drops in proper proportions. There is also a full “Strawberry Moon” in June. Congratulations to the graduates; may the time just ahead of you be a time of discovery and peace. Courage to those of you taking the NYS Regents exams (and any others); you will do better than you expect. And to those of us who are long out of school, may we look with pleasure on our summery world, and enjoy every moment. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Robert V. Carr -American poet, well-known for his “Cowboy Lyrics.” *Charles Dickens –English novelist, journalist and social critic. 1812-1870. .

“Camelot* opens with singing about the merry month of May. Knights are brave, their ladies dance around May Poles, and life is beautiful. Northern hemisphere residents are glad to see May come too. Boots alpaca hats, and mittens are put away and light jackets emerge from storage. Today, we are not only welcoming the delightful, new month, but today ( May 1st ) is May Day. Before certain nations began using it to celebrate military prowess, May Day was for children, for whirling around May Poles, for carrying flowery May baskets to neighbors. I prefer to think of it in that way still; as the light-hearted time of bluebirds, hummingbirds, garden parties, and, oh yes, bears! A cute 1-year-old came by last week and sampled our cracked corn. May can bring us some very warm and very cold days. While I was at Cornell, one early May weekend came with snow. Several of us had planned a picnic and awoke that morning to find lawns had turned white. Being intrepid Cornellians, we went ahead with the picnic dressed in boots and jackets. Perhaps that streak of intrepidness is why now we push the limits of garden planting. We know we shouldn’t put tender plants out before May 31st, but we simply can’t resist working the soil on a good day in May when everything smells like spring. Speaking of Cornell, the Botanic gardens on campus are a wonderland of flowers, shrubbery, and herbs. Spending some time there is refreshing and idea-inspiring. It is a foil for the too-many buildings; offices, classrooms, dorms, libraries, and labs. My years at Cornell (after I recovered from being home-sick) were good ones; much to learn and do, a fine group of friends, and extra-curricular activities that taught me as much as classes. There were dances on the third floor of Warren Hall (where I met Kerm), parties at Cayuga Lodge, birding field trips with Ornithology, singing in the University chorus, discussions of spiritual nature in Annabel Taylor with the chaplain, and a variety of chats with friends in the dorm – especially my roommate, Pat. She was a bio-chem major, and she was the only reason I got through inorganic chemistry. Perhaps my favorite and most memorable activity was the Cornell Recreation Team, where we learned about leadership, square calling and folk dancing, and program organization-- a mix of skills I’ve used frequently. Right now, many high school juniors and seniors are facing finals, and looking at colleges. I’d tell them to look carefully at what the college stands for, not its prestige. Does it fit you? Are you more comfortable in a small school or a large one? How much debt do you want to have to pay back? How far away will you be for traveling home? Are you doing what you want to do, or what you think people expect? There is, right now, a threat to all colleges receiving Federal monies. The recently appointed president of Cornell spoke firmly about the traditions of free thinking, scientific research and Ezra Cornell’s vision and he stood strong for those values. His speech made the NY Times, and Cornell received almost immediate notice that its funds were being cut! Harvard also responded bravely and even more explicitly. It obviously has become uncomfortable, and even hazardous to think and speak honestly, so it is important for colleges to remain places where integrity stands firm against pressures from those who would turn the education into a travesty of the truth. College education costs oodles and oodles of money, and so, the learning one receives should be based in truth, have breadth, depth and should stimulate curiosity. We will need administrators who are creative in finding ways to cope in difficult times. However, spinning straw into gold is only a fairy tale! I expect that other universities will be trying to maintain their standards, as well; hopefully they will cooperate with each other. We should do whatever we can to cheer them on. While we are considering education, colleges are not the only path to living a good life. College is beneficial for giving you information and experiences it might take you years to learn by yourself. And some careers do demand a 4 or 5-year degree, whether or not one actually needs it for able performance in that career. As an alternative, tech schools and apprentice-ships for trades, are good places to acquire hands-on careers. We are currently short of adequate electricians, plumbers, mechanics, builders, nurses, medical technologists, etc. I’ve heard, though I have no statistics, that many college graduates are tossing their tassels in vain; that there are too few jobs for them. Think fully about what you choose to spend your days doing; what will bring you satisfaction and happiness? Warning: Caution: Small rant ahead! No matter what form of higher education one chooses, it will only be useful if one spends more time in learning than in partying. I am not against having a good time, but considering college costs, and rising health costs, it is the height of foolishness and selfishness to waste money in continuous revelry that distracts and clouds the mind. Too much alcohol or using “recreational” drugs, are both dangerous and unhealthy, not to mention, STUPID! That is blunt, but true! We have each been given a fine mind and body, and to deliberately mess it up is the height of ingratitude. And this from a person who loves parties! Rant over! May and June are traditionally full of more good times and increased parental worrying; proms, parties, alcohol, exams, looming higher education, money, and spring fever itself. There is often a wide gap in communications; kids having no understanding of why their parents are so nervous and picky, and parents having no memory of their own over-the-top confidence in taking care of themselves at the same age. Kids think they are indestructible; Parents know very well that they are not; there are all sorts of dangers out there, and they loom large in a parent’s mind. In one of his books, Louis L’Amour** said: When you are young, you never think of y our parents as much more than parents. It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, and secret thoughts. You sort of take them for granted, and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two…..You never stop to think about what they were like until it is too late.” I actually do remember that far back; I was so focused on my plans, that my parents’ worries didn’t penetrate my rather (at the time!!) ditzy brain. Mothers’ Day is May 11th, and, for me, it is a whole lot nostalgic. Both my mother and Kerm’s mom have passed on. I think probably that none of us totally appreciate our mothers (or fathers either) while they are with us, but we never stop missing them when they are gone. There are several things for which I’d like to apologize to mine; things I now understand way better. We had a good relationship, though, so I will happily remember the fine times, and the many cups of tea my mother and I shared. That is also true for Kerm’s mother. Of course, she and I hadn’t known each other as long, but, after walking on a few eggshells, thankfully, we soon felt quite comfortable together and, as her first daughter-in-law, our relationship kind of paved the way for when she acquired two more. I am also grateful for being a mother. Except for a few occasions, our sons have added interest, humor, creativity, and love to our lives. Those few occasions when terror or exasperation followed them, we prayed a lot, and stifled the desire to put them through a wall (my frequent threat). Those times must have, in some weird way, contributed to their, or our, growth. Now that they are adults, whose minds have matured (doesn’t happen for boys until they are 30 or so) we enjoy them, are grateful for them and are mostly glad we didn’t create Shawn and Matt shaped holes in our walls. Back to the garden, and the “Merry Month of month of May”, where things are growing and blooming. Pansies spread their little velvet faces around. Violets have popped into bloom all over the lawn, just this week. Many varieties of daffodils are dancing in the constant winds, and shadblow trees are blossoming into white canopies. The very best thing in May, is to be outside. As a child, I hunted for pollywogs in our small stream. Such fun! Now I wait for primroses to emerge. Soon tulips will bloom and marsh marigolds will turn the swamps golden. I think fresh air, watching the wild life and gardens, keeps us healthy, de-stresses us, and allows us to maybe even live longer. So, Happy May Day! And Happy May! Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Camelot ----written and composed by Lowe and Lerner. Based on the tales of King Arthur’s court. **Louis L’Amour – Wrote novels, short stories, and non-fiction, most focusing on the frontier of the west. Several were made into movies. He died in 1988.

“If I ever saw blessing in the air, I see it now in the still-early day…..” are words from poet, William Blake. *April days can be varied; turbulent and fierce, as refreshing as a cold drink of good water or as peaceful as a benediction. Early, when the sun is about to rise, the air is fresh and awash with colors, mistily gaining depth of hue as the sky grows lighter. Sometimes a veil of snow sweeps over the landscape. Spring is here with all its ups and downs. This is Holy Week for western Christians;Today Maundy Thursday. Tomorrow is Good Friday and Sunday is Easter. Russian and Grek Orthodox Christians celebrate a week later. Jewish Passover began last Friday at sunset, and will end tomorrow. Earth Day is next Tuesday. Those who start seeds inside have probably done so by now and are happily watching little green shoots growing under lights. Spring fragrances are more pronounced, and this certainly includes what farmers spread on their fields in April. But it all is part of growth and eventually, beauty. We usually manage, during April to experience what we call a “perfect” spring day - blue skies, sunshine, mild and gentle breezes, and greening plants everywhere. What if we allowed every day to be perfect in its own way? Rainy days bring pearly, smoky-gray or charcoal skies, sometimes a rainbow; sometimes dramatic, darkened clouds, slashed with lightening. Some days are for curling up with a book or making the house fragrant with baking cookies. Breezy days may feel like a cleansing of our minds from the dust and darkness of winter. Perfect days are surely in the eyes of the beholders. The word “perfect” is multisided. It can mean that something is done so well that there can be no criticism, like the Mona Lisa. Or it can mean impossible standards that are so discouraging, no one will try to meet them like agency annual reports for the Feds. Perfect may simply mean correct as in the calculations for engineering bridges and roads; we do want those to be perfect. Or it might mean a person or group being dissed for not meeting someone else’s “perfect” standards. When an individual glibly recites the Biblical admonition: “Be ye perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” they usually mean their definition of perfect. Those people need to be informed that most theologians, who have translated from Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek say that admonition should be translated “Be ye whole, even as…..” Be the real, the whole person you are designed to be. My father was a perfectionist. SIGH!! He wanted his white shirts ironed with nary a crease or wrinkle. Shoes must always be polished and shiny. Manners, especially table manners, were expected. “Talking back” was verboten. Nor was there an acceptable excuse for getting a B when you could, “with a bit more effort”, have gotten an A. The lawn couldn’t be mowed in swirls; it must be mowed in straight lines. Dad was neither a plumber nor a carpenter, but he took on both jobs for home improvement projects. It was definitely no fun to be his assistant, or even be in the vicinity. He was grumpy and loud, during and afterward, because his work didn’t meet his standards of perfection, so he was irritated with the world, as well as himself. As a result, I probably have had life-long feelings of being incompetent when facing new challenges, or feel that I’m not doing enough. That is perfection’s damaging downside! It leaves metaphoric cuts and bruises. Fortunately, Dad had quite a few other virtues that made him a good father. Because of those experiences, I’m in an on-going personal training program to avoid requiring my concept of perfection. However, I have probably been as grumpy as my father when I was in the middle of a sewing project; ready to snap and growl if I carelessly put a collar in backward or inadvertently caught an extra fold of fabric in a seam. While I try to avoid demanding my idea of perfection from others, my subconscious continues to expect it from me. Sadly, some of the traits we disliked in our parents do come back and attach themselves to us. Kerm has remarked that my whole family is afflicted with irritability; he says prickly! And he is quite right; we don’t suffer fools gladly, and we tend to be impatient with ourselves and others. (I’m hearing a little bell here, regarding Sunday’s sermon on compassion, I believe it mentioned self-compassion…Hmmm!) I’ll work on that but meantime, I hope that I never impede anyone else’s work or damage feelings, leaving scars. However ---Toleration/patience