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Carol Bossard

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Blog Entries posted by Carol Bossard

  1. Carol Bossard
    One day post-May Day. May Day or “Carrying little bouquets of flowers to the neighbors Day," which no one does anymore.  I’ve written before about making little paper baskets, filling them with early flowers and hanging them on a neighbor’s door knob. It is such fun at age 7 or 8, to be sneaky and kind at the same time. The Victor-area didn’t always have a large variety of flowers in bloom on May 1st, so we had to make do with daffodils, grape hyacinths and dandelions. Our closest neighbor was an older couple with grown children, so they were always glad to see other children, and they kindly pretended they didn’t notice me leaving the basket and running the quarter-mile back home again.
    There are dandelions and violets dotting our lawn now, and soon there’ll be lilies of the valley. If the weather is especially warm, perhaps early peonies around Memorial Day. The gold finches began changing color in April and now we have a whole flock of little yellow birds. When they all fly up at once, they resemble a cloud of butterflies. In May the northeast becomes “Emerald City Green”. Perhaps that is why an emerald is the gem of the month for May ---- everything is greener and more glowing. One might expect to see Dorothy marching along on the yellow brick road, with the scarecrow, tin man and lion. There is also the fresh smell of garden soil being turned over, and lawns being mowed. The general directive for our region is not to plant anything tender until after Memorial Day, but, eager gardeners that we are, we sometimes can’t resist planting earlier. Quite soon, farmers will begin chopping hay. When that aroma drifts into one’s nostrils, it immediately lightens perspective on the day. Forget all those artificial sprays, just figure out how to bottle the scent of freshly-cut alfalfa and clover.
    April and May equals Prom Season, as a friend of mine who sews professionally, knows well. She is inundated with orders for sequined, beaded, satin and tulle creations.  It has been 64 years since my last prom, but I remember several of them well.  In our school, there was a Senior Ball in December and the Junior Prom in April or May. But all classes went to all dances, so they were high school events.  Unlike today’s sophisticated hotel venues, the classes responsible decorated the school gym, in whatever theme they chose. One I remember was “Enchanted Island.”  Today, insurance companies would shudder to see high school students perched on ladders, hanging streamers. The proms featured live bands, refreshments, and often there were after-prom parties at someone’s home. There were no limos either; only tired, but cooperative parents to provide transportation until our dates were old enough to drive. Life may have been simpler then, but a prom is a prom, and there is always enough excitement and glamor make them special.  I understand that currently, friends attend proms in groups instead of needing a date.  I think that this is good, for it includes everyone and doesn’t push kids into social situations they’d rather avoid. So not all cultural changes are bad!

    Mothers’ Day is just over a week away. This was an occasion for celebration a long time, before it became an “official” day in 1914, when President Woodrow Wilson signed it into law. Father’s Day is fast-approaching, too, in mid-June.  These are two days in which we can take a closer-than-usual look at our parents, our heritage, and who we are because of both. Parents and offspring have times when they are at odds, and consider each an annoyance.  It is part of parenting and growing up!  But those of us whose parents have passed on, often think wistfully of how we’d like to sit down with them again, asking questions and getting stories.  Louis L’Amour* wrote this:  You never think of your parents as much more than parents.  It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions 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….”
    My father died in his early 70s. Since he was 47 when I was born, I barely had time to relate to him as another adult.  Our children were very small and I was focused on them.  My mother lived to be 94, so there was more opportunity, although I’m not sure that I took advantage of that time as well as I might have done. Kerm’s father also died too early, but his mother lived into her 90s.  And we did get to spend more time with her when she stayed with us for a bit.  Mothers’ Day and Fathers’ Day should give us nudges  to contemplate who our parents really are/were, to be conscious of accumulating stories and memories, keeping them alive.
    It seems to be a truism that each generation tends to feel a little superior to the generation just past. Horse and buggy days sound impossible to us now. It seems incredible that when a young man went west, in the 1800s, he would probably never see or hear of his family again.  Letters were slow, expensive and other forms of communication were non-existent. Now, it is technology changing our options so rapidly that many older people feel inept. For those who’ve used technology since babyhood, confusion about it seems absurd. Gaps in understanding continue. But regardless of perceptions, each generation does build on the last generation.  And there is much to learn on both sides.  More listening and less judgement would be wise.
    If we are watching, and listening around that second weekend in May, we will also likely see and hear humming birds and rose-breasted grosbeaks. I’m also hoping for an indigo bunting. We haven’t seen one now in several years, and I’m not sure what might attract them back. Maybe no cat??  I always cut oranges and put out grape jelly for orioles too. They do come, but only to rest for a few days, slurp up the jelly, drink the orange juice and leave our avian spa for other,to them,more attractive nesting spots. This is also the season when our less-than-welcome bears can be found drinking out of the humming bird feeder, gobbling the grape jelly, and pulling down bird feeders wherever they go.

    Bears are foragers, but we humans can be that also. In the interest of exercise and fun, now is the time to be foraging for wild foods. Back when I had energy and was enthusiastic about Euell Gibbons, who lived not far from us in Pennsylvania, I explored this culinary option. His books, “Stalking the Wild Asparagus”, “Stalking the Wild Herbs”, etc. were such fun. My experiments had mixed results; some pretty good and some quite horrible, as our sons will remind me and anyone else who cares to listen. But the foraging was fun and the harvesting added some texture and different flavors to our daily food. Tiny, hard day lily buds can be prepared like green beans, very young dandelion leaves add multiple vitamins to a salad and violets can be candied for cake decorations, made into jam or tossed fresh into salads. Food-foraging is healthy; gets one out into fresh air and there’s exercise as a bonus.
    Along with foraging for possible salad greens, weeds in general are growing apace in my gardens! There is a T-shirt that reads: “Surgeon General’s Warning: Gardening can be dirty, addictive and may lead to OWD --- Obsessive Weeding Disorder!”  Unlike my husband and my brothers, all of whom are/were farmers at heart, there aren’t very many plants that I consider absolute weeds. Most can be used in some way; as food, applied medicinally or arranged in bouquets.  Some, like Joe Pye Weed and jewelweed, while spreading too rapidly, do add beauty to the garden and food for butterflies and hummingbirds. Another person says: “The weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows.”** There are some, however, that give me so much grief, that their usefulness is small potatoes compared to their annoying qualities: dock, poke (or Devil’s Walking Stick), cleavers, gout weed and quack grass.  Except for cleavers, they are all deep-rooted and can grow from a tiny fragment of root left behind.  Gout weed, in particular, reaches out and grows horizontally as well as vertically, and may take over the world.  And cleavers is a prickly plant that grows into mats over night!
    Whatever you are doing,foraging, dancing, celebrating or weeding, May is the perfect time to turn off the news and get outside; to take joy in the wonderful world around us.  This old English bit of poetry expresses it well:
    “’Tis merry in greenwood – thus runs the old lay ---In the gladsome month of lively May, when the wild birds’ song on stem and spray invites to forest bower……….dull is the heart that loves not then the deep recess of the wildwood glen, where the roe and red-deer find sheltering den, when the sun is in his power.”***
     
    Carol weites from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Louis L’Amour –Quotation is from “Tucker”.  Louis L’Amour is an American writer, best known for his westerns, but also the author of several historic fiction novels, short stories of WWII and non-fiction.  1908 – 1988.
    **Doug Larson from “Wisdom of the Crones.”  Doug Larson, columnist for Green Bay Press Gazette.  Noted for his clever one-liners.  1926-2017
    ***Sir Walter Scott ---Scottish poet and historian.  1771 – 1832.
  2. Carol Bossard

    Changes

    By Carol Bossard,

    It was odd... this winter, just past, of 2023 and 2024. And, spring seems reluctant to stand firm. Winter keeps making dashes back with a little graupel here and a snowflake there, as if to make up for its earlier lethargy.  We are usually safe from deep snow by mid-April, but one never knows. Early in March, warm weather brought out the snowdrops and winter aconite.  Potted Easter flowers have gotten me through to now, when my daffodils and hyacinths are beginning to open and bring more life to outside.
    Change can often be a charged topic. People generally applaud winter changing to spring, and, in gardens, brown becoming green. A baby has a whole new attitude when his/her diaper is changed.  Finding pocket change (coins) is always fun. A changing of the guard is a relief for whomever has been on duty for hours. A change of clothes and shoes to PJs and slippers defines relaxation.  But when it comes to our habits, perceptions, comfort levels, or thinking, we would prefer to make no changes.
    Over Easter weekend, one of our family conversations discussed how we humans resist changes in our perception of what we can do and be. One of our sons left home in Vermont, about 9 PM, to drive to Spencer, getting him here around 1:30 AM.  To quote him (the timeless answer to moms and wives): “I’ll be fine!  I’ve done it for years!”  His wife, who was already at our house, and I, were discussing the difficulty people (men especially) have in even contemplating the idea that they cannot do everything they have always done forever.  But, even as we laughed a lot, and worried a bit, I admitted that I, myself, do not take kindly to seeing my capabilities diminished. Who wants to adjust the vision of one’s self from a coping, can-do person to a fragile being with limited possibilities?  Life, however, frequently disregards our wishes and forces us to get real.
    Reality compels me to confess that I can no longer dance all night. My doctor had the nerve to ask if I ever could!! I assured him that not only could I, but I had more than once. Now, unfortunately, I can’t do a polka without stopping half-way through to breathe and settle my spinning head.I’d probably never make it through a set of 3 square dances, though maybe, with steady practice, say, a square dance/weekend!! 😊   When sciatica hit two weeks before Easter Sunday, rather intense pain meandered from my lower back, down through my left hip to my ankle, and didn’t go away.  I was just a little cranky about the bad timing, and abandoning my usual holiday preparations.  I ended up baking no cookies, no Swedish tea rings, and we dined out for our family Easter dinner. While the bakery cinnamon buns from Owego, and pastries from Vermont, were very tasty ---- and dinner at the Parkview in Owego quite satisfactory ---- I was not happy at the necessity. It wasn’t what we did, but the change in what I could do that I wanted to resist.  But ---- as one of the Star Trek (the Borg, I think) lines went: “Resistance is futile!”  At least when it comes to change!
    Hindsight proves that life is constantly changing. And changes generally bring discomfort, even angst, until they become routine. In our seven changes of residence, I only welcomed two of them.  And even then, while I was happy about the one move itself, I hated leaving friends behind.   I grumbled when my family home was sold out of the family and had a similar reaction when the houses of my siblings met the same fate. In my work life, when there was an opportunity to take more responsibility in the agency where I’d been for twelve years, I took forever and a day to decide; I was very comfortable in my position, so why change? And there were our offspring! Except for the rare occasions when I was tempted to send them to Outer Mongolia, I mostly enjoyed being an at-home mother, so when our children grew into adults, as children tend to do, (our granddaughters have also done this!), I missed those fun years with tweens, and teens.

    Even with my grumbling, though, I admit that with nearly every change, there has been a gift, something good that would have been impossible without the change. Our ancestral homes were purchased by people who respect tradition and have restored them well.  My time as a director of an agency kept us safe from a director we might not have enjoyed, and taught me quite a lot that I have since found valuable.  Our sons have grown to be amazing people and have married good and talented women.  Our granddaughters are on their way to becoming equally amazing people. A plethora of gifts, all intertwined with change!
    I am having trouble recognizing any gifts in health changes (for myself or others), but I have been assured that such gifts will be found.  My fading vision is frustrating; I finally gave up trying to sew after several abysmal attempts.  Actually, I awarded myself an imaginary gold star just last week, when I neither screamed, gnashed my teeth, nor did I throw the machine across the room, all of which I was tempted to do.  To be unable to even do an alteration is challenging, so my irritation level was (actually, still is) quite high.  But I keep remembering my mother, who dealt with some of the same issues, and only said that she had more time to listen when she couldn’t be doing.
    The change most difficult for us all, I expect, is the death of someone for whom we care and on whom we rely.  Two days after Easter, we learned that one of our dearest friends had passed on; a friend who had been part of our lives for over 50 years.   Because we have reached our 80s, we must expect to lose people, but that makes the grief and emptiness no less traumatic and lasting.  If I did not believe that human life here on earth is but one stage of living, I would probably be in despair, for this change I do not like. Bill was something of a “Renaissance Man;” interested and educated in a wide variety of things, and a wise mentor. Having been a history teacher, his perception of the world was based on understanding of what had gone before; on cause and effect. He was an outdoors person who enjoyed hiking the hills, watching birds and promoting good conservation practices, and he loved to garden.  Becoming an ordained pastor gave him an opportunity to create a safe place for people who came to him with questions and concerns about life itself.  He was a fine musician, and skillful with pen and ink; one of his sketches is on our living room wall. He helped us develop our theology and our families had many good times together.  He and Connie participated, with us, in Faith At Work and Marriage Encounter both of which deepened our understanding of ourselves and each other.
    No one wishes to lose a friend who claims so much affection and respect.  But the gift therein, has been the many years we’ve enjoyed what Bill offered.  We have immense gratitude for all we have found good in this friendship and the impact he had on our family even as we regret his physical absence.
    As is probably universally true, the death of someone close, brings a thought or two of one’s own mortality; certainly, one of those changes we seldom wish to contemplate at length.  I think I might be miffed (can one be miffed in the next stage of life?) if no one missed me.  I would hope that the gift accompanying my death might also be whatever good impact I had on the lives around me; that some individuals might be grateful that I’d been there and that others would forgive me for the times I missed the mark.  I would hope that our times together would leave stories and laughter, forming a golden thread of good memories, reminding those I love of who I was, and who I will go on being!
    Change is universal and unavoidable, though we humans may dig in our heels and attempt to ignore the necessity, and continue pining for “back when.”  Unless one takes up residence in a glass ball of protected atmosphere, change will always be in every part of our lives; the seasons, the weather, our growth and understanding, choices and what makes up our cultures (no matter how me may disapprove!).

    Currently, we are on the cusp of change  from mud season to blossom time. The amusing woodchuck I watched last summer has waddled out from beneath the woodshed, and is once again happily munching sunflower seeds. I don’t know its gender; I’m hoping that there aren’t babies back in the den. Spring flowers are about to burst into bloom. The change from brown to green, from dormant to alive and growing is, for me, a most welcome change.  And this is a change upon which we can rely.  So far, we can be sure spring will come every year and these lines by Rudyard Kipling seem both humorous and reassuring:  “Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God, who made him sees that half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees.  So, when your work is finished you can wash your hands and pray for the glory of the garden, that it may never pass away.” *  Proving that some things never do change after all!
    ****
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *from The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling.  Kipling was a British poet and writer, born in India.   Two of his most famous books for kids are: The Jungle Book and Just So Stories.
     
  3. Carol Bossard
    Snow, snow and more snow!  Winter snows and winds have impacted several of our trees, especially our lilacs.  The oldest one, probably at least 60+ years old, had three large broken branches that we removed from its center.  Now it looks like two champagne flutes with space in the middle.  Kerm taped another newer lilac back together, hoping it will reattach.  Butternut and tulip trees have shed limbs all over the lawn, and one crab apple tree is split right down the middle.   The deer have been nibbling one rhododendron whose burlap cage was too low.  Winter can be a relentless pruner.
    I’ve been indulging in garden dreams (catalogs); White Flower Farm, Jung, Bluestone, Pinetree, etc.  I particularly enjoyed this thought by Rumi*: “And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter.  It is quiet, but the roots are down there riotous!”  Our 2022 gardening clarified some gardening choices for 2023.  We no longer wish to weed endlessly, to cultivate new spaces or even to process bushels of food come harvest time. I enjoy carrots and beets from my garden, but fresh produce from the local store or Farmers’ Market will provide adequately.  This year we will need more mulch, and we’ll be growing only what I won’t be without; potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, basil and lots of flowers.  Well ---- maybe some pumpkins!  I believe that working in the soil is so healthy for the body and mind, that unless I’m confined to bed, I’ll be out there with trowel doing something.  Just not quite as much!
    Remember our pinochle group? Ten or twelve of us around the table playing with three decks of cards?  We even played by the light of many candles one night when the power went out.  This group hasn’t met for three years because of COVID and other obstacles.  We happily got together a couple of weeks ago.  It isn’t that we are super-serious about pinochle ---- which is fortunate---- because some of us were a bit hazy about a double run, what was trump, who led, and one of us (who shall certainly remain nameless!) even played an entire hand leaving meld on the table.  But, as we played, we caught up with each other’s lives, nibbled on delicious snacks and laughed quite a lot.  We are a diverse group; there’s a retired teacher turned life coach, a retired music teacher who continues to direct choirs and draws wonderful music from pipe organs of the region, a retired Head of Maintenance in a large company and retired dental hygienist, two retired human services administrators, and an entrepreneur currently running a book store.  We were missing the Bee Master and the retired University forester.  Pinochle is one of our vehicles for having fun and feeling better about life.  We are good for each other!  Everyone needs friends like this, not necessarily for cards, but to add affirmation, humor and understanding to life.
    Anne LaMott** says that “Laughter is carbonated holiness.”  I like that because laughter lightens the heaviness that we all feel and it often improves perspective.  A sense of humor is a curious thing.  I’m not sure whether we are gifted with it, or whether one can develop it.  It is the old argument regarding nature and nurture.   My mother didn’t have the same sense of humor that I had.  She would laugh at a duly labeled comic strip and the antics of small children, but puns and small bits of coincidental humor never registered with her.  Fortunately, she managed to be light-hearted without this gift, but both she and I wondered why we didn’t always find humor in the same places.  Some people view life as super-serious.  To the too-focused (fanatical), laughter seems frivolous, and they find little humor in the surrounding world.  Some TV examples would be Temperance Brennan, forensic specialist on “Bones”, and the annoying young scientific geniuses in “Big Bang Theory”.  These characters are intelligent, inner-directed, and very, very serious with nary a gleam of humor entering their consciousness.  Laughing at themselves wouldn’t be possible!   My high school English teacher wrote in my year book, (with slight exasperation, I thought): “you made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.”  Maybe that was good --- a high school English teacher probably needs to laugh more.  I do know that seeing the humorous bits in most situations has been a boon and blessing for me.  Without laughter I’d be mired in the deepest despair for the world.
    And because there’s currently so much world-wide anxiety, I would like to share a poem by Mary Oliver.***  In spite of fun and humor, I am a chronic worrier, though I’m also chronically trying to reform from undue worrying.  So, I keep this poem where I can see it regularly.
    “I worry a lot.  Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and if not, how shall I correct it?
    Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better?
    Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless.
    Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia?
    Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.  And I gave it up.  And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.”
    ‘Tis a fine line between contemplating--- being prepared ---- and worrying.  I hope to step over that line less as I go along.  However, having made only small improvements in 80 years, I have to accept that I’m a slow learner!
    One thing that would probably create less worry and more understanding universally, would be a better awareness of past events.  After all, “There is no such thing as the past; there is only someone else’s present!”****  Which means the same things keep happening.   The lack of historic awareness among the general population, is abysmal and frightening.  For example -- every one of us who lives in these United States (unless one is a Native American, and even then…) stems from immigrants who came from somewhere else.  Our forebearers were usually desperately escaping poverty or tyranny.   Those who know history, know that every time a new wave of immigrants enters the picture, there has been bigotry and tension with claims of losing jobs and rising crime to stoke the fires of fear. During the gold rush, the Chinese were scorned as heathens, fit only to launder the miners’ clothes.   When the Irish came, there were “No Irish need apply” signs in shop windows, and you’d never want your daughter to marry an Irishman!   When the Italians came, they were disdained and relegated to “Little Italys”.  The United States shamefully disregarded the danger to Jewish people at the beginning of WWII and refused them entrance.   Arrogance combined with ignorance, is scary.
    There are many other examples of historic forgetfulness; The witch mania in New England,  two centuries of minimal educational opportunities for any except the elite, “blue laws” that trespass on the neutral zone between church and state, lack of labor laws for the welfare of children and other workers, the institution of slavery, the mistaken idea that during the “wonderful fifties”, there was little violence or unrest.  Ignorance of history allows us to judge the rest of the world by our own experiences and to think no one ever before had problems like ours today.  We are so busy despairing of each “new” issue that comes along, that we throw up our hands, and make little effort to solve the problems in a sensible and equitable manner.  The back story might actually help us see what works and what does not.   By the time situations are so bad that we must do something, we usually over-react and make laws that ignore common sense.
    Most frighteningly, ignorance of history allows us to be easily duped by those who wish to manipulate us, using fear, our lack of knowledge and glib words.   Spending less time memorizing dates for the War of Roses, and putting more emphasis on what has changed mankind’s journey in the last two-hundred years, including the difficult parts, would be useful.  Our children are leaders of the next generation. They need to know about Barbara Fritchie’s flag and Nathan Hale – but they also need to know what conditions necessitated an inspired Jane Addams, Rosa Parks, Nellie Blye and Martin Luther King Jr.  Delighting in our heroic past needs to include honesty about where we’ve erred and how we can be better. History shouldn’t be boring; it should be enlightening!
    There are only five more days before January is “history.”  We can feel joy because we are closer to spring, or be equally as happy that we have plenty of winter to go.  I hope we each find something that pleases us in every day, even the stormy ones.  Blue jays vs. cats with the cat food make me laugh.  In the stillness of a winter night, with flakes of snow filtering down I am grateful for living here.  It is often the little things in life that bring delight.  January is just the cusp of the new year, so as 2023 progresses, I wish that:
    “God gives you blessings for this new year --- stars for your darkness, sun for your day, light    on your path as you search for the way, and a mountain to climb.”*****  And laughter --- may there always be laughter!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    ***********************
    *Rumi –Poet and writer from the Islamic Golden Age.  His works have been translated into many languages.  1207-1273
    **Anne LaMott ---American novelist and non-fiction writer, speaker, activist and writing teacher.  Her base is Marin County, CA.
    ***Mary Oliver –American Pulitzer-winning poet.  1935-2019
    ****-- David McCullough –American popular historian and two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize.  1933-2022.
    *****Myra Scovel –American nurse and missionary for the United Presbyterian church, and writer.  She wrote “Chinese Ginger Jars” among other books.  1905-1994.
  4. Carol Bossard
    “Itsy, bitsy spider went up the water spout….down came the rains and washed the spider out.  Up came the sun and dried up all the rain and the itsy, bitsy spider went up the spout again!”  A kid’s song apparently appropriate to August; I found three spiders escaping up the wall, in my shower this AM --- after having nary a one all summer.  Steps will be taken!!
    August ---the month with no holidays.  There are actually about 3 ½ weeks of summer remaining before the Equinox, but we are programmed to feel summer is over by Labor Day, just a few days away.  Golden rod is blooming along the roadsides --- and in my garden too, where it escaped my notice.  Other unwelcome plants have also crept into the garden; lamb’s quarters, red-root, chick weed, and a variety of grasses.  In spite of little rain, the weeds have flourished --- leading me to declare my gardens a {Disaster Area for 2022.}   I wonder if I could get Federal relief funding???  😊 Fortunately, for gardeners, there are always rosy hopes for next year.  Even with those flowery dreams, though, Kerm and I have realized that some of our landscaping and gardening has gone beyond our energy level to manage.  Sometimes reality prints a clearer picture of life than we really want in our albums.
    And speaking of albums/scrapbooks, maybe I should do a new one to record perspectives in my new decade.  I’m now officially in my 81st year having turned 80 on the 15th.  If that doesn’t make me feel “mature” enough, Kerm and I will be celebrating our 58th wedding anniversary on September 5th.  That doesn’t seem possible either ---- maybe because we have crammed so much into those 58 years.  There has been nothing boring about our life together.  Frustrating maybe and certainly surprising at times; annoying as well as delightful; occasional crises to live through; dancing, singing and weeping.  But never boring!  The “not boring” probably began with our wedding day; friends who attended fifty-eight years ago, still bring up stories about it when we get together.   So, in spite of our current inability to dance the night away or to single-handedly relandscape our property, we don’t really feel the full weight of our birthdays or our years together.
    Our family gathering of three weeks ago was once more a time for stories and laughter.  Sitting beside Cayuga Lake on a summer day, cookie-baking behind me, was a relaxing and renewing time.  I felt immersed in affection and belonging.  Jan and I were the eldest there the “Grande Dames” of the family, as Jan put it.  Of course, by this time in our lives, we have reached a point where age doesn’t really matter; we are all peers.  Whatever we are, it was a refreshment for the soul to see nieces, nephews we’ve not seen in a while.  Small cousins romped together, and it was good to see adult children of all my siblings.  We never know what may happen from one year to the next, so this time together was a gift.   We are fortunate to have each other --- even at a distance.
    Another August gift has been slightly cooler weather.  In spite of our garden’s unproductivity, they still must be shut down and tucked in for the season, in preparation for next spring.  Assuming the temperatures will no longer be in the 90s, we will try to catch up on the weeding before snow falls.  Possibly we’ll even plant cover crops.    This year we’ll be buying our decorative pumpkins since I didn’t plant any.  I’ll miss our “Cinderellas”, the Long Island Cheeses and the mottled “One Too Many” pumpkins.  The deer will miss them too; they will have less to graze upon with no fall crops.  Ah well --- some years the gardens, like weather, just aren’t fit for man or beast!
    As I thought about fall chores, I recalled one gardening job I disliked when I was a kid.  It involved plant surgery!!!  In August, my mother separated and transplanted iris plants, which should be no big deal, since the rhizomes are planted quite shallowly.    But iris plants are prone to an iris borer that makes the rhizome all soft and squishy and --- eventually --- dead.  So, I was handed a paring knife and told to cut out any soft, mushy spots in the iris rhizomes.  Not appealing!  I still like iris, in spite of their labor-intensive care, and I have just ordered six new ones to plant in front of our pergola along with oriental poppies.  I can just see them in my mind’s eye as they ---- hopefully ---- will look next June.

