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Carol Bossard

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Blog Entries posted by Carol Bossard

  1. Carol Bossard
    June has sped by so fast that it feels like “one busy week!” Within that time, there have been some fun days. We’ve enjoyed breakfasts and luncheons with friends, a couple of alumni events where I connected with former classmates, family time with our returnees from Ireland, hearing all about the green, green lands across the ocean, and family time with our son in agricultural research and daughter-in-law with a Food Bank ---- both dreading the funding cuts that will hurt people immeasurably. The month hasn’t all been fun though; we have heard of serious illnesses attacking two of our good friends, one death in our extended family, and some serious health issues with two of my family members. On a brighter note, our gardens are doing their best to grow amid the rains, and now the intense heat. The lawns are demanding at least a weekly mowing.  School is out and motorcycles zoom by our house in a very noisy celebration of summer.
    All of our breakfast and luncheon dates were very good times, but one was super-good because it addressed some of my health issues, and those of a friend with a brain tumor. Father Peter, a friend who is a Franciscan brother, brought his anointing oil, and in the grill where we were eating, we had a quiet little healing service. Whether it cured all my problems, I’m not sure, but it certainly healed some of my attitude and perhaps that was more important. Our time spent with friends in Pennsylvania was also good; even though we’ve been gone from there for 50 years, our friendships made there are strong..
    We are only nine days from July 4th, the celebration of our nation’s beginnings -- Independence Day.  All of us should rejoice, from sea to shining sea, and from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico. Those whose ancestors were here when Europeans came bumbling in, those who settled here before the Revolution (my mother’s French family), those who came here more recently; those of us with all shades of skin colors, all kinds of education, all ways of worshipping,  or to not worshipping at all.  We all belong, and together, have a responsibility to protect the democratic values upon which this nation was built. If you are one who shrugs, and sees no necessity for continual maintenance of our freedoms, then you should re-read the Constitution. Also, the Gettysburg Address, the Emancipation Proclamation, and the words engraved on the Statue of Liberty. You can’t help but see that we don’t practice what these documents preach. After doing so, take yourself to some quiet place, like a Native American vision quest,  and think about where your beliefs come from; should they be adjusted?  Do our beliefs stem from culture, or wisdom? Consider what you can do that builds this country. Anyone can tear down and criticize,  but it takes skill, understanding, and love, to build.

    Kerm and I watched the National Spelling Bee recently, and it reminded me of our high school contests,  including a speaking contest, which I won when I was a junior. I chose to speak about the Statue of Liberty. Sometimes, even a teenager can get it right. Back in 1885, the United States was such a shining light amid all the monarchies and dictatorships, that France chose to send us the State of Liberty as a gift of appreciation. Read here what it says: “Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame*, with conquering limbs astride from land to land. Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightening, and her name The Mother of Exiles.  From her beacon hand glows the world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor…’Keep ancient lands your storied pomp’ she cries with silent lips.  ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of y our teeming shores.  Send these the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.  I lift my lamp beside the golden shore.’”*
    All countries have growing pains!  In the process of separating ourselves from overlords, and from various kinds of class and caste systems, we have been idealistic, we have behaved with cruelty as well as compassion, we’ve been courageous but also grasping. We have made grave errors in policy, but also have tried to create safety nets, correct injustices and continually work for better things. We often disagree about what those “better things” are, and how to achieve them, which is why open dialogue is so important.  We must be willing to listen! To change our ideas as we learn more!   Maya Angelo said: “When you learn better, do better!” and that generally means change, which none of us like. Without change though, water grows stagnant, butterflies never hatch and we would still be bowing before a monarch across the ocean. I wonder how many of us would have been Tories? It would have been conservative and safe!
    It is our duty to our forebearers and to all the people who have worked and died, to nurture or save our country.  We are great because of the wonderful mix of individuals,  along with individual freedoms and responsibility taken on by our citizens.  We do not approve of “collateral damage” to gain ends. We uphold our right to protest what we do not like, to work toward change and to be able to speak our opinions, openly.  In this difficult time, let us not only remember from whence we came, but try to live out those words on the Lady Liberty and in all our founding documents.
    We’ve nearly reached the end of June, and, will soon find ourselves perspiring into July, often our warmest month. However, the temperatures of this week are too warm for me.  In the last few years, “warm”, in many places, has changed to unbearably hot. Did you know that just last week, Fairbanks, Alaska, issued a heat warning  for the first time in history?  My July days, when a child, didn’t seem overly hot. They were, however, relatively lazy, and sometimes inventive for fun. I read a lot on the shady front porch. Of course, there were frequent calls from reading, to duty  in the garden (weeding) or the barn (feeding calves, gathering eggs), or the hayfield (driving tractor) but mostly, summer meant books, long walks in our fields and woods, and playing with a friend or two  (Bonnie and Sharon) and my two eldest nieces (Jan and Barbara).  We made little villages using stones, acorns, hollyhock dolls and anything else we could lay hands on. We played “dress-up” and were mad about paper dolls. For a couple of years, there were swimming lessons at Canandaigua Lake, and 4-H camp in the Bristol Hills. As a teenager, there were summer jobs, first at Exit 45 Thruway restaurant, the next summer was at the Locust Hill Country Club, then a counselor for 4-H Camp and in college, Cooperative Extension summer programs. Now, my summers fly by, as I spend time in the garden, have a few gatherings with friends, and still, devour those books.  There is no one now to call me from a book to other duties, so the books often win over washing dishes, laundry, etc.

    Now, at the end of June, we all celebrate the ending of the school year - graduations, changes from grade to grade, and freedom!  Summer means starry nights, fire flies (if you are fortunate), the sound of lawn mowers, and loud shouts from the village baseball field.  It is a time to be glad, glad for our country, glad to remember who we are and from whence we come, glad that it isn’t snowing, and glad for orange popsicles dripping down our hand as we attempt to cool off with its icy goodness.  Summer may be a time for trave tool.  If so, listen to this bit of advice:  “The main value of travel lies not in where you go, but in leaving where you have been.  Go to a new place.  Have your former gods challenged.  Re-examine your axioms.  Find out the evidence for your assumptions and you will, with luck, begin to set a true value on the environment from which you come.” ** Do not be satisfied with what is routine and comfortable.  Life is full of change ---and some of those changes are good for each of us and all of us. This summer, try something new. Let it be a summer is for growth, for us as well as for the garden. Happy growing!