is not mindless nor endless; I don’t accept sloppy work or apathetic attitudes. We do need standards! When our kiddies were toddlers, they needed to learn that writing on the freshly-painted church nursery wall, and crawling beneath the pews, was taboo. When in elementary-school, that shutting your brother between the screen door and the front door at home, did not fit into Emily Post’s Book of Etiquette for brothers. And later, we all had to learn that there were good ways to stand up for a principle, and some not so good ways. Adults in the labor force, whether white collar or t-shirts, need to remember that the quality of their work and general attitude, do impact other people. Assuming someone will have perfect skills in everything is silly, but asking someone to be responsible and do their best is a valid expectation. Learning does take a while, and expecting instant perfection from children, cats, dogs or gerbils, is what my father would call a “pipe dream,” although he, himself, had trouble accepting it. It is good to remember, in this season of Lent, that Easter exists because we are all imperfect (sometimes, abysmally so!). Lent and Easter offer to all of us, change, restoration, and acceptance of who we are. Part of human maturity is absorbing large servings of patience with ourselves and others. Easter meant some good times while growing up. I think I may be repeating here from other April essays, but they are such good memories. There was coloring Easter eggs, preparing for a large family dinner, going to extra church services and hearing wonderful music. And there were also spring clothes. New clothes were not every-day happenings in my life, but Easter usually meant a new dress, possibly shoes and definitely a hat. I remember some of those hats well. There was an ivory straw cloche with black velvet ribbons, a white hat with a turned-up brim, trimmed with a yellow velvet ribbon and daisies, and there was a pink derby wreathed in tulle. The dresses I remember clearest, I got when I was ten or eleven and note the plural. My father took me to buy an Easter dress that year. This was highly unusual and I don’t remember why. After much wibble-wobbling, I finally narrowed my choices down to two (at Miss Farrell’s in Canandaigua), and was having trouble deciding. My father finally said: “Oh for goodness’ sake, take them both! We need to get home!” So, we left with a pink organdy trimmed with little roses, and a peach muslin trimmed with white lace and black velvet cord. My mother looked at them with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. My small mind stored away “ooh, shopping with Dad is a very good thing!” Easter has always, since childhood, been my favorite celebration -- surpassing Christmas and my birthday. There is something about the agonizing and yet joyful story of Easter, plus the church filled with fragrant flowers and beautiful music, children with Easter baskets and starched new clothes, that creates an enchanted time of color, sound, goodness, and Light. Maundy Thursday and Good Friday ceremonies are reassuring traditions; times for quiet introspection. It seems to me that many traditional ceremonies and rites are vanishing in the name of “simplicity.” Some years ago, we were invited to join in a Seder event, part of the Jewish Passover. It was beautiful, and meaningful. Simple is often a good thing too, but we humans need ritual in our lives. It keeps us connected to our traditions and nourishes our souls. Kerm and I have been dismayed by the decision of some families to not have any kind of service or gathering for those who have died. We need not only closure, but a time to celebrate that person for what they have been in our lives. I think that people who deny needing a spiritual element, miss avenues of joy, peace, trust and help, that could be theirs. As St. Theresa** explained: “I never really saw with my bodily eyes, but only with the eyes of the soul.” Some of life is like that, and we need to be awake to soul visions, seen with “soul eyes” for adding depth and wonder to our lives. If you are celebrating Passover, I hope it has been wonderful. If you are preparing for Easter, I wish you joy. And next week, I’d urge you to mark Earth Day in some way that makes sense to you. You may agree or disagree with theories about climate change. The theories may not be totally accurate, but the weather patterns are changing, no matter what the reason(s). We need to heal and care for this small, lovely planet of ours. So, plant a tree, make a garden, fill a pot with flower seeds, let dandelions grow in your lawn for the bees, vote responsibly instead of selfishly or blindly------ do something to be a grateful tenant of earth. And rise early one of these spring mornings; go outside and breathe in the morning air. You may feel that blessing in the air, as expressed by William Blake. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *from “To Spring” by William Blake, an English poet. **St. Theresa of Lisieux created the Society of Little Flowers, which still exists today. 1873-1897.

“A light exists in Spring, not present in the year at any other period……” Emily Dickenson* And this is true, there is a different light, along with a faint but discernable fresh aroma, and a friendly feel to the air when spring is easing in. The added light in the evening probably helps with that feeling. At least I do not find myself wanting to head for bed at 7 PM anymore, or not as often. There is so much out there to see, pussy willow’s gray fur will soon be covered with yellow pollen. Winter Aconite is finally thinking it might be OK to bloom; they aren’t large blooms, but they are very yellow and bright. I have one clump of daffodils in bloom on a south bank. And green points of day lilies are poking 4-6 inches out of the soil, even though they won’t bloom until July, and will assuredly get their noses frosted. There is music in the air! Several varieties of birds are singing with the enthusiasm of an All-State chorus, or a choir on Easter morning. When I hear them, I think of all the wonderful music I have heard, played or sung, in my lifetime, and I am grateful. Perhaps you remember Therea Brewer singing “Music, Music, Music”, the title for this piece. I grew up with music on the radio, in school and in church, piano lessons (not always a joy!!), and singing with my mother at the piano. My mother and her five siblings sang around the piano, led by Grandpa, who was a fine tenor. Dad didn’t sing; he sort of rumbled along in church, but he liked listening. I enjoyed being in the church choir, in the chorus at school, and for a year, with the Cornell University Women’s Chorus. I played the flute (better and more enthusiastically than the piano) in the orchestra and band. In high school, three of us created an instrumental trio of oboe, flute and clarinet. All-State music events, concerts, and parades were fun as well as learning experiences, and sort of tempered the pain I often had with math and the sciences. One might think, from all this music that I’d be an accomplished musician. Sadly, not so. But I am an accomplished enjoyer, and music brings me joy. Currently a marvelously fun group, Spencer Singers, is where I sing alto. We do not necessarily all have amazing voices all of the time, but we enjoy our music, harmonize well, and almost always stay on-key, even singing a cappella. It is a pleasure to sing together, for we have become good friends and kindred spirits. Music has been called the universal language. I was listening to a vocalist from Russia , Julia Lezhneva. Her voice soared, pure and clear. Any musician would applaud her performance, no matter what country she, or they, came from. She was amazing! Musicians tend to not care about much except the quality and pleasure of the music. In our current climate of discrimination and bigotry, music can erase those imaginary separating lines around ethnicity, nations, and continents. A few years ago, a conductor from the Middle East, pulled together a band of Israeli and Palestinian kids. They got along just fine and played together beautifully. Their cooperation in music made them fast friends. It is too bad that older adults, supposedly wise leaders, show less maturity that a group of adolescents. And too bad that statesmen and stateswomen cannot show the same respect and consideration for the good of the world, that those kids did in the quality of their music and for each other. Spencer has a three-day “Picnic” every summer, a combination old-home days and carnival. For a number of years Mr. Baer, the instrumental instructor at school, would pull together a summer band to play in the parade. Adults in the community were welcome to join in. Those of us who wished to be in the band, dug out our instruments, practiced a bit to restore our lips, and creakily climbed onto a hay wagon where we sat in slightly wobbly chairs with good and heavy music stands. We happily played a variety of marches down Main Street and ‘round about town. It was a fun jam session. The music from un-practiced players might possibly have grated slightly on the ears of the fine musician who called us together, but I enjoyed it immensely. Lives change, and nothing can last forever; the summer band is no more. There is a saying that we should not grieve when something is gone, but be glad we had it for a time. That is true - just remembering it brings a smile to my face. Every generation has its favorite music. There is a fun quotation out there on T-shirts, which I can’t state accurately, but basically, it says that: “I may be old, but my generation had the best bands, the most fun cars, ”etc. I heard mostly classical (in the house) or pop music (in the barn) at home, so I didn’t grow up with bluegrass/country music. However, I learned to like some of it via my college roomie, when we were freshmen. Johnny Cash and Jim Reeves got me through many a homesick, night on the radio, out of Wheeling West Virginia (an all-night station with amazing scope). Rock & roll was popular when I was in high school, so I listened to and played Beethoven, Bach and Handel but sang along with “Peggy Sue”, “Rock Around the Clock” and ballads as in: “Love Me Tender, Love Me True.” Much of the music today seems either monotonous or like noise to me (am I showing my age?). I have trouble understanding the words and probably couldn’t discern them over the percussion section anyway. There are current vocalists who do better - Alison Krause, Josh Groban, Enya, Celtic Thunder ... quite a few others now that I’m thinking about it. But they do not seem to be the ones who draw the hysterical, screaming crowds. Perhaps the kids who attend those concerts have a “deaf wish.” Some people believe that “Singing daily for at least ten minutes reduces stress, clears your sinuses, improves posture and can even help you live longer.” I did not find the source of this statement, but I’d like it to be true. In all of this talk about music, I mentioned the enjoyment factor and the difference it made for me in school, but think of the changes in atmosphere it could make if we really took that universal language seriously. Music, depending on the kind, can lull one to sleep or incite followers to war. The Scottish bagpipes call people out, but can also be a dirge that elicits grief. The Pied Piper piped an alluring song to eradicate the rats and children, according to the old fairy tale. I used to sing my children and grandchildren to sleep, or at least, to quiet. So perhaps we should put music to the test. Would negotiations go better and wars be put on hold, if we began decision-making meetings with the right music? Perhaps the UN could open discussions with Handel’s ‘’Water Music” or Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy.” Perhaps a Congressional chorus could be organized, or a Democrat-Republican choir with Independents and Greens doing the descants. 😊 Relationships can’t help but grow more congenial if you are making beautiful music together, harmonizing. on-key! And for those who can’t carry a tune or stay on key? Maybe we could jumble them into a kitchen band with a washtub bass, spoons and pot lid cymbals. Begin at home; make this a grass-roots effort. Try singing a tune or two yourself; let the birds inspire you. Go to a school concert; there are some lovely voices to be found therein, and some very good music. But even more important, shake off the winter doldrums and be open to the lovely things in life. Make a personal decision to substitute gratitude for gloom, whenever possible. It is true that there is much to make us sad, depressed, angry, and afraid. But there are still many awe-inspiring sights, sounds and people. We shouldn’t allow any individual or any group to drag us down where we forget that. We need to clean out our negative emotions regularly; not let them accumulate, like a collection of figurines. We can accept each day’s burdens with grace and courage, but know that happiness will return, like spring returning after a cold, icy, winter. I lack the words to adequately describe spring, but Mendelssohn and Vivaldi managed to find notes, chords, and harmonies that celebrate it well. Hans Christian Anderson** said: “Where words fail, music speaks.” So, sing a song, listen to someone else sing a song, whistle a tune, and love being part of spring as it comes back to our hemisphere. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Emily Dickenson--- first verse from a poem: A Light Exists In Spring”----- Emily Dickenson was little known in her own lifetime, but today is regarded as one of the most significant of American poets. She challenged the accepted structure of poetry of her time an changed expectations. 1830-1 **Hans Christian Anderson --.A Danish Author who wrote plays, novels, travelogues, poetry and was most famous for his book of fairy tales. Danny Kaye played the role of Hans Christian Anderson in the movie. 1805-1875.