    Garden iris has a cousin, the yellow flags that grow in swamps.  My home farm had a swampy area and a pond at the back of our acreage (just past the hedgerow with those blackberries).  Some interesting plants grew there; swamp irises, cattails, button bush, Joe Pye weed, Jewel weed, osier dogwood, elderberries and a myriad of other plants and shrubs. I would cut arms-full of blossoms and fill two large crocks on our front porch with late summer color.  We also harvested elderberries there in mid-to-late August ---- a delicious treat not appreciated by everyone’s palate.
    Walking the fields of home was therapy for whatever ailed me.  If school left me in a dour mood, I would take my grouchiness past the barn full of Guernsey cows, along-side the orchard housing Berkshire pigs, down the lane and when I came to the fork, I could either go up the hill (called a drumlin; a particular kind of hill left by the glaciers) where the winds would blow my bad mood away, or I could continue on to the back of our property, to the pond and wooded acres.  Here there was silence except for --- if I was lucky --- a Hermit thrush, whose song is like a crystal cascade.  There was an ironwood tree with a seat-like branch where I could sit and think.  By the time I walked back up the lane, I had nearly always regained some clarity and perspective.
    I think that too many of us do not allow ourselves that kind of down-time; space to rethink our hours (and our opinions), and find some perspective for the unhappy or confusing parts of our days.  As adults, the stressors are more far-reaching than test marks, dates or dances.  And the instant-access news tends to clog our brains and accumulate there like so much silly putty as we “carry on as usual,” until we explode at someone, or become ill.  Doctors and therapists frequently recommend meditation --- of which there are many kinds and many layers, and, regularly practiced, is good for body and mind.   A walking meditation --- or even just a walk ------ is healing.   I no longer have my long lane or tree, but have found many other spots where one can shake off daily life and feel renewed.   From Maine’s seacoast to Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains; a change of scenery helps me sluff off the fatigue and stress, and regain perspective.  But it is quite possible to do this right at home, where we need it most, if we will just take the time.   We can walk up our wooded hill, sit by the creek that flows behind our church, stay out in the gardens at twilight and listen to the birds signing off.    Each of us is worth the time and effort to keep ourselves stable and light-hearted.   Our brain and how we see things can actually be changed-----by us --- with practice.  How we look at situations and what we tell ourselves we expect from life can keep us happy or unhappy.  Grief is still grief and illness is still debilitating, but there is almost always something in the midst of those situations that can bring us hope and light.
    This leads me back to the acceptance of growing older and realizing that some capabilities have diminished. Sadly, I no longer climb out windows onto the roof (a teenage habit).  I can no longer run up and down the lawn.  I can’t get the house ready for a party in half a day.  But ---- there are so many things I am still able to do.  I can enjoy times with friends.  In spite of compromised vision, I can still --- so far ---- read books and watch TV.   I can enjoy music, art, dancing and laughter.  I can appreciate the variety of flowers and grasses growing in our gardens. There is truth in this quip I saw on FB: “Some days you’ll move mountains; other days you’ll move from the bed to the couch ---- and both are OK and necessary.”   There are so many good things happening in this month that even with no holidays, it seems appropriate to declare this whole month of August, ”31 Good Days of Summer.”
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    ********
     
    *Perspective is from the Latin root, perspicere meaning “to look through”.  It has to do with courage and seeing clearly.
    **Speaking of light and perspective, I can recommend a book that tells of how one woman kept light in her life.  A Life In Light by Mary Pipher was a true gift.  It is a book of stories describing her growing-up years.  Her childhood was no field of clover; she had to endure poverty, moving multiple times and some of the time, neglect.  But she triumphed because she was able to see a shard of light in every situation.  She continued to love her family – not always easy --- acquired her own family ---- and, as a well-known psychotherapist, has written books and provided counseling to many.  It is a good and inspiring read.
     
  5. Carol Bossard
    Is the aroma from my kitchen wending its way out?  Do you smell cinnamon---- chocolate----orange?  This is cookie-baking week ---- a variety of cookies for that family gathering I mentioned in the last essay.  Pineapple cookies, ginger cookies, chocolate cookies and some melt-in-your-mouth buttery nut cookies.  One thing I’ve noticed is that the cost of ingredients for cookies have risen a lot, and so desserts are actually as valuable as restaurants have been trying to make us believe all along.   But home-made cookies are definitely worth it.  Out of the kitchen and into the garden, tomatoes are beginning to ripen, which means that canning season will soon be upon us.  Hurray for the modern kitchen stove.  I can imagine just how hot a kitchen must have been with the old cook stoves that used wood or coal.  That is why many homes in Pennsylvania and further south, had “summer kitchens” where they could keep the heat of preserving out of the house.  Our home in central PA had a summer kitchen with an immense fireplace.  We didn’t use it for canning, but for the occasional party. The first stove I recall from my childhood was a kitchen stove with kerosene burners across the front, like little lanterns of isinglass.  I think that didn’t last too long before an electric stove came to the kitchen.  I so appreciate my large gas burners and the stove’s capacity for more rapid heating for canning or baking, and less heat for the kitchen.
    Another appliance that I ---- sometimes ---- appreciate, is the computer.  Emails are, of course a quick way to write a letter or even to decide committee business.  Thanks to a friend, I often get materials from the Jungian Society --- followers of Carl Jung, the famous psychologist.  A recent article talked about how to make life meaningful.  I immediately thought --- my life has been chock-full of meaning; how can one’s life not be so? Then I considered further about a person who has been trapped by circumstances in work for which they do not especially care, simply to earn money for living.  Or someone in a relationship that simply hasn’t worked out, but lingers on.  People in those situations often find release in heading to the nearest bar after work to ease the boredom/troubles of the day.  Often, they are not part of any social group or community that gives them inspiration and affirmation to know that life can be different. The daily grind/rut for people in such situations, seems to leave little chance for a whole, meaningful life------ although attitude makes a difference.  There is the old story of the two workers.  When asked what they were building, one replied that he was laying stone for a wall; the other said” I’m building a cathedral.”  Creativity and good attitude = Meaning in life.
    Kerm and I were both fortunate in finding work to earn our bread and butter, work that we enjoyed doing.  Occasionally it was sheer serendipity.   After early years of working with kids, both as a professional and a volunteer, the coin flipped.  My college degree was not in gerontology, but that is where I ended up for nearly 20 years, and it was a good fit.  Kerm’s choice of careers was working with 4-H kids but he eventually administered the entire county Extension Service program.  We were part of an army of “human services” workers, careers that didn’t accumulate wealth but did amass rewards for mind and spirit. So, there has been meaning in how I spent my days – both at home and away from home.
    Another plus in our lives, is our affiliation with a church.  With each move, we’ve chosen where to go, not necessarily based on denomination, but on how much Life and Spirit there is in the congregation. We’ve been with Presbyterians, Methodists, United Church of Christ and a community congregation made up of those three.  We’ve also attended Roman Catholic services and a Catholic charismatic fellowship, Lutheran services, Assembly of God services, a Unitarian service and Baptist services.  For years, one of our favorite groups has been “Faith At Work” (now known as “Lumunos”).  It was/is an interdenominational group offering relational spiritual growth. And for several years, we were part of a Marriage Encounter presenting team, working together with a Jewish couple, a Catholic couple and a clergy person. So --- we’ve been on several of the main avenues and some of the side streets of spiritual possibilities. And we have learned that God is in every one of those places we’ve been. I expect God is also to be found in a Buddhist retreat and a Native American sweat lodge, among other locations. God goes where God wishes to go and much as we might like to confine God in our own golden boxes, God won’t be restrained. I mention all this background to explain that our spiritual lives and being in the fellowship of those also growing, are a large part of what makes us mostly happy in the midst of a world full of turmoil and, sometimes, personal crises.
    Other choices have also made our lives exceptionally good --- and very few of them have to do with our bank account. Enough financial security to live is a very good thing; I am not extolling poverty.  But the constant and growing need for more and more material things has not, thankfully, infected us too badly. We were fortunate to be born into families that valued education, hard and creative work, honesty and love, so that glamor, glitz and jet-setting just never seemed too desirable. Instead, we have friends who are amazing people, who have added depth, laughter, and a wider perspective to our being.   I like what Heather Aardmem said: “You can either live by design or live by default.”*  We can’t always control our situations, but we can choose the better of each path as it comes along if we know what we value in life.  This not-always-easy process of choosing may be what helps us to develop  courage for and have appreciation for each day we live.
    One of my nephews, for whom I babysat when an infant, has a birthday today.  I don’t remember much about those days, so he must have been a pretty good kid. He is certainly a good adult. I think that with love and attention, most kids are good kids who then become good adults.  Too often, it is parents with false values and self-centered needs making thoughtless/misguided demands on their kids, who send kids veering in damaging directions. Of course, that is a generalization; there are other factors and parents are not always to blame.  I have liked working with kids --- especially those often-obnoxious but honest and eager twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-olds.  They are trying so hard to be adults but often still have the needs of a child. They are sometimes awkward and loud but they say what they think unless they’ve been habitually squelched.  I think we all need to pay attention to the young people to whom we have access. They need more smiles from us, more listening ears; they need to feel affection, value and acceptance of who they are coming from adults around them.
    Yesterday and today, family members have been visiting from California and Connecticut.  It was an absolute joy to have time (though never enough) to catch up and just be together around the breakfast table.  When we all lived in the same vicinity, it was way easier and when I read about the families staying in the same communities for centuries, I’m a bit envious.  But we also bring something to each other simply because we don’t all live together; we bring the diversity of what we’ve learned about other people and places.  And any gifts we might have and what we know from our own genetics and our own family experiences has been shared in those places where we now live.
    One time some of us in the family, were fantasizing about buying one of the Thousand Islands (I believe one was for sale at that time) for us all to live upon.  It wasn’t long before we were laughing uproariously.  We love each other; we even like each other but ---- we don’t have the same social needs, spiritual visions or ways of living.  If we were all put on one island, we’d have at least three people building boats in which to escape……and they’d undoubtedly be arguing about how to build the best boat. I do miss sitting around the large dining table at my brother’s, visiting with family; some would be beading jewelry, some would be knitting, we’d all be drinking tea and laughing as we tell and retell stories.  I miss sitting with my mother at her kitchen table; the cookie box open, fragrant “Constant Comment” tea in the pot and a view of the wide lawn and gardens; frogs chunking in the pond below.  Life changes and losing those we love leaves us with a permanent “sad room” in our brains. But instead of lingering too long therein, it is both cheering and strengthening to just allow ourselves to be grateful for these good memories of the past and, recognize how they have led us to our now, for which we are also grateful.
    We have come to the end of another golden summer month. August is only a few days away.  Soon we may be watching the Perseid meteor showers, finding our mornings a bit foggy and noting that the nights are just a tad cooler (hopefully!).  We’ll also see he sun setting a bit earlier. Life cycles go on as usual with summer heat and cleansing thunder showers.   Let’s be open to the gifts of each day --- those “moments when the universal seems to wrap us around with friendliness.”**
    **********
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.   
    *Heather Aardmene –Weigh loss coach and aspiring minimalist.
    **WilliamJames ---American philosopher, historian educator and psychologist.  He was the first American educator to offer a course in psychology.  1842-1910.
  6. Carol Bossard
    ‘Tis the season of the Strawberry Moon, according to the Algonquin, Ojibwe and Lakota peoples.  And from ancient Rome, we’d be one day past the Ides of June! Few people realize (unless they sat through Latin classes with Mrs. Dunn) that the Ides come every month.  The 15th of March is the famous Ides because it was the chosen date of Julius Caesar’s demise via assassins. “Et Tu Brute?”!!  But we are now just past the middle of this lovely month, in our time, and Mid-Summer Night’s Eve is soon to be with us — a time of myth and magic extending far back into history.  It is the eve of the Summer Solstice, arriving on June 21st.  From that day on until December 21st, the light fades a bit day by day.  Now that I am seeing less well, light is very important to me.

     
     Midsummer In Sweden, Finland and Estonia it is celebrated with joyous festivals.   The Spencer-Van Etten area is heavily populated with people who’ve lived in Finland, or who are descended from Finns.  And the regional Finnish society celebrates what is called “Juhannus” (Mid-summer Festival).    One year, back when we had a lovely restaurant in Spencer called the Main Street Café, this festival was celebrated there, and the buffet array was outstanding.  There were foods that I’d never tasted before.  In all European countries, this was traditionally a time when it was said that one might see pixies, fairies or elves; there was magic in the air.  Rabbits danced madly in the meadows and, in old England, it was customary for young, unmarried women to wash their faces in the dew, at dawn on Mid-summer, after which they would, supposedly have a vision of who they would marry.  As a Christian holiday, stolen from the pagan tradition, it is also St. John’s Eve.  St. John is one of the patron saints of bee-keepers, and considering the current lack of honey bees, we could use a little saintly help.  I would appreciate a few of those pixies to assist in the garden too, but I hear they are pranksters; they’d probably pull the lettuce and leave the chickweed. Exploring the stories and reasons for our traditional celebrating of holidays, is a fun journey into history that allows a little fantasy to seep into our very practical lives.
    And speaking of history, because this is the 50th anniversary of Hurricane Agnes and the Flood of 1972, I’m going to re-tell the tale of our adventures in that traumatic event.  I wrote about it a few years ago after Ken Burns made a fine documentary film.  Now a Bucknell University professor is collecting information and experiences for another documentary film, and this has triggered my memories again. 

    In 1972, we lived outside of Lewisburg, PA.  We (two small sons and I) accompanied Kerm to 4-H camp the second week in June at a Boy Scout facility on Pine Creek near Jersey Shore, PA.  4-H members from five counties (Union, Northumberland, Center, Lycoming and Snyder) attended, and there were about 300 kids there, plus counselors, cook, nurse and three Cooperative Extension adults.  We had two or three lovely days before the rains began, and even when the showers came, we still sang, ate and did crafts while sloshing through wet grass—– until the alarm went out that this might be a difficult storm — which it surely was. It blew across Pa. moved on to NYS’s southern tier and whipped around to return to Pa., filling the streams and rivers to well over flood levels. 
    After the power went out, we managed to get 150 of the kids onto buses and back home.  There were 150 remaining when the call came to abandon camp. The difficulty was that there were only two ways out of the camp; one was a steep, dirt road requiring a 4-wheel drive — and in this situation —- slippery with rain.  The other way – and how most everyone came in — was to walk across a suspension bridge, over Pine Creek, which, after days of rain, came gushing and rolling down the valley sending its flood waters to the Susquehanna River. By the time we got all the kids across, there were trees and house-trailers rolling along in those waters. One memory is forever etched into my mind; telling our sons (ages 6 and 3) to hang onto my rain coat and not let go — as we walked across that swaying bridge to the waiting school bus.  Thankfully, they did just that!   Once on the bus, we made the hazardous trip to a shelter — the bus driver had to guess where the road was since there were several inches of water covering it.  The bus full of kids was utterly silent as we went.  The raging creek was close, so getting off the road could have been deadly.  The last adults, including Kerm, came out in National Guard trucks. The camp was so damaged that it never reopened.
    We sheltered overnight in a school library — snoozing between the stacks.  The next day, with water still rising in Jersey Shore, we were taken further up the hill to a Catholic church.  I remember singing our boys to sleep in the sanctuary aisles, and turning around to find a group of teens sitting there, listening —- taking comfort in the songs too.  Being stranded with 150 kids from ages 10 to 16 could be daunting, but those young people were wonderful.  They were concerned about their families (no cell phones then and phone lines down) but their behavior was incredibly good and caring about each other.  We were all awed by the devastation we could see from our vantage point high on that hill; just the church steeples and roof peaks of the buildings showed in the town below; all else was inundated and covered in many feet of water.

    Image courtesy Chemung County Historical Society
    Probably everyone has had an experience at some point in their lives that remains vivid in their memories. We didn’t know until later that several people had drowned in NYS’s Southern Tier region, not far from where we now live, and in Lewisburg, the chief of police drowned on Main Street. The flood left not only visual images in our heads, but sensory memories; the smell of flood clean-up is something no one forgets.  
    While I still love water —- the ocean — rippling streams — water falls—–lakes, I have great respect for what water power can do.  And I have no desire to live on the banks of any streams.  Maintaining the dams and the flood control efforts are incredibly important.  As storms increase in frequency and severity, remembering the past will ensure that there won’t be such destruction and loss of life again.
    Learning from history most definitely applies to other areas of life too; the economy, wars, ecology, conservation of our resources, education and sociology.   The majority of humans simply seem unable to think further than today and perhaps, tomorrow; seldom next week and almost never, next year.  There is a Native American philosophy that before we do anything, we should consider the effect it will have on the next seven generations.  This is not a concept that we seem to carry in our pioneering genes — but perhaps we should begin developing that long-term concern as we think of our earth and the fate of the grandchildren we love as they live upon it.
    Right now, though, on this day and in this time, we are finding ourselves in beautiful mid-June. Peonies are blooming and sending their fragrance out over our yard, and my huge, unruly rose bush resembles a waterfall of pink blossoms cascading down over the wahoo trees. Currently the many waterfalls/streams that make the Finger Lakes region so very scenic, are neither roaring nor flooding — thankfully.  I am grateful for the bounty around us. It behooves us to make every effort to be aware of life, each day we live — the fragrances, the people, the colors. To be grateful, we need to notice and appreciate.  “The earth is the cup, the sky is the cover, of the immense bounty of nature, which is offered us.”  Emerson.* We need to shake off our superiority and arrogance in our human accomplishments and realize that we are a working part of this earthly habitat.  As Louis Armstrong **sang “It’s a wonderful world!” It will take all our efforts to keep it that way.   Read Wendell Berry’s*** The Peace of Wild Things while sitting in the sunshine, absorbing the world around.  Have a bowl of strawberries.  Your stress will melt away and your eyes will find a new appreciation for your surroundings.  And in another five days, keep your eyes open for a pixie or two!
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.  
    *Ralph Waldo Emerson —American philosopher, essayist, poet, lecturer and abolitionist.  He was a graduate of the Harvard Divinity School.  1803 – 1882
    **Louis Armstrong —American trumpeter and vocalist; of immense importance in the jazz world.  1901 – 1971.
    ***Wendell Berry — American novelist, essayist and poet, attorney, farmer and environmental activist from Kentucky.
  7. Carol Bossard
    How wonderful is the month of May?  Its thirty-one days are all too short, even as February’s twenty-eight days are far too long.  It is a month of moderate temperatures and new growth everywhere — flora and fauna.  A perfect picture of May would be a spotted fawn peering out from a mélange of ferns, trilliums and dogwood.   There are so many shades of green as the trees and shrubs leaf out, and many of my favorite plants are in bloom. The very air of May is fragrant.  We planted potatoes last week, and will plant seeds soon, but most important, May is a marvelous time for sitting outside and just drinking in the fresh air and Vitamin D.
    May, in many schools, is prom month.  A friend who is a professional creator of wonderful clothes as well as quilts, has been sewing prom gowns for two months now.  In my school the entire high school student body was welcome at the two annual formal dances; one held in December (Senior Ball) and the other in April or May (Junior Prom). No limos and no hotel ball- rooms.  The class responsible transformed the gym into an unrecognizable delight and hired the band.  I was looking back on these occasions in my mind, trying to remember who I went with and what I wore.  I remembered the anticipation of being asked to the dance, the excitement of getting ready and the romance of getting a corsage and of just being part of the music and the night.  I had a little trouble recalling my escorts but I clearly remember the dresses.   We purchased one or two —- not at the exorbitant prices of today.  My first gown was a frothy pink chiffon with puffed sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.  My mother made one or two others and I inherited a couple from my generous sister-in-law.  I especially remember one Mother-crafted gown; it was a heavy white fabric shot with gold threads.  And she made a red velvet cummerbund for it.  The dress is long-gone, but the cummerbund lives on, in all its richness, in the kiddie’s dress-up box.  
    Far distant from the froth of proms and corsages, but also part of May, Memorial Day reminds us to be remembering those who have given years of their lives in service for this country, and sometimes, in actuality, their whole lives.  The PBS annual program is a fine reminder.  We remember too, those in our own families who have gone on before us.  Two of my brothers were in WWII but they did not speak — at least to their younger sister — of those days.  Each of themdid however, teach me to pick out their particular armed services anthems on the piano — the Marines’ “From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli….” and the Army “As the Caissons Go Rolling Along”.  There is always a lot of “glorifying” around wars, and certainly many brave deeds occur, but basically, war is a dreadful experience; that too often seems to discard human decency in the process and leads to lasting trauma.  I think that as we profess gratitude to our defenders, it could be best shown by finding another way to settle differences and stem imperialism.  However, as long as we humans make decisions based on greed, nationalism and the desire for power —- and act out our volatile emotions, I suppose wars will continue to sacrifice our young men and women on the altar of humanity’s dark side.  