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *”The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarous.  American poet and activist.  1849-1887.  Note:  The “new” Colossus as opposed to the former Colossus --- “Colossus of Rhodes, a huge bronze man, standing with legs straddling the Mandrakion Harbor, which is technically impossible, but believed to be true.  One of the Seven Wonders of the World
    **Alan Grego --- a physician in family practice in Ohio; apparently a wise man, though my googling leaves me unsure about this quote’s source.
  2. Carol Bossard
    Our gardens are nearly planted now; we’ve had to replant the corn, and we are into full-time weeding. Can you hear the creaking of our back bones and knee joints? I am reminded of the “Spinal Tap” t-shirt.  😊  This is the time when we hope Percy Bysshe Shelley *is right when he says “I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, from the seas and the streams. I bring light shade for the leaves, when laid in their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds, every one.” Our gardens need neither our recent down-pours nor last year’s weeks of sun. They want gentle showers and sunshine on days in between, so, we plant and hope for the best.
    Kerm and I disagree, slightly, regarding planting. He makes straight rows, measured, and with string. And he reads the back of each packet and plants things just as far apart as the blurb on the packet says. I measure nothing and make my rows straight according to my eyes. Well, you all know my eyes aren’t very good now, so the rows might wobble a bit. And it is my thinking that the closer together the plants are, the less room for weeds. We have had a few words about this in years past. 😊  This year, however, my energy being what it is, Kerm planted more of the garden than usual.  And I mostly kept quiet; he who plants gets to do it his way. So, this year, anyone may come and admire straight, well-spaced potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, cosmos and sunflowers. The peas, green onions, lettuce, and zinnias --- my contribution ---- may wander a bit!

    On the 14th, we have a day for many things, but first and foremost, it is Flag Day - a neglected holiday, in recent years. Flag Day marks and celebrates the adoption of our stars and stripes banner in 1777.  After my parents’ generation, flag information and protocol have been neglected. In fact, I would guess that very few in Congress or the White House are cognizant about Flag Day.  The flag should never touch the ground or floor, or be wrapped around one’s shoulders or used to sit on. When it is presented, everyone should stand, and it is hats off for the men. There should be no fooling around or lack of attention when the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, and/or the Pledge is given. Many people have died to keep that flag flying and to keep our nation free of tyranny, and apparently, the struggle is not over. Awareness and respect are due to our national symbol regardless of whose politics you do not like. I’ve always thought that burning the flag is a bad way to indicate dissatisfaction with government. The flag represents all of us, not just those in power. It represents all of our originally fine ideals in the Constitution, the Bill of Rights. So, when destroying the flag, we are showing our rebellion against the very ideals upon which our nation was formed.  I’m sharing here the last two stanzas of the poem, “George Washington” by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet:**
                            “Sing for Emperor Washington, the hero of renown, who freed his land from Britain’s rule to win a golden crown!  No, no, that’s what George might have won but he didn’t, for he said: ‘there’s not much point about a king, they’re pretty but they’re apt to sting, and as for crowns -----the heavy thing would only hurt my head’ he said.  Sing for our George Washington! (At last I’ve got it right!) the first in war, the first in peace, the goodly and the great.  But when you think about him now, from here to Valley Forge, remember this ----- he might have been a highly different specimen.  And where on earth would we be then?  I’m glad that George was George!”
    George Washington is often called the “Father of our country,” and now, in June, we celebrate our own fathers. Father’s Day,  early this year, June 15th. I’ve written about my father recently, so you all know about him; a man who was flawed but intelligent and caring. In addition to Dad, my three older brothers often had fatherly (and sometimes annoying) impact. My brother, Frank was 20 years older, so I grew up with some of his children and was underfoot.  Later, he enabled my presence at NY State Fair for a couple of years; he was superintendent of the hog barn there and he allowed me to sleep in the back of his truck (on a soft bed of straw), so he could keep an eye on me.  He subsidized my lunch money when I was running low, but not without a lecture on money-management. My middle brother, Donal, taught me to shoot and in later years, stopped by my office to chat.  My third brother, Ken, took me on a couple of trips (when he was buying Berkshire pigs), supposedly to help keep him awake. He taught me to walk on the inside of the sidewalk, to order properly in a good restaurant and forgave me when I fell asleep and neglected my duties. My brother-in-law, Raymond, checked out my dates. He sat in our living room when a new one came to pick me up, and the next day, would give me his opinion.  😊
    There are many excellent fathers in this world; men who are a role model for not only their children, but others too.  Kermit is one of those. He worked with many, many kids through 4-H, and at home too; our house was usually full of teens. As for my father on this day? I wish I could share with him his favorite dessert; a dish of home-made vanilla ice cream with real maple syrup.
    June is full of special days, and on the 19th is Juneteenth. This is a celebration of the final enforcement of “no slavery in the United States.”  After the Civil War, some places, at a distance from news and Washington, DC, apparently didn’t get the mandate, or ignored it.  Juneteenth marks the day when finally, nation-wide, slavery was known to be illegal. I am quite sure if I had been a slave, I’d want to celebrate as loudly, as fully, and as long, as I could. This should have been a holiday decades ago, so there is a lot of celebrating due to make up for all those years of neglecting this occasion. We should all be rejoicing that we’ve become civilized enough to recognize that holding people as property is immoral and a contradiction to all of our principles.

    The Summer Solstice is a week away. And along with that comes Mid-summer Night’s Eve, a magical, pagan observance. Pixies, elves, faeries, and gnomes - all part of the legends surrounding this day and night. The days have stretched out to their limit, and from then on, until the Winter Solstice, the daylight will diminish. I keep thinking that I will go out on Mid-summer Night’s Eve, just to see if I can find an elf or two,or perhaps I will roll a burning wheel downhill as they did in some Celtic communities.  But sadly, when night comes, I’m usually falling asleep by 10:00; staying awake until the wee hours is no longer so easy. And of course, since we have visiting bears who come unannounced, sitting outside in the dark doesn’t seem all that sensible.