Spring is here; the Vernal Equinox has come. Now if we could only adjust spring weather-makers like the Santa Anna winds, the high or low systems layering in the clouds, and turbulence churning out in the open seas and off the Great Lakes. Our fragile and lovely little blue planet is enduring some violent and damaging storms. An eon or two of calm would be welcome. However, the snowdrops are just pushing through the cold ground; signaling spring. Yesterday it was 72 degrees and they are speaking of snow on Monday. We may be wearing winter coats for a while yet, but we know it’s not for long! New England (especially Vermont) is famous for “Mud Season.” It is the “non-tourist season” when residents can relax, when ski season is over and the summer hasn’t begun; traffic ebbs, and a good thing it does. After all, unwary drivers could be trapped in muddy, rutted roads for days! Up-state New York can be similar, with considerable goo underfoot and under tires. Those with large dogs know well about spring mud. New York has back roads that are equally as muddy those of Vermont, that really shouldn’t be traveled until June, or maybe, at all. How do I know this? My husband’s idea of a good time is checking out back roads, wild roads, precipitous roads. In years past, we have been in some potentially hazardous situations due to: “I wonder where this road goes…”. His tendency toward adventure has diminished slightly. It may be wisdom that comes with age, but more probably it is the memory of my shrieks as we careen from one muddy rut to the other and slither in semi-circles toward deep ditches. Sadly, both of our sons have inherited this obviously genetic, and certainly unwise, tendency for dirt roads, seasonal roads, and corkscrew road explorations. We are hearing the stories now of driving over a chain link fence that had been knocked down to escape the 2nd “Woodstock” traffic, of running a snowmobile over Greek Peak at night, of driving past a dead end onto a seasonal road who knows what time of the year? If only we had possessed one of those trackers that are now available to any parent!! One for each of the boys, and definitely one for Kerm. Mud season is made bearable by spending time with friends over lunch, or perhaps around a nice fire. Conversations are always interesting, and sometimes run in rather strange directions. We chat about everything from bird-feeding to geothermic heating, to education, to the best gardening techniques for clay, and to less useful subjects, like whether girls or boys were harder to raise. I think they all exhibit some unique growing pains. Kerm and I had sons, but I grew up with only-slightly younger nieces (my eldest brother was 20 years older than I). And we have granddaughters, who though exemplary 😊, are girls. In my experience,-boys are unnecessarily loud, and they rough-house ---- often knocking over furniture or breaking glassware, leave large, muddy shoes around, and can be quite obnoxious and crass on occasion. They go into rages, but are quickly over them. Their excuses for their misdemeanors are often exceedingly lame. Girls tend to be deceptively delightful, but they pout, cry more, have a variety of moods, and hold grudges longer than most boys. After age 12 or 13, they have a monopoly on the bathroom while getting ready to go anywhere. Their excuses for questionable behavior are slightly more believable, having better imaginations. However, a common malady for both boys and girls, is whining. The “poor me” syndrome seems to be gender-neutral. I had a sign on my office wall right near the entrance. It was a large red circle with a diagonal line across the word “WHINE.” Most people didn’t, but a couple of individuals refused to take a hint. Whining is quite understandable in a child or adolescent. Their emotions and their psyches are still maturing. Coming from the mouth of an adult, however, generally means that person still believes they are the center of the universe, and that time, temperature, and the state of the world should be adjusted to meet their needs. Whining is really an unsaid: “Alas,” “Oh Woe,” “Poor, Poor Me!” There were two people with whom I worked, both men, who whined regularly, often about each other. It became ridiculous enough that I thought of telling All Wet Productions (a local Spencer & Van Etten occasionally creative group) to devise a skit, though I doubt that the guys who inspired it would have been amused. Those two individuals unfortunately, weren’t then, and aren’t now, all that rare. I see a lot of world-wide whining, don’t you? Here in America, we whine about airport delays, the weather, about potholes in the roads, about inflation, about traffic jams, about inconveniences of all sorts. Perhaps we, as a culture, are discontented with life? Perhaps we need to focus more on what is right in our lives. Currently, I have been complaining (Oh all right; basically whining!) about Macy’s and Joann’s closings. Yes, they were fine stores. Yes, I really liked them but there probably are other resources. My whiney self should be thinking about the many people who lost their jobs in the closings and the buildings that will now stand vacant and crumbling. One would think, after seeing the dreadful situations all around the world, that I, and that we, all might be more content, and less complaining, realizing how small, comparatively, our inconveniences are. But, not so. Too many of us have been spoiled by prosperity and the smooth-workings of most systems around us. If we could realize how unimportant some of our issues are, if we stopped thinking about how each inconvenience impacts us personally, we might do less whining. Perhaps each annoying change or inconvenience is the Universe, reminding us that we are not the center of the solar system! Or perhaps that same universe is telling us to be more aware; to pay attention and to take part in our communities, helping those who do not have the conveniences we have. Perhaps we need to retrieve my little sign; the red circle with a slash, make copies and post them everywhere. Late March, in addition to annoying weather, brings us that much closer to daffodils and hyacinths. William Wordsworth* seemed to be partial to daffodils, as I am. He wrote: “I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o’er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils. Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze……for oft when on my couch I lie, in vacant or pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude, and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.” All that golden yellow just shouts --- spring. I expect that you all have your favorite signs of spring, depending on the climate where you live. However, life can make us very busy and when we move too fast, suddenly spring has passed us by and, it is summer. May I suggest that we all slow down just a trifle and take the time to notice spring moving in. There are wonders to behold, from the first snowdrops to pussy willows, to the violets, daffodils, hyacinths and tulips. There are baby woodchucks poking their noses toward the roads, ignoring mama’s instructions to stay put! Baby rabbits are just coming out into a dangerous world full of hawks, owls, and coyotes. Foxes are sending out harsh, throaty mating calls. And birds are singing with gusto as they attract mates and build nests. Even if we have more snow flakes, we can take heart and know that: “For lo, the winter is past, the {snow} is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing birds has come, and the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land.”** Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *William Wordsworth –English Romantic poet who helped to launch the English Romantic period along with Samuel Coleridge. 1770-1850. **The Bible – Song of Solomon 2:11.

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade.” Charles Dickens* ‘Tis the month of shamrocks, aquamarines, and the vernal equinox. I’ll soon pull out my recipe for Irish tea cake to go along with a hearty stew, in lieu of corned beef and cabbage. I’ve just never been thrilled with cooked cabbage. My family (except for one sister-in-law and her daughters) has no Irish background that we know of. However, since my father’s heritage is Scottish, I’m sure there could have been some cultural mixing and marriage. We do have a granddaughter in Dublin right now, and I expect she will be seeing all sorts of festive times this month. Having read all the “Sister Fidelma” books by Peter Tremayne, set in Ireland around 7th century AD, we have an appreciation for Irish culture and their impact on our own culture. These books are fiction, but meticulously-researched fiction. Their laws protecting women’s independence were far more impressive than ours. I especially like their long-ago criminal justice system; those individuals who broke the law seldom sat in prison for a long incarceration. It was a system of recompence. Instead of idling in prison, criminals had to work out their crimes’ paying those who they had hurt. If the crime was dire and the criminal unrepentant and considered unredeemable, he/she was put in an open boat with one oar, food and water for a day and towed out to sea. This was considered leaving them to God’s judgment. I’m not sure about that one! Of course, people ignored the laws, just as they do today, so Ireland wasn’t Paradise, and when the Saxons and Britons began filtering into lands around Ireland, and becoming part of the culture, and when the Church’s Roman influence spread to Ireland, more severe punishments began to be common. They emphasized suffering for punishment rather than paying back and redeeming one’s self. St. Patrick’s history is equally interesting. He was an actual person, who grew up in Roman-controlled Britain. He was captured by slavers, and ended up in Ireland. Interestingly, the Irish did not, by law, buy or sell slaves, BUT those individuals captured in battles, or convicted of some kinds of crimes, basically had no rights until they had earned their freedom through work. Technically, however, they weren’t slaves. Patrick eventually was freed and journeyed to Rome. After some time there, he chose to return to Ireland to spread God’s word, where he had been a slave. There are many legends around his missionary work, including driving out all snakes, and he is certainly venerated by the Irish and celebrated every March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day is a good reason for partying, Irish or not. One of our sons met his future wife at a St. Patrick’s Day party. Some years ago, Beebe Lake, on Cornell’s campus, miraculously turned an amazing green every March 17th. That was before everyone reluctantly agreed that it is ecologically improper to tamper with Mother Nature’s water. However, a magnificent dragon, created by the architecture students still makes its creaky way across campus on March 17th. March has many other things going for it besides this one popular holiday. This past week was Ash Wednesday; the beginning of the Lenten season. This marks the 40 Days (plus Sundays) until Easter. March also holds the vernal Equinox, when the day and night are equal. Early March is when enthusiastic gardeners begin putting seeds into peat pots and keep checking to see if the ground is thawing at all. Three members of my family and one good friend, celebrate their birthdays in March. Owls are hunting to feed babies, skunks are mating or may have already done so, chipmunks are running around on fine days, and there is a certain feeling in the air. March was (in my time with 4-H) when 4-H kids began sewing for Dress Revue. As our sewing skills grew, modeling in the Dress Revue was something to anticipate. My very first sewing project was an apron made from a pink-flowered feed sack. Feed sacks were great for beginning sewers; both for their cheerful prints and for the price ---zero. Next came a gathered skirt. Then I was brave enough to try a whole dress --- yellow polished cotton with cap sleeves, and later, a green wool suit. Those were successes in Dress Revue, a heady experience, for one was judged on both sewing expertise and poise in modeling the garment. The event was held in some elegant place, like the Granger Homestead in Canandaigua and was covered by local papers. On the strength of 4-H experiences, I chose Clothing and Textiles as my major at Cornell, a decision that needed more deliberation than I gave it. I enjoyed all of my classes: Draping, Tailoring, Pattern-making, so it was a while before the realization penetrated that if I were to make this my career, I needed to live in or near a large city. The rural areas that I prefer do not have many calls for fashion designers or buyers for non-existent dress shops. Fortunately, I had two minors, food & nutrition and journalism. I did use some of all that textiles information though. My first full-time job was a 4-H and Youth Educator in Maryland and I helped 4-Hers with sewing projects. Later, in both private and public schools, in Pennsylvania, I helped teach sewing skills again. I made my own wedding gown, a satin and lace confection with a flowing train, for $100 instead of $1000. And because I made it, it had a unique touch of pennies sewed into the hem of the train so it would flow smoothly and stay down nicely, my very own invention. 