    When people for whom we care, die, one of the issues with which we often struggle, is regret.  I have heard people say: “I wish I had told them….” or “I said I couldn’t forgive them then, but….” or “There are so many things I wish that I’d said before they died.”  I grew up in a family that wasn’t exactly exuberant in expressing emotion and feelings.  My father was of Scottish and German heritage; stoic!  Crying was not encouraged and I can’t even imagine having thrown a temper tantrum.   There was no doubt that we all loved each other but we didn’t express it with the ease that family does now.  Looking backward, I certainly wish that I’d told family members, now gone, how much they meant to me.  I hope that somewhere in eternity, they know that.
    The Women’s study group of which I am a part has had considerable conversation about forgiving.  We all have a collection of “if onlys…”.  Cleansing our hearts of grievous hurts is sometimes a hard and a lengthy process.  “But they don’t deserve to be forgiven!” is what we hear most often.  And when we talk about what forgiveness really is, we find that it is really about us —- notthem.
    Over the years I’ve had to contemplate forgiving (or not forgiving) more than a few times.  Haven’t we all?   Lapses in judgement when someone was doing the best they knew how, or even carelessness, is easier to forgive than deliberate hurts.  One situation has taken years. Someone injured not me, but my children, indelibly and, as far as I know, without remorse.  I went through many stages and several years before I could find resolution for that one.  Other women in the group had equally difficult issues facing them, from parental neglect to friendship betrayal to abuse of some kind.  How does one forgive such deeply scarring behavior?
    It really comes down to one’s definition of forgiveness.  Forgiveness does not mean that we condone whatever it is the other person has done.  Forgivenessdoesn’tmean excusing behavior that is hurtful.  Forgiveness doesn’t necessarily make everything hunky-dory.  But forgiveness IS realizing that judgement and consequences are not mine to determine.  Forgiveness frees me from a corrosive burden of anger and leaves the consequences of another’s behavior up to God (or Karma – or Fate -whichever one calls a power outside ourselves).  Forgiveness does not mean that we must continue a relationship with that person if it would continue the hurt.   Forgiveness is explained well in this poem: Decide to forgive —–For resentment is negative —- Resentment is poisonous —Resentment diminishes and devours the self.  Be the first to forgive  — to take the first step ———-Do not wait for others to forgive for by forgiving you become the master of fate — the fashioner of life —- the doer of miracles.  To forgive is the highest form of love.  In return you will receive untold peace and happiness.”  Robert Muller*
    Remembering those we’ve loved, respected and — hopefully — forgiven is p art of life.  When I was a child, my mother took me to the cemetery in Holly, New York, where many of her family members were buried.  As we left flowers on each grave, she would tell me stories of who they were and her memories of them.  Putting flowers on the graves of loved ones has been a long-lived custom that I think is waning.   One of the LM. Montgomery** short stories speaks of how, each year, families took special care of graves, trimming grass and planting flowers; it was a community custom.  But we are a mobile culture and often live nowhere near what used to be family cemeteries.  Kerm and I would have to travel to Holly, to Fairport, to Victor, to Howard, to Bath and Hornell.  We already know that our own permanent resting places will be difficult to access.  We’ve chosen a “green cemetery” at the end of a dirt road up in the hills of Van Etten/ Newfield.  But we hope our stories —the essence of who we are, will linger on with our family and friends.
    Remembering is a fine thing, but being in the moment is the way to live with happiness and gratitude.  The longer, beautiful days of May are a blessing.  The showers and sunshine have created lush greenery — weeds as well as desired plants.  Our war with goutweed, garlic mustard, ground ivy and deep-rooted dock continues.  We know we are in good company!  It is a happy feeling to experience and share those things that keep us connected —- animals, foods, gardening, music, dancing and stories.  It is also good to let new wonders into our lives.  May is all about new life and I like this quotation by Jessamyn West***:  “If I were to join a circle of any kind, it would be a circle that required its members to try something new at least once a month.  The new thing could be very inconsequential; steak for breakfast, frog hunting, walking on stilts, memorizing a stanza of poetry or, creating a stanza of poetry. It could be staying up outdoors all night, making up a dance and dancing it, speaking to a stranger, chinning yourself, milking a goat —anything not ordinarily done.”   Whatever you do with the rest of this month of May, may it be something that brings new life to you, sunshine to your body and freshness to your thinking.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. 
     
    *Robert Muller — I am not sure about this source; there are several Robert Mullers, but I am thinking it must be the man born in Belgium in 1923.  He has spent most of his life working for world peace, developed something called the World Core Curriculum and was once considered for Secretary General of the United Nations.
    **L.M. Montgomery — a resident of Prince Edward Island who wrote the popular Anne of Green Gables stories 1874-1942.                                                           
    ***Jessamyn West — American author, creator of short stories and novels the most famous being “Friendly Persuasion”.  Jessamyn West was a Quaker.  1902 -1984.
  8. Carol Bossard
    April showers --- and the slow increase of temperatures --- have brought May flowers and growing weeds as well as discovering which plants have made it through another winter.  There are the burgundy sprouts of peonies --- old-faithful plants that laugh at winter weather.  Day lilies are inches high, the ferns are tightly curled fronds, the trout lilies’ yellow bells are sunshine in the garden, and trilliums are going to bloom very soon.  Hands in the dirt bring good vibes to the psyche!
    May is also Older American’s Month --- something engraved in my mental calendar from my 23 years at the Office for the Aging in Schuyler County.  We always celebrated with a splashy dinner-dance and with choosing a Senior Citizen of the Year.  I miss conversations with the people who participated in OFA programs.  There is so much wisdom to be shared by those who have lived well, over many years ---- and often so little regard for that wisdom in society.  In some populations, age brings respect and honor.  Not so much in our youth-oriented culture.  Much retail advertising is focused on the young in spite of the fact that more of the money resides with the older buyers.   As soon as one uses a cane or hair turns white, we are seen by younger people --- and too often by ourselves --- as less than.  Of course, just being old doesn’t necessarily endow one with wisdom; foolishness can abide for a lifetime.   But experience and life-stories are meant to be shared.  One astute friend called retirement, “refirement” --- a chance to do new and different things that fill us with joy and to share from our experience.   Turning 70, 80 or 90 is not a timer switch that suddenly turns off one’s capabilities.   We might have to make some adjustments in our heavy lifting or speed of movement, but we can still contribute to life.
    Sunday is Mother’s Day, and for those of us whose mothers are no longer with us, it is a time of wistful remembrance.  There are times I’d like to apologize to my mother for not understanding --- and so many questions I wish that I’d asked.  Louis L’Amour* expressed this well:  “You never think of  your parents as much else than parents.  It isn’t until you get older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions 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 really like inside until it is too late.”  Family stories are only carried on if an effort is made to do so, and by the time we pause to realize our need for this, our opportunity for getting those stories may be past.  That’s one reason I create a “Family Quiz” every summer.  It lets the stories live on, keeps our far-flung clan connected --- and besides---- it’s fun.   “Who moved twice in one year?”  “Who lost pool balls all over the NYS Thruway?” “Who was so intent on taking a photo that she fell into a pool?”

    My mother’s gardens flash before my eyes every spring.  I’ve mentioned that remembering them inspires me to keep going with mine.   Her gardens extended around the foundation of our farm house and then more garden borders framed the outside of the lawns. There aren’t very many plants hardy to Zone 5 that she didn’t have.  She was even able to coax a firethorn (climbing shrub --Zone 6) to flourish there.  I have a photograph of her in overalls, cultivating a large vegetable garden, but by the time I came along, she was mostly cultivating flowers.  After my father died, she worked out her grief in making a new garden where her old veggie garden had been – an area that h ad grown up into wild roses and weeds.  She put in a sunken path then planted flower gardens on both sides.  She landscaped with small trees, blooming shrubs and selected perennials. I wasn’t all that enthusiastic as a kid, about picking green beans or trimming away iris borers, but as I helped, gardening became part of my life-style; the norm for living.
    I was the fifth living child for my mother, and came twelve years after the rest.  She may have had other plans for her life at that time, but if so, she went ahead with them and took me with her.  She was born in 1898 and died in 1994, so her years spanned amazing changes in culture.  She grew up with horses and buggies, trollies, a lot of walking, then automobiles and finally air planes. She had a bit of a lead foot on the accelerator and she enjoyed flying.  She handled the necessary changes in technology as gracefully as she accepted late-in-life motherhood.  She never --- at least out loud --- lamented the “good old days” and she was always interested in what was going on currently.  She behaved like a lady and was known by her family for her terse and pertinent comments regarding life, love and world events.  Her love for family and her strong faith were the framework for her choices in life.  She was a good example --- and a little tough to live up to.
    There have been other people who have provided “mothering” and mentoring when I needed it, people I remember fondly.  Mothering is, I think, the alert, compassionate, affectionate regard for someone else’s welfare.  It is the warm hug, the favorite cookies and the soothing assurance that things will be OK.  My sister and sisters-in-law were anywhere from 12 to 20 years older than I, so they endured and helped with my growing years --- mostly with grace and tolerance.  My husband’s mother welcomed me from the time we first met, when Kerm invited me home for the weekend.  We shared much good conversation around her kitchen table.  We have lived in various places, and wherever we lived, there were older women who helped and gave counsel.  Everyone needs a mother-figure now and then and perhaps we all should be alert to provide it on occasion.  Dads too!!
    Around Mother’s Day is when our grosbeaks and hummingbirds return, and last year we had orioles.  So, I’ll put out some cut oranges for the orioles, and the nectar for the hummingbird feeder.  Of course, we’ll have to bring the feeders at night, for it is also bear-traipsing-through season though I haven’t seen any since that lone wanderer back in March!

    In addition to bird-watching we could be wild-food foraging.  I did more of this during an earlier time in my life when I was both energetic, and enthusiastic about Euell Gibbons.  He lived not far from us in Pennsylvania.   I experimented with several wild foods, some of which were really good--- and a few ---- well, not quite so good.  It was fun and added some interesting textures and tastes to our experience.  This early in the year, the options are basically greens, but of several kinds.  Violets (both blossoms and leaves) and dandelion greens are excellent sources of calcium, potassium and Vitamin A, as are yellow rocket greens.  A bit later in the season, little, green day lily buds, cooked as one would green beans, are delicious salted and buttered. Violet blossoms make an interesting jam, to be served in tiny portions only.   Pansy petals brighten up a salad.  If you decide to try foraging for wild foods, be SURE you know what plants are what.  It is wise to purchase a good field guide for wild plants --- and, if you can find it--- Euell Gibbons’** “Stalking the Wild Asparagus”.  Avoid plants that grow along a well-traveled road; they will be covered with pollutants from car exhausts.
    For more traditional food, garden-planting days are nearly upon us. Weeds grow overnight, so one mustn’t malinger.  I saw a T-shirt recently: “Surgeon General’s Warning: Gardening can be dirty, addictive and may lead to OWD – Obsessive Weeding Disorder”.   It’s true!  We feel this urgent compulsion to get out there!
    As spring moves along, suddenly there is more to do than there are hours in the day.  I recently read a book ---- “The Music of Silence” ---- and it impressed me mightily with its take on hours in the day.  Its author is a monk, David Stendl-Rast.***  I know that my personality is not such that I’d make a good monk/nun, but his idea for living well our 24-hours is something that, to a certain extent, I can adapt to fit mine.  He speaks of the “seasons of the day”, beginning with Matins --- the dawn of the day.   It is true that my personal dawn comes several hours later than actual dawn, but it is my day’s beginning.   David Stendl-Rast then goes through his twenty-four hours ---- stopping at specific moments in the day, to be aware, to be at peace, being fully aware and expressing gratitude. Vespers and Compline end the day and provide a time to bring the day to a close and even to embrace our wakefulness.  Observing these quiet spaces keeps me aware and in-the-moment instead of running fast-forward oblivious to time passing.  It is taking moments to notice the life in soil as I weed --- the crisp, tender dandelion greens ---- and the sun slanting in the window setting off sun spots on the ceiling.  Being grateful and finding joy both change the brain ---- in a good way.   And in the “merry month of May” (from Camelot) that shift in perspective seems an excellent spring tonic.
    **********
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Louis L’Amour --- American writer, poet, novelist who wrote about the American west and also historical fiction.  This quotation is from “How The West Was Won”.  1908-1988.
    **Euell Gibbons --- American naturalist known for preparing foods from wild plants.  1911-1975.
    ***-- David Stendl-Rast ---Born in Vienna, Austria in 1926.  He is a Benedictine monk and committed to interfaith dialog.
  9. Carol Bossard
    Easter is just past though one of my favorite lilting, happy songs says: “Every morning is Easter morning from now on….”.  It was a most unusual Easter morning which I will, perhaps speak of in a later essay.  It included the death of a long-time friend and member of our congregation and I am still processing that.
    To celebrate Earth Day, I’m thinking of planting peas in a pot.  It is a bit too early for our clay soil to be warm and welcoming; seeds planted in the ground would likely rot instead of sprouting.  I keep reminding myself, we aren’t in central Pennsylvania anymore, Dorothy!  😊 Our garden there was just wonderful --- good soil and Zone 6.  But while I miss those advantages in gardening, and still miss our friends there, I’m glad to be in the Finger Lakes.
    The crocuses are over and the daffodils are in bloom ---- reluctantly, I’m sure.   That snow fall on Monday night discouraged plants as well as people.  The cats took it as a personal insult!   Fortunately, we only got about 3 inches.   Every spring of the year, the gardens seem as though they might be turning out as well as their plans on paper.  Of course, that ideal hasn’t happened in my last 50 years of gardening --- but I always hope for the best.  Gardens are in my DNA.  Our plots and beds come nowhere near the ones that my mother designed and created, but it is written in stone --- and soil ---- that I must try to continue the spread of beauty wherever we may be.  I was fortunate to have an article published (some years ago) with my mother’s garden story (Flower and Garden Magazine) and re-reading it always gives me a little push to go on in spite of dry spells or drenching rains that necessitate re-planting.  Gardens are so unique to the people who plan and plant them and they are all beautiful ---- even when “Weedus Victorious” is the case.

    Not just gardeners, but people in general, have life stories that would fascinate and amaze us if we only took the time to listen.   Anita Krizzan* says: “We are mosaics ---pieces of light, love, history, stars---glued together with magic and music and words.”  Sometimes, at first glance, there are people who seem to be made up of less attractive elements, who then create many of the world’s problems.   But first glances/judgments are seldom the whole story.   Quite a few years ago, while participating in a conference, small groups began getting acquainted by having a time of each one telling his/her story.  At most events, people tend to introduce themselves by what they do --- “I’m a banker” or “I teach high school”.  But one’s story is a different thing than how one earns daily bread.  Your story includes from whence you come, how you got where you are and what is important to you.  We would do well to consider these things about the people around us.  I try to remember when someone does something that annoys or appalls me, that I don’t know their whole story.  Knowing a person’s back-story is an immense help as we try to be non-judgmental, forgiving and caring.  Mr. Rogers said something similar: “As a human being, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has --- or ever will have.”**
    I recently made reservations for the VCS Alumni banquet in June.  I haven’t attended one of these since I graduated from high school --- some years ago.  I have been to class reunions but never the all-school event.  It has always been good to get re-acquainted with former classmates --- discovering what they are doing to make a difference in their world and how they are having fun.  I expect to have the same good time at this event.  I hope it is well-attended by people from my era.   
    High school was a mixed bag for me.  There are people who loved high school and others who hated it.  I didn’t feel strongly either way; it was just expected and there I was.  There were good days and unhappy ones, mostly due to the teenage malady of yoyo emotions.   I was never the ilk of cheerleader, home-coming queen or valedictorian.  But I had good friends, participated in some fine musical activities, played intramural basketball and had great fun decorating for proms and being in the Senior play.  Scholastics were taught sufficiently well that I did Ok in college when I got there.  I respected and liked most of my teachers.  So, I’d say school did what it was supposed to do.  I probably could have excelled had I concentrated a bit more on studies but, I think I lacked a strong feeling of competition; I just wanted to satisfy myself, and to please favorite teachers, not compete to surpass others (well --- except maybe for that guy who took first chair flute at All-State!!).
    It has been a long and scenic road from high school to all these ages later, and, as someone remarked, “the days are long but the years are short!”  If there would be one understanding I wish that I’d had back then, it would be to take life slowly; to not take my hourly ups and downs so seriously.   A bad day (often a matter of perspective) really wasn’t the end of all things; someone laughing at me wasn’t necessarily about me but possibly their own insecurities.  By graduation, life opens up and what seemed so crucial in high school really doesn’t matter much anymore; there are so many wonderful things waiting outside the brick walls of classrooms.
    It didn’t occur to me when I was living much of life to think about how the small bits and pieces would assemble into that collage of the years ---- all those tiny pieces of light, love, history and stars.  But in spite of some sad times, some frightening times and some dull times --- I do believe that the magic Anita Krizzan spoke of has touched my personal collage, making it glow with the good memories.  They are like the golden thread running through a tapestry.  And I expect that this is true for most people.
    I try to be more aware, daily.  Right now, before foliage emerges, the bare bones of the garden structure stand out.  I check to see what needs building up or tearing down.  I love the old stone walls of New England, so we built one.  Kerm piled the stones into a 2 & 1/2-foot wall behind a flower garden, thinking it would be a good background for my roses.  It turns out that the spot isn’t great for roses, but is perfect for chipmunks.  All its rocky nooks and crannies provide a safe space for the cheeky little rodents.  It is when they go far afield that they come to grief from the cats.  The wall also provides a a fine background for an azalea, a pink flowering almond and ivory plumes of astilbe.
    Currently, we are completing the pergola that was begun last summer and put on hold when we had some personal structure problems.  Kerm’s knees and my head wound combined to stymie most of last summer’s gardening efforts.  Kerm has hurried to get the stone floor down before knee surgery later this spring.  I can envision the pergola with a climbing yellow rose, a golden Carolina Jessamine and perhaps an airy, white Autumn Clematis softening its frame.  We’ll hang a leaded glass window on a cross-piece, put the grill inside on the stone floor along with a couple of weather-proof chairs.  It won’t take the place, in our hearts, of the huge white pine we had to take down, but it will be a usable and attractive substitute.

     
    One startling issue this year was the rise in cost of ordering garden plants.  It will be interesting to see if they are less expensive in the garden stores.  Not only have the costs of perennials nearly doubled, but the postage for having them shipped is also excruciatingly high.  Buying seeds is still cost-effective, so I’ll be trying to grow delphinium, lupines, etc. from seed.  They won’t bloom until next year (assuming I’m successful at germinating them) but neither will they break the bank.  And they will be hardier since they were born in this soil.
    Spring is a lovely time ---the peepers are singing loudly and the air is fragrant with awakening soil.  We all rejoice on days that are sunny with blue skies and balmy breezes.  But I am coming to appreciate those “April showers” although I prefer water and not snow.  Water is a most precious resource that we all take for granted.  Western states are already feeling the pinch of not enough, so when there’s rain (and even snow), I feel more secure about the water table.  This poem by Langston Hughes*** seems just right for April.
    “Let the rain kiss you.  Letthe rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.  Let the rain sing you a lullaby.  The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.  The rain makes shining pools in the gutter.  The rain plays a little sleep song on your roof at night.  And I love the rain.”
    The fresh air of spring tells us there is something wonderful in the ordinary.  Instead of going on our habitual way, oblivious to the world around, spring wakes us up to the wonders --- the miracles we see only if we are mindful of our surroundings.   Be aware of these days of new growth and new opportunities.  In three weeks the lilacs should be in bloom!
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Anita Krizzan --- writer and poet from Slovenia
    **Mr. Fred Rogers --- Presbyterian pastor, story-teller, TV personality, and author.  1928-2003
    ***Langston Hughes –James Mercer Langston Hughes was an American poet, novelist, playwright, social activist from Joplin, Missouri.  1902-1967
  10. Carol Bossard
    “The sun was warm but the wind was chill; you know how it is with an April day when the sun is out and the wind is still, you’re one month on in the middle of May.  But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud comes over the sunlit arch, a wind comes off a frozen peak, and you’re two months back in the middle of March..”*
    Spring is here with its yoyo weather; in and out sunshine, torrential downpours and the occasional snow flurry.   And with it comes mud season where feet can pop out of boots while walking along, as mud sucks the boots down.   The area where the turkeys search for seeds beneath the bird feeders is especially clawed-up.  Those large tricorn feet can really cultivate soil!   I should harness them to rototill the gardens!  Can’t you just picture a harnessed team of turkeys?
    The changeable weather does a number on bones and joints for those of us who have (to quote my doctor) enjoyed a lot of years.  But even with aches and pains that blossom when another front comes through, we have learned that it is exceedingly good to be alive. It is a fine feeling to be open to new things, as spring comes dancing along with its slow two-step.  That’s the dance pattern; two steps forward and one step back!
    Easter is less than two weeks away which means it is time to be getting a palm bud for Palm Sunday and thinking of flowers to add color and fragrance at church.  Easter is probably my favorite special day.  The flowers, the music and the service itself are all spirit-lifting.  It’s true that occasionally the weather doesn’t cooperate; I remember one snowy Easter when pastels and straw hats seemed inappropriate in those cold breezes, and the egg hunt had to be inside.   But these little challenges have never ruined that hard-to-describe feeling of new life.  As a special touch to the holiday, we usually have family with us.  For a little fun, the Vermont Country Store catalog is offering Easter baskets with chocolate bunny ears --- just the ears --- the first thing most kids (and some grown-ups I know) eat.   Last year (I think it was), we had “Easter crackers” ---- those paper tubes that when pulled apart, have little gifts inside.  And have you ever expanded a “peep” in the microwave?  Marshmallows do strange things when zapped!  Easter is a very good day for all of our senses.