    June brings haying season, which emits a more desirable aroma than the earlier spring processes of spreading barn waste on the fields. Growing up on a farm naturally included helping in the hayfields. Our farm had a round baler,  not one of those huge things of today, but one that made bales of lighter weight than the square bales of the time. Bales that we girls (my nieces and I) could lift.  Mostly we just tipped them from the wagon onto the elevator that then took them into the mow. In June, if the cows are lucky, they are out into the fields.  Some cows are kept inside the barn 24/7 all year.  They are the unlucky ones.)   Animals should be treated kindly ---- and time outside in the fresh air with freedom to run  is one of those things they deserve. Seeing cows released from the barn onto a green field is a delight; they kick up their heels and gallop in visible joy.

    There is a lot of work in June, but there must also be time to enjoy this month of peonies, roses, mock orange, iris and poppies. The fragrance floating around outside just has to be full of health-enhancing energy.  Even the poets say: “What is so rare as a day in June?” *May your days, this month, be full of perfect sunshine, light rains and hours of peace.
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her hoime in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Percy Bysshe Shelly –English poet who was known for his romantic poetry and his radical social and political views.  1792-1822
    **Rosemary & Stephen Vincent Benet---American writers, poets.  Stephen is also known for his writing :”The Devil and Daniel Webster” .
    ***James Russell Lowell ---American poet, editor, critic and diplomat.  1819-1891.
  3. Carol Bossard
    We are coming to the end of a rainy but beautiful May. Those gardeners who didn’t succumb to the early-planting bug (who already have little green shoots in nice, neat rows) are planting gardens now.  We were out yesterday putting in sunflowers and cosmos. Supposedly we are frost-free by the end of May, but I do remember a couple of June frosts. You’d have seen us running around and putting brown paper grocery bags over the tomatoes and old sheets over the corn and cucumbers. Lawns need mowing more often now. Peonies will soon be in bloom and roses will follow, to scent the air.
    Memorial Day is just past; it seemed very early this year. This holiday was quite special to me as a child, because I accompanied my parents to the cemeteries in Orleans County, where many of my mother’s family were buried, and Fairport, where my father’s father and aunts rested.  When we went near Holly, that always included a visit to Grampa and Grandma Dusett.  My mother took flowers (sometimes to plant), and as we went along, she told me about the names on those cemetery stones. In that way, my ancestors became quite real to me.  Some of the names are so unused that they are enchanting: Huld Elizabeth Weatherwax (formerly Weiderwax in the Netherlands), Selenda Pellett, Abner Dusett (a carrot farmer), Aunt Belle Dibble, Jenny Mae Allen, etc. They are part of the tapestry that our family has become.
    I didn’t think much about the actual reason for Memorial Day back then, although I did have family members who were in WWs I and II, and in the Korean Conflict. My two older brothers, who were in WWII, taught me their military anthems for the Army and the Marines.  I was only about 4 or 5, but with one finger, I could plunk out those two tunes, and also learned the words. Later, high school and college friends went to Vietnam, the sons of friends were called for the Gulf War, and a nephew served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now I know a whole lot more about Memorial Day and wars.  Currently, we are watching innocent civilians become collateral damage at the least, and perhaps even genocide, in Africa, the Ukraine, and the Middle East. As General Sherman said: “War is Hell!”   And not just for soldiers---- for entire populations, for those who lose loved ones, for the economy of wherever the war is happening.  Civilized people ought to be able to figure something else out, but apparently our primitive tribalism lingers.  Even as we wish there were no wars, we have this special weekend to honor the people who did what they had to do because we haven’t figured it out.
    When celebrating Memorial Day, I mustn’t forget our local parades.  My school didn’t have a special marching band at that time, but the concert band members became marchers for the Memorial Day Parade down the Main Street.  In Junior Hi, even though my instrument was the flute, I marched with the Bell Lyre. I suppose they had enough flutes at that point, so I was assigned this large, instrument much like an upright xylophone.  Its center spine fit into a leather pocket which was attached to straps over the shoulders.  Then the 18-inch instrument tilted out from the body so it could be played with a “hammer.” And, hopefully, I could hammer the right metal strips while also marching along in, usually,  heat and humidity. But small negatives like those didn’t deter us, for, who doesn’t love a parade?
    Other kinds of parades come with college graduations, and, in some states, high school graduations. High schools in NYS, graduate students in late June because of the infamous (my opinion only) Regents Exams.    Graduations can be exciting,  or merely an expected closure, depending on one’s attitude.  High school graduation was exciting for me. I think we seniors all realized that life wouldn’t be the same anymore; that we, as individuals would be different the next time we saw each other, we would be experiencing a multitude of things from military service to marriage, to college or jobs.  Graduation was, perhaps, more of a family event then too, rather than a time for a series of parties, as it is now. College graduation was, for me, sort of mundane. I was glad to be getting a diploma after four years of work and fun, and I dutifully listened to President Perkins, but I was far more focused on my wedding coming up that September.
    A lot of years have passed between that summer of wedding plans ----- and now.  There have been difficult times, scary times and some grief-filled times.  But mostly, they have been incredibly good years, with more fine memories than there are scrapbooks to put them in. One of the blessings of being old/elderly/aged/age-challenged 😊 ---- is that most of us have learned what really matters in life, and what can be shrugged off.  One question we’ve learned to ask ourselves is: “Will this really matter in 5 years?  In 10 years? Even a day from now?” We’ve learned that people we love should never be taken for granted, nor should disagreements become separators. We all need the love and affirmation we feel from family members and good friends, so nourish it. This little excerpt from Cowboy Lyrics by Robert V. Carr* sums it up nicely: “What’s the use to worry, or even to fret for the things of this world you will never get?  An’ likewise it’s true fer me an’ fer, you, there’s jus about two tricks that we can do.  Be as good as you know an’ cut out the bad, an allers be cheerful, an’ never get mad; For the frownin’ face gathers the wrinkles, my friend, an’ the smilin’ one stays like a boy’s to the end.”