😊 Mostly, my sewing skills were used for family and home, which is not a bad thing. Observing the high cost of ready-made draperies and pillow shams, I was glad I could make them for only a fraction of that cost. In addition to sewing, I remember March for baby chicks. My mother, for fifteen years or so, sold DeKalb seed corn. All the farmers knew her, from membership in Farm & Home Bureau and Grange, and respected her for her integrity. This was something she could do from home, when I was small. For a few years, DeKalb sold chicks as well. The chicks came in large square boxes (ventilated, of course) and on delivery day, when I came home from school, our dining room had boxes and boxes, stacked shoulder-high, full of peeping chicks. Talk about too much noise!! I could stick my fingers in the vent holes and pet fuzzy little birds ---- also getting a few minor pecks. I can almost hear the peeping chorus even now. As we come into March, whether it entered as a lion or a lamb (and actually, it was a little of both this past weekend), we have a few messy, muddy weeks ahead of us. But what can we expect from a month named for the Roman god of war “Mars”? If you took Latin in school, you will not have forgotten the Ides of March (15th), in 44 BC, the day on which Julius Caesar was assassinated. “Et tu, Brute?” After last week’s warmer temperatures, and today’s 57 degrees, it is finally possible to anticipate Spring. No daffodils are poking little green shoots through the soil yet, and snow drops are still shivering beneath a pile of snow. But, a whole flock of red-winged blackbirds flew into our bird feeders on Saturday and there were starlings on the suet. And who guessed that we might get a thunder storm in March (last night)? Those who observe Lent are in the midst of deciding on a Lenten practice; will it be giving up something for the season? Chocolate? Desserts? Meat? Judging others? Or perhaps this year it will be adding something to their lives: thinking through biases? Reading Scripture more faithfully? Planning to do an act of kindness each day? Spending more time in prayer? Paying forward for someone? A yearly six weeks of thoughtfulness is probably a very good practice. Meanwhile, March is here, and it has much to offer. That very familiar Irish song, “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”, could cheer us on as we sing of brightness, gaiety, and laughter. Singing always makes me happier, so I can recommend it highly. Life can be good, whether the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold or it is summer in the sun and winter in the shade. If the snow ever melts, search for a shamrock or two. Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Charles Dickens **Peter Tremayne

Yes, it is still February! February has the fewest days, making it the shortest month, but it doesn’t feel so. Most of us are so tired of heavy coats and boots that February seems to take much longer than necessary; sort of like adding insult to injury. Our attitudes tend to “drag us through the month”! Of course, winter won’t last forever but as another front comes through, we do wonder. This week is COLD!! I have said (probably too often) “This too shall pass,” when something truly annoying or dire comes into life. And of course, it will, but knowing that, often doesn’t help in the moment. Charles Dickens must have agreed, though, when he wrote, in A Tale of Two Cities, this observation: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” We are in those times----- temporarily, in February ----- longer-lasting with our country and the world! My guess is that no one born on earth, escapes this puzzling situation of wonderful mixed with dreadful. And despite good intentions, it is no easy thing to switch our perspectives into hope and joy when in the midst of negatives. Late February weather does little to help us in this dilemma. Remember the old adage, “As days lengthen, cold strengthens.” We have just celebrated Valentine’s Day, which may have brightened last week. And President’s Day is also just past, a day off for many. There are available activities that might add zest to our February days; we have people ice-fishing on the village pond and there are pancake breakfasts offered by the Fire Company and the Masonic Lodge. Ithaca and Elmira (25 miles away) offer concerts and a variety of other options. Locally, the schools give concerts and plays, and maple syrup festivals (depending on the weather) are beginning. Attending some of these may help with our winter attitudes ----- for one’s attitude and perception are all-important in whether we meet mornings with a smile, or spend the day in grumbling. I do a bit of both, usually immediately upon rising! What a wonderful wood-fire in the stove. 😊 WHAT??? Two degrees below ZRO??! ☹ Grumbling comes so easily. There’s the weather, the news, the flu, the odd noise from the furnace, the rattling in the dishwasher. In addition, then there are so many issues today that both irritate and appall me. It would be so easy to fix them if I were just granted a magic wand for a few days. Wars would cease, food would be more equitably distributed so that no one went hungry, animals would be cared for with compassion and good sense, schools would take individual needs into consideration and education would be fun, nursing homes would have ample care-givers who were well-trained and kind, diversity would suddenly become acceptable to all, and kindness would be the “in” way to live. Health care would actually be healing and not atrociously expensive. And there would be a French bakery in every village. Life would be ideal ---- my ideal! Of course, that it is exactly what potential dictator’s say: You give me that scepter and crown, and I’ll make everything wonderful.” However, my ideal and your ideal (and their ideal) may be miles apart, and good-looking, glib-tongued fairy- godfathers or godmothers, too often, morph into goblin-tyrants. Looking back at history, there may have been one or two kindly and benevolent dictators, but not many. And even those rare individuals who intended to be good rulers, eventually succumbed to a lust for power, or those who surrounded them did, and they were assassinated. Since I’m very human, I probably couldn’t be trusted with that magic wand either. No one can! Which is why we must put up with the arguing and tediousness of a democratic republic; it seems to be fairer than any other form of government, frustrating though it might be for those who want what they want - yesterday! Even though we cannot always control the world around us, we can decide whether we wish to face life kindly and generously; carrying our own inner happiness or not. Situations may occur that affect our happiness, making it necessary for us to adapt ---- divorce, theft, fires, mudslides, unpleasant attitudes, deaths of people we love. All of these certainly require a time of healing and adjustment, and they may change us in some ways. Certainly, other people can contribute bonus happiness to our happiness with their love and thoughtfulness. But no one, other than ourselves, can be responsible for seeking that inner joy that becomes part of us. We decide how we will meet what life brings. No one ever said it would be easy but it does bring growth and wisdom. Gratitude helps with that inner joy. When life around us is discouraging, or even calamitous, we probably should remember that quote: “There is nothing new on earth.” (I think that might be from Ecclesiastes.). All of the emotions we feel, all of the dire happenings, all of the losses and the unfairness, have happened to someone before. So, we are not being singled out. Even amid hard times, when we think of all the things we have, both material things and wonderful, usable qualities, we should have no trouble being grateful. Gratitude transforms our emotional state. If we focus on all the things we think we lack, we immediately become unhappy. Some people spend their entire lives gathering more and more and are never satisfied. I’m guessing that their happiness is short-lived and dependent on what money/possessions they can get into their hands. There is a good book called “If You Give A Moose A Muffin.” It is an amusing, well-written book for kids, on greed. I once made a gift of that book to Amo Houghton, to share in Congress. He thought it was good too, and we laughed over it, but I doubt that he ever read it to his colleagues. Those people who have made the decision to live happily with whatever it is that they have, become joyous spirits who are shining lights to the rest of us. We all have a choice! Naturally the world being what it is, there will be days when it is quite impossible to summon a good attitude.Those are the days to curl up in a corner of the couch and read a comforting or inspirational book while listening to good music and sipping a cup of whatever seems good. We also have a choice about February. We can be despondent because winter is taking so long to depart, or we can make every day a scavenger hunt; looking for signs of spring. In addition to checking often for swollen buds on trees, for a bit of green grass in the boggy places, skunk cabbage showing its tips, and red-winged blackbirds, there are some fun things that may brighten up this late winter month. On a relatively warm day, cut some forsythia branches and put them in tepid water. In a week or so, yellow blossoms will bud and soon you will have a vase-full of spring right in your kitchen. Other shrubs can be forced to bloom early too, but I’m not sure which ones. I do know that lilacs are reluctant. You might find experimenting with this a fun project. While thinking about this, I relived a February memory of fun I had back when I was more agile and resilient. I was a freshman in college at SUNY Plattsburg, on the shore of Lake Champlain. My roommate, Barbara, and I, thought it would be fun to skate on that lovely, large lake, and we did. And had a great time, though the ice was a little rough since no one had cleaned it off. We discovered later why it wasn’t cleaned off; that no way should we have been skating there, especially by ourselves. Apparently, the lakes have huge air bubbles and fractures in the ice, that could give way and plunge us into icy water. Our guardian angels must have been alert, and thankfully, that didn’t happen. As February’s days come to an end, we can look forward to winds, mud, and a few more snow squalls. But also, we’ll have starry, frosty nights and sunny, melting-snow days. So perhaps this poem, “February Twilight,” by Sara Teasdale* will inspire us to enjoy what comes: “I stood beside a hill smooth with new-laid snow, A single star looked out from the cold evening glow. There was no other creature that saw what I could see --- I stood and watched the evening star as long as it watched me.” May you find magic moments in the rest of February. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Sara Teasdale ---American writer and poet. 1884-1933.