     
    Whether or not the Easter story is part of your theology, it is certainly the most potent example of agape love ---- the selfless kind of love that covers all beings regardless of who the beings are.  It is the always-awesome story of laying down one’s life for another ---- in this case, a whole bunch of others --- humanity!  It is love with no strings attached.    There has been considerable talk over the past few years, and plenty of in-your-face examples of a world-wide lack of love and compassion.  Narcissism seems to be a spreading plague from the upper layers of government to the men and women on the street, where people think only of themselves and what they want.   Taking care of one’s self --- a good and wise thing --- has morphed into “Me First and you get out of my way!” --- a harmful and destructive thing.  All of us have moments of self-centeredness, but when it becomes the norm, not only are we individually on hazardous turf, but our whole world is in danger.
    Gladys Taber, a writer from some years ago, said it well.  “Love of God gives sustenance to almost all human creatures, although the meaning of God varies……………..The more one loves, the more the capacity to love develops. For loving involves reaching outside oneself, sharing with others, joining in someone’s grief as well as joy…….Hate cripples the power of love much as beetles devour the heart of opening roses.  Any old hate will do it --- the hate of other races, other countries, other ways of living, or the next-door neighbors.  Bigotry is a strong form of it.  Oddly enough, any kind of hate destroys the hater more than the object.  It is more corroding than any chemical.**  We humans have a lot to learn  and we don’t seem to be progressing as well as we might.
    Even knowing these negatives, and agonizing over the depth of evil in the world, we must also keep ourselves aware of the positives.   We are often astounded by sudden magnificence.  The beauty of the natural world (a sunset, the Borealis)----- those masterpieces that artists create (Sculptures, painting, the Hallelujah Chorus) ------  the many efforts to help a neighbor ---- are often stunning as well as reassuring.  Mr. Rogers’ mother told him that when he was discouraged by evil, to seek out the helpers.  There are some seemingly tireless helpers among us.  This excruciating time of seeing the ravages of war every evening on the news, also brings us a clear picture of those who move forward to help, putting their own lives at risk.  Recognizing this brings us back to the reality that we humans are a mixed race of beings, some wonderful and some who are abysmal --- and each of us is probably a little mix of both.
    Speaking of a demonic and angelic mix, I present our cats!  They began as feral cats that came by to scarf food wherever they could --- too often their entrée was birds.  I think they also enjoyed harassing our dog, Freckles.  But now they are fairly contented and very well-fed kitties that can’t, in all honesty, be called feral.  They sit on the outside window sill, watching TV through the window.  They still don’t like being picked up, but they do like being petted and conversed with.  And the birds ---well, the cats do continue to sit beneath the feeders and ---- occasionally ---- grab one; that behavior seems to be in the feline DNA.  But they now know they aren’t supposed to.  I see the feeders from my computer, so when the cats linger longingly beneath a feeder, I open the window and scold them.  They simply glance over their shoulders and stalk away --- as in, “I had no intention of catching anything; was just window-shopping!”  Of course, it is possible too, that the birds have grown more wary.  On spring-like days, our cats are restless and playful --- pouncing on blown leaves, balancing on the fence pickets, and racing up and down the lawn.  And at night they now prowl!   “You may call, you may call, but the little black cats won’t hear you.  The little black cats are maddened by the bright green light of the moon.  They are whirling and running and hiding, they are wild who once were so confiding, they are crazed when the moon is riding…..”***

     
    As spring advances and flowers open up, I always feel a spurt of new energy and optimism.  All those waiting projects might actually be accomplished!   I am blessed with some very good holiday memories too ---- I’m recalling frilly pink dresses, bonnets with black velvet ribbons and daisies, Easter baskets and colored eggs.  My mother’s special Easter cake was an orange sponge cake with a marvelous pudding and mandarin orange filling.  The week before Easter (Holy Week), I along with many of my teenage friends, attended a 7:30 church service after which we walked to school.  Those were informal, inspiring beginnings for the day ----and for someone who always rode a bus, walking with friends was a treat.  Take time to pull out your Easter/spring memories and to enjoy a glance backward.  The world is never at a loss for sadness and difficulties, so remembering and making our times as beautiful as possible is good for us and those around us.
    Spring and Easter are both times of wondrous things---------magnificent things, spiritually, in nature and in people.  In our community, we’ve put out jars for donations for the Ukraine --- in every possible venue.  It is true that we have, in the past, been less concerned for other parts of the world when they might have needed us just as much, but doing this supportive thing now, is good --- both for those we try to help and for our own growth.  People in Poland and other neighboring countries have opened their homes to refugees.  This is magnificence amid evil. The world is, indeed, full of peril and in it there are many dark place.  But still there is much that is fair.  And though, in all lands, love mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps the greater.”  JRR Tolkien****   I really believe that for every evil deed, there are many good and wonderful things happening at the same time.
    Meanwhile ---- the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming.  I can get out and prune the roses and clean up the shells of pumpkins and gourds that are left from winter deer browsing.  The day lilies are showing green tips and the buds on the lilacs are swelling.  Happy Easter and Happy Spring!
     
    *****************************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *From “Two Tramps IN Mud Time” by Robert Frost.  American poet who was known especially for his depictions of rural life.  1874-1963
    **From Conversations with Amber by Gladys Taber --- American writer, columnist.  1899-1980.
    ***From “The Bad Kittens” by Elizabeth Coatsworth ---American poet and novelist for both children and adults.  Married to Henry Beston, also a well-known American writer.  1893-1986.
    ****JRR Tolkien ----English writer, poet, philologist and academic.  1892-1973.  His book “The Hobbit” and his Middle Earth trilogy are well-known examples of good vs. evil.
  11. Carol Bossard
    Our recent spring-like weather has most of us who garden looking through our seeds and perusing the plant catalogs once again ---- just to make sure we have all that we need.  Last week, the turkeys stopped coming down so often and I think the deer didn’t come at all.  Of course, another snow-fall, and they will all be back.  We probably are not quite done with wintry weather, but soon, soon!  Someone (not sure who) said, “The first day of spring and the first spring day are quite different events.”
    As spring days near, anyone living in a rural area knows the pungent odor emanating from farms and fields.  Tractor and spreader begin a smelly process that recycles waste into something good ---- fertile soil.  I was thinking that we probably should do the same with mistakes we’ve made in life.  Instead of storing them in our own little Pit of Errors, we can recycle those things into learning experiences that make us wiser and more compassionate persons.
    We are now three weeks into the season of Lent --- the traditional 40 days before Easter---and we have three weeks to go.  It began on March 2 with Ash Wednesday and will end on Easter Sunday which, this year, is on April 17.  The week prior to Ash Wednesday is, traditionally, Mardi Gras week.    Parties precede the sacrifices of Lent and celebrations begin again upon Easter’s arrival.  I like tradition and also celebrations.
    A lot of years ago, I read a book --- Open Heart/Open Home by Karen Burton Mains.*  It spoke of the responsibility of hospitality, and I liked what it said.  Of course, hospitality doesn’t always mean celebrations or parties.  It is more a way of thinking and being willing to open ourselves to provide acceptance, comfort or shelter.  One can be hospitable at church, at Lion’s Club, or on a plane.   Both Kerm and I grew up in homes where the doors were open to anyone who knocked.  I had four siblings who were older, married and had children, so stopping by was just part of our life-pattern.  That doesn’t happen as often now, so we try to arrange occasions for seeing family and friends.
    It isn’t about formal “entertaining” with elegance.  It isn’t a way of showing off ----which is a good thing because while we have a comfortable home, it is no grand mansion with crystal chandeliers and spacious rooms.  It is simply a way to bring interesting, wonderful people together, to share ideas and experiences and to find enjoyment in each other.  Hospitality adds flavor to life!
    One of my favorite memories is of a New Year’s Eve party back when our children were toddlers.  Those invited were unmarried singles from church.  We lived in an old farm house with an attached summer kitchen ---which was unheated---- but it had an immense fire place one could walk into.  It was a mild night that year for December 31st, and we built a fire in that fire place as well as lighting up the rest of the house. This group, some of whom had been around the world, seemed to be having a marvelous time making balloon animals in the living room, playing charades upstairs and down, and simply talking around the fire place. One attendee told us that he had been in Paris the year before, and this party was more fun.  Ah ---- a Pearle Mesta moment!!
    Of course, our children had birthday parties as they were growing up.  We used nature films from the PA Conservation Service, and age-appropriate games or crafty things to make so that bedlam didn’t occur.  Actually, the kids and their friends were well enough behaved that bedlam wouldn’t have happened anyway ---- probably.
    One of the finest acts of hospitality in my life came from strangers, when we were stranded in a snowbank on Christmas night; stranded with two boys and our English spaniel.  The people who lived on the other side of the snow bank came out and invited us in.  They didn’t know us and we didn’t know them. They gave us blankets, provided games for our boys and allowed our dog to point their cockatoo all evening.  They gave us breakfast the following morning and took us to a local garage where we could get our car towed and repaired.  Our sole contribution was a Swedish tea ring and a few cookies.  I still think of them and their willing hospitality, with extreme gratitude.
    Probably our most recent and fun gatherings were Twelfth-Night celebrations.    Because there is so much going on during the weeks prior to and the week after Christmas, we decided to push our time with friends further, to end the 12 days of Christmas.  That first year, when we began making a list of people --- the number was more than our not-so-large house could comfortably hold.  We thought ---Aha!  We’ll do an open-house where people can come and go, and invited 40-50 people.  The problem was that people did come ---- but they didn’t go.  So, we had a “musical chairs” situation where people stood until someone got up and they could grab a chair.   No one seemed to mind this, though, and the Saturday nearest 12th night was on calendars for the next year and the next.
    We never served gourmet or fussy foods; we made a couple kinds of soup, snacks and cookies and a big bowl of frosty, fruit lemonade.  And people often brought goodies to share.  Every chair, stool and even the stair steps were filled and the conversation flowed.  It was a time for just total enjoyment when being hospitable was really easy.   About three years ago, we had a “last 12th Night Party” simply because I no longer have the energy to prepare ---- but I miss them and I know others do also.  I try to remember the advice: “Don’t cry because it is gone.  Be glad that it happened!”    It is time for other kinds of hospitality more fitting for our capabilities.
    We’ve also had revolving beds --- or, perhaps more accurately, revolving sheets.  Since we’ve lived at some distance from our extended families, an extra bed or two for when they come by has been wise but the traffic grew beyond that.  Once we hosted a young man (Jorge) from Mexico --- part of the Up With People** musical group.  Occasionally we’ve welcomed someone who needed shelter for a few days.  Nieces and nephews have come.  Our sons have always felt welcome to bring people home with them for dinner, an evening of games or overnight.  There was an unexpected twist though; a couple of their friends came for the weekend, and stayed for 5 or 6 years ---a bit unusual, but the circumstances that allowed us to borrow these “extra” sons during their college years, were a blessing.   We enjoyed them, and our boys benefitted by acquiring two more brothers.   I’m still not sure, though, how we managed with six people and only one bathroom.    
    Overnight traffic has now slowed even though we have more space now and two bathrooms.  But back in February, in the space of a week, we made up beds for our granddaughters, followed by a son for a couple of nights and then the other son and his wife for a night while they were moving from one house to another.  It’s great fun, but I do think that we need to increase our sheet stash for our often unplanned, B&B!
    Hospitality is a very personal thing and depends on individual circumstances.  When we moved here, we found hospitality when a woman (Janet) at church welcomed us personally, when a local musician (David) invited me to sing in a group and another person (Ellie) made me feel comfortable in a rehearsal. During this COVID era, we’ve had fine porch visits and times in the gazebo and around a campfire.  Making people welcome wherever we happen to be is hospitality.
    Our homes can be the refuge that we all need, but they can also be --- to quote one of our family members about a family home ---- “a place that embraces you when you walk in.”    We’ve all heard: “No man is an island; no man stands alone.  Each man’s joy is joy to me; each man’s grief is my own…”***This truism is a good reason to extend ourselves to whatever need comes our way.  We grow in our humanity as we share our lives with others.
    Right now, “People of the Book” (Christians, Jews and Muslims) should be involved in inner searching and celebration.  Ramadan begins April 2.  Passover begins at sundown on April 15th.  And Christians are in the midst of Lent, awaiting Easter.    We are reminded that even during this unwelcome, tragic war, because of these special, faith-related, traditional times, we should be a standard of peace for all of humanity.   Our prayers need to rise like incense for a permanent cease-fire and freedom.
    Meanwhile, it is spring by the calendar.  And no matter what your tenets of faith, it is definitely a time to be grateful for life itself.  Take time to look around as things green, and inhale the fresh air.  You can feel the turning of the season.  And this is true even if the spring aromas aren’t always that of hyacinths and lilies. If we care well for what we have, if we make all parts of our lives more fertile, if we open our hearts to the people around us, ---- “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”****
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Karen Burton Mains –An American writer; the wife of a pastor who writes from her own experiences.
    **Up With People –American non-profit organization that uses a 5-month series of workshops, concerts and other learning experiences including travel.
    ***Quotation from a song which was excerpted from a poem, For Whom The Bell Tolls, by John Donne, who was an English poet.  1572-1631.
    ****I’m sure you’ve noticed how much I like this thought from Julian of Norwich.  I use it often.  You may recall that she was an English anchoress who wrote, prayed and led a group of nuns.  1342-1416.
     
     
     
  12. Carol Bossard

    Late Winter Musing

    By Carol Bossard,

    “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.”* Stars somehow look larger and clearer against a black sky, when the night is cold and still.  This week’s melt has left us with much less snow though tomorrow will likely remedy that ---- but the stars are still shining, waiting for us to connect whenever we gaze up.
    Late February is when, a few years ago, the Spencer Grange would offer its annual Winter Wake-Up party.  By this time of winter, we all need some fun.  There was a dish-to-pass dinner and entertainment of one kind or another for anyone who wanted to come.  Sometimes entertainment was a pick-up band of community members who enjoyed playing together.  Sometimes, it was just “mental games” that people could do on paper at the table.  But it was an evening that brought some brightness into our long, cold winters.  Community events like this have been missing for nearly three years due to precautions around COVID, but those particular parties have been gone since the Spencer Grange closed its doors.  Whenever a community organization ceases to be, it is sad.  Unfortunately, even good things do come to an end.  Changes occur and we have to move with the changes.  The Grange building has become a community center where there are classes and events, and a gym ---- all good things too.
    Life is, in fact, full of changes.  Robert Gallagher** said: “Change is inevitable---- except from a vending machine!”  In my office a Mary Englebrecht poster said something like “Be flexible or you will break.”  It seemed an appropriate slogan for those of us who worked for the county--- or the state ---- or any human services agency.   Some changes delight us, like the birth of a new baby into the family.  Some sadden us, as in the loss of someone we care about.  Some annoy us – perhaps in changes to laws that inconvenience us.  How we handle change is, perhaps, a measure of how well we have matured and learned that life is not all about us.
    As a child, I clung to what was familiar.  I would get annoyingly homesick, whenever I was away from home or when my parents were away from home, leaving me with my older sister. I can remember my sister being exasperated with my seven or eight-year-old whining about “I don’t feel good.”   During my first week of 4-H camp, days went by before I felt comfortable.  When I went to SUNY Plattsburg, 300 miles away from home, I was homesick for most of that year, in varying degrees.  Fortunately, I had a cool roommate who was a lot of fun!    When I transferred to Cornell, nearer home, I was homesick all over again ---- for Plattsburg.   Emotions can be unreliable and capricious things, and emotions tend to kick and complain about change. I no longer need to be at home every moment, but a couple of weeks away is usually my limit.   I would like to visit far-flung places.  I’d love to meet some of the people in Kenya who facilitate the mission we support there.  I’d be over-the-top happy at visiting the Galapagos Islands and to see some of the places in New Zealand that I’ve heard about.  But --- to do so, I’d have to be whisked there and back again via teleporting (Star Trek) or floo powder (Harry Potter). I’m probably what is called a nester, and this is, no doubt, why we are currently skidding around on February ice instead of spending our winters in Florida or Arizona.
    Nesters are home-makers and home-bodies. Our homes represent comfort and security; they are the safe place in a world gone amok.  One of our sons and his wife, are moving, this very day, and our second son is contemplating a several-hundred-mile move with his family.   I was thinking how much fun they will have in transforming a whole new set of spaces into rooms that reflect their tastes; places that will signal “HOME” to them.   Right now, while amid the daunting task of packing and the trials of moving, they may not be thinking that change is so wonderful, but once they are in, and boxes are unpacked, a better perspective will open for them ---- I hope. They will surely miss the homes they’ve left, but new views and a new community will soon be theirs and they will be comforted as they become connected.
    I grew up in one place for 18 years, but Kerm and I have moved seven times since 1964.  Except for the first two small, furnished apartments, and one unfurnished, where we lived briefly, I never met a house I couldn’t turn into a comfortable home ---- even with very limited funds.  Until the boys were older, we were a one-income family, so I needed to be creative.  Our first large set of dishes came from a household auction; pretty porcelain with a small flowered pattern; 12 dinner plates, soup plates and luncheon plates.  They went well with the Oneida flatware and Libby glasses that were wedding gifts. Also, I became skillful at making large appliqued fabric hangings to enhance empty walls. As a result, I am amazed at the demands of home-buyers today. Far too many want perfection immediately, in whatever home they decide to buy; granite counters in the kitchen, tiled bathrooms, newly-painted walls throughout.  Perhaps this is reasonable if buyers are, late in life, looking for their ideal home after living in many.   But to expect the newest, glitziest surfaces and appliances to be waiting in every home one lives in, seems to me to be both unreasonable and a bit greedy/entitled. And what about all this “staging”?   We’ve never yet looked at a house that was “staged” as seems to be the current mode. Our potential homes have been empty rooms, and I’ve never had a problem imagining our possessions in them.  Actually, I think other people’s possessions might be distracting.  Imagination is a useful quality that seems to be lacking.
    Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I remodel (in my imagination) the homes I’ve lived in previously. Or I design a suitable place for when we’ve decided to seriously down-size. There are certain things we want. We need to be where we can see trees and hear birds singing. We need lots of natural light, and enough space so that we can get away from each other.  We enjoy being together, but we also need time and room for our own pursuits.  It’s tough to hear the Mash episode on the TV when the sewing machine is running full tilt across the room, or a Bach oratorio with a football game in progress. The kitchen needs more than a hot plate and a refrigerator for our cookie jar must be full and the oven accommodating to large pans.   And bookshelves ---- we can cheerily dispense with much that we now own, but not our books.
    Have you ever spent time considering what you can or can’t live without?
    Home has so many different meanings, and what I want may be alien to others.  But a home of some kind is a human craving, I think, and one that I wish more people could have.  I was appalled when I saw my first homeless people on the streets of San Francisco.  Later, I learned that not too far from us in a well-to-do college town, there is a community of homeless people living in a tent camp, winter and summer.    I know there are people living in their cars, and kids in our small community who “couch-surf.”***  In a country as creative and wealthy as ours, we should be able to do better.
    The imaginative “tiny houses” in some urban areas, for people who are homeless are a wonderful idea.   Not too far from us (Brooktondale) there is a whole community of wee, brightly-colored rental homes that will accommodate just one or two people.  Also hopeful are the shelters that work with people to find job training, then jobs, and --- eventually --- homes of their own.  Habitat for Humanity is great though it doesn’t provide homes on a large scale.  Maybe some of the abandoned malls could become lodging.  We need innovative solutions so that people find a peaceful, affordable nook to call their own.  I think that individuals in nursing homes should not have to share a room either.  Even at 105 years, we need our own spaces.  Efficiency should not necessarily be our top-most goal in these end-of-life residences.  As I sit by my own wood fire, watching the sun spots dancing on the ceiling, and listening to a Bach chorale, I know how very much I am blessed and wish that for everyone.
    It is maple-syrup time in our region.  Those people blessed with access to sugar maples are out tapping the trees for the clear sap that, after many hours and hours of work, turns into the golden syrup that we find essential for our waffles and pancakes.  By the flowing of sap, we know the season is changing.  “For low, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle dove is hard in our land.” **** This essay began with a snowy field and ends with singing birds.  A metaphor for life --- and change.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *”February Twilight” by Sara Teasdale ---American lyric poet born in Missouri.  1884-1933
    **Robert Gallagher --- American commercial and editorial artist based in LA.
    ***Couch-surfing is what kids do when they are unwelcome or hurting in their own families.  They stay overnight with whomever of their friends will welcome them --- and move from friend to friend.
    ****Taken from The Bible – The Song of Solomon Chapter 2
    NOTE:   For those of you who knew Dick Cole, there is a time of remembrance on Saturday, March 5th from 1-4 in the afternoon.  Family will receive people at the Montour Falls Methodist church.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
       
  13. Carol Bossard

    Celebrations!

    By Carol Bossard,

    “I will make you brooches and toys for your delight; of bird song at morning and starshine at night…..”*  If I could, I’d edge this essay with lace, tie it up with a red satin ribbon, and maybe add a balloon or two; in another four days we’ll be celebrating St. Valentine. Actually, most of us aren’t celebrating the Italian (Roman) saint at all; we are celebrating those who are dear to us in some way.  And the retail markets are rejoicing over our weakness for cards, candy, perfume and lacy lingerie.
    When our kids were small, we hand- made valentines ---- annually, we had a table-full of red construction paper, lace doilies, glue and glitter, and small valentines for school parties.  While I would still enjoy making valentines, I’m fortunate if I can summon the time/energy to find one in a store-full, that appeals to me, for my husband.  If I manage anymore cards, it is a delightful bonus.  And maybe that’s why my “star” is what it is for 2022. Our pastor, at the beginning of each year, has us draw a star from a basket-full of stars.  Each one has a different word inscribed on it.  This year, my word was “delight”.  How to apply my yearly word is sometimes a bit puzzling, but perhaps this particular one stresses a need to take more time for the delightful little things in life.  If that is so, I’m not alone in my need to do this. As a culture, we are so busy that often the little, fun, delightful things escape us.  We simply don’t notice.  And I think we need those things to stay afloat amid an ocean of life’s difficulties. It is the small, thoughtful reminders that keep life and love fresh.

    February is the month of the amethyst, that lovely jewel with twilights and dawns in its many shades of purple.  It is the month that owls and hawks sit on eggs in their nigh nests.  It is when we start thinking more seriously about spring.    February is a full-of-birthdays month for our family; lots of celebrations, and speaking of family birthdays reminds me of a current ad (anceestry.com) that asks, “Who are the strong women in your family?”  And I laugh, because my answer is “All of them!”  As I think of the women in my family --- and there have been and are quite a few of us ---- I can’t think of even one who wasn’t or isn’t strong-minded and strong to endure.  Of course, we express our strengths quite differently; some more assertively than others, but that flexible, unbreakable core is there in each.  And since we have generally married equally strong-willed individuals, it is good that we can stand firm when necessary.   One of the excellent men who married into the family was heard to comment: “The trouble with the Wiley women is that they are always sure they are right.  And ----#^*@# -----they usually are!
    Inner strength, whether male or female, is a good quality to develop, although during growing-up years, it can sometimes be problematical for parents. Societal change is slow, but I think assigning roles to people because of gender or place in society, is increasingly a thing of the past, though it does linger here and there. Our culture has historically offered women fewer options than men.  And this behavior was supported by not only men, but also some women!  When we came to this community, the church Session (governing body) had mostly been men ---- for years ---- maybe centuries.  I think perhaps one woman had been on it prior to 1979. When I was asked to serve in that august body, after some thought and prayer, I agreed.  The only individuals who called me to ask why I thought I belonged in a church leadership position, were women. I’m not sure whether they really wished to know or whether they just wanted to register a reprimand.
    Maintaining the fiction of the frail little woman with a small brain, fluttery hands and a “please take care of me” appeal is quite appalling. We all need taking care of on occasion, but it isn’t gender-based.  Equally unfair, during the “Women’s Lib” days in the 60s and 70s, men were often viewed with caustic disfavor by some women simply because they were men.  Both viewpoints are generalizations about people. People need to be who they are instead of trying to fit some preconceived notion of what males and females ought to be. We need to figure out how we are called to be helpful in this world ---- and be that person. One interesting individual who speaks on the yin and yang of humans is Dr. Tieraona Low Dog**.  She is a well-educated MD, a Native American, an herbalist and one who has studied the shallows and depths of humans. If you come upon one of her books or a podcast, expand your mind by reading or listening.
    For some of us, winter is a time of sorting out many things ---- thoughts, possessions, whatever needs to be sorted.   My kitchen drawers tend to accumulate things, so I’ve been cleaning out.   There were some items ---- an apple-corer that I never use, but it’s a nice design with an old green handle, so back in it goes ---- the spikey thing with the red handle, that holds an onion so it doesn’t slip while slicing.    Being in a hurry, I never pull it out, but it’s there if needed.   I have a wooden spoon whose handle curves in and out like a snake; it fits my hand nicely, stirs well and balances on the rim of a pot.  There is a flat wire whip that I use to mix beaten egg whites into a cake batter, on the rare occasions I make a sponge cake.  It came from my mother’s utensil drawer, and probably is100 years old; its handle is nearly bare of the red paint it once had.  But it works better than any other item for that one task. Out go several nut crackers and picks.  Who cracks nuts anymore?  And do I really need that garlic press?  My utensil drawer still has more stuff than necessary, but it is a bit tidier.