    If you are on FB, you probably have seen several lit candles, suggesting that FB- users keep the candle burning for any number of causes. One I actually liked, suggested that we keep a candle burning in a window of our home, to let people know that “hope lives here.”  I like it because, for many people, hope has been replaced by despair. Many observe the growing disturbances, and suffering around the world and in our own country.  Whether it is the world situations, our national politics, or illness, people simply cannot see any light at the end of the tunnel ---- unless it is that proverbial freight train coming at them.  They bear a daily burden of anxiety and discouragement, as they focus only on what is wrong.  Since I believe we are all called to be beacons for someone; probably for more than one someone, the next questions must be “When things are so desperate, how do I keep my inner light burning brightly?”  “Who lights my path?  Who lights your path?”  For some, it is a central spiritual belief; a tenet of faith that strengthens. For some, it is the experience that “this too, shall {eventually} pass.” Also, we should keep ourselves aware of all the good in the world as well as the bad.  Frequently, the light comes from other people sharing their lights, metaphorically as we do at a Christmas Eve service. In that way we are beacons to each other.
    As I thought of people, over the years, who have kept me from despair, I realized that there were many. There have been family members, family friends, teachers, speakers and writers whose material has struck a chord.  My parents lived through four wars and the Great Depression, and yet could still plan for the future, laugh with friends and go courageously ahead.   So they were good examples, usually.  All along the way people have shared their sparks and their radiance with me.
    Isolation is terrible for people.  We need each other - we learn from each other and we hold each other up. It is a current practice in prisons to use isolation as a punishment. Perhaps a short-lived time out is appropriate, but continued isolation will only make that person desperate, unstable and even angrier. Therapy would be more useful for reformation although our prisons do not have restoration as a priority.  Older people, living alone suffer from isolation.  As one’s ability to move around, to drive, to hear, to participate in a social group dwindles, there will often be days and days without visitors or conversation.  If you know someone who is alone, and home-bound, it would be a kindness to visit them, or even take them out for a ride. We may sometimes think that solitude away from this troubled world would be good, but too much of a “good” thing is not good for us!
            “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of anyone else.”**
    As we step out of May and into June, even as I wonder how May could possibly vanish so quickly. I’m hoping for a few more days of sunshine and rain drops in proper proportions. There is also a full “Strawberry Moon” in June.  Congratulations to the graduates; may the time just ahead of you be a time of discovery and peace.  Courage to those of you taking the NYS Regents exams (and any others); you will do better than you expect.  And to those of us who are long out of school, may we look with pleasure on our summery world, and enjoy every moment.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Robert V. Carr -American poet, well-known for his “Cowboy Lyrics.”
    *Charles Dickens –English novelist, journalist and social critic.  1812-1870.
         .
  4. Carol Bossard
    “Camelot* opens with singing about the merry month of May. Knights are brave, their ladies dance around May Poles, and life is beautiful. Northern hemisphere residents are glad to see May come too.  Boots alpaca hats, and mittens are put away and light jackets emerge from storage. Today, we are not only welcoming the delightful, new month, but today ( May 1st ) is May Day. Before certain nations began using it to celebrate military prowess, May Day was for children, for whirling around May Poles, for carrying flowery May baskets to neighbors. I prefer to think of it in that way still; as the light-hearted time of bluebirds, hummingbirds, garden parties, and, oh yes,  bears! A cute 1-year-old came by last week and sampled our cracked corn.
    May can bring us some very warm and very cold days. While I was at Cornell, one early May weekend came with snow. Several of us had planned a picnic and awoke that morning to find lawns had turned white.  Being intrepid Cornellians, we went ahead with the picnic  dressed in boots and jackets. Perhaps that streak of intrepidness is why now we push the limits of garden planting.  We know we shouldn’t put tender plants out before May 31st,  but we simply can’t resist working the soil on a good day in May when everything smells like spring.
    Speaking of Cornell, the Botanic gardens on campus are a wonderland of flowers, shrubbery, and herbs. Spending some time there is refreshing and idea-inspiring. It is a foil for the too-many buildings; offices, classrooms, dorms, libraries, and labs. My years at Cornell (after I recovered from being home-sick) were good ones; much to learn and do, a fine group of friends, and extra-curricular activities that taught me as much as classes. There were dances on the third floor of Warren Hall (where I met Kerm), parties at Cayuga Lodge, birding field trips with Ornithology, singing in the University chorus, discussions of spiritual nature in Annabel Taylor with the chaplain, and a variety of chats with friends in the dorm – especially my roommate, Pat.  She was a bio-chem major, and she was the only reason I got through inorganic chemistry.  Perhaps my favorite and most memorable activity was the Cornell Recreation Team, where we learned about leadership, square calling and folk dancing, and program organization-- a mix of skills I’ve used frequently.

    Right now, many high school juniors and seniors are facing finals, and looking at colleges. I’d tell them to look carefully at what the college stands for, not its prestige. Does it fit you? Are you more comfortable in a small school or a large one?  How much debt do you want to have to pay back? How far away will you be for traveling home? Are you doing what you want to do, or what you think people expect?
    There is, right now, a threat to all colleges receiving Federal monies. The recently appointed president of Cornell spoke firmly about the traditions of free thinking, scientific research and Ezra Cornell’s vision and he stood strong for those values.  His speech made the NY Times, and Cornell received almost immediate notice that its funds were being cut! Harvard also responded bravely and even more explicitly.  It obviously has become uncomfortable, and even hazardous to think and speak honestly, so it is important for colleges to remain places where integrity stands firm against pressures from those who would turn the education into a travesty of the truth.   College education costs oodles and oodles of money, and so, the learning one receives should be based in truth, have breadth, depth and should stimulate curiosity.  We will need administrators who are creative in finding ways to cope in difficult times. However, spinning straw into gold is only a fairy tale!  I expect that other universities will be trying to maintain their standards, as well; hopefully they will cooperate with each other. We should do whatever we can to cheer them on.