It is only the sixth day of this new month, but Valentine’s Day is only a week away. Do you remember the lacy-decorated box on the teacher’s desk, made to hold valentine cards? Do you remember those packets of little valentines, about 20 of them /box, we exchanged with each other? Valentine’s Day still can be a fun time that brightens our winter and gives us another chance to spread a little love around. One of my favorite poems for this occasion is by Robert Louis Stevenson:* “I will make you brooches and toys for your delight, of birdsong at morning and starshine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me of green days in forests and blue days at sea.” Gift options (unless you are a poet) for today’s valentines are less imaginative, but still delightful. Retail stores go all out to sell heart-shaped boxes of candy, beautiful bouquets of flowers, sparkling jewelry and silky lingerie. And there are little bags of tiny heart candies in the grocery store. Made-by-you gifts are also wonderful; a box of fudge, special cookies, a heart-shaped pillow, or a promissory note to clean the refrigerator or wash the car. When I have the time/energy, I still like to make my own valentines; I enjoy working with construction paper, doilies, ribbons and glue; probably a bit of that inner child they talk about in therapy. Whether you buy your valentines or create your own, send an Email or make a phone call ---- those people who receive one, people you care about, feel especially loved. Valentine’s Day exists because of a clergyman’s (possibly a Bishop) kind heart and his martyrdom. The Reverend Valentine continued to marry young couples in violation of the Roman emperor’s decree (who wanted those single, young men for soldiers), and he was thrown into jail. While imprisoned, he sent notes to his family and friends signed, “Your Valentine.” He was executed on February 14th for his disobedience ( it didn’t take much to be executed back then), but, as St. Valentine, he lives on in the hearts of all romantics. So, carry on his tradition and do something special to brighten your day and those you care about. Happy Valentine’s Day! This time of winter is when we all start sighing, and begin looking for signs of spring, imaginary or not. Suddenly we can hardly wait for a tomato and lettuce sandwich straight from the garden. I go over my garden plans again, and check the plant catalogs. Last fall, while the summer’s dreadful gardening experiences, due to illness and weather, were vivid in our memories, I was determined to cut back, making less work for us. But then the catalogs came in December, with those enticing pictures of peonies and roses, delphiniums and lilies ---one can almost smell them. I can, with some difficulty, cut back on growing vegetables, but leaving out flowers is a painful. I can, all too well, envision blue delphiniums against the gray fence posts and another climbing rose on the pergola. The periwinkle blue of scabiosa (dreadful name) would be lovely against the stone foundation of the house and creamy nasturtiums spilling over railings would be charming. Maybe more big pots will help. I come by my garden addiction honestly. I have written before about my mother’s gardens. But my sister, Betty, had quite impressive gardens too, and one sister-in-law was really good as well; she had a carpet of bluebells beneath a tree that was beautiful in the spring. And my brother Frank’s gladiolus, were always large, brilliant, and satiny. Several of my nieces are carrying on this gardening tradition in California, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York and possibly South Carolina; I haven’t been there, yet to see, but she has a lovely garden in NYS. If the garden catalogs aren’t tempting enough, we have at least three garden stores within a half-hour’s drive. And even more compelling, several studies have indicated that working in the soil is beneficial to one’s health. There is something about contact with the earth, and being outside, that calms the mind and lifts the spirits. So, my concrete plans last Fall for closing down some of the gardens, may crumble with the onset of spring. However, revising plans and creating flower combinations, is something that gets me through the weeks of February cold and snow. Imagination is a wonderful thing! The flower for February is the snowdrop. The month is named in honor of Februa, the Roman goddess of cleansing, and prior to the Roman influence, to Brigid, the Celtic goddess of healing, poetry, and craftsmanship. February 2nd is well-known in America, as Ground Hog Day, one of our sillier, but fun, customs to get us through the winter. This is when we allow someone to awaken a very comfortable woodchuck to consult him about the arrival of spring. If the woodchuck’s expression on morning TV is any indication, he would just like to bite someone and go back to his nap. February 2nd is also Candlemas Day. This is a Christian holiday to commemorate the day Mary took Jesus to the temple, as a baby, to be dedicated. This is when both church and personal candles are blessed for the coming year. February brings the Full Snow Moon and/or the Full Hunger Moon. I expect that the latter name was very realistic for those people who lived close to the land. Supplies were getting low and hunger was the norm for this time of the year. Many years ago, when I was in elementary school, we celebrated Washington’s birthday, and Lincoln’s birthday on separate days. Some decades ago, they were combined into Presidents’ Day. I don’t really know what kids do now to mark the occasions, although they do have the day off from school. Do third graders still draw pictures of cherry trees and hatchets? Do they still read the story of why Abraham Lincoln took the advice of a little girl regarding his beard? And is the Gettysburg Address still required reading? Memorizing the names of presidents and the order in which they served, may still be done, but wouldn’t it be more valuable to talk about them, as real people? Discussions of their accomplishments, and their mistakes would teach kids to think and evaluate. George Washington apparently had thoughts about our thinking when he said: “In a free and republican (not political party; a form of government) government you cannot restrain the voice of the multitude. Every man will speak as he thinks, or, more probably, without thinking, and consequently will judge of effects without attending to their causes.” Washington had a dim view of the thinking coming from the general populace and I do not think that has changed much. Too many people are stuck in a rut of non-thinking, only accepting a news channel that tells then what they wish to hear, fearful that their children will think differently, afraid of new ideas, unused to thinking about the procession of an idea’s beginning through to the consequences. People need to question, research, and process all components of ideas that will affect many others. Moving from philosophy to the view outside my window, we are still turkey-less. They left in October (turkey season began) and must remain in whatever haven they’ve found elsewhere. It saves considerably on bird seed, but I miss them. They pushed each other around like a crowd of adolescent boys, fanned their tails as spring approaches, and provided an interesting scenario beneath the bird feeders. There are plenty of bird varieties that do come; juncos, Carolina wrens, cardinals, blue jays, several kinds of finches, nuthatches, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, and the cheery chickadees. A hawk came swooping through one day, right after I’d put out seed. There were many birds on the ground and on the feeders. I don’t think the hawk caught one; those little birds surely did scatter; in a whirlwind of beaks and feathers. They were definitely traumatized, for they didn’t come back for two or three hours. As we proceed into February, the days grow lighter and we know we are closer to spring. However, there is plenty of winter left unless we have a most unusual season. People who live in more urban areas, where there are many lights and much activity, wonder what on earth we country-dwellers do with ourselves in the cold and snow. Trust me, we are seldom bored! There is an exercise program for upper arms and shoulders in scraping ice from car windows and shoveling sidewalks or paths. And there is the equally-useful exercise acquired when splitting wood for kindling and carrying logs. 😊 I don’t think I’d enjoy living where there wasn’t a change of seasons. I like variety in my life. And there is a delicious feeling of being cozily snowbound when one is inside and the snow is coming in flakes, showers or squalls, outside. Winter gives us time to enjoy the scenery through the window, since we can’t be doing all that much outside. Inside, there’s time to write real letters to friends. We can pick up a paintbrush and try those water colors we got for Christmas three years ago. We can, whittle, knit, embroider, hook rugs or braid them ---- all old crafts that shouldn’t be lost. But most of all, in February, we can send a valentine or two, to let people know they are cherished and important to us. And we can move slowly through each fleeting day, appreciating every precious moment to the fullest. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Robert Louis Stevenson--- Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. 1850-1894.

Note: This column was originally intended to be posted January 23rd however I'm just getting to it now. My apologies for the delay -Chris Here we are, past mid-January. With each fresh snowfall, our lawn is crisscrossed with tracks; cat, deer, rabbits, mice, and possum. There was one slightly larger track that featured long claws, and a dragging tail. I’m thinking it might be a fisher. I am envisioning nightly, wild, wild-life parties after our lights are out. Perhaps Fauns, Ents and Dryads too, for all I know. January hasn’t many holidays, but we just celebrated one that helps us remember the struggle people of color have had as to acquire the same rights as anyone else. It seems impossible to me that such extreme measures would be necessary among civilized, intelligent people, but unfortunately, too many people have been raised to think it is OK to fear and demean those fellow-humans who do not look like them, or who come from diverse cultures. This attitude needs to be outgrown and erased. Historically, every time a new group came to the United States from Europe, Africa or Asia --- the Irish, the Italians, the Poles, the Chinese, the Vietnamese ---- they were rejected by many people. Any “excuse” given for banning entire groups (instead of individuals) is not just undeniably lame, but immoral and unjust. Martin Luther King *set an example of reform when he combined non-violence with continual in-your-face reminders that he was not going to give up his quest until his goals were on their way to being met. He was a 20th-century Don Quixote,** only far more lucid. He didn’t fight imaginary windmills, but real attitudinal barriers. Recently, Kerm and I spent an evening with neighbors. We ranged in age from mid-80s to a delightful 4-year-old. Several of us have lived here in Spencer for decades, some came, more recently, from Guatemala and Mexico. We chatted, laughed and told stories over pizza and cookies. But there was also some serious discussion about cultural differences and changes ---- how we regret some of those changes in values (courtesy, kindness, respect), and in ethics (courage, honesty, honor). And we felt not only regret, but fear for the future and for our grandchildren. We have all seen signs of this letting down of standards, from the halls of Congress to the halls of our local schools. So, why do we fear? And should we fear? I recently heard a speaker say that we all have three basic fears: fear of failing, fear of being judged and fear of the unknown. We humans fear change!! There are some valid bogymen to frighten us: worse and more frequent storms, human violence and anger, disrespect for laws, businesses that value the bottom line more than people, suffering that evokes too little compassion, and an everyman for himself philosophy. Then, some things that frighten us are mostly in our heads. Most people with whom I regularly have contact are fine, caring, courteous, law-abiding people including school kids, and in spite of cultural changes! And I know that you, who read these essays, are people who are responsible, kind and caring. So, I’m wondering if perhaps I, perhaps we, are over-stressing the bad guys. Perhaps if we turned off the TV, stayed off the net for a while, we might feel less fearful and more trusting in the integrity and goodness we see around us. We might believe more in ourselves too. Media not only instigates comparisons that make us feel inadequate, but shines a brilliant light on startling and dreadful things. Humans eagerly feed on sensation, which brings in more money. We all might consider letting change bring curiosity and suspended judgement, more than fear. It is a choice. I found this writing by Khalil Gibran.** FEAR ________ “It is said that before entering the sea, a river trembles with fear. She looks back at the path she has traveled, from the peaks of the mountains, the long winding road crossing forests and villages. And in front of her, she sees an ocean so vast, that to enter there seems nothing more than to disappear forever. But there is no other way. The river cannot go back. Nobody can go back. To go back is impossible in existence. The river needs to take the risk of entering the ocean because only then will fear disappear. Because that’s where the river will know it’s not about disappearing into the ocean, but of becoming the ocean.” We may kick and scream, but change is guaranteed, along with death and taxes. Some changes might be distasteful; but some may be good. What actual differences will these changes make? Am I, are you, personally affected? If change only disturbs our sense of what “should be” then maybe we don’t have to be in a tizzy. Of course, simply burying one’s head in the sand,ostrich-like, isn’t a useful either. Ignoring reality is not useful practice, comfortable though it may be. We weren’t put on earth to be totally comfortable. If I feel called to participate either for or against a particular change, then I should do that. But perhaps, it isn’t really my business, in which case, I can control my attitude and keep my mouth shut, according to Victor Frankl*** who certainly should know. We might remember Pandora’s Box. Curiosity opened that box and let a whole slew of things escape into the world; irritating, bad, scary -----and very good. The last escapee from that box was Hope! I often think of my mother when people complain about changes. She lived from 1898 to 1993; the Spanish-American war ended, then lived through WWI, WWII, the Korean Conflict, the Cuban crisis, war in Viet Nam and all of the “cold war” days. She saw transportation change from horses and buggies to trolley cars to automobiles and trains, to planes. She lived through The Great Depression, saw both inept and good presidents, and watched our landing on the moon. I never once heard her moan about change, unless it was the change in her energy level and eyesight. She didn’t approve of everything she saw, but her freely-shared disapproval was specific, not general. In other words, she usually watched and waited before she labeled something. And she was often intrigued by new opportunities brought by the change. Wishing for the “good old years” is delusional, and a bit selfish. They may have been blissful, for you or me, but a peek into history tells us that they probably were not great for the rest of the world’s people, or even those down the street. My childhood was mostly trauma-free, and generally happy, but that was partly due to my ignorance. I was mostly unaware and clueless about poverty, injustices, discrimination and the incredible burdens planed upon so many of the world’s people. Now we know about these things, and see horrors as they happen. Advocacy and tireless work have made some changes (with some people kicking and screaming about changes, all the way), but much still needs to be done. And it won’t happen without different attitudes and openness to change. I have a poster; a quotation from Gandhi*****: “The Seven Deadly Social Sins: Politics without Principle ---- Wealth without Work ----Commerce without Morality ----Pleasure without Principle ----Worship without Sacrifice.” Of course, most of us cannot focus totally on saving the world. We need balance in our lives; fun, spiritual growth, exercise and times of restoration. As you’ve probably discerned, I find my relaxation in reading, gardening, or listening to music. Others may go skiing or hiking. Or do woodworking or puzzles. This winter, I’m contemplating a rather ambitious project; writing, My Little Book of Theology. I’m not sure why I want to do this, for I don’t plan on publishing it. I have no expertise in this field; no theological background nor do I read Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek. But I have had, and do have a spiritual journey. Writing about this seems like a good winter project. We all need to tell our stories of life,not for an ego-trip, but to share experiences with others who might find them useful. One of my nieces wrote a book about growing up in her family and it was very good reading. While cleaning out my mother’s house, we discovered a few pages written in long hand; some of her story. We learned several things about her that we hadn’t known, and it was like having a conversation with her again. I wish she had written more. Perhaps, one day, when the wind blows cold, you could begin writing down some of your stories. They will surely be appreciated by someone who needs to hear them. Meanwhile, January is waning and February is on the horizon. If you sense a case of cabin fever coming on, or are frustrated with life, my suggestion is to go outside and throw a few snowballs. It is amazing how hitting something with a good “splat” will improve one’s mood. What we did for fun when we were seven, often still works at seventy. And in remembering Martin Luther King Day --- along with Presidents’ Day coming in February-- perhaps we will be inspired to face change with curiosity, courage and good sense. The “tracks” we leave in life should allow others to safely follow and continue on our path upward and outward. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be contacted at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Martin Luther King ---20th Century advocate for Civil Rights, and a Baptist pastor. 1929-1968. **Don Quixote ---A gentleman, created as hero of a novel by Miguel de Cervantes ---- Man of La Mancha. ***Khalil Gibran ---Lebanese-American poet and artist. 1883-1931. ****Victor Frankl ---Austrian psychiatrist who was incarcerated by the Nazis for being Jewish. He was the author of several books, and sad this after his experiences: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms; to choose one’s attitude.” *****Gandhi---Indian attorney, Anti-colonial nationalist, and political ethicist. Known for his non-violent protest, and leadership in making India an independent nation. 1869-1948.