    There is something comforting about having a good, utilitarian item that is also attractive in its basic usefulness.  We have two or three books by Eric Sloan about old tools; their symmetry and grace.   Kerm is as attracted to old tools as I am --- just a different kind ---- and has a fine collection in garage, woodshed and study.  Robert Henri*** says: “I love tools.  They are so beautiful, so simple and plain.  They have not been made beautiful; they are beautiful.”  And if they are well-used and comfortable to the hand --- as is my grandmother’s hickory wood rolling pin or Kerm’s wood planes ----- their beauty is increased.
    Even by February, winter can be beautiful, but, in all its scenic frostiness, it can also be a time of hardship.  Native Americans, in the northeast, called this month’s full moon the Starving Moon.  February’s 28 days often have bitter cold and blizzard-y storms----- and wild life can suffer. I know that there is controversy about whether or not to feed birds and other wild life.   But, for our own pleasure, we do feed the birds as you all know, and I don’t chase away the deer who rob the feeders. I may even leave them an apple or two.  And I provide food and lined, sheltered baskets for the outside cats who probably aren’t feral anymore. I do draw the line at coyotes and bears; they’ll have to survive on their own.    

    Humans can be in distress too. Grocery costs continue to rise as do fuel and transportation prices.   While we are taking pity on the feral cats and wistful deer, we need to remember the local food pantries and Deacons’ funds and give them a little help. There are food-challenged people in all of our neighborhoods, and many with fuel issues.  Somewhere the Bible mentions that those who have much, from them much is expected. I think that might apply to those of us with full pantries and warm living rooms.  We are surely to enjoy the good things we have, but it is my belief that we are not supposed to clutch to ourselves an over-abundance of these same good things while others are suffering.  Sharing when we can, lightens our hearts and sustains those who, for whatever reason, are finding life hard.
    Even this month of love, holidays and parties, can be emotionally challenging.  SAD**** is the down-side of late winter.  A little dancing, a little singing, a heart-shaped card that says “I LUV U!”, and a lot of getting out and moving around can expand one’s mood immensely. So can greenery.  On a warm day (and surely there will be a few!) when the temperature is above freezing, cut some stems of forsythia or other supple shrub, and put the stems in water.  After a week or so, they will blossom or leaf out, bringing a little early spring. Meanwhile, remember: “When it snows you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels.”*****  Probably we should do a little of both.  Happy Valentine’s Day!!
    Carol Bossard lives in Spencer NY. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *from My Valentine by Robert Louis Stevenson --- Scottish poet, novelist and travel writer.  He is best-known for The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Treasure Island. 1850-1894.
    **Dr. Tieraona Low Dog ---MD who studied herbal medicine, midwifery, massage and martial arts before becoming a respected medical doctor.  She researches combining natural remedies along with traditional western medicine.
    ***Robert Henri ---American painter and teacher.  1865-1929.
    ****Seasonal Affective Disorder brought about by long winters and little sun.
    ***** Unknown but wise advice. 
        
  14. Carol Bossard
    I get a gold star this year for having my plant orders ready early.  Last year several plants that I wanted were gone by March.  I think people were shut in, bored, and were desperately wanting spring to come.  That might well be true of this winter too.   So --- I’m ready to call/send them in.  I’m also ordering less.  It’s an unhappy realization that the energy I have must be portioned out carefully --- and Kerm’s energy too. Dreaming about gardens is my panacea when winter annoys; I just need to rein in the scope of those visions.  Weeding is much easier from the perspective of a cozy chair by the fire than on my knees in April.
    One of the TV shows that both Kerm and I enjoy is “Finding Your Roots”, aired on PBS.  It is quite amazing to see what research can discover about one’s ancestors.  My brother was very interested in genealogy and compiled reams of information about both sides of my family.  My Scottish father and my French mother with a Dutch great-grandmother thrown in make an interesting combination of genes.  It is --- I hope --- a good mix! Learning about the “back stories” is fascinating.  I wish I’d asked more questions when there was someone to answer them, although my mother did a good job of introducing me to family members via their tombstones.  Knowing about forebearers provides a background that makes me think hard about all those who are responsible for me being who I am.  As this favorite quotation says:  “Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.” *
    I’ve been fortunate in having family members who provided good examples for me --- perhaps not always, but certainly often ---- and lots of love, though it wasn’t always expressed in actual words. My siblings were twelve to twenty years older than I, so it was my good fortune that I was able to find a closer acquaintance with my brothers and sister later in life. I would hope to not waste my opportunities with family members and friends who are still with me.  It is harder as we scatter ourselves from state to state, but good family ties promote health, happiness and a feeling of security, so we keep trying.  I’ve always been comforted to know that if I’m in trouble in New York, in Massachusetts, in Connecticut, in Virginia, in Washington State, in Arizona, in California, in Colorado and now, in New Hampshire ---- I can call on family to rescue me.  😊
    Ties are always being broken by distance and/or death, although the good memories continue to be blessings.  Last week, we had news that a very good friend died at the beginning of January.  Richard Cole hired me to supervise the OFA Nutrition program in Schuyler County way back in 1981.  It was a new agency and we were all unfamiliar with each other.  Dick managed to turn a diverse group of people into a cohesive team.  And in the process, Kerm and I became good friends with Dick and his wife, Mary. Dick had a trio --- the Dick Cole Gospel Group --- for whom he sang, played the piano and wrote music.  Spencer Singers joined them for several enjoyable concerts plus ice cream parties and picnics.  At work, we did an annual Staff Day Away and Dick offered some very funny and creative workshop ideas as part of team-building.  He managed a complicated budget with skill even as he worried over its inadequacy.  This man who excelled in personal integrity, in music, had a great sense of humor, and was good at fending off useless NYS mandates, will be missed.  He was a fine person and a good friend.
    “There is a stillness in winter ---a silence that comes from the gentle, falling snow.  It calls us to listen to the beat of our own hearts and to the ancient wisdom of our ancestors, whispering through our veins.”  Tara Shannon**
    The death of someone close often leads to thinking about one’s own life in some depth. However, we should take the time to do some soul-searching, not just when death makes us pause, but rather like annual chimney-sweeping or cleaning out the eaves. Winter seems a good time for this.  Our early ancestors didn’t have electric lights, cars, planes or anything else that could keep them up at night or traveling hither and yon. Humans, like other mammals, used winter to rest and restore, and from what I have read, it was also a time of meditation and spiritual growth. We, who can run to the grocery store whenever we choose and fly to Florida for R&R tend to forget that our minds and bodies need a surcease from over-active living. We need time to reflect on how our inner spirits are faring.   Could life be more satisfying?  Do we need to be going in a different direction?  Who do we need to forgive? From whom do we need forgiveness?  How can we live a more meaningful life in total?
    A 20th and 21st-century plague, probably more virulent to a good life than COVID, is getting stuck in a rut both in our daily lives and in our perspectives.  We allow our routines to freeze into solid barriers that do not allow change or flexibility; we get up, shower, eat breakfast, go to work, do whatever it is we do at work, go home, fix dinner, watch TV or veg out on the computer, and go to bed.  If we aren’t aware, we end up doing the same thing the next day and most days thereafter.  In a similar way we view the world from our comfy little perspectives; having decided what/who we wish to believe, we refuse to explore further.  We say we don’t have time for reading, for joining community groups or church.  We don’t have time or energy to sit in nature for a half hour to restore our senses.  We don’t even try to understand those who think differently.  We are oblivious to the free moments we could easily have if we weren’t so entranced with being busy or lingering on-line. A routine can be useful, but when overdone it can make a life that sees no growth or blooming.   Possibilities come with thought, and possibilities inject new life into our days. An understanding of why people do what they do --- or think as thy think--- may just temper our frustrations and add to our peace ---- and possibly, the world’s peace.

    At this point in my life, I’m not as involved with outside activities as I once was. But I try to stay informed and alert to the world around me. Instead of moaning about what I can no longer accomplish (something I catch myself doing too often --- like daily), I need to do that which I feel especially called to do. Someone else must now join committees, transport people to the hospital, serve on boards and fight fires (not that I ever did this!). I hope the younger people in their communities do feel a responsibility to fill the gaps left by those of us who have less stamina. There was great story recently about high school kids of Sacketts Harbor, NY, who finding a dearth of volunteers for the local ambulance corps, took the training and became the community’s new, and very competent, rescue unit. Good and responsible.
    Our neighborhoods or villages, with their small churches, volunteer fire and ambulance corps, Granges, Lions’ Clubs and community centers are vital to our national health.  Without them, we don’t really know each other which eventually results in not really caring for each other.  And we’ve seen far too much of that. Getting to know people --- even those with whom we disagree quite strongly ----reminds us of our mutual humanity. It is hard to hate someone with whom we’ve eaten pancakes at the Masonic Lodge or whose children have played together with ours. Networking is considered a business trend, but personal networking is far more crucial.  It’s called keeping in touch!
    Now, in late January and early February, cabin fever usually sets in. Any time I’m feeling dull or moody because of too much winter, I go to the garden books and catalogs.    Would that rose blooming with sunrise colors be right on the new pergola or should we try that crimson and cream honeysuckle?  Might we, in our down-sizing decisions, forget about the small veggies like beets and carrots, just getting them at the Farmers’ Market?  Maybe we should follow the old Biblical custom of letting the land rest for a year (and us too)? There are many ways to fill winter days with interest, whatever one’s interest might be.  What is yours???
    I’ll leave this thought with you: “Once upon a time…..there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy.  The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”***    If we can be glad at least twice a day, simply for life, no matter whether the sky is gray or sunny, and no matter what grief we may be feeling, I think that our days will be less frustrating.  And winter might not seem as long!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *Linda Hogan ---Television personality and former wife of Hulk Hogan.  Known for her TV show, “Hogan Knows Best.”
    **Tara Shannon – American actress and the creator of “Rabbit and Bear”, a currently popular and relevant cartoon.
    ***Terry Tempest Williams ---American writer, educator, conservationist and activist.  Much of her writing has been influenced by the arid landscape of Utah.  She advocates for environmental justice, women’s health and protection of public lands.
  15. Carol Bossard
    It is mid-January and more light is coming through the tunnels of our winter days.  The Christmas tree is out beneath the lilac, giving the birds another refuge from the always interested cats and hopeful hawks.  The manger scene on the kitchen buffet and all the cool little animals have been carefully wrapped in tissue and packed away for another year.  Hopefully, the wonder of this world-changing event more than 2000 years ago, doesn’t also get put away, but remains with us to light our days!  The snow babies are back in their bubble wrap leaving the piano top free for family photographs once again.  However, the glass snowflakes still hang in the porch windows, giving us some sparkle whenever the sun shines through them.  One faceted silver ball remains; when the sun hits this ball, it puts sunny spots on my living room ceiling and makes me smile.  And, of course, the “winter lights” running the length of the driveway will continue to brighten the nights until March.
    We had a lovely holiday season although we regret the absence of the before-COVID opportunities for concerts.  Cornell’s Twilight concert was one I have enjoyed in the past.  We did catch an S-VE middle-school event that was streamed on Face Book --- a glimpse of our very talented young people who are discovering all the fun and magic of music.  After playing several numbers together, I liked the way each group of instruments was featured separately.  We also enjoyed, via PBS, the annual New Year’s Day concert from Vienna.  The hall in which they play is full of history and elegance; the music and dancing are stellar.   
    Christmas Eve at church turned out to be a very lovely service interwoven with a comedy of errors. We arrived to discover that the church had no heat.  Exploration of the furnace room discovered the need for a new motor in one furnace and I guess the other furnace was supporting its co-worker in the shut-down strike.  Fortunately, it was a mild winter evening, so the sanctuary wasn’t actually frigid nor were our teeth chattering.  No one dozed off, though!   About fifteen minutes into the service, the organist’s hands came down on the keys and nothing --- nada --- emerged from the rows and rows of pipes. David and Kerm were going hither and yon again, trying to discover its ailment.  However, a service must go on, so carols and a complicated accompaniment for trumpets were skillfully, and from necessity, performed on the electric keyboard, which continued working amid the general strike.  Toward the end of the service, with the current restored to the organ it was time for “Silent Night” and candle-lighting.   One more small glitch came when the wall lamps wouldn’t go out.  Eventually, the right combination of switches was found and darkness surrounded us until our candles, kindled one by one, brought back reassuring light.    Our pastor is quick-thinking and lost no time in reminding us that a barn in Bethlehem was probably chilly, that babies are born regardless of circumstances and that Christmas is much larger than anything else that might be happening ---- or not happening.  We really had no trouble in finding the service speaking truth to us as it always has, but with a little unexpected humor as seasoning.
    Things that go wrong often leave us with memorable object-lessons and certainly with good stories for the years ahead. A bit of discomfort wakes us up!   There was the year a candle set someone’s hair afire……there was the year a youngster explained exactly how the baby Jesus was born…………the year a small costumed “lamb” stole the show by escaping……..there’s always a story.
    Our story continues too.  Our sons and their families were here for Christmas --- 8 people and 3 dogs.  Gifts were lovely and appreciated but even better was the flow of good conversation amid large dogs trying to sit on laps and the dog who was confined to the upstairs whining pitifully.  In earlier days, when we spent Christmases with our larger extended families (20 people or more), there used to be board games and card games --- pinochle with Kerm’s family (his Grandma Storm taught us to play triple-deck pinochle and we’ve never recovered.); euchre with mine (mostly my noisy brothers and nephews).  I remember one Monopoly game with Kerm’s family that went on for two days --- same game!  The flailing canine tails of 2021 would make table games hazardous.  We are grateful for the times we had back then and love these slightly smaller celebrations we have now.  Our granddaughters --- now nearly adults ---- were able to stay for a few days after Christmas, which was a gift itself.  I love seeing how capable they are becoming in their own ways, their sense of style, and their kindness to the world around them.
    We have had a lot of teens in our homes over the years ----- 4-H groups, church groups ---and just friends.  No one likes to be preached to, but if I could share something with teenagers in general, besides the required cookies, it would be to trust the process of becoming.  Given time, patience and love, teens will almost always morph into admirable adults.  It is rather like a newly-hatched butterfly fanning its wings for a very long time, building strength before attempting to fly.  If, for some reason trauma or ill-chosen friends urge them to fly before the wings have developed, they could become impaled on a thorn bush or the prey of a predator.   So, taking time is a good thing.  I’d like to tell them that there is so much beyond Middle school and High school.  Teens are often highly-anxious.  Sometimes they are inoculated with this by driven parents, but I think much of it comes naturally.  We humans keep comparing ourselves with others and teens are especially prone to doing this.  “Fitting in” becomes very important.  But we are created to be unique individuals whose special gifts will benefit the world in some way.  Trying to be like someone else is to negate the one-time-only human art we should be.  I saw this little quip somewhere --- “Be yourself; everyone else is taken!”  The best advice ever!  This is not to say mentors aren’t good; they surely are.  There are people who’ve been in my life and people in my life now, who I admire and from whom I learn valuable things.  But each of them is who they are, and I am me.  And that is as it should be.

    In this shiny new year, there are some things I’d really like to do. 1)  I’d like to have more days/evenings of conversation and laughter.  I’d like for people to stash those hand-held, addictive phones for a while, and have eyes looking into other eyes as we share thoughts, dreams and funny happenings.  2) I’d like to consciously spend more time outside.  We live in a beautiful area --- this Finger Lakes region ---- and specifically, I live at the foot of a forested hill full of interesting flora and fauna. Something I read recently which I think is a revised version of what John Wesley’s mother said about prayer ----- “Everyone should spend 20 minutes/day in nature.  If a person is really busy, spend an hour.”  It is assuredly true of prayer, and I think true of time in nature.  I will try to spend more twilights in a lawn chair, listening for a hermit thrush or perhaps sit at the end of Seneca Lake, watching the boats and the ducks.  3) I’d like to finish two rather personal bits of writing I have sitting in folders ---- “Grandma’s Kitchen” (a book of family recipes and stories featuring my mother’s kitchen) and “My Little Book of Theology” (a collection of things that feed my spiritual life).   4) I’d like to consciously shed some of the baggage that seems to accompany me daily and keeps me from relaxing my shoulders - ---or at least that’s what the chiropractor says.  That baggage is composed of anxiety, worry and trying to carry the fate of the world (my small part of the world) on those same shoulders.  I know I’m not the only one weighted down by this inadvertent and unwholesome load; I think the world might well spin on its way even if we worriers allowed ourselves to be at ease.   5) I want more sitting around campfires and 6) more singing.  Both spread happiness.
    Meanwhile, there are small bits of gladness amid the chilly breezes that are shaking the wind chimes and ruffling feathers on the birds at the feeders.  Chickadees, those little creatures of good cheer, are bopping from feeder to lilac, chattering as though at an after-church social hour.  The bright crimson of the cardinals adds color to the winter landscape.  They are much more dignified than the merry chickadees; they very gravely take a sunflower seed and offer it to their mates ---- sometimes.  Good manners -----sometimes!  And the ever-present mourning doves clean up the seed on the ground left by the early-rising turkeys.  A couple of deer have been coming down at dusk to see what they can find around the feeders and on really cold days, I share some apples with them.
    I hope you are finding interests both inside and outside your windows this January.  As Hal Borland* says, “Now comes the long haul up the cold slope between now and April.”  We can at least take time to enjoy the scenery on the way.  In our area of gray skies, we rejoice when the sun shines.  If you are in a warmer spot this winter, take note of the creatures that the tropics bring you (I envy the friends who have sand hill cranes in their back yard), wiggle your toes in the warm grass and soak in the more frequent sunshine. A good January to you!!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Hal Borland --- American naturalist, journalist and author.  1900-1978.
      
  16. Carol Bossard
    Remember that old song (well, depending on your age, some of you may not!) ---- “What are you doin’ New Year’s, New Year’s Eve?”*  Ella Fitzgerald, Andy Williams, Margaret Whiting and more recently --- Harry Connick Jr. ---- were some of the notables who made this song popular.  2021’s last day is tomorrow and how will you spend the Eve?  How have you spent New Year’s Eves in the past?  We have had all sorts of “eves” in our lives; parties, watch-night services, quiet evenings at home, and one spent wandering fruitlessly in Ithaca, looking for a place to eat while our kids partied at home; we were trying to give them a little space and ended up dining on ice cream at Purity!  I stayed up past midnight at the turn of the century, watching as the year changed around the world. This year we expect our evening will be quiet and maybe restoring.  I might exert myself enough to make a yummy drink consisting of vanilla ice cream, milk, eggs and a little B&B Liqueur ---- or perhaps just hot chocolate. We will maybe look back on this year to see what stands out for us and consider what we’d like to do in the year ahead.   We will probably read our books-of-the-evening in silence a lot of the time. Appreciation of quiet and peaceful is one blessing that comes with what one of my doctors tactfully calls a “lot of good years”.   
    When 2021 changes into 2022, will we notice any differences? Only humans have made time so arbitrary; for the rest of living creatures, each year morphs into the next with no realization of anything except the seasons. Do you make new year’s resolutions? Are they realistic? I don’t do that anymore although I do have lists for my days. I once had an astute therapist who advised me to STOP making those lists. He was right ---- at the time. I was setting up impossible goals for myself each week. But now ---- those lists keep me functioning. Without them I’d likely forget whose birthday was when, which appointment was coming up and might even forget to bake cookies or tie my shoes. Lists are a life-saver as long as they are taken with a very large grain of salt.  But what do you expect from 2022? A year can be one you are glad to see depart, or it can be a miraculous year. Usually it is a matter of our perspective and whether we expect miracles in the midst of challenges. Looking inward and being honest with ourselves can determine much of how our  year goes.
    I look forward to more light in my days. In about two weeks, the increase in daylight will be noticeable. Of course, there is the old saying ---- “As days lengthen, cold strengthens.” I expect, in the next months, we will be getting more chilly temperatures and snow than we really want to experience. When I was a kid, snow was exciting. I remember building snow forts next to the front steps, and snow men, with carrot noses and leering pebble grins facing the road. Our family occasionally had moonlit sledding parties; one of the fields on my brother’s farm sloped perfectly for safe and lengthy sliding.  As a teen, we had snow parties and hot chocolate at the local Rod & Gun Club.  When a young child, I remember riding in my parents’ car with snow coming at the windshield like the business end of a broom.  Now --- knowing the hazards of driving in snow, I’d be highly anxious, but then I felt cozy and safe inside the car.  What a difference in perspective there often is between that of a child and that of an adult who has lived a few years in awareness.  Keeping a small portion of that child-like curiosity and trust would probably be good for us all.  We’d have lowered anxiety and could meet people with less worry about their motives.
    But back to what I would like --- or what I expect--- from 2022.  Spencer Singers has a song called “Winter Is At Hand”** and one of the lines says: “It’s so much more than we deserve or I expect, when winter is at hand…..”.  and that’s what I’m thinking about 2022.  I’d like to envision/deserve a year of fine weather without tornadoes, without flooding or droughts and without pernicious bugs bent on destroying crops, trees or my roses.  But ---- we have not always treated the earth well, nor been deserving of Utopia, so I imagine what we will get is a mixture of lovely weather with all the other less-desirable, seasonal possibilities.  I would like to think that my singing voice will recover immediately from two years of non-use and that my energy of a few years ago, will miraculously be restored.  But I will be pleased with a large percentage of good days and something on-key and fairly melodic coming out when I open my mouth.  I would like to believe that no one I love will experience illness or distress --- that life will run smoothly for them.  That is what my father might call a “pipe dream” (referring, I suppose to opium smoking) and he’d laugh. Those I love will probably experience life in all of its facets.  So, what I really hope for them is the courage, strength, faith and a sense of humor to meet their challenges.
    Actually, all of us need those things.  Peter, Paul and Mary performed a song entitled “Light One Candle”***.  Googling results mentioned it was considered controversial at the time it came out.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out why ----- it seems unquestionably acceptable to me.  But then, people are always finding things controversial that I think quite appropriate.   The song ends with a chorus of “Don’t let the Light go out --- Oh NO --- don’t let the Light go out..!” And that is, I think, our task for 2022; we’ve had some dark days, but we should never forget the lights that have brightened our way and we must radiate out the light we need to move forward.    We have a responsibility to shed all the light we are capable of carrying, to light the way for all those who experience darkness.  New Year’s Eve fireworks are symbolic of this, I hope.
     