    While we are considering education, colleges are not the only path to living a good life. College is beneficial for giving you information and experiences it might take you years to learn by yourself. And some careers do demand a 4 or 5-year degree, whether or not one actually needs it for able performance in that career. As an alternative, tech schools and apprentice-ships for trades, are good places to acquire hands-on careers.  We are currently short of adequate electricians, plumbers, mechanics, builders, nurses, medical technologists, etc. I’ve heard, though I have no statistics, that many college graduates are tossing their tassels in vain; that there are too few jobs for them. Think fully about what you choose to spend your days doing; what will bring you satisfaction and happiness?
    Warning:  Caution: Small rant ahead!
    No matter what form of higher education one chooses, it will only be useful if one spends more time in learning than in partying. I am not against having a good time, but considering college costs, and rising health costs, it is the height of foolishness and selfishness to waste money in continuous revelry that distracts and clouds the mind. Too much alcohol or using “recreational” drugs, are both dangerous and unhealthy, not to mention, STUPID! That is blunt, but true!  We have each been given a fine mind and body, and to deliberately mess it up is the height of ingratitude.  And this from a person who loves parties! Rant over!
    May and June are traditionally full of more good times and increased parental worrying; proms, parties, alcohol, exams, looming higher education, money, and spring fever itself. There is often a wide gap in communications; kids having no understanding of why their parents are so nervous and picky, and parents having no memory of their own over-the-top confidence in taking care of themselves at the same age.  Kids think they are indestructible; Parents know very well that they are not; there are all sorts of dangers out there, and they loom large in a parent’s mind.  In one of his books, Louis L’Amour** said: When you are young, you never think of y our parents as much more than parents.  It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, and secret thoughts.  You sort of take them for granted, and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two…..You never stop to think about what they were like until it is too late.”  I actually do remember that far back; I was so focused on my plans, that my parents’ worries didn’t penetrate my rather (at the time!!) ditzy brain.
    Mothers’ Day is May 11th, and, for me, it is a whole lot nostalgic. Both my mother and Kerm’s mom have passed on.  I think probably that none of us totally appreciate our mothers (or fathers either) while they are with us, but we never stop missing them when they are gone. There are several things for which I’d like to apologize to mine; things I now understand way better.  We had a good relationship, though, so I will happily remember the fine times, and the many cups of tea my mother and I shared. That is also true for Kerm’s mother. Of course, she and I hadn’t known each other as long, but, after walking on a few eggshells, thankfully, we soon felt quite comfortable together and, as her first daughter-in-law, our relationship kind of paved the way for when she acquired two more. 

    I am also grateful for being a mother.  Except for a few occasions, our sons have added interest, humor, creativity, and love to our lives. Those few occasions when terror or exasperation followed them, we prayed a lot, and stifled the desire to put them through a wall (my frequent threat).  Those times must have, in some weird way, contributed to their, or our, growth. Now that they are adults, whose minds have matured (doesn’t happen for boys until they are 30 or so) we enjoy them, are grateful for them and are mostly glad we didn’t create Shawn and Matt shaped holes in our walls.
    Back to the garden, and the “Merry Month of month of May”, where things are growing and blooming. Pansies spread their little velvet faces around. Violets have popped into bloom all over the lawn, just this week.  Many varieties of daffodils are dancing in the constant winds, and shadblow trees are blossoming into white canopies. The very best thing in May, is to be outside.  As a child, I hunted for pollywogs in our small stream. Such fun! Now I wait for primroses to emerge. Soon tulips will bloom and marsh marigolds will turn the swamps golden. I think fresh air, watching the wild life and gardens, keeps us healthy, de-stresses us, and allows us to maybe even live longer. So, Happy May Day! And Happy May!
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Camelot ----written and composed by Lowe and Lerner.  Based on the tales of King Arthur’s court.
    **Louis L’Amour – Wrote novels, short stories, and non-fiction, most focusing on the frontier of the west.  Several were made into movies.  He died in 1988.
  5. Carol Bossard
    “If I ever saw blessing in the air, I see it now in the still-early day…..” are words from poet, William Blake. *April days can be varied; turbulent and fierce, as refreshing as a cold drink of good water or as peaceful as a benediction. Early, when the sun is about to rise, the air is fresh and awash with colors, mistily gaining depth of hue as the sky grows lighter. Sometimes a veil of snow sweeps over the landscape.  Spring is here with all its ups and downs.
    This is Holy Week for western Christians;Today Maundy Thursday. Tomorrow is Good Friday and Sunday is Easter. Russian and Grek Orthodox Christians celebrate a week later. Jewish Passover began last Friday at sunset, and will end tomorrow. Earth Day is next Tuesday. Those who start seeds inside have probably done so by now and are happily watching little green shoots growing under lights.  Spring fragrances are more pronounced, and this certainly includes what farmers spread on their fields in April. But it all is part of growth and eventually, beauty.
    We usually manage, during April to experience what we call a “perfect” spring day - blue skies, sunshine, mild and gentle breezes, and greening plants everywhere.  What if we allowed every day to be perfect in its own way? Rainy days bring pearly, smoky-gray or charcoal skies, sometimes a rainbow; sometimes dramatic, darkened clouds, slashed with lightening.  Some days are for curling up with a book or making the house fragrant with baking cookies. Breezy days may feel like a cleansing of our minds from the dust and darkness of winter.  Perfect days are surely in the eyes of the beholders.
    The word “perfect” is multisided. It can mean that something is done so well that there can be no criticism, like the Mona Lisa. Or it can mean impossible standards that are so discouraging, no one will try to meet them  like agency annual reports for the Feds.  Perfect may simply mean correct as in the calculations for engineering bridges and roads; we do want those to be perfect.  Or it might mean a person or group being dissed for not meeting someone else’s “perfect” standards. When an individual glibly recites the Biblical admonition: “Be ye perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect,” they usually mean their definition of perfect.  Those people need to be informed that most theologians, who have translated from Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek say that admonition should be translated “Be ye whole, even as…..”  Be the real, the whole person you are designed to be.