“The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig in the elm tree was ridged inch-deep with pearl.”* And so, the cycle begins again. Winter has arrived, and will undoubtedly outstay its welcome, before our portion of the earth slowly finds spring. Just as we are enjoying spring, summer will suddenly pounce upon us, with all its heat and greenness. Eventually, golden fall will enchant us once more before we find ourselves back into winter again, a year from now. I am finally, in my older years, beginning to look at the “big picture” instead of always focusing on the close-up of often-worrisome details, though I still do the latter too often. This movement through twelve months seemingly took more time, thirty years ago, than it takes now. Of course that is a matter of perspective. If I could do anything with my writing, I’d etch in fiery words, the idea that: every moment is precious; that even in negative moments, we are full of life, and because of that, are able to find shining gleams of gold amid the darkness. January has always been a hopeful month, for me. It begins a new year, and there might be great possibilities ahead. The calendar pages are mostly empty of obligations. But, Oh. woe! January has suddenly filled up with doctors’ appointments which is not a really good omen. But isn’t it fine to have those skilled medical people available when needed? Our son came by the other day, having back issues, and growled: “Just who decided these were the golden years?” He has a long way to go before he can consider himself old, but he is absolutely right; aging brings challenges; and not just physical ones. I remember a friend, who was nearing 100 years, wondering why she was still alive when all her friends had passed on. At a small party she said: “I do enjoy all of you, but I am sad that there is no one left with whom I can share past experiences, who will understand them. It is true that as one’s generation thins, and as one’s capabilities ebb, one does wonder. But life itself, with all of its troubles, is reason enough, isn’t it? Even though I cannot whirl around in a polka, get the house cleaned in a day, plant four garden beds in an afternoon, or throw a 12th-Night party, I am alive and so far, lucid, a solid resource for our sons, grandchildren and family members. Kerm and I are a reliable “constant” for at least a while longer. Albert Camus said: “The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. Inside this aging body is a heart that is still curious, still as hungry, still as full of longing as it was in youth. I sit at the window and watch the world pass by, feeling like a stranger in a strange land, unable to relate to the world outside, and yet within me burns the same fire that once thought it could conquer the world. And the real tragedy is that the world still remains so distant and elusive, a place I could never quite grasp.”** I don’t regard my world as alien as Camus apparently felt, but perhaps that is because my world smaller and I have no desire to conquer those larger realms to which he refers. I do understand though, how one can feel young inside, regardless of parchment skin, whitening hair, and stiff joints. The inside person sometimes bears little relevance to the outside shell. According to the “young” part of my mind, I could square dance the evening away, buy the church that is for sale and turn it into a tea/book shop, or start an after-school spot for kids to gather. Fortunately, my “common sense” part kicks in and swats me (Gibb’s-style), bringing me back to reality. I recently heard a podcast by Dr. Kelly and Juliet;*** they were discussing signs of not aging well. One of the top signs was lack of mobility; increased episodes of falling and being unable to get up from the floor or the ground. Since this recently happened to me, and I was still recovering from that fall in November, I took special note of what they were saying. Bone-Builders has ceased to be in my community, so I’ve done no specific exercises to strengthen the legs. After listening to that, I have decided to begin again, regardless of how boring it is to exercise alone. It is important to me to maintain both mobility and independence. It is distressing to all concerned, when I must be picked up off the floor. So, in addition to the exercises, I will walk in the snow (carefully, with my new pointy cane) and take time for deep-breathing to strengthen my lungs, and maybe my balance. While out there, I’ll only visualize making snow angels and sliding down the hill. Just visualize! And now that I’ve mentioned snow, we’ve had a weather-cycle of light snow, melting away, and light snow again. No huge amounts but a constant covering. There seemed to be more, and it lasted longer, when I was growing up. Of course, I lived near Rochester, so we got lake-effect from Lake Ontario. I remember making snow forts, snow angels, and snowmen quite frequently when told to “get your nose out of that book and go outside!” In my teen years, we had sledding parties or skating parties, with hot chocolate afterward --- some delightful ones by moonlight. And we occasionally tobogganed; a hazardous sport when barbed wire fences are involved. Another part of my winter experience was how difficult it could be for dairy farmers when snowy roads closed. Until the 1960s, the road I lived on was unpaved; iffy driving in snow and mud. One snow storm, I remember, made it impossible for the milk truck to get through to our farm for two-three days. Cows do not stop giving milk just because there is nowhere to put it. So after all the milk cans were filled, we began finding other containers. Our final resort was sterilizing and then filling the bath tub with milk. My father swore me to secrecy, but I think that after 70 years, it’s probably OK to share what was a creative and frugal winter necessity. Today’s milk tanks may make excess storage easier perhaps, but I if I had a dairy farm, I’d keep a few of the old milk cans around, just in case. As we begin this year of 2025, I’ve been trying to equip my mind for happy things that this year may bring. Conscious gratitude may be a buffer against the frightening things; that are blatantly evident on every newscast and newspaper. Besides the activities mentioned above, there are some cold season blessings we may choose to make our winter pleasant. None of them involve TV, social media or driving in snow! We don’t have hot chocolate often, but once in a while, it is a comfortable way to end the day. Making soups; bean and ham, vegetable/beef, chicken noodle, potato; they taste great and make the house smell wonderful. Those stacks of books or magazines? What better time to read them than when we want to be cozily inside. A recent cartoon showed a girl sitting in a chair surrounded by stacks of books. The caption read: “Books won’t solve your problems, but ---- neither will housework. Read!” My sentiments too! There is music; because we are inside, we listen more often or maybe even produce some music ourselves. Popcorn and movies at home drown out those cold winds. Brisk breezes and fresh snow have a way of clearing the mind of sludgy thoughts too. A walk outside is good for both the mind and body. A warm coat, mittens and good boots are necessities, and most people in my age category should probably use a ski pole, cane or walking staff for balance. One of my jobs (before falling) was filling bird feeders. I may moan slightly in mid-afternoon, about going out into the cold, but once out there, I enjoy the chickadees bopping about, the tree branches against the sky, the flash of a cardinal, and checking who’s been by; via the tracks of rabbits, cats, mice, deer, and other visitors. January offers time to absorb some new ideas; to broaden our experiences, maybe to reach out to community in some way. The Spencer Grange used to have what we called a “Winter Wake-Up.” It was a dish-to-pass for anyone who wished to come. It brought a wide mix of people. There was conversation, sometimes musical instruments for a fun jam, and games or dancing. Being a comfortable part of a community is important, and we need to get together often. There are also many places to volunteer for everyone’s good: Food Pantry, Fire Station, Lion’s Club, Library, churches, etc. As we observe this yearly cycle, pay attention to the world around us – the star patterns, the times of meteor showers, changes in daylight hours. Taking the time to watch the sun rise or set is a pleasure for the soul. January skies can be brilliant. And increased daylight hours lift my spirits. So, begin this year’s cycle with relishing each day and being grateful for all the small beautiful happenings. Stay connected – with people around you, with the earth and skies, and with your own feelings and thoughts. Then, no matter what difficulties pop up in 2025, as they surely will, you will be glad you are alive and perhaps even grateful for January. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *James Russell Lowell – American poet and diplomat. 1819-1891. **Albert Camus, from “The Fall”. --- French writer, dramatist, activist. 1913-1960. ****Dr. Kelly and Juliet--- American mobility trainers.