    With Christmas and the Solstice just past, I enjoy thinking of the garden sleeping peacefully beneath the snow.  It cheers me to know that bulbs are storing up energy to burst out of the ground in April, that even in this chill, owls will soon begin nesting up on our hill and that it is only two months before the sap will be rising in the trees.  “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe” by C.S. Lewis**** portrays the worst of rulers and situations ---- a queen whose realm had endless winter with no Christmas.  It is a good tale --- perhaps an allegory-- ---- but definitely a can’t put-down story for anyone from age 10 through 100.  An endless winter with no Christmas is just so descriptive of a life with no hope, no humor, no delight and no birds building nests in January.  But be reassured; the book has a good ending.
    We are emerging into a new year, and there are only three months to go before spring.  So ---- rejoice and be glad.  In spite of all the old-year dregs that insist upon intruding into the new year, we have fresh new days to live out as well as we can.  So ----- Happy New Year and may many blessings shower all over you.
    ***********************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *”What Are You Doing New Year’s?”---Written by Houston Person
    **”Winter Is At Hand” ----Words from the play Richrd III by William Shakespeare; music by Ruth Morris Gray.
    ***Light One Candle” by Peter Yarrow, one of the trio Peter, Paul and Mry.
    ****C.S. Lewis --- British writer and theologian educated at both Oxford and Cambridge universities.  “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is book 1 of “The Chronicles of Narnia” series.
  17. Carol Bossard

    Mid-December

    By Carol Bossard,

    “It was a winter evening of transparent clearness, with an innocent young moon above the housetops...”*  Isn’t that a great way to begin a story that could go anywhere?    It is also a good description of a fine night in mid-December.  Early winter evenings can, if we stop to absorb them, fill us with an awareness of how special life is, evening, morning or mid-day.   Right now, outside my window a downy woodpecker is enjoying a cake of suet, and just a few yards away, the turkeys are cleaning up the sunflower seeds carelessly shoved off the feeders by blue jays.  The chickadees are, as usual, adding movement to the whole picture as they flit from feeder to branch where they crack open a seed.  Someone in an inner-city apartment might give much to be seeing these simple country interactions among the creatures.
    The hanging of the greens (Christmas decorating) has been done at church and here at home too.  Traditions are reassuring parts of life.  The “children’s tree” at church is its usual flamboyant olio of tinsel ropes and various Sunday school-made ornaments.   The rest of the decorating in the sanctuary is less free-spirited and more dignified with evergreen swags and red and white poinsettias.    At home, we have managed to have a Christmas tree even though our space for that item is more limited this year.  It squeezes in between a desk and a chair, letting a few twigs venture over the chair arm.  I find that fewer house decorations please me this year; simplicity is restful somehow.  I do miss using all of our ornaments, most of which have stories, but less glitz seems OK.   We have a variety of greenery growing on our land, so we are able to bring the aroma and textures of outside, into the house, and that is satisfying.
    Watching the birds and animals outside reminds me of the stable scenes that many of us cherish. There is one on our church lawn that was built and the figures created by artists in our congregation.  Its presence there is a village tradition. The smaller creche we have on our own kitchen buffet was created by Kerm, and is a tradition with us.  A few new animals appear each year ---- as is customary in many European creches.  In Provence the figures are called santons and are often sculpted by family members.  Ours has, in addition to the usual camels, donkeys and cows, two llamas, an elephant (one of the Magi could have ridden an elephant!), a sleeping kitten, a fawn, a goat, a big-horn sheep and a small skunk ---- none sculpted by us. It may be fantasy, but it is good fantasy to imagine the creatures as well as the shepherds and angels gathering at the manger.

    Christmas has become a widely jovial, spread-the-cheer season, but while many of us are reveling in Christmas joys, it is a kind and caring thing to remember others who find the holiday frenzy an added burden to their already difficult lives.  And this should probably include those who are currently trying to exist/survive amid disasters, war and revolution.  We need to be aware of those who find the “Ho-Ho-Ho” and canned music grating on their ears as they deal with sadness, depression or are hurting in some way.  Instead of urging “C’mon, be merry!” we might just take the time for more kindness and caring; time to simply be a friend who listens and accepts.  There is a Japanese proverb that speaks to this: “Be an open bowl and opportunity may drop in.”  One never knows what opportunities we might find for healing--- both ourselves and others --- if we are open and alert.
    Amid the ringing bells and rushing around, the natural world often restores my balance and perspective. In less than a week ---- the Solstice will be upon us -----thankfully! Our shortest hours of daylight will be December 21st and then the light comes dancing back little by little bit. Early civilizations celebrated this event with more awareness and enthusiasm than we do.  Perhaps our electric lights have made us feel casual about daylight and dark. With no incandescent or florescent lamps, earlier people felt more of a kinship with the world around them and its rhythms, and were, perhaps, more wary of increasing darkness. Archeological digs have found sophisticated structures designed to mark the solstices and the equinoxes.  Either those civilizations were going to take no chances on the capricious gods who might hold them longer in fearful darkness and so celebrated to propitiate them, or they felt a deep gratitude for the returning light and a responsibility to express their thanks.  A bit more gratitude and celebration of our blessings, including returning daylight, might not be amiss.
    Whether we celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Yuletide and/or Kwanzaa, they all emphasize spreading Light. This is a reminder that we have access to spiritual resources which, if we choose to believe, reassure us that eventually, “all will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be well,”** Many, many times, in Scripture, we are told to not be afraid; to fear not!   And the Gospel of Luke goes so far as to say: “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with …. the worries of the world.”  Fear is a crippling emotion that leads to unwise behavior including hatred, racism, blind ignorance and a limiting life for those who fear.   Fear is so pervasive that it takes an inner spiritual strength to erase it from our lives.  Science is a good resource, but if one chooses to operate only on what can be proven scientifically, this reassurance may be null and void.  For those individuals, I would ask that they consider this: “We live on a blue planet that circles around a ball of fire next to a moon that moves the sea ---- and you don’t believe in miracles?” ***   
    Somehow, in spite of ourselves and often amid discouraging circumstances, this multi-cultural, celebratory season of light and good cheer brings the possibility that we can be better people; that we can live with open hearts eager to understand instead of shutting out our fellow humans.  We can face the world, out-stretched arms ready to lift up and encourage, and caring hearts filled with a peace that is beyond all understanding. “For though my faith may not be yours and your faith may not be mine, if we are each free to light our own flame, together we can banish some of the darkness of the world.”  Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks****
    As we move toward December 24th, I recall previous Christmas Eves all of which seemed to hold a bit of magic for me.  As a child, I accompanied my parents to 11 PM services.  Being allowed to stay up that late plus the candles and music transported me to what felt like a wonderland --- even as I struggled to keep my eyes open for the carols and readings.   Sometimes in later years, we joined my brother’s family in a house service ---- much earlier in the evening.  My brother was a dairy farmer and could never stay awake for too late hours.   (Actually, whenever he sat down his eyes closed.)  Also, as a child, snow for Christmas seemed absolutely necessary, but now hearing “O Little Town of Bethlehem”  or "Silent Night" is enough to bring back the magic felt as children, snow or no snow.

    The world is really full of wondrous things.  It is true that there are wars, rumors of wars, and enough hair-raising disasters to keep our anxiety levels high.  There is worrisome illness and the loss of people we love. There is stupidity, intentional ignorance, meanness and vice.  But there is also the daily rising of the sun, the sparkle of frost on each needle of the fir trees, the song of a cardinal. There are joyously-playing puppies and kittens that turn into comforting pets.  There are the immense and wondrous elephants, giraffes and then the tiny shrews and amazing honey-bees. There are hollyhocks, roses, peonies and all the vegetables that keep us fed.  And there are “helpers”; thousands of people who go out of their way to encourage, assist, make life better for those in their paths, and also inspire each of us to observe the need in our own paths, and to take action to improve life where we are.
    My wish for you this season is that no matter what issues may be giving you sadness or discouragement, that you find an inner joy and unquenchable hope for the world in this December of stars, snowflakes and space.  And may your Light shine out into a world that needs your gifts and your being your own unique self!  And remember (Though this is a bit daunting!) --- “every time any one of us opens our mouth to speak, we are saying ‘Let there be light, or we are adding to the darkness.”******
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Edith Wharton---American novelist, writer of short stories and designer.  1862-1937.
    **Julian of Norwich ---- English anchoress of the Middle Ages whose visions and writings have become well-known in our own times.  1342-1416.
    ***Wisdom for Life & Living Well ---- Ginger Harrington--- writer on Christian spirituality.
    ****Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks---British Orthodox Rabbi, author, poet, theologian and Peer.  1948-2020.
    *****Glennon Doyle via a Max Lucado book via Dreisbach UCC newsletter --- Glennon Doyle is an American writer and activist.  She is founder and president of “Together Rising” an all-woman organization that supports women and children in crisis.  Max Lucado is an American writer and pastor.  Dreisbach UCC is located in between Lewisburg, PA and Mifflinburg, PA.
  18. Carol Bossard
    No matter how many Christmases have gone by, or how many gray hairs I have, every year brings this feeling of expectancy, happiness and a bit of mystique when the season of Advent arrives.  This is when I pull out our collection of Christmas and Hanukkah stories and try to read one or two/day.  It is when I begin playing Christmas CDs alternately with the usual classical and folk music. It’s time for my totally unrealistic “to do” list, designed to create the perfect holiday times. Of course, I don’t do all those things. I’ve grown sufficiently wise that I don’t even expect to accomplish everything.  Planning is part of the fun, and we always manage the essential things.  (And really, it is amazing how few things are essential.)
    I am a bit tired of this year’s woeful news commentators moaning about empty shelves; how the toys will be fewer this year because they are sitting on ships out in a California bay, and maybe this will “spoil Christmas.”   Now I can sympathize with retailers and their losses, but spoiling Christmas?  Have we forgotten what Christmas is all about? Turn off the news. Get out the Scrabble game, or even better --- Twister! Collect some Christmas films or old musicales.  Read stories. There is enough good will and wonder about Christmas to provide delight regardless of finding just the “right” toy.  Parents need to give experiences along with things ---- to make time for good happenings ----to actually listen to their kids and share stories about growing up.  A relaxed attitude---- genuinely feeling that time with family is a good time --- that is what kids will remember.  A day of creating a gingerbread house or baking cookies, a taffy-pull, an evening of popcorn and movies, driving around town to see all the decorated houses, setting up a creche and reading Luke, Chapter 2, maybe an in-house contest to see what gifts can be made from whatever can be found, will hold more value than the very latest 1000-piece Lego set or whatever this year’s magnificent digital toy might be.
    My most memorable Christmas, as a kid, was the year my father built a doll house.  It wasn’t a surprise, because we watched it grow.  Actually, he built two of them; one for me and one for my niece, my eldest brother’s daughter, who grew up with me.  The houses were built of plywood, were two-stories with eight large rooms and a patio.  These edifices took up a lot of space; a bit over a foot deep, probably 4 feet in length and 20 inches high.  They were nothing like the elaborate plastic models one finds in stores nor were they as beautiful as those a friend built.  But they were quite wonderful in their own way.  Those simple empty rooms were just waiting for creative play.  I painted each room, pasted on “windows”, made rugs, bought or made furniture bit by bit, filling hours with fun.  It cost my father something for the wood probably, and took hours of his time, but I expect the cost was tiny when divided by the hours I spent using it.  Currently it is in a great-grand-niece’s play room where I hope she will find it as wonderful a toy as I did.
    Gifts do not have to leave a family in financial chaos; chosen wisely, they can express love, caring, fun ----- and be affordable.   Kerm’s grandma always gave boxes of home-made goodies and every one of us eagerly looked forward to those boxes.  My mother knitted slippers and mittens, and also hand-painted containers which she then filled with cookies.  No one was ever disappointed to see their name on one of these.  And to those of us for whom Christmas is an integral part of our faith, gifts are a pleasure, but incidental to our celebration of new birth and beginnings.  “Joy To The World” is a gift that fills us with awe, delight and hope for the year ahead.  Those stranded ships full of toys may create an inconvenience, but Christmas will be Christmas regardless.
    I think that perhaps we all have mistaken expectations not only for Christmas. ----but for ourselves---- much of the time!   In our rush to acquire everything on our universal life-list of wants, we often amass possessions to the point where we really don’t have space or time for them.  And we do the same with Christmas ---- scheduling activities until the holiday season flies by in a blur and we end up exhausted and wondering how we missed the magic.  We need to plan for space and silence; we will never hear the angel bells of legend amid our rushing and tintinnabulation.  We will miss the depth of the Christmas story --- or the Hanukkah story ----- unless we give ourselves time to think about what it means to have a Savior of the world born in a barn (so alien to our worldly values) ---- or a lamp whose oil kept burning for days after it should have run out (so impossible!) ----- or the fact that these stories have impacted so many lives for centuries.  Thinking about the simple and yet miraculous things in this world will bring more joy than all the glitz in the shops and malls.  And this is also true for life in general.
    Speaking of a lack, many people have chosen, in the past few years, to not send Christmas/Hanukkah/holiday cards.  This is quite understandable.   There is an immense amount of time involved in writing notes and addressing them and there is the rising cost of postage.  But so far, I’ve not been able to let go of this annual connection.  We began making our own cards, I think, in 1966.  I drew a design, and friends silk-screened them for us.  That became a bit overwhelming all around, so then we began running off our own; first on a mimeograph, then silk-screened on our own frame, and now we use a copy machine for the design of the year, and our rather lengthy letter.  As I address each envelope, I think of and am glad for the friends to whom that card is going.

    We are not known for being timely with our holiday greetings.  We do get a few out before Christmas, but most are sent later. We try to have them in the mail by “Little Christmas” --- Epiphany, January 6th, but sometimes they run a bit after that.   Being late gives us opportunity to respond to the letters we do get. I miss hearing from people who have decided to no longer send cards, but ---- it is quite possible that one of these years, our thoughts from afar will have to suffice in lieu of actual cards and letters.
    Now that we are past Thanksgiving, our pumpkins have gone the annual route to the bird feeders. The multi-colored fruits of the vine have been such a joy on our porch.  However, over the months of December and January, turkeys and deer will consider them an additional, yummy side dish to the sunflower seeds they come to eat.   In place of pumpkins, snowmen of various sorts, will take over our porch along with an evergreen wreath and some window candles.  We have a small problem inside this year.  Having added another chair to the living room for the benefit of my back, we have eliminated the corner where the Christmas tree usually sat.  So, we are looking at a --- gasp ---- small tree!!  This would truly be a change for us and will take some getting-used-to.  We had a table tree once before ---- our very first Christmas together.  We lived in an efficiency apartment outside of D.C., so our very – at the time --- expensive little tree sat on a dresser.    How we will now select only a few ornaments from our stash, for a small tree, will surely be a problem.  Our tree trimmings have accumulated over the years, and always bring back good memories.  There are the colorful little angels --- a gift from a niece.  There are the fragile “Shiny Brite” glass globes that decorated my childhood trees.  There’s the gleaming brass Noah’s Ark, given by a friend and a whole collection of crocheted and sparkling snowflakes.  I will just have to dream up new ways to use these things if I run out of tree space; seeing them makes me happy!  I expect we will cope; we’ve always managed to be flexible with our holidays, as has often been quite necessary.
    There was the year we set out for a family gathering, ran into a blizzard, and spent Christmas night with strangers who welcomed us (2 adults, 2 children and a dog) into their home when our car ran off the road north of Trumansburg.  Another year, a certain toddler (who shall remain nameless) awoke at 3 AM, wandered downstairs and busily began opening everyone’s Christmas gifts.  Another year, one of our little ones developed tonsillitis on Christmas Eve as we were driving from Pennsylvania to grandparents in NYS --- necessitating a trip to the ER and antibiotics.  And now, with the years, family structure has changed; we are the elders. Our sons are grown with their own families, and flexibility is what keeps us all happily celebrating ----- whenever and wherever we can.
    More than the outward trappings, we are hoping to enjoy this season with serenity and awareness of the wonders around us.  We hope this is also true for you.  There will always be changes and sometimes even grief.  But Christmas is larger than our very human concerns; it will, if we allow ourselves to be open, fill us will a deep sense of gratitude for our lives and all of the amazing bits and pieces of the world.  So let us add thankfulness and awareness to that “To Do” list.  And in this early December, let us prepare our hearts for a time of mystery, expectancy and closeness to Creation.
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer NY. You can contact her by email at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
  19. Carol Bossard

    November's Warmth

    By Carol Bossard,

    I just knew it!!  I closed my eyes for a few minutes and suddenly, it’s mitten weather although we have a brief few hours of warmth today before a cold front comes through!    We’ve finally had several black frosts and I hope all the mosquitoes have turned into little entomologic ice cubes!  There was snow last Sunday evening as we drove home from Pennsylvania; not unexpected, but unwelcome!  An upside of this late fall season is that mornings are now made cheerier and warmer with a wood fire, to take the chill from the living room.  Back when I was rushing around to make it to work by 9 AM, I visualized peaceful mornings.  Even after 18 years of retirement, I’ve not lost my delight in the reality; the wood fire makes it even better.   Warmth at this time of the year is a wonderful thing --- both inside and outside the house.  A nippy morning outside brings rosy cheeks and ease in walking; no more struggles with hot and humid!  Going back inside to comfort and light is equally as fine.
    Books are part of our lives every day, all year, but when chilly weather comes, it’s nice to have some new possibilities and a stack of good-to-read-again ones, for days when staying inside is a sensible choice.  There is always new fiction coming out, and while some of it is quite fine, some only adds to the despair for the world.  We need to choose our reading wisely; not just dumping any old thing into our minds.   (This might also apply to TV “news” programs!) I enjoy non-fiction too; daily accounts of living, gardening, the occasional autobiography or a naturalist’s journeys. I saw a T-shirt recently that said: “A truly good book should be read in youth, again in maturity, and once more in old age.”*  I must admit to reading some even more often; like again and again.  It’s called escape literature, and the stories bring me to places I like to visit or they give me comfort.   With JRR Tolkien I can be in a forest of elves, faeries and Hobbits.  With C.S. Lewis I can hear the animals speak with great wisdom and normal people show daily courage that changes their world, or, in his science fiction, a whole new concept of the universe.  His non-fiction is nutritious theology and helpful sharing of personal struggles.  With David Eddings, I can be doing good and defeating evil, with a bit of teleporting and telekinesis thrown in.   Cathy Johnson and Hal Borland take me out into the fields and forests to observe the wonders of our natural world.   Gladys Taber’s writing is homey as she recalls how it was to live in the 1950s.  Alexandra Stoddard reminds me to be creative and aware of the beauty in our homes and in the people around us.  Alexander McCall Smith takes me to the wonderful country of Botswana and introduces the equally wonderful Precious Ramatsie, Number One Lady Detective.  Joyce Rupp speaks to my spiritual life with clarity and understanding.  And there are more ---- so many more.

    In addition to books, I like cleaning out the recipe drawer.  I re-find all sorts of ideas even as I toss clippings that I will never find the time or energy to attempt.   Traditional bouillabaisse would be one of those.  And probably the Spanish Wind Torte.  Kerm recently commented that he had heard several women chatting about reading cook books for fun.  He expressed his astonishment that anyone could find that at all interesting.  But it is!  It is fun to determine which recipes will do well on our own tables.  And if the cookbook has narrative along with recipes, detailing bits of the author’s background and daily life, then it is a personal culinary history.  This latter is what I’ve been trying to put together for family.  I have a folder-full, but am having trouble organizing the narratives.  Pat Conroy says: “a recipe is a story that ends with a good meal.”**  So ---- that’s why we read cookbooks.  In the spirit of down-sizing, I’ve diminished my stash, but there are quite a few really cool ones still on my shelves.  I’ve heard the same thing from friends; we cherish our recipes.
    In my reminiscing, I often go home to visit with my mother; we’d sit at the round kitchen table with a cup of tea and a plate of cookies --- probably molasses.  There was a wide window that looked out on a well-stocked bird feeder – usually with chickadees and a cardinal looking back through the window, and further away, a flower garden, and several yards down further, a pond.  We talked, shared recipes, spoke of family and the latest in world news.  The first two, most interesting to us, were discussions at some length.  The last, just a few comments.   My mother was fairly open-minded but she also had some very definite opinions on world events, and was quite articulate in expressing them.  We had more interest in speaking of what our extended families were doing, ancestral stories and how things were in the gardens and in our inner lives.
    Because things are in such sad shape around the world, and specifically in our own country, conversations with friends often seem to buzz endlessly around our discontent.  I would suggest that there are other things to talk about that would create good memories in later years which is why I remember with pleasure, conversations with my mother.  Way more than the latest clueless politician’s misbehavior, I like knowing what my eldest granddaughter is thinking about her future and what she is doing now.  I enjoy learning that my youngest granddaughter really enjoys acting.  She can be someone else with ease.  As I listen to them, I think we can have hope for the future of the world because of our young people.  They will step up when needed.
    It is also nourishing to sit with friends and reminisce about good times we’ve had, about some of the anxieties around aging that we experience in common and ponder, do we have the energy for preparing one more concert or variety show?  Being part of a comfortable, secure group, whether it is family, friends or a study group, allows us to be who we are, and gives us opportunity to share that same gift with others.  A few really good and trustable friends are a priceless gift not to be treated carelessly.

    We returned recently from a short weekend away that we had planned for October, cancelled then because of my venture into bronchitis and COVID.  A trip to our former home in Pennsylvania is always a welcome journey no matter what time of year.  Though we have visited every year or so, we have been gone from daily life there for 45 years.  I find it amazing to see how quickly we can pick up conversations with people we haven’t seen in quite a while.  With kindred spirits, the connecting bond stays strong.  We attended our former church where, back in the 1970s, Kerm and I both taught Sunday school, and where I sang in the choir.  We sampled some nice restaurants and stopped at the Country Cupboard--- in the Garden and Christmas shops.  We drove around the county admiring the foliage, the beautiful farms in an area we once knew well.  And best, we just enjoyed being with friends and catching up on their lives.  We shared laughter, memories of good times and what we are all doing now to keep our days interesting.  We must do this more often for when we see friends there, we suddenly realize how very much we miss them.  It was a super weekend, and the drive down on Rt. 220 was lovely too; many of the leaves have fallen but lots of color remained.  We could have done without the rain mixed with snow that greeted us just below the NYS border on our way back, though!
    More leaves will fall as November moves on toward winter.   I try to be outside as much as possible, to make up for all the days when it will be too cold or snowy.  We enjoy sitting out on mild days and don’t put the lawn chairs into storage until the heavy snow falls.  I have a sturdy walking stick for stability on our hilly yard.  There are still wonderful things to see if one looks closely; empty nests in small trees, small tracks of our under-the-shed possum, the flash of a cardinal in the spruce trees.  And I’ve put my Happy Light where it’s easy to use every morning.  It fools my brain into thinking the sun is shining and all is well.  As November merges into winter days, I like this poem by Dixie Willson.***
    “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 wildly 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.”
    Thanksgiving is only a week away.   It will be a little chaotic around here with three dogs and eight people.  But it will be a time of good fellowship and fun stories as well as dogs in any convenient laps.  I wish that your Thanksgiving will also be a time of gratitude and hope for good days ahead, and that you will find it a celebration of blessings.  And wear your mittens!!
     