    My father was a perfectionist. SIGH!!  He wanted his white shirts ironed with nary a crease or wrinkle. Shoes must always be polished and shiny.  Manners, especially table manners, were expected.  “Talking back” was verboten. Nor was there an acceptable excuse for getting a B when you could, “with a bit more effort”, have gotten an A.  The lawn couldn’t be mowed in swirls; it must be mowed in straight lines.  Dad was neither a plumber nor a carpenter, but he took on both jobs for home improvement projects.  It was definitely no fun to be his assistant, or even be in the vicinity.  He was grumpy and loud, during and afterward, because his work didn’t meet his standards of perfection, so he was irritated with the world, as well as himself.  As a result, I probably have had life-long feelings of being incompetent when facing new challenges, or feel that I’m not doing enough.  That is perfection’s damaging downside!  It leaves metaphoric cuts and bruises.  Fortunately, Dad had quite a few other virtues that made him a good father.
    Because of those experiences, I’m in an on-going personal training program to avoid requiring my concept of perfection.  However, I have probably been as grumpy as my father when I was in the middle of a sewing project; ready to snap and growl if I carelessly put a collar in backward or inadvertently caught an extra fold of fabric in a seam.  While I try to avoid demanding my idea of perfection from others, my subconscious continues to expect it from me. Sadly, some of the traits we disliked in our parents do come back and attach themselves to us.  Kerm has remarked that my whole family is afflicted with irritability; he says prickly!  And he is quite right; we don’t suffer fools gladly, and we tend to be impatient with ourselves and others. (I’m hearing a little bell here, regarding Sunday’s sermon on compassion, I believe it mentioned self-compassion…Hmmm!)  I’ll work on that but meantime, I hope that I never impede anyone else’s work or damage feelings, leaving scars.
    However ---Toleration/patience is not mindless nor endless; I don’t accept sloppy work or apathetic attitudes. We do need standards!  When our kiddies were toddlers, they needed to learn that writing on the freshly-painted church nursery wall, and crawling beneath the pews, was taboo.  When in elementary-school, that shutting your brother between the screen door and the front door at home, did not fit into Emily Post’s Book of Etiquette for brothers. And later, we all had to learn that there were good ways to stand up for a principle, and some not so good ways.    Adults in the labor force, whether white collar or t-shirts, need to remember that the quality of their work and general attitude, do impact other people.
    Assuming someone will have perfect skills in everything is silly, but asking someone to be responsible and do their best is a valid expectation.  Learning does take a while, and expecting instant perfection from children, cats, dogs or gerbils, is what my father would call a “pipe dream,” although he, himself, had trouble accepting it.  It is good to remember, in this season of Lent, that Easter exists because we are all imperfect (sometimes, abysmally so!). Lent and Easter offer to all of us, change, restoration, and acceptance of who we are.  Part of human maturity is absorbing large servings of patience with ourselves and others.
    Easter meant some good times while growing up. I think I may be repeating here from other April essays, but they are such good memories.  There was coloring Easter eggs, preparing for a large family dinner, going to extra church services and hearing wonderful music. And there were also spring clothes.  New clothes were not every-day happenings in my life, but Easter usually meant a new dress, possibly shoes and definitely a hat.  I remember some of those hats well. There was an ivory straw cloche with black velvet ribbons, a white hat with a turned-up brim, trimmed with a yellow velvet ribbon and daisies, and there was a pink derby wreathed in tulle.  The dresses I remember clearest, I got when I was ten or eleven and note the plural. My father took me to buy an Easter dress that year.  This was highly unusual and I don’t remember why.   After much wibble-wobbling, I finally narrowed my choices down to two (at Miss Farrell’s in Canandaigua), and was having trouble deciding. My father finally said: “Oh for goodness’ sake, take them both!  We need to get home!” So, we left with a pink organdy trimmed with little roses, and a peach muslin trimmed with white lace and black velvet cord. My mother looked at them with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. My small mind stored away “ooh, shopping with Dad is a very good thing!”
    Easter has always, since childhood, been my favorite celebration -- surpassing Christmas and my birthday. There is something about the agonizing and yet joyful story of Easter, plus the church filled with fragrant flowers and beautiful music, children with Easter baskets and starched new clothes, that creates an enchanted time of color, sound, goodness, and Light.  Maundy Thursday and Good Friday ceremonies are reassuring traditions; times for quiet introspection.
    It seems to me that many traditional ceremonies and rites are vanishing in the name of “simplicity.”  Some years ago, we were invited to join in a Seder event, part of the Jewish Passover.  It was beautiful, and meaningful. Simple is often a good thing too, but we humans need ritual in our lives.  It keeps us connected to our traditions and nourishes our souls. Kerm and I have been dismayed by the decision of some families to not have any kind of service or gathering for those who have died. We need not only closure, but a time to celebrate that person for what they have been in our lives. I think that people who deny needing a spiritual element, miss avenues of joy, peace, trust and help, that could be theirs. As St. Theresa** explained: “I never really saw with my bodily eyes, but only with the eyes of the soul.”  Some of life is like that, and we need to be awake to soul visions, seen with “soul eyes” for adding depth and wonder to our lives.
    If you are celebrating Passover, I hope it has been wonderful.  If you are preparing for Easter, I wish you joy.  And next week, I’d urge you to mark Earth Day in some way that makes sense to you.  You may agree or disagree with theories about climate change.  The theories may not be totally accurate, but the weather patterns are changing, no matter what the reason(s).  We need to heal and care for this small, lovely planet of ours. So, plant a tree, make a garden, fill a pot with flower seeds, let dandelions grow in your lawn for the bees, vote responsibly instead of selfishly or blindly------ do something to be a grateful tenant of earth.
    And rise early one of these spring mornings; go outside and breathe in the morning air.  You may feel that blessing in the air, as expressed by William Blake.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *from “To Spring” by William Blake, an English poet.