Scattered scraps of Christmas wrap, curling ribbons and partially-burned candles, mark this morning, as I send greetings out for a continued good Christmas season (it is Christmas until Twelfth Night January 6th), a Blessed Chanukah season a Happy Boxing Day, and a joyous Kwanzaa festival. All of those make up today. Also, our granddaughters and family are here for a few days, and life is good. After a leisurely, get-it-yourself breakfast, I’m sitting at the computer, looking out at a wintery landscape, about to happily connect with you all. We got enough snow last Friday to make plowing the driveway necessary, but it is receding now. Yesterday was lovely, as it generally is when our family gathers; there’s laughter, appreciation and sharing of stories. And because we are in basic agreement about much of life in general the atmosphere is very relaxed. However, even if our whole extended family members gathered and there are some with whom we disagree in specific areas of life, we all have love enough, and manners enough, to listen to each other, and speak with consideration. Loving does not depend on thinking alike or agreeing about lifestyles. We love people for who they are to us --- quirks and all. That is what good families do, and what courteous people do, and definitely what Christians are supposed to do. Courtesy and caring should be our basic attitude toward each other anywhere. If we regard each other with love and respect, we can be honest, but listen and allow differing points of view to be spoken. If we look on each other as persons who both care and wish to learn, life would be better everywhere (infinitely better in Congress, where manners are few and adolescent behavior is rampant)! Manners seem to be slipping into rudeness and scorn, in a lot of places. My father, having himself been brought up by a stern mother, was adamant about proper behavior. There were to be no sloppy table manners; no interruptions of other’s conversations, or, Heaven forbid, no throwing a tantrum, or behaving in a rude manner in the presence of anyone at all, anywhere! We were to respect a person for who he/she was, and if we couldn’t, we were to keep quiet about it. While I don’t agree with my father’s way of teaching this, I do agree that children should be taught to be courteous people. This must have impressed my siblings as well as me for I never heard any of their children behaving in a way that created havoc when we were all together. The house could be filled with a dozen children of varying ages, and there was only laughter and conversation. There might be a scream or two if someone fell down the laundry chute or rolled out of the hay mow, but those were understandable reactions. I have to wonder about parents who let their kiddies mouth off, loudly demand attention or scream in displeasure. It is no favor for children to allow them to be rude or uncaring of others or to think that their little selves are the center of the universe. Teaching children to get along with others will be a benefit to them for all their lives. I’m not advocating “children should be seen and not heard”! Nor am I failing to recognize that there are emotional disturbances that surely need understanding help. That is quite a different thing from being obnoxious to get one’s own way. I am just saying, manners are a boon and a blessing to all concerned. But back to Christmas. Kerm and I can, from our vantage point, look back on a lot of family Christmas celebrations. Very few were ideal or without problems. When I was seven or eight, I had the mumps during Christmas holidays, and I remember being able to eat only mashed potatoes for dinner. And there was the Christmas my father built large doll houses for my niece, Jan, and for me (but whose would be finished first??). After Kerm and I were married, there were the years when traveling to visit family triggered colds and/or tonsillitis for our little ones. We spent a lot of nights in a rocking chair with coughing, wakeful children. Then there was the year our three-year-old decided to open gifts at 2 AM and he is still alive to talk about it. The year we moved to the Catskills, Christmas Eve brought a blizzard through those lovely mountains and most of central NYS. When we tried traveling on the next day (Christmas) --- we ended up in a ditch outside of Trumansburg. A super-kind family rescued us that night --- with our two children and an English cocker. They warmed us, fed us and gave us sleeping bags and blankets, and allowed our dog to point their cockateel all night. There were really good Christmases when we put tables through my mother’s dining room and living room; when our whole clan of 35 or so gathered. There was the Christmas when Grandma knitted every kid a pair of wooly slippers, and the Christmas when our small son’s 15-year-old uncle, gave him a drum!! There was the stellar Christmas when Kerm built a barn for the boys; a barn they could crawl into, with hand-painted-by-me wooden cows, pigs and chickens. We remember Kerm’s Grandma’ B.’s “Christmas cake,” opening gifts after the morning milking was done, and learning from Kerm’s Grandma Storm how to play triple-deck pinochle. We have a rich store of Christmas memories to warm us when we are feeling adrift and old. Looking back, seems to erase about 30 years from our ages. Christmases do not have to be perfect in every way; they were always exciting regardless, or maybe because of, mumps, weather, financial resources, sniffles or coughs, and even a drum. Every twelve-month cycle brings both good times and not-so-good to really terrible ones. I’m sure this has been true as long as there have been years. We are nearing the end of 2024, which seems quite impossible, and leaves me wondering how a yar can fly by so fast. Last January we began the new year by sharing a meal with friends. That is an excellent way to begin any year and we hope to do this again. Of course, by tradition, many people begin making resolutions for a better “next year.”. I recently read a blog by someone called The Urban Monk, whose writing I like. And he suggested that perhaps trying to make changes in our habits in January, with the snow flying, isn’t such a smart thing to do. He suggested that winter is a time to snuggle in, to simply enjoy a time of semi-hibernation. He feels winter can better be used as a time of restoration rather than resolution. Save the new energies and habits for spring. And that sounds good to me. I plan to use wintery days to put together at least two or three more scrapbooks; getting my piles of photos and memorabilia in some kind of order and tossing the rest. And, of course, there also will be the plant and seed catalogs just waiting for my enthusiastic scanning! (Repeat after me: “No new gardens! Downsizing!”) 😊 It isn’t my habit to make resolutions anyway. There are certainly things I hope to do, but basically, I hope to survive well, to find the most joy possible in each day, and to find peace amid the conflict and chaos around me. I would like to be less judgmental and less inclined to go off like a lit sparkler when I’m upset. But I know that kind of behavior adjustment, is a work in progress. I would also like to make sure I do not fall on my face (or any other part of my body) either literally or metaphorically. Falls are potentially lethal for people in their 80s, and I’d rather not go there. Age is maybe supposed to equal wisdom, but there are times when my wisdom is on par with a toddler. A small part of my brain tells me that I’ll be fine on a step stool, or skidding around in the snow, but another part of my brain --- thankfully --- usually flashes a warning signal that saves me from disaster. I’d like a tad more wisdom in those questionable areas of activity. And I’d like to have clear direction, on occasion, whether to speak firmly, or to keep my mouth shut. The learning process will likely be a hardship, but one that needs to be endured. As you look to the last days of December and peer into the new year beginning in January, I hope that you envision good times with friends, many moments of peace, and a continued growth of who you are. I saw a seminar being offered, the title of which was “A Year of Courageous Loving.” And the subtitle was “A Yearlong Journey of Compassion, Connection, and Courageous Love.” I thought that this is probably the ideal way to look ahead in a year that must be difficult. There is so little peace, so much suffering, so little compassion, so much selfishness and a plethora of twisted values. If we meet these challenges with anger, despair, or bitterness, we only contribute to the universal mess. Learning to love with agape love, in the midst of all that we see as bad, inappropriate, and even evil, that is a weapon that will, eventually, make a difference for good. Meanwhile, in these last December days, I find this advice by Richard Street to be good: “Enjoy these short days. Curl up with a book, a candle, and a glass of something you like. Revel in the dark depths of December, so beautiful, black, and utterly without expectation. Longer days will be coming soon enough.” Carol writes from her home in Spencer.

Are you sitting with your feet up, listening to lovely music and enjoying the day? Relishing the season of Advent? Perhaps not; for many, ‘tis the season of constant rushing around, and endless “to-do” lists. For at least fifty years, I’ve been trying to bring more serenity into my very own holiday chaos, sometimes succeeding for a bit, but the rushing around always catches me at some point, tossing me hither and leaving my mind yon and a-whirl! I find myself overwhelmed by the metaphorical weight of “wreaths, ribbons, baubles, bangles and beads.” But, with determination (and probably advanced age!), each year, holiday time gets a little better. I may be a slow learner, but I do pick up a hack or two every year, that, when applied, eases my holiday season and improves my mental health. I used to be madly sewing holiday pajamas for our small sons, robes for grandmas, sachet bags, neckties, etc. Said sons are quite large now, and can acquire their own pajamas, and I plan no more sewing projects for them or anyone else. In the kitchen, I no longer make six kinds of candy and a dozen kinds of cookies. I find two or three kinds of cookies and one batch of fudge is more than sufficient ---especially when everyone is watching their A1C and trying to stem the tide of weight gain. Now, usually when my head begins spinning, I very sensibly sit down and listen to some Christmas music, from the Kings’ Singers, Enya, the Monks of the Weston Priory or Rod McKuen. And I am restored. When one lightens the daily weight of too much to do, and moving too fast, it becomes possible to share the warmth and blessing of our personal Light within. This year, because I had the misfortune of falling and injuring both ankles, just before Thanksgiving, I’m slowed down by necessity. Talk about bad timing! Or is it? While I am recovering, it is certainly difficult to rearrange furniture, hang the greens and buzz about in my usual speedy manner. And that is a bit frustrating, but impaired ability has taught me several things: 1) It isn’t so bad to allow people to help you. I greatly enjoyed Thanksgiving where my only contribution was a casserole of Dutchess potatoes taken from the freezer. I have felt blessed by the flowers, applesauce, Emails and cards from friends. I also was grateful for the kind assistance provided by sons and daughters-in-law. 2) For right now, I have discovered that I can enjoy the season without some of the decorations and traditions that I thought necessary. This may not be true of every year, but the world actually doesn’t fall apart if I take a nap instead of decking the halls. 3) This experience has helped me to sort out what is important to our happiness and what is ephemeral. There is much that is pleasant and pretty but won’t be missed. I save my limited energy for what delights me. One of those things is putting out simple seasonal decorations. I like pumpkins on the porch for Halloween and Thanksgiving, and then evergreens for Christmas. When it is time (and this year, the days were so warm that the jack-o-lanterns sagged quickly), the pumpkins go to the turkeys and deer. Then, the green wreaths with red velvet bows, take over the porch. I enjoy the annual reappearance of old ornaments, setting up the creche with all our odd, collection of santons (figures), and creating a winter scene with the Sno Babies. And I love the large bouquet of seeded eucalyptus that I only get at this time of the year. There will be one difference this year. My rearrangement of the living room in September, left no room for squeezing in a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree. Just none!! I’m very skilled too, at squeezing things in, but even I can’t do it this time. So, for the second time in our lives, we will be having a table tree. Our first, and so far, only table tree was in 1964, our first Christmas together. We lived in what was optimistically called an “efficiency apartment” just over the D.C. line into College Park, Maryland. This abode consisted of a tiny kitchen, a miniscule bathroom, and a slightly larger room that doubled as a living room and bedroom, in the below-ground level of a house. Kerm was in grad school, and I had been working all of three months, as a 4-H and Youth educator for Maryland Cooperative Extension. To mention that our budget was tight would be redundant. Kerm finally found an “affordable” Scotch pine ($35 in 1964 was considerable!! Rent was only $95/month!), and set it up on the only possible piece of furniture, an oak dresser. We found some shiny inexpensive ornaments, a string of lights, and a box of tinsel. This was our first Christmas tree. And it was beautiful! Another dilemma created by our extremely limited income that year, was with Christmas gifts. At the time, I was accustomed to giving to 14 nieces and nephews as well as the adults in our lives. What could we do? Happily, we found an unusual solution to part of our problem, as we were exiting a five and dime store. There was a 16-inch-tall “Gonk” on display; a creature that resembled the Shmoos in the “Lil Abner cartoons.