    *Robertson Davies ---- Cnandian novelist, essayist, journalist and critic.  1913-1995.
    **Pat Conroy ----American author who wrote several acclaimed novels and memoirs.  1945-2016.
    ***Dixie Willson ---- from poem, The Mist and All.  American screenwriter as well as poet and author of children’s books.  Meredith Willson was her brother.  1890-1974.
  20. Carol Bossard
    Here in the northeast, we are well into Fall.  Good weather lasted long this year, so we really can’t complain when the season starts being seasonable.  Our cover crops never made it onto the gardens, but the potatoes are in storage and many of the weeds are pulled.   Kerm has replaced the broken rails in the garden fence and repaired the dog pen where the bear broke through in July.   One ursine youngster returned last week on his fall trek, but managed to get around the yard without breaking anything.   
    Kerm just celebrated one of the ---- um ---- significant birthdays.  And it isn’t one to which we all look forward with delight like our 18th or 21st.  One year more doesn’t really matter, but we humans give undue weight to numbers, and this particular number makes us feel old!  In truth, only our brains register this; our bodies don’t really change from being fifty-nine to sixty or seventy-nine to eighty, but our minds tend to shudder away from the thought of a new decade.  Upon turning 50 ---- my charming co-workers decorated my office with black crepe paper and doleful sayings.  Now, nearly 30 years later, I laugh at how little we all knew about aging.  I do know that we should stop thinking so much about numbers and simply trust that we will be around and active as long as there is something we enjoy doing on this earth.
    I was part of a conversation with friends, not too long ago, about getting older.  We all agreed that there is a surprising well of anger inside each of us, when we try to do simple tasks and either can’t or in some way mess them up.  I am furious with myself when silverware just falls out of my hand, or when I see tasks that need doing, but have no energy to do them.  I speak to myself in a sharp way that I’d seldom use with anyone else.  I think this anger springs from fear; fear that we are losing control and being less capable than we’ve always been.  We each have a rather rigid, “color-in-the-lines” picture of who we think we are, and we don’t like changes in that image.  A recent eye examination flashed “losing control” in neon lights in my mind.  I’ve had macular degeneration for a few years now, and it has gradually progressed.  This summer, the gradual became accelerated and my recent exam showed all sorts of unwelcome bumps along the retina floor.  Suddenly something I’d thought of as being a problem in future years became quite immediate.  Not be able to read??!!   I was angry, bleary-eyed and depressed for the rest of that day.  By morning, my equilibrium was somewhat restored and, of course, I could see more clearly when the pupil-dilating eye-drops they used for the exam were gone.  But the foreboding sense of loss still peeks out into my days now and then.
    The question is how to stem the anger and find acceptance --- maybe even meaning ---- in this dubious process of aging when we admittedly aren’t in total control of our bodies.  Nor can we control the attitudes or behavior of people around us, which is often a problem.  In a sense, we are similar to the teenagers I wrote about in the last essay.  We are maybe in a spiritual growth period, and need to have patience with and civility toward ourselves,  realize we aren’t in the driver’s seat for the world and trust that life will smooth out ---- eventually.
    The first question to eliminate from conversation is “WHY ME???”  Why not me? is more appropriate.  Life is full of little and large bumps along the way, and if mine are only in the retina, perhaps I should be remembering that there are many trials I’ve not had to endure, for which I am grateful.  I have friends who have dealt with serious disease, with losing a child, with losing a home, with bitterness in families, with trauma that won’t go away.  I am often awed at how people have risen above their wounds to live good and happy lives.  The least I can do is to handle my discouraging days with a modicum of courage and good sense.  Perhaps I’ll take up painting very large flowers in vivid colors in lieu of growing them or reading about them.  My mother, who was legally blind, went right on gardening.  She could smell some of the plants (herbs) and knew enough of the shapes of the leaves to distinguish one perennial from another.
    The big things in life are challenging, but I think that the little nit-picking ones trigger the daily anger; the new credit card already misplaced, the inability to find the rolling pin that should be right there, the blank space in the mind where someone’s name ought to be.  It is probably good that we make jokes about memory fog, brain farts or “senior moments”.  Laughter is especially healing when it is about ourselves ----- as long as it is understanding and not scornful laughter.  What isn’t OK is letting disabilities embitter us or make us shun fellowship with others.  Anger at ourselves or others, is an acid that can burn away our good sense and turn good days into bad times.
    I visualize my brain as a rather messy filing system ----- as my actual filing always has been.  The files get crowded, shoved in back of another folder, and really need cleaning out now and then.  Unfortunately, I’ve never developed a really workable way to clean and sort --- not in the 4-drawer metal behemoth, nor in my mind.  But working at it keeps my mental machinery moving and allows me to be maybe a tad more patient with my foibles.  “Do not grow old, no matter how long you live.  Never cease to stand like curious children before the great mystery into which we were born.”  Albert Einstein*.  Perhaps this advice is the best advice.  Staying true to who we are and remaining in wonder at the world will keep life good in spite of bodily annoyances and a shaky memory.
     
    “Veterans’ Day” --- or, as it was originally named, “Armistice Day” ---- is next week.  It was first designated when the armistice (cease-fire) was signed ending WWI.  As wars kept on happening, it was renamed Veterans’ Day.  Veterans selling poppies used to be a fund-raiser and a reminder.  We still need to be reminded in some creative way, since we humans have a bad habit of only seriously considering that which impacts our own lives.  We may give lip-service to other concerns, but unless something threatens us or makes us unhappy in some way, we do not put a lot of energy into changing it.  I think we often rationalize taking military service for granted:  “Well, being in the service is good for kids; gives them discipline. Gives them time to think about what they want to do.”  Times of combat --- and even training exercises ---- also give kids the possibility of dying.  If soldiers are fortunate enough to go home after participating in wars, it also may give them severe injuries and deep-seated memories that continue to haunt them; this is called being traumatized.  And we, who have never experienced the raw emotions of a war zone, tend to shrug our shoulders and count pennies when speaking of providing sufficient resources for soldiers as they return.  Veterans have every reason to be hurt and angry, as many are.  Perhaps Stephen Spender’s** evocative lines should be engraved where we can all see and remember:
                                                “Born of the sun
                                                     They traveled a short while
                                                     Toward the sun
                                                     Leaving the vivid air
                                                     Signed with their honour.”
    And the words from the famous WWI poem, In Flander’s Field, from whence the idea of poppy sales began, by John McCrae***:
    “In Flander’s Fields the poppies grow…..We are the dead.  Short days ago we lived, felt the dawn, saw the sunset’s glow, Loved and were loved.  And now we lie in Flander’s Fields.”
    When we bring up the honor of defending one’s country it would be well if some of that applied to us.  Those of us at home need to honorably treat people who have served as our protectors.  Their injuries, both physical and mental, should weigh on us until we have done all we can to provide understanding, mending and healing.
    It seems odd to me, that we can’t find another way to solve international issues than to send young men and women into battle.   What a waste of talent.  There is a pertinent cartoon strip: Calvin and Hobbes**** are facing each other with toy guns.  They blast away, each falling “dead”.  Lying there, Calvin says: “Well that’s pretty useless, isn’t it?”
    Jimmy Carter***** also put it very well: “War may sometimes be a necessary evil.  But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good.  We will never learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”  At the very least we should be taking good and grateful care of those “children” when they come home.
    November is a month of remembrance and change, beginning with All Saints’ Day, then Veteran’s Day and ending with our day of gratitude, Thanksgiving.  It is the transition month between autumn and winter.   Perhaps it is the transitions that incite deep thinking.  We may be happily scuffing in a pile of crispy leaves, but we are always aware of the icy roads ahead.  Rachel Field****** expresses this well.
    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 beast stiffened at remembered ice.   Something told the wild geese, it was time to fly----- Summer sun was on their wings, Winter in their cry.
    Changes happen --- seasons --- decades ----- life!   Choose attitudes wisely when facing them.
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    **************************************
     
    *Albert Einstein ---German-born theoretical physicist who created the theory of relativity.  He also made contributions to quantum mechanics.  1879-1955.
    **Stephen Spender ---English poet, essayist, novelist who wrote about injustice and societal ills.  1909-1995.
    ***John McCrae ---Leutenant-Colonel was a Canadian poet, physician, artist and soldier.  1872-1918.  Was killed in France during the war.
    ****Calvin & Hobbes----Cartoon series delighting many, by Bill Watterson
    ***** Jimmy Carter ---Born in 1924 and served as the 39th President of the United States.
    ******Rachel Field ----American poet and novelist, and especially children’s stories.  1894-1942.
     
  21. Carol Bossard
    Leaves are turning all shades of brown, bronze, gold and scarlet ---- and falling ---- falling ---wafting down into crunchy heaps---- and there’s a morning chill in the air.   As the spooky time of Halloween nears and the weather grows less balmy, our daylight hours will shorten with the ceasing of DST next month.  I moan and groan about this every year since, when the darkness closes in, my mind tells me it is time to cease labors and go to bed.  Five o’clock is a bit early for that message.  Thus, I struggle ---- and complain ----- and look forward to the Solstice.
    Amazingly, Halloween has become the second most observed holiday in our country, and it isn’t even an official holiday.  Halloween decorations have become artistic wonders ranging from funny to a bit gruesome, and insane prices reflect their popularity.  I suppose this strange attraction is also what drives the ventures into the macabre and occult in TV series.  I don’t really understand the lure, but………well, I won’t go there.  On our porch, we mostly decorate with harvest-y things; pumpkins, broom corn, chrysanthemums, etc.  Some of the available Halloween lawn decorations are fun --- like the circle of filmy dancing ghosts --- but I can’t bring myself to pay the prices of such ephemeral creatures.  This isn’t to say that we’ve totally ignored Halloween.   When the Main Street Café was thriving, we used to have dinner there on trick or treat night, so that we could watch the kids come in their costumes, for treats.  We’ve also given a few Halloween parties.  In Livingston Manor we had a wonderful Gothic, gabled attic, where we set up a spooky maze.  And below, in the living room, we did skits, played games and consumed cookies and Halloween punch.  I’ve sewed my share of Halloween costumes too, that could afterward be turned into pajamas, and in later years, princess outfits for granddaughters.  A couple of times, Kerm was a hairy, scary “Wolfman” for the S-VE school party.
    What I really like is All Saints’ Day --- the day following Halloween.   I like thinking about not only the formally-canonized saints like Mother Theresa, St. Julian or St. Francis, but also the wonderful people in my life who are no longer with us.  I have personally canonized a few people who have contributed to who I am.  My great-uncle Fred was a man who was exceedingly kind to small children and very firm about ethics and his faith.    Grandma Dusett was mostly immobile from Parkinson’s Disease, but she always held out a shaky hand to squeeze mine and her love was evident. Grandpa Dusett never said much, but very clearly enjoyed his granddaughter’s early piano-playing and singing.  Grandpa lived with us for a time, and couldn’t really avoid the scales and etudes, so it is good that they pleased him.  There was my Aunt Selenda, sophisticated and ready to laugh, with her fascinating collection of porcelain ladies and a large Maxfield Parrish painting that I loved.   She always made me feel like a real person.  And there are many others who have loved without ceasing.  In fact, I was imagining a party and who I’d like to sit with around a table of saints who have gone on to another stage of life.  It would take a very long table ---- I’d have to put in all the leaves and maybe get another table too.  Besides family and dear friends who have gone on, I’d also invite Madeleine L’Engle, a fine writer and very good theologian, who cared enough to send me a couple of songs mentioned in her books, and, for years, her annual Christmas letter.  I’d hope Gladys Taber would come and Pat Leimbach.  They are two non-fiction writers who encouraged me; who made me feel I had something to say worth listening to.   And there are several people we’ve known from our “Faith At Work” years.  Maybe C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien would join us.  We’d have a great time but, since I’m still earth-bound, I must be content with visualizing that gathering of the saints watching over us.   I wonder if they ever wish they could intervene in our earthly lives, or if they’ve truly gained that serenity that trusts in all things.

    Fortunately, it is possible to meditate on people and still accomplish other things.  October is the season of “getting ready for winter”.   Last year, I forgot to dig the dahlia bulbs, so of course, they froze; this year I must get them into the garage, for they have been lovely with big, frilly, wine-red blooms.  Last year, I left weeds thinking I’d just pull them right away in the spring.   How silly of me!  Getting the weeds into the compost pile is our October goal.   Fortunately, since I have no energy right now, Kerm is doing the pulling.  We hope it also eliminates hiding places for the hordes of mosquitoes we’ve endured.  In spite of this year’s indolence, I did, late in September, plant a row of sweet clover in one garden bed.  There didn’t seem to be much of it along the roadsides this summer, so I have none for scenting sheets and pillow cases.   The bird feeders will probably wait for repairs until after the bears wander through on their Oct./Nov. way to winter dens.   Then we can put out the suet again; the woodpeckers check for it every few days.   We can put garden tools back in storage and bring snow shovels to the front.  The cat shelter had an accident this summer. While scorching the near-by weeds the flames reached the foam insulation, destroying it.  So we need to cut new foam.  We do want our cats to be cozy.  Lots and lots to do!
    We were delighted to have our granddaughters with us for a few days.  They are maturing so fast; we are always glad to discover what they are thinking and doing.  When I was in that 14-17 age span, my life was, perhaps, different than theirs, but it had similarities too.  I went to a public school; they are home-schooling.  Public school takes a lot of energy and is sometimes a bit dramatic or traumatic, depending on one’s fellow-students and teachers.  All that interaction takes as much awareness and alertness as one’s studies.  And even 65 years ago, there were annoyances with parental expectations versus my own expectations.  That has probably been true since Adam and Eve.  I was so upset with my father at one point that I wrote to “Dear Polly” --- a teen advice columnist in the Farm Journal magazine.  Polly wrote back and basically told me (in more genteel language) to “suck it up”, listen to my father and get on with my life.  Not a lot of sympathy there.  I immediately wondered how old her children were.  I’ll bet she had teenagers!
    Life isn’t easy in those growing, maturing years, whether at home or at school.  As the body changes and the mind expands during growth, all those bubbling hormones have an effect on thinking which then creates rocketing and nose-diving moods.  They are difficult to endure for both parent and teen.  Sometimes there are things that we just have to live through, doing our best to be civil and tolerant of the moment, and knowing that “this too shall pass”.  And kid------ almost always----- emerge from the turmoil of emotional uncertainty as centered and fine adults.  Meanwhile, we just keep praying for their safety and parental sanity.
    Now that the weather is cooler, along with the tortoise of Alice In Wonderland*, we celebrate “Soup ---- beautiful soup!”  (If you haven’t read “Alice….” in a while, you should do so.  There’s humor there that is totally wasted on children.)  Probably my favorite soup is a simple vegetable-beef concoction with savory broth and tender beef, perhaps given more substance with a sprinkling of bulghur or barley.  That soup plus home-made rolls and a salad or fruit is a fine meal for a chilly day.  A slightly more labor-intensive recipe is a potato soup that I make for special occasions. It requires dicing and pureeing and being careful nothing burns, but it is a potato-nectar.   And, of course, there is always chicken soup to keep the sniffles away or provide comfort if one is already coughing and wheezing.  Occasionally I will make a cream of broccoli or cream of asparagus soup, but they should be consumed at one sitting, not stored for later; they tend to curdle.   Like many others who have prepared meals for decades, I am a bit tired of trying to figure out what to have for dinner ---and also quite tired of preparing whatever it is.  So, soup and casseroles are good, for once made they can be served several times, or popped into freezer containers for another time.
    October is moving right along.  From my window, I can see our humungous rose bush still green against the deep red leaves of the “Wahoo” (euonymus)trees.  The encroaching comfrey has survived my mid-summer shearing and stands tall and green ----and invasive!  I should cut some leaves for healing winter poultices --- just in case.  And it would be good to bring in some lemon balm leaves for tea or just smelling wonderful.     
    “Tonight is the night when dead leaves fly like witches on switches across the sky…..”**  If you celebrate Halloween, have fun, but give some thought to All Saints’ Day too and think about who you’d like to picnic with in some Heavenly place.  Try to regard our unstable world as having some of the same trouble as teens ----- growing pains.  All growing pains require good listening skills and some “putting up with” until the storm passes by.  And when life throws us a rainy day, don’t despair; instead, to quote Winnie the Pooh, “Play in the puddles!”
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    ***************************
    *Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, pen name for Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.  He was a British writer, especially of children’s stories.  1832-1898.
    **”Halloween” by Harry Behn --- American screenwriter and children’s author.  1898-1973
  22. Carol Bossard

    Mellow October

    By Carol Bossard,

    October ---- – the elixir of autumn!  Of course, we have had snow in October; not often, but I remember one or two snowy Halloweens, and while Kerm was still with Cooperative Extension, there was always a inter-county horse show on Columbus Day weekend.   More often than not, weather was yucky sometimes to the point of snow showers.  The horses wouldn’t be too happy but the kids were fine.  It takes quite a lot of weather to dampen the spirits of horse-riding teens.  But in my personal view of October, I still visualize blue skies, cool mornings, aromatic scents of drying herbs, scuffing through fallen leaves and a gentle sunshine that warms the bones.
    Warming the bones is always good, but so is warming the heart.  We recently stayed with a branch of our family that we hadn’t seen in quite a while.  This was an opportunity to catch up with what everyone is doing ---- which was a lot!  One niece is a new doctor, doing her residency and discovering what parts of health care she will or will not choose.  Another new doctor (PhD-doctor) was balancing home with teaching college students, and working with parents and kiddies in early intervention.  Another who has little time for smelling the roses just passed her Boards as an RN.  Somehow, she still manages to do some massage work and to send out a lovely reflection on the Equinox.  Another is working on NASA projects in areas that I never considered NASA doing.  Our documentary film-maker was taking a break before going to his next job in the Pacific northwest.  In addition, everyone there was working as a team to ready a house for their parents/grandparents ----returnees from Montana, where they have lived for decades.   The house was coming alive with rooms about to be freshly-painted, measuring spaces for furniture, and a beautiful garden was emerging from years of neglect.  I was so impressed with the love, the hard labor and the laughter that, mixed all together, provided the framework for a fine family experience.  We are grateful for the time spent with them.
    Here is a poignant bit of writing that must pull a bit at anyone’s heart-strings.  “Late that night, I held an atlas in my lap, ran my fingers across the whole world and whispered, ‘where does it hurt?’  It whispered back: ‘everywhere --- everywhere --- everywhere.’”* We may be so inured to the evening news that we no longer shudder at the suffering of people across the globe ---- but ---- if we allow ourselves to really listen, to look into the eyes of people as they talk to reporters ----- to imagine one’s self in those situations --- then we can’t help but feel the hurt, the pain, the desperation.  Because we are so inundated with difficult and immediate situations, we are often flooded with a sense of frustration and helplessness.  This, I think, causes us to tamp down our emotions.  What can we ---- one person ---- do?  Will anything one person does change the world a whit?   We tend to forget how small things add up; that every little bit helps, and leads to a kinder world.

    I recently spoke with a friend who said that one of her family members was feeling led to leave her current work, to provide health care where people desperately need it.  In our family, we have a missionary couple who have created orphanages and schools, have helped dig wells, breed cattle, and have found lucrative work for women who had been running illegal stills to survive.  They combine their desire to share the love of God with the very practical skills and assistance that people in Kenya, Tanzania and other countries in Africa need desperately.  In our own country, when floods or other disasters occur, people from all over run to help.   Closer to home --- in our own community ---- the local Food Cupboard has been a life-saver for those who have lost jobs or who are unable, for whatever reason, to make ends meet.  Also, the driving to medical appointments service of INSPIRE helps mitigate the lack of rural transportation.  We are a small community, and when there is a need, someone hears about it and arranges help.  It may seem as though we are applying mere bandages to large wounds, but each bit of assistance contributes to healing the whole.
    So far, none of our efforts have wiped out the ills of the world.  But I am remembering the story about the young person who went along the beach, tossing the stranded star fish back into the water.  When it was suggested that his efforts didn’t make a difference compared to the numbers of starfish washed ashore, he simply replied: “it makes a difference to this one,” and went on tossing star fish back into the ocean.  Even if the only thing some of us can do is to write an encouraging note, share a meal or pray for someone, it creates a vibe that may echo out into infinity.   So, we need to follow our hearts.  Small bits of kindness have an immense impact and a cumulative effect, even if we don’t see it right away.  “I want to change the world,” said Tiny Dragon.  “Start with the next person who needs your help,” said Big Panda.”**  Emily Dickinson*** expressed this well: “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not have lived in vain.  If I can save one life the aching, or cool one pain, or help one fainting robin into his nest again, I shall not have lived in vain.”  We are responsible to do only what we can do --- whether that happens to be across the seas or next door.  But doing something surely beats not participating at all.  We need to join hands in service to each other.
    After my last essay went out --- with the bit about anxiety --- a recipient sent me a clip of the old Hee-Haw show with the four guys singing “Gloom, despair, and agony on me……deep dark depression, excessive misery…….”  She suggested we substitute “anxiety” for “agony” and we could all sing it together. 😊  This brings up a very good point --- laughter.  We can probably assume that if we find life just too, too serious ---- if we’ve abandoned laughter---- we’ve lost part of what makes life worth living.   I think God loves laughter; a Creator must have a sense of humor to have imagined the giraffe, the sloth, a kitten, a duck………” From troubles of the world, I turn to ducks, beautiful, comic things……When God had finished the stars and whirls of colored suns, He turned His mind from big things to fashion little ones……..beautiful things (like dawns) He made…… and then He made the comical ones in case the minds of men should stiffen and become dull, humorless and glum, and so forgetful of their Maker be as to take even themselves – quite seriously……Caterpillars and cats are lively and excellent puns.  All God’s jokes are good, even the practical ones.  And as for the duck, I think God must have smiled a bit, seeing those bright eyes blink on the day He fashioned it.  And He’s probably laughing still at the sound that came out of its bill!” ****
    One of the delights of being in the S-VE community are the creative people who live here.   Over the years we have provided much fun ---- for ourselves and for others ---- with our variety shows, dinner-theater, plays and skits (often sponsored by “All Wet Productions”).  There was the DMV skit --- a perennial joy ---- for anyone who has languished in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles.  And “Chicks and Pits” --- a play that was a play on words for the chicken farm industry that used to be here in Spencer and Van Etten, and the grape industry not too far away.  Then the “Throw him out of the boat” song for our local Jonah, in “Whale of a Tail”.  So many evenings full of laughter!  When Spencer Singers assembled a few weeks ago to rehearse for the first time in two years we were not great!!   Our voices went hither and yon and there was little strength in our musical output.  However, we could still laugh about it even as we hope and pray our voices return with practice.  It is a fine balancing act to take life seriously enough but to maintain our joie de vivre.
    Right now, October is here and we know that the days will fly by.   Suddenly we will be wearing heavy coats, boots and maybe even mittens.  Ghosts on the lawn for Halloween will morph into Thanksgiving decorations and all too soon we’ll be scheduling in Christmas concerts and concocting fruit cakes.  I like these few lines that speak of this time: “Just after the death of the flowers, and before they are buried in snow, there comes a festival season, when nature is all aglow.”*****   While autumn is still with us, let’s enjoy it, celebrate it, soak up the glow and share our enjoyment with each other.  As we’ve discovered, nothing is quite so wonderful as being with friends or family, or both, and being grateful for the time together.  And if the sky is blue and the sunshine mellow, that is an additional reason for thanks.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    ***********************************************
    *Warsan Shire --- British writer, poet, editor and teacher, born in Kenya of Somali parents.  In 2013 she was awarded the inaugural Brunel University African Poetry Prize.
    **James Norbury.com ---American writer and cartoonist.  He writes about subjects he loves and hopes to create a love for nature in his readers.  He is a Zoologist as well as writer.
    ***Emily Dickinson ---American poet, who was little known during her lifetime, but is now considered one of our foremost poets.  1830-1886.
    **** Frederick William Harvey --- excerpts from “Ducks”.  British poet, writer of essays and short stories, lawyer.  He may be best known for the poems he wrote in WWI prisoner-of-war camps and sent them back to England.  1888-1957.
    *****Emeline B. Smith ---American writer.  1869-1944
  23. Carol Bossard