    **St. Theresa of Lisieux created the Society of Little Flowers, which still exists today.  1873-1897.
  6. Carol Bossard
    “A light exists in Spring, not present in the year at any other period……” Emily Dickenson*   
    And this is true, there is a different light, along with a faint but discernable fresh aroma, and a friendly feel to the air when spring is easing in.  The added light in the evening probably helps with that feeling.  At least I do not find myself wanting to head for bed at 7 PM anymore, or not as often.  There is so much out there to see, pussy willow’s gray fur will soon be covered with yellow pollen. Winter Aconite is finally thinking it might be OK to bloom; they aren’t large blooms, but they are very yellow and bright. I have one clump of daffodils in bloom on a south bank. And green points of day lilies are poking 4-6 inches out of the soil, even though they won’t bloom until July, and will assuredly get their noses frosted.
    There is music in the air! Several varieties of birds are singing with the enthusiasm of an All-State chorus, or a choir on Easter morning. When I hear them, I think of all the wonderful music I have heard, played or sung, in my lifetime, and I am grateful. Perhaps you remember Therea Brewer singing “Music, Music, Music”, the title for this piece.  I grew up with music on the radio, in school and in church, piano lessons (not always a joy!!), and singing with my mother at the piano. My mother and her five siblings sang around the piano, led by Grandpa, who was a fine tenor. Dad didn’t sing; he sort of rumbled along in church, but he liked listening.  I enjoyed being in the church choir, in the chorus at school, and for a year, with the Cornell University Women’s Chorus.  I played the flute (better and more enthusiastically than the piano) in the orchestra and band.  In high school, three of us created an instrumental trio of oboe, flute and clarinet. All-State music events, concerts, and parades were fun as well as learning experiences, and sort of tempered the pain I often had with math and the sciences.   One might think, from all this music that I’d be an accomplished musician.  Sadly, not so.  But I am an accomplished enjoyer, and music brings me joy.   Currently a marvelously fun group, Spencer Singers, is where I sing alto.  We do not necessarily all have amazing voices all of the time, but we enjoy our music, harmonize well, and almost always stay on-key, even singing a cappella.  It is a pleasure to sing together, for we have become good friends and kindred spirits.

    Music has been called the universal language. I was listening to a vocalist from Russia , Julia Lezhneva. Her voice soared, pure and clear. Any musician would applaud her performance, no matter what country she, or they, came from.  She was amazing!   Musicians tend to not care about much except the quality and pleasure of the music. In our current climate of discrimination and bigotry, music can erase those imaginary separating lines around ethnicity, nations, and continents.  A few years ago, a conductor from the Middle East, pulled together a band of Israeli and Palestinian kids. They got along just fine and played together beautifully.  Their cooperation in music made them fast friends.  It is too bad that older adults, supposedly wise leaders, show less maturity that a group of adolescents.  And too bad that statesmen and stateswomen cannot show the same respect and consideration for the good of the world, that those kids did in the quality of their music and for each other.
    Spencer has a three-day “Picnic” every summer, a combination old-home days and carnival. For a number of years Mr. Baer, the instrumental instructor at school, would pull together a summer band to play in the parade.  Adults in the community were welcome to join in.  Those of us who wished to be in the band, dug out our instruments, practiced a bit to restore our lips, and creakily climbed onto a hay wagon where we sat in slightly wobbly chairs with good and heavy music stands.  We happily played a variety of marches down Main Street and ‘round about town.  It was a fun jam session.  The music from un-practiced players might possibly have grated slightly on the ears of the fine musician who called us together, but I enjoyed it immensely.  Lives change, and nothing can last forever; the summer band is no more.  There is a saying that we should not grieve when something is gone, but be glad we had it for a time. That is true - just remembering it brings a smile to my face.
    Every generation has its favorite music.  There is a fun quotation out there on T-shirts, which I can’t state accurately, but basically, it says that: “I may be old, but my generation had the best bands, the most fun cars, ”etc. I heard mostly classical (in the house) or pop music (in the barn) at home, so I didn’t grow up with bluegrass/country music. However, I learned to like some of it via my college roomie, when we were freshmen. Johnny Cash and Jim Reeves got me through many a homesick, night on the radio, out of Wheeling West Virginia (an all-night station with amazing scope).  Rock & roll was popular when I was in high school, so I listened to and played Beethoven, Bach and Handel but sang along with “Peggy Sue”, “Rock Around the Clock” and ballads as in: “Love Me Tender, Love Me True.”

    Much of the music today seems either monotonous or like noise to me (am I showing my age?). I have trouble understanding the words and probably couldn’t discern them over the percussion section anyway.  There are current vocalists who do better - Alison Krause, Josh Groban, Enya, Celtic Thunder ... quite a few others now that I’m thinking about it.  But they do not seem to be the ones who draw the hysterical, screaming crowds.   Perhaps the kids who attend those concerts have a “deaf wish.”  Some people believe that “Singing daily for at least ten minutes reduces stress, clears your sinuses, improves posture and can even help you live longer.”  I did not find the source of this statement, but I’d like it to be true.
    In all of this talk about music, I mentioned the enjoyment factor and the difference it made for me in school, but think of the changes in atmosphere it could make if we really took that universal language seriously.  Music, depending on the kind, can lull one to sleep or incite followers to war. The Scottish bagpipes call people out, but can also be a dirge that elicits grief. The Pied Piper piped an alluring song to eradicate the rats and children, according to the old fairy tale. I used to sing my children and grandchildren to sleep, or at least, to quiet.
    So perhaps we should put music to the test. Would negotiations go better and wars be put on hold, if we began decision-making meetings with the right music?  Perhaps the UN could open discussions with Handel’s ‘’Water Music” or Beethoven’s “Ode To Joy.”  Perhaps a Congressional chorus could be organized, or a Democrat-Republican choir with Independents and Greens doing the descants.  😊   Relationships can’t help but grow more congenial if you are making beautiful music together,  harmonizing. on-key!  And for those who can’t carry a tune or stay on key? Maybe we could jumble them into a kitchen band with a washtub bass, spoons and pot lid cymbals.