* When inflated, they kind of rocked and popped back up when knocked over. And they were $2 apiece. What a success they were! As the living room, at Christmas filled with gonks, everyone laughed and laughed, and one kid who we thought too old for a gonk, complained that he hadn’t gotten one. Happy Christmases do not have to be expensive. Inflation has made gifting a bit harder, but ingenuity still works. Baked gifts and home-made candy are always wonderful and so are promissory notes for helping out at a later time. I grew up with a regular Christmas tree every year with lights, tinsel, and Shiny Brite ornaments, as did Kerm. Sometimes we even had “angel hair” (popular in the 1950s), that prickly-to-the-hands stuff made of spun glass, resembling cotton candy. But after my father died, and my mother was alone, the large tree became too much for her to handle, even with help. She gradually drifted into setting up a large crock full of evergreen branches from her own landscaping---spruce, fir, pine, and yew. Her decorations were simple, often just bright red bows or white snowflakes! She passed the Shiny Brite ornaments on to us. I was a little sad to see that change, but the fragrance and the vision of the mixed greens was just as Christmas-y as a tree stretching from floor to ceiling. And the really important thing, that we came home to find, hadn’t changed the pleasure of being together. Humans need togetherness to really thrive in life. If one’s blood family isn’t compatible, then we must create a family from friends. No one should allow themselves to be isolated. Everyone has heard that “no man is an island unto himself,”* and this is quite true. We need each other. Some of us are more comfortable than others with plenty of alone time. But every single one of us also craves companionship. One of the worst results of the pandemic, in addition to the deaths, and loss of many small businesses, was the effect of isolation on people. It created major difficulties for kids who were doing all of their schoolwork on line, and also for adults who had no social resources. Some elderly people in nursing homes died without family nearby; they weren’t allowed in. I hope that if another such time comes along, we realize how damaging all that isolation can be, and will try some ideas for mitigating the loneliness even as we try to keep from spreading disease (masks are useful things after all) We are undeniably interconnected! The light from the sun is needed for our survival on earth. The Light that we seek, each year in December, in the seasons of Chanukah and Christmas is necessary for our spiritual enlightenment and growth. And Kwanzaa also reminds us about the blessing of Light and a supportive community. Releasing some of the weight of our imaginary holiday burdens and taking time to find lightness of spirit, is the purpose of Advent. Christmas Eve is only 12 days away. Chanukah begins at sundown on Christmas Day. Kwanzaa begins on the 26th. With dark clouds (both real and metaphorical) around every corner, carrying Light within is not always easy. I think that this next year may be one of those difficult times for many. We need a spiritual connection with a Higher Power than our own, we need to realize our ties to and responsibility for the earth, and we always need each other. A personal in-filling and sharing of Light is what saves humanity and this world. Leo Tolstoy*** knew that when he said: “There is something in the human spirit that will survive and prevail --- a tiny and brilliant light burning in the heart of man that will not go out, no matter how dark the world becomes.” May this holiday time be full of blessings for you --- music, laughter, good memories and a strengthening of your spirit. Let your Light shine! Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *”Lil Abner” by Al Capp ---American cartoonist and humorist, known for his satirical cartoon, “Lil Abner”. 1909-1979. **John Donne ---English poet, scholar, soldier and cleric in the Church of England. “No man is an island” came from Meditation XVII --- a study of the relatedness of humans. ***Madeleine L’Engle – American writer and teacher. Wrote both young person and adult fiction and non-fiction. 1918-2007. ****Leo Tolstoy – Of the Russian nobility and a well-known writer. 1828-1910.

“Something told the wild geese it was time to go. Though the fields lay golden, something whispered ‘SNOW”! Leaves were green and stirring, berries luster-glossed. But beneath warm feathers, something cautioned ‘FROST!’ All the sagging orchards steamed with amber spice, but each wild breast stiffened at remembered ice. Something told the wild geese it was time to fly ---summer sun was on their wings, winter in their cry.”* There is something about hearing geese fly over, especially at night. Their call ignites a breathless wish to fly along with them ---- to escape the routine and anxiety; to be free, to explore warmer, sunnier, magical places. When mid-November comes, if snow hasn’t already made an appearance, we know that it will be along soon. I like the brown, taupe and gray tones of November, especially before the snows come. I like the designs of the bare tree branches against the sky. I like the textures and patterns, the different shades of brown along the roadside; the round galls on golden rod stems, the delicate tan cups of Queen Anne’s Lace, and the many-shaped seed heads that stand ready to drop their fruitfulness everywhere. And I like foggy mornings that disappear into sunshine two hours later. Sunlight becomes more precious because of its rarity. It is said that we have five senses (sight, smell, touch, sound, and taste), but there is a nameless, sixth sense, that pops up serendipitously when certain things alert us, like flying geese. Because of our travels, the recent untimely (in my opinion) deaths of friends, and All Saint’s Day back on November 1st, I’ve been reminiscing and remembering. I often wonder about my memory files; how many of them must be squished, in confused disorder, into my brain somewhere. If only there were a guaranteed way to call them forth at need. Instead, they make random appearances, often oddly mixed and strangely unrelated to whatever I am doing. I can’t really blame my brain for refusing to organize itself; I’ve always disliked filing, as anyone who viewed my desk would know; I’m sure the brain that fills my head, had something to do with that. However, the oddest things come popping into my consciousness, uncalled. Sometimes it is the snatch of a song like: “Tell me a story, tell me a story, oh tell me a story, remember what you said. You promised me, you said you would; you gotta give in so I’ll be good. Tell me a story and then I’ll I go to bed.” I can’t remember how old that song is (very) ---- or when I last heard it (when my kids were little?). And then there are those unconscious, jumbled memories that assemble themselves into strange dreams during my sleeping hours. If I could remember then all, they’d surely make successful novels. A couple of fine writers have books about how all of our senses impact our daily lives; Gretchen Rubin --- The Five Senses, and Diane Ackerman – A Natural History of the Senses. Touch, for example. The accidental touch of a nettle leaf reminds me, not happily, of the time I grabbed a whole plant, not realizing its nasty potential. It is a good thing that nettle has other, good qualities, both edible and cosmetic. The soft velvet of mullein leaves is as soothing to my fingers as mullein tea is to a bronchial cough Touching any of the herbs fills the air with fragrance. When I’m wrapped in my great-grandmother’s quilt, or the soft, knitted throw made by my daughter-in-law, I am warmed twice; my body by the extra layer, and my soul when thinking of all the stitches that went into these gifts. When preemie babies are in the hospital for a time, volunteers come in to stroke or hold those babies. Without human touch, babies do not thrive. It is true of other creatures; baby chimps need touch or they die. Foals and calves all need a mother’s tongue to bring them into full life. I remember hearing from a client in a nursing home how she missed human contact. Her remaining family was sparse, she didn’t have children, and there were few, if any, times that someone hugged her or held her hand. That came to mind as I watched an episode of “Bones” on TV. The whole scientific staff was shut behind glass doors on Christmas Day because of some toxin that had accidentally been loosed. Their families could only come to visit them with the glass barrier in in between. And as each family came, they put their hands on the glass and “touched” the fingers of their imprisoned loved one. Without any words, this segment emphasized the importance of touch; how crucial to our well-being. A kind of touch, hugging has now become more common as a greeting, especially if it has been a while since people have been together. And that is a good thing, I think. I was a little slow to accept hugging, especially from people I didn’t know all that well or at all. My first exposure came at a Faith-At-Work conference. In my growing-up world, my parents hugged me, but we didn’t casually hug others. At this conference, everyone was hugging everyone. We had come to this event with our pastor and his wife. Kerm had no trouble with hugging and neither did Connie, our pastor’s wife. However, Bill and I stood a bit apart, watching, as if we were afraid hugging was contagious. And you know, it was, and is! By the end of the conference, we were hugging fellow attendees along with everyone else. I think that all of us should probably make the effort to be a bit more touchy-feely with people, especially those who are so alone. When visiting people in lonely circumstances, it might be kind, and even healing, to hold a hand or give a gentle shoulder hug. I have a friend who, when he comes into a room, often gives shoulder massages. It is a kind gesture to those of us who travel through life with tenseness in, around, and about us. And I know he does that in nursing homes when he visits. Touch - so important to our health and how we feel about ourselves! Another task that employs touch, and sight, and smell, and brings memories surging back in, is going through old blanket chests and cupboards. Mine have some wonderful old textiles: blankets, quilts, laces, and linens that my mother either inherited or acquired over her 94 years of living, and a few more that I’ve found in my auction forays. There are two possible scents; lavender and sweet clover ---both of which she (and I) included in the chests. Because we really need to down-size, I have given quite a few things away, but I’m running out of people who care for these old items. It is the same with lovely old dishes, glassware, and silver. No one wishes to wash things by hand, and everyone wants cups and plates that can be microwaved. Wedgewood, Spode, and Minton may be prestigious names in the porcelain world, but they carry little influence with the digital generation. (I did notice that new Spode plates can be microwaved.) As I imagine the lives of my grandmother and great grandmother who wove the blankets and pieced the quilts, and who owned the dishes and glassware, I am grateful for the lovely items, of course but also for all of the unseen qualities that I inherited from them. I know their lives were often difficult, and I feel their strength flowing into me when there are challenges to be met, as there surely are right now and as there are in every era. Speaking of gratitude, we have only a few days until Thanksgiving. Our family gatherings have changed over the years, as things tend to do. We used to drive two hours to be with extended family. Now, in a different era, we gather with our own family; all eight of us, plus an occasional friend or two. When I look around the table, I am still happy and thankful for the company and the day. I think that gratitude for simply living, waking in the morning and being mobile, is a daily crash course in glad awareness for all of our senses. Especially do I appreciate that unexpected sixth sense that comes so unexpectedly and with a a touch of strangeness. As we move further into November, this poem, by Dixie Willson**, speaks of that un-named sixth sense, and seems appropriate: “I like the fall, the mist and all, I like the night owl’s lonely call –and wailing sound of wind around. I like the gray November day, and bare, dead boughs that coldly sway against my pane. I like the rain. I like to sit and laugh at it ---And tend my cozy fire a bit. I like the fall ---- the mist and all.” Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Rachel Field --- “Something Told The Wild Geese”. She was an American poet, novelist, and children’s fiction writer. **Dixie Willson –An American writer, author of children’s books, novels and short stories as well as poetry. 1890-1974.