    Fear/Anxiety And Joy

    By Carol Bossard,

    The Autumn Equinox has just passed and we are officially in the delightful fall season.  The leaves are beginning to turn and the garden is shutting down.  I’m making small stabs at fall cleaning as the crisper air gives me more energy.  Note the “small” and “stabs”.  Today the rains are pelting down and there is no crispness to the air --- but that is typical for the turning of the season.
    Happy Anniversary to Shawn and Kristen!  Their wedding, a few years ago, was a fine day in the park where they were married.  I remember the trays of cookies we made for the reception, and our then very-small granddaughter dancing with her father and feeling quite grown-up.  I remember the bride dancing with one of her very rural clients who was shy and new to a dance floor but had a big smile.  I remember a massage-therapist cousin working out a “crick” in the groom’s neck.  The newly-wed couple then left on an unforgettable journey to Australia and New Zealand where spring was coming instead of the autumn of our hemisphere.
    Our anniversary is earlier in September, with a lot more years behind it.  I’ve written about this before, but it is fun to recall.  We were married on Labor Day weekend; Kerm had to extricate himself from the NYS Fair (he was a 4-H Extension Agent) in order to collect himself and his clothing for the evening candle-light service in the church where I grew up.  The reception, held in the church social room, was attended by a crowd of family and friends.  Simple as the event was, our friends of that era are still talking about it when we get together.  This is because a number of them decided that since we wouldn’t be around for a traditional shivaree*, they’d “accompany” us on our way.  That quickly thrown-together prank became a car chase --- not high-speed --- our borrowed car that had trouble revving up to 55 mph.** But it did involve some outraged Victor citizens when a car following us went roaring over someone’s lawn and another car full of riotous young people stopped to ask for directions.  I understand they were met at the door with a shot gun in the hands of an annoyed resident.  We finally ditched (not literally) our entourage by entering the NYS Thruway; our friends were all too cost-conscious to go and do likewise.  We emerged at the next exit, drove to where we had hidden our car in my brother’s corn field, went to a friend’s home to grab suitcases, returned our get-away car to its owner and set off for New England.
    Memories can be wonderful; they remind us of laughter, of fun times and, often, they bring us quiet joy in the midst of grief and losses.  Memories help us to know that bad times won’t last; as a Persian king engraved on his seal ring: “This too shall pass”.   Memories may keep us balanced as we recall so much good and so little bad.   The down-side of memories is the imprint of trauma.  No one wishes to endure horrors that pop up again and again, even though it might be something that will, eventually, be healed or even be useful in some way.   Trauma is an affliction that probably needs professional help to find meaning or freedom from what is a destructive memory.
    Even with memorable reminders that life is generally good, it is easy to fall prey to discouragement, anxiety and fear.  Because life is unsettled ----like the weather ---- we also tend to be unsettled.
    There seems to be, in fact, a wide-spread epidemic of anxiety across this land.   Anxiety grows like a weed in our mental garden.   We feel trepidation about aging, tremble at the unknown, have concern about what might happen with the world, fear that a bad experience might be repeated.   We won’t call a doctor because we fear what he/she might tell us.  We are reluctant to loosen our hold as our growing kids show signs of independence.  We are wary about a whole world of people who come from what we consider alien cultures who look and speak differently than we do.  Who knows what unwelcome changes they might bring?  In our anxiety, we tend to make generalizations about whole groups of people.  The less knowledge and experience we’ve had outside our own circles, the more we fear what we don’t know.  Shakespeare***, that poet and creator of plays, said “Fear is a worse pain than the pain we fear.”  And this is absolutely true.
    A personal story: One night, a lot of years ago, one of our young adult sons wasn’t home when I thought he ought to be.  I hadn’t heard him come in and his car wasn’t in the driveway.  I had gone to bed, but kept getting up and pacing the floor --- stewing and worrying until my anxiety level was about 150 on a scale of one to ten.  He had to be at work early the next day and, as only mothers can, I visualized all sorts of terrible possibilities.  About 2 AM I was contemplating dire action when, during my pacing from living room to kitchen, I stumbled over his size 10 sneakers. While I was pacing the floor and losing sleep, he was peacefully slumbering in his room.  That is the sort of anxiety that we humans manufacture from the barest of materials.  We do this with our kids, with our marriages, with community issues, with people we don’t know, and with world events.   Joan Borysenko**** calls it “awfulizing”.  I excel at it!
    It is also unreasonable fear and anxiety that drives prejudice and racism.   Earlier in civilization, in tribal societies, a stranger was generally regarded as an enemy.  Even though we are no longer actually tribal, tribalism seems to linger in our very genes; it has become rampant nationalism.  We distrust what we don’t understand, which is usually anyone who thinks differently than we do.  Of course, once any one of us gets to know any other person, we find much in common and fear flies out the window.  The more we emerge from our comfy little circles of safe friends and family, the more wonderful people we find.  And we realize that we share many of the same thoughts, hopes and need for community.
    There is an upside to fear; it often is a warning, keeping us safe.  We teach a small child to fear touching a hot grill --- for good reason.   And, unfortunately, there are people who are the hot grill type, with whom we need to be wary.  We know that in spite of much good in the world, there is also evil.  In a very good book, The Gift of Fear*****, written by Gavin de Becker, he says, “follow your gut feeling”.  If you are uncomfortable about getting into an elevator with someone, DON’T.  Don’t walk in dark streets alone at night.  Don’t enter a parking garage alone at night.  Don’t put yourself where there is a valid possibility of danger.  This is situational fear and not the pervasive mind-fogging anxiety.  Be wise and be alert, but try not to be paranoid.    The tenuous path between regard for safety and being always fearful, takes wisdom and clarity of thought.
    Finding a solution for the general anxiety that plagues us is not easy.  If you are someone who follows the Judeo-Christian beliefs, the Bible is full to over-flowing with words like “Trust” “Be not afraid”, Peace be with you!”.  Other philosophies suggest action: deep breathing exercises, tapping, and meditation.  And all of these things probably do lower our tendency to awfulize and may bring us back from the brink of panic.  But eventually, it is really our own awareness of the problem and what we decide, that will diminish our personal anxiety.  We must make a choice to either assume that we were meant to direct the world all by ourselves and so have every right to be anxious ---- or not.  If not, then we will try to do what we feel led to do, relax and trust that the universe is not going to fly apart on us.   
    I began this reflection with two weddings.  Weddings are rites of hope; events that say we believe love will win out.  Anxiety for the world is submerged in the love around a wedding.  Kerm and I feel that our lives have been full to over-flowing with amazing experiences that now are part of our memory banks.  I couldn’t even begin to list the wonderful people we’ve known and know, the potential and occasionally real disasters that we’ve survived, the fun and laughter filling our days and the times that we’ve gone in new, slightly scary directions together.  And life being what it is, we have wept together, in times of loss and sadness.  All of these memorable things help us to keep on keeping on.
    Reminders really do help, and there are many ways to keep memories in a rapid-recall mode.  I’m a hands-on person, so I make albums composed of photos, appropriate text, cartoons that apply, etc.  I keep framed pictures where I can see them.  Others who like a more up-to-date and tidy approach can keep an entire album, photos, and documents on a computer stick, to be accessed on screen whenever needed.  Journaling or collage are also ways to keep memories.  New experiences add textured layers in our mental memory banks.
    So store up memories in the next few weeks of color, crisp apples, football games and mulled cider.  Autumn is both a now experience and will also provide memories to warm and lighten the winter months.
    *****************************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Shivaree------ an old custom--- also called a “horning” ---- of neighborhood friends, using cow bells and cymbals to wake up a newly-wed couple in the middle of the night --- and then demanding refreshment and conversation.  In some rural areas there were less savory customs such as stealing the bride.
    **Sorry Jim, but your car really didn’t go over 55 mph!
    ***Shakespeare ---Renowned English poet, playwright and actor of the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods.  1564-1616.
    ****Joan Borysenko, PhD ---One of the world’s leading experts in stress and the mind-body connection.  Writer and speaker.
    *****The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker---recognized as one of the world’s leading experts in protecting public figures.
     
     
     
     
  24. Carol Bossard

    Refreshing The Brain

    By Carol Bossard,

    Do you have a time of the year when you feel more alive than other times?  My favorite season is about to begin; mid-September through mid-November.  As summer is winding down, my spirits are generally rising.  I’m not sure why; perhaps the scent of falling leaves, the lessening of the humidity, or the return of the chickadees to our bird feeders.  Whatever the reason I’m usually happier in the fall.  As I think back, most of my depressive times have been in late winter (who wouldn’t be) or early summer (a real puzzle).
    No one really knows what causes the spirits to droop and then to sink into a mire of despair.  Sometimes there is a valid reason ----- grief, loss, pain, but often we have no understanding of why the mind takes off on its own little venture into gloom.  Carl Sandburg’s* poem says that fog comes in on little cat feet.  Well, so does depression.  It is a subtle mood change that often goes un-noticed until suddenly there is a black cloud infiltrating one’s whole being ----- rather like the cloud of dust that followed “Pigpen” in the comics.  The human mind is an enigma, even to doctors who have studied it for a life-time.   Once I asked a therapist why they couldn’t just do a blood test for serotonin.  His reply was that they didn’t really know that lack of serotonin was the problem; it was still a theory and they hoped treating it would work.  Sometimes the cause is something else entirely.  So, I’m thinking that recommended treatments for mental health problems are largely hoping for the best. This isn’t a bad thing but a bit more certainty would be nice.
    Why am I talking about sadness at this lovely time of year?  One reason is because mental health issues have flooded the media as part of the COVID experience.  In addition, there has been a recent phenomenon in my Email and on Face Book ---- discussions of happiness ---- from several unconnected sources.  One came from Gretchen Rubin** who has done years of research and written two good books on happiness.  She now has a link where one can go to set up their own happiness project:  the-happiness-project.com.  Another offering was from Dr. Daniel Amen*** ----a psychiatrist who has written several books on brain health.  He is also offering a participatory Happiness Project.  He says that people who are happy are generally healthier all over.  Sadness must be pervasive if multiple sources think we need to learn about happiness.
    Undoubtedly there is confusion and/or disagreement about what happiness really is.   Some feel that happiness should be our life- goal.    “If it doesn’t make you happy, don’t do it!”  But others are equally sure that happiness is a by-product of living a meaningful life of service.  There are many perceived meanings for “happiness”, but basically, happiness makes us feel good about being alive.  Perhaps we shouldn’t wait for happiness to descend upon us, but instead try to meet it half-way.
    I see the most authentic happiness in individuals who have an unquenchable, deep joy; it does not rely on circumstances, but comes bubbling up from an inner spiritual life that inspires and sustains no matter what.  It is a lightness of spirit that grows out of the confidence that eventually “All will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be well.”**** People who have this are not disconcerted by much; their serenity is evident, even in the midst of grief and hard times.  They may grieve, but they do not despair.  It must have been that sort of joy that prompted this quotation from Fra Giovanni:  “Outside your open window, the morning is all awash with angels.  Love calls us to things of this world.”***** That’s a lovely visual with which to begin a day and surely an antidote for the morning news.
    Then there is situational happiness because of some good occurrence like the birth of a child, the love of family, the perfect new job, a great date, a super vacation, or amazing new shoes.  This sort of happiness is fragile.  Take these happenings away or have them spoiled by some mischance and our happy feeling flies out the window.  This tenuous happiness seldom satisfies for long since mischances are a frequent part of life.
    Then there is the general happiness of the optimist; this person cheerily takes delight in small things and expects them again and again; looks at the world through just slightly rose-tinted glasses.  This is a person who is aware of life around him/her but sees the good things first.   When change comes their reaction is not criticism but curiosity.  An optimist is a person who is a realist, but who believes the world has more of good than of bad so if bad comes along, good cannot be far behind.  This sort of happiness is longer-lasting than situational happiness but not quite the same as the spiritual joy.
    Happiness or unhappiness really depends on our brain’s focus and our perceptions.  If, for example, we concentrate on the world news with no idea but to inform ourselves of what is going on in the world, there will be little happiness in the hearing; so much news is bad news.  In fact, I would say that watching the news constantly with no other view in mind than keeping current is a short route to depression.  Really --- how much corruption, greed, stupidity and hunger for power can we hear about and remain at all hopeful?  If we listen to the world news and then take whatever action we are capable of taking ----- as in praying for the world, supporting something like Doctors Without Borders, volunteering at the Food Pantry, reading good books to children ---- then the focus changes from debilitating bad news to let’s work together to make things better.   Ben Franklin****** said: “An hour’s industry will do more to produce cheerfulness, suppress evil humors and retrieve your affairs, than a month of moaning.”   Despair comes when we feel helpless to make a difference.  If we put ourselves out there to do something good, all of life is brighter.  Of course, to do this, we must convince ourselves that our energy is better spent doing than in sitting home with a bowl of ice cream (though ice cream has cheering possibilities) and bemoaning the state of the world.   
    We are coming to a season when many of us need to consider doing something about our happiness for the months ahead.   Natural light is diminishing; the sun sets earlier and rises later.  Those who suffer from SAD need to prepare.  “Happy Lights”**** are useful to make the eyes and brain think the sun is shining.  They have full-spectrum light bulbs and, used for two hours in the morning, will make a huge difference.  While one can’t fool Mother Nature, as the saying goes, one can, according to research and experience, fool the mind.  More light plus staying busy keeps the brain assured that life is still good.  Puzzles, books, painting, journaling, walking outside, planning some kind of project, writing notes to shut-ins and to children, potted plants in the windows ----- and remembering that cocoa season will soon be here ----- any and all of these might make the long, cold winter a happier time.  Of course, if you are a snow bird, just take frequent walks on the beach.
    One of my current situational happy thoughts is anticipating our vacation next week.  We’ll be doing some poking around Vermont and then we’ll drop down to Massachusetts to spend some time with family.  We will probably visit our favorite shops in Manchester Center, will certainly stop at more than one bookstore (for we desperately need more books! 😊) and simply enjoy being away from our normal environs for a bit.  The Green Mountains of Vermont are lovely; winding roads that often travel beside busy little streams with impressive rocks. I might even bring a few Vermont rocks back home with me.   Toting stones is a habit of mine, as our sons will discover if they ever have to move us!  And visiting family that we haven’t seen in a couple of years will be good.  There will be lots to talk about.
    Now is time to be outside as often as possible ---- soaking up the sun, taking mental snapshots of the sights and inhaling the scents --- just being glad to be alive.   The brain believes what we think and speak, so let’s fill it with good things and positive ideas.  Almost every year I search out this particular poem because it speaks so eloquently of happiness and September; September by Helen Hunt Jackson: “The golden rod is yellow, the corn is turning brown, the trees in apple orchards with fruit are bending down.  …The gentian’s bluest fringes are curling in the sun; In dusty pods, the milk weed its hidden silk has spun.  The sedges flaunt their harvest in every meadow nook; and asters by the brookside make asters in the brook.  From dewy lanes at morning the grapes’ sweet odors rise; at noon the roads all flutter with yellow butterflies.  By all these lovely tokens September days are here, with summer’s best of weather, and autumn’s best of cheer.”  Breathe deeply of September’s aromas and may your September be a good month for living and enjoying.
    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Carl Sandburg ---American poet, biographer, journalist, editor.  He won 3 Pulitzer prizes; two for his poetry and one for his Abraham Lincoln biography.  1878-1967.
    **Gretchen Rubin----American author, blogger, speaker.  She has written two books on happiness; The Happiness Project and Happier At Home.
    ***Dr. Daniel Amen----One of America’s leading psychiatrists and brain health experts.
    ****Julian of Norwich----English Anchoress of Middle Ages (1342c. -1416).  Wrote The Revelations of Divine Love.
    *****Fra Giovanni-----Italian Friar, architect, archaeologist, and classical scholar.  1433-1515.
    *****Ben Franklin----American polymath active as writer, scientist, inventor, statesman, diplomat, printer, publisher and political philosopher.  1706-1790.
    ******Helen Hunt Jackson----American writer and poet.  She was an activist, advocating for better treatment of Native Americans.  1830-1885.
     
  25. Carol Bossard

    School And Life

    By Carol Bossard,

    “The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round….” ,
                                    “School days, school days, dear old Golden Rule days….”
                                                                                                                           “A B C D E F G……”
    Those well-known tunes remind us that it’s nearly time for classes to begin again in NYS.  In some places, public school kids are already slamming locker doors, treading the long halls, and taking in the aroma of tomato soup wafting up from the cafeteria.  Children live on either side of our house, so we will hear the bus coming to a grinding halt every morning.  It’s a nice sound---- as I lie in bed----- contemplating getting up.  The kids on one side are out there, ready for the bus; on the other side, I hear the bus driver honk the horn; as those kids gather their backpacks and jackets before spilling out the door.   I was usually ready for the bus; I didn’t like running for an almost closed bus door and hearing Mr. Simond’s deep sigh (“we’re running late…”) as he reopened it.
    My granddaughters have been home-schooling, though they were in public school and riding the bus earlier in their lives.  Currently they don’t have to rush for an early bus; they can clear breakfast dishes from the table and replace them with books and computer.   Our boys seldom rode a bus either; we were close enough to two schools for walking.   Seven decades ago, I rode a bus for nearly an hour.  It picked me up at 7:10 AM and we got to school around 8 AM.  In the interim, that bus covered a lot of back roads in the Victor- Farmington (Pun’kin Hook) area.  There was little misbehavior; we talked, did homework that should have been done the night before, or ---- occasionally ---- sang.  But that was then!  Now there is more mayhem and bus drivers often need an aide on the bus to make it to school safely.
    Naturally, kids view school with varying attitudes.  For the home-schooled, I would guess that public school sometimes has the appeal of the grass being greener than that at home.  Certainly, in school, there is more socialization and more potential friends, but definitely less individual freedom.   Our granddughters can run down to check on the goats between math and science or find a cozy place outside to study.  In school, a student generally can’t just rise up and go to the bathroom, or stop mid-class for a little snack.  And socialization can be good or not-so-good.   In spite of working to stem the tide, there is still too much bullying; the “mean-girls syndrome” is alive and well.  For public school children who were “stuck” at home during the past year, though, the classroom may look a whole lot better than it did before COVID.   A niece and nephew in Los Angeles looked (photo on FB) delighted to be back in real school instead of home watching a screen.  Most kids go through some teenage angst, which tends to cause discontent and desire for change ---- any change.  Some of that angst, unfortunately, still lurks in me and pops out on occasion.
    Teachers have had a rough time for the past year and a half.  I am awed at all the creative ways they have stayed in touch with their students.  Back when, in the three school districts our boys attended, they had some really fine teachers ---- and a few inept ones.  A first-grade teacher for our eldest made the kids put their heads down on their desks while she watched “Good Morning America” for 20 minutes.   One high school teacher neglected to notify us when our son hadn’t turned in homework for several weeks.  He finally mentioned it at the first parent-teacher conference as an “Oh by the way….” comment ----- five weeks into the year.  Another rather snobbish-about-curriculum teacher objected to our son’s choice of book for a book report, and the teacher and I had a conversation about that.  Actually, I thought the book was quite appropriate but even if it hadn’t been, I figure enthusiasm for reading something is better than apathy over a more illuminating choice.

    For the most part, teachers in the small rural schools our kids attended were caring, well-educated and hard-working people.  They were sincerely trying to prepare students to live in a challenging adult world.  One particular teacher was so very creative that I wished I could recycle our boys back through elementary school so they could be in her class.  Having been a substitute teacher for a few years, I have empathy for those who prepare lessons and face those charming and not-so-charming, often very needy, youngsters every day.
    Our culture would be in a better place if only everyone would realize that good education comes from many sources; it doesn’t stop with one’s last diploma whether high school, college or advanced degrees. Isaac Asimov* said: “Education isn’t something you can finish.”   We should meet every day with curiosity and the desire to learn.  Neglecting to learn about our history, about research and discoveries, being interested in why people think as they do, considering one’s own emotional and spiritual depths------ neglecting those things imprisons one’s mind as surely as the brass bars of a bird cage. Formal school simply gives one the basics; the embroidery comes by our own efforts.
    This same idea is also found in The Proving Trail, by Louis L’Amour**: “School can give you the barest outline of an education.  You have to fill it in yourself.  Read ---- Listen ----- Taste.  An ignorant man has such limits on his possibilities of enjoyment.  He is denying himself all of the richness in life.  Just as in food, your taste in all things needs the experience of flavor.  Education is, in part, just learning to discriminate between ideas, tastes, flavors, sounds, colors or whatever you wish to mention………..If evil and hardship come upon you, at least you will be aware of what is happening and you will have some understanding of why.”   
    I have never quite understood the people who habitually vote down school budgets ---- other than it is one of the few opportunities where people can vote it down if they choose.  Taxes are undeniably unpopular and often difficult but I would think that turning out kids who are well-educated would be a priority for any community; it is an indication of how much we care or do not care, about the future.   There is almost a distrust of education and a grim belief that if computers, field trips, music and art, etc. weren’t in my schooling, there is no reason for it to be in present-day schooling.  And why should teachers be paid any better; they only work ten months of the year and how hard can it be to teach a bunch of kids?  Those erroneous, limiting attitudes only turn out more grim, petty, often-limited people.  As Henry Adams*** said: “A teacher affects eternity; he/she can never tell where his influence stops.”  Schools are not baby-sitters; they are avenues to the future.
    It is true that formal education doesn’t always equate wisdom, and we need to be careful to keep education from being too philosophical for daily life.  Horace Porter**** said: “A mugwump is a person educated beyond his intellect.”  I believe that was a derogatory political statement of the times but if people do not have common sense and practical experience as well as in-class knowledge, they are of limited use in this world.  In fact, they can be a bad influence as they expound their theories without understanding the whole.  There are people with little formal education who look at the world with curiosity, who read, and who think well; who are educating themselves and achieving wisdom.   Learning needs to be applicable to life as well as leading us to the wonders of our world.

    One of the wonders in my personal world right now is the humble tomato ---- that basic garden staple that serves so many culinary purposes.  We no longer preserve the many fruits and vegetables we once did.  But tomatoes are, for us, an annual necessity of life.  We make about 60 quarts of juice and nearly as many quarts of whole tomatoes.  In the past I’ve turned them into spaghetti sauce, chili sauce and once – ketchup (we didn’t think it was all that great although probably healthier) but now don’t fuss with those.   Most green tomatoes at the end of the season go into “mincemeat”.  Of course, real mincemeat includes meat and suet, as in my mother’s recipe requiring: 1 bowl of chopped up apples, 1 bowl of finely- chopped beef or venison, 1 bowl….. etc.  But my fruity green tomato mincemeat is just fine for filling cookies or tarts or, better yet, giving to a friend who creates incredibly-yummy mincemeat pastries.  But now, the canning must begin!
    We are coming to the end of summer, although by the calendar, we have until September 22nd.  In reality, when school begins, the long golden days of summer seem over.  And yet, there are some lovely – if busier -- days to come.  Now is when I used to prowl the swamp and woods, making huge bouquets of Joe Pye weed, golden rod, boneset and purple asters.  My mother and I would put my finds into large earthen crocks to decorate the porch steps.  Now, too, is when the hanging clusters of elderberries are ready to pick.  They are a treat for some of us but totally unknown to most people.  A few individuals, who do not like them, have described them as seedy little BBs with a wild taste.  But for those of us who covet them, we appreciate delicious pies or crisps.  And they have now been discovered to boost one’s immune system and are sold as elixirs and gummies.   
    August ---- still lingering with its warm days and cooler nights.  September ---- nearly here with its leisurely turn into fall.  Slow down to enjoy and do be alert for those fast-moving school kids on bikes and/or running for the bus.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Isaac Asimov ---American writer and professor of biochemistry at Boston University.  Known for his popular science fiction.  1920-1992.
    **Louis L’Amour ----American novelist, short story writer and poet.  1908-1988.
    ***Henry Adams --- American historian who was also a member of the political Adams family.  1838-1918
    ****Horace Porter --- American soldier and diplomat who served with the Union army during the Civil War as Lt. Colonel and ordinance officer.  1837-1921
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