    Begin at home; make this a grass-roots effort. Try singing a tune or two yourself; let the birds inspire you. Go to a school concert; there are some lovely voices to be found therein, and some very good music.  But even more important, shake off the winter doldrums and be open to the lovely things in life.  Make a personal decision to substitute gratitude for gloom, whenever possible.  It is true that there is much to make us sad, depressed, angry, and afraid. But there are still many awe-inspiring sights, sounds and people. We shouldn’t allow any individual or any group to drag us down where we forget that.
    We need to clean out our negative emotions regularly; not let them accumulate, like a collection of figurines. We can accept each day’s burdens with grace and courage, but know that happiness will return, like spring returning after a cold, icy, winter. I lack the words to adequately describe spring, but Mendelssohn and Vivaldi managed to find notes, chords, and harmonies that celebrate it well.   Hans Christian Anderson** said: “Where words fail, music speaks.” So, sing a song, listen to someone else sing a song, whistle a tune, and love being part of spring as it comes back to our hemisphere.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Emily Dickenson--- first verse from a poem: A Light Exists In Spring”----- Emily Dickenson was little known in her own lifetime, but today is regarded as one of the most significant of American poets.   She challenged the accepted structure of poetry of her time an changed expectations.  1830-1
    **Hans Christian Anderson --.A Danish Author who wrote plays, novels, travelogues, poetry and was most famous for his book of fairy tales.  Danny Kaye played the role of Hans Christian Anderson in the movie.  1805-1875.
     
  7. Carol Bossard
    Spring is here; the Vernal Equinox has come.  Now if we could only adjust spring weather-makers like the Santa Anna winds, the high or low systems layering in the clouds, and turbulence churning out in the open seas and off the Great Lakes. Our fragile and lovely little blue planet is enduring some violent and damaging storms.  An eon or two of calm would be welcome. However, the snowdrops are just pushing through the cold ground; signaling spring. Yesterday it was 72 degrees and they are speaking of snow on Monday. We may be wearing winter coats for a while yet, but we know it’s not for long!   
    New England (especially Vermont) is famous for “Mud Season.” It is the “non-tourist season” when residents can relax, when ski season is over and the summer hasn’t begun; traffic ebbs, and a good thing it does. After all, unwary drivers could be trapped in muddy, rutted roads for days!  Up-state New York can be similar, with considerable goo underfoot and under tires. Those with large dogs know well about spring mud. New York has back roads that are equally as muddy those of Vermont, that really shouldn’t be traveled until June, or maybe, at all. How do I know this? My husband’s idea of a good time is checking out back roads, wild roads, precipitous roads. In years past, we have been in some potentially hazardous situations due to: “I wonder where this road goes…”.  His tendency toward adventure has diminished slightly.  It may be wisdom that comes with age, but more probably it is the memory of my shrieks as we careen from one muddy rut to the other and slither in semi-circles toward deep ditches.  Sadly, both of our sons have inherited this obviously genetic, and certainly unwise, tendency for dirt roads, seasonal roads, and corkscrew road explorations. We are hearing the stories now of driving over a chain link fence that had been knocked down to escape the 2nd “Woodstock” traffic, of running a snowmobile over Greek Peak at night, of driving past a dead end onto a seasonal road who knows what time of the year?  If only we had possessed one of those trackers that are now available to any parent!! One for each of the boys, and definitely one for Kerm.

    Mud season is made bearable by spending time with friends over lunch, or perhaps around a nice fire. Conversations are always interesting, and sometimes run in rather strange directions. We chat about everything from bird-feeding to geothermic heating, to education, to the best gardening techniques for clay, and to less useful subjects, like whether girls or boys were harder to raise. I think they all exhibit some unique growing pains. Kerm and I had sons, but I grew up with only-slightly younger nieces (my eldest brother was 20 years older than I). And we have granddaughters, who though exemplary 😊, are girls.  In my experience,-boys are unnecessarily loud, and they rough-house ---- often knocking over furniture or breaking glassware, leave large, muddy shoes around, and can be quite obnoxious and crass on occasion. They go into rages, but are quickly over them. Their excuses for their misdemeanors are often exceedingly lame. Girls tend to be deceptively delightful, but they pout, cry more, have a variety of moods, and hold grudges longer than most boys. After age 12 or 13, they have a monopoly on the bathroom while getting ready to go anywhere. Their excuses for questionable behavior are slightly more believable, having better imaginations. However, a common malady for both boys and girls, is whining.  The “poor me” syndrome seems to be gender-neutral.
    I had a sign on my office wall right near the entrance. It was a large red circle with a diagonal line across the word “WHINE.” Most people didn’t, but a couple of individuals refused to take a hint. Whining is quite understandable in a child or adolescent. Their emotions and their psyches are still maturing. Coming from the mouth of an adult, however, generally means that person still believes they are the center of the universe, and that time, temperature, and the state of the world should be adjusted to meet their needs. Whining is really an unsaid: “Alas,” “Oh Woe,” “Poor, Poor Me!”  There were two people with whom I worked,  both men, who whined regularly, often about each other. It became ridiculous enough that I thought of telling All Wet Productions (a local Spencer & Van Etten occasionally creative group) to devise a skit,  though I doubt that the guys who inspired it would have been amused.
    Those two individuals unfortunately, weren’t then, and aren’t now, all that rare. I see a lot of world-wide whining, don’t you?  Here in America, we whine about airport delays, the weather, about potholes in the roads, about inflation, about traffic jams, about inconveniences of all sorts. Perhaps we, as a culture, are discontented with life? Perhaps we need to focus more on what is right in our lives.
    Currently, I have been complaining (Oh all right; basically whining!) about Macy’s and Joann’s closings.  Yes, they were fine stores. Yes, I really liked them but there probably are other resources. My whiney self should be thinking about the many people who lost their jobs in the closings and the buildings that will now stand vacant and crumbling.  One would think, after seeing the dreadful situations all around the world, that I, and that we, all might be more content, and less complaining, realizing how small, comparatively, our inconveniences are. But, not so. Too many of us have been spoiled by prosperity and the smooth-workings of most systems around us.
    If we could realize how unimportant some of our issues are, if we stopped thinking about how each inconvenience impacts us personally, we might do less whining. Perhaps each annoying change or inconvenience is the Universe, reminding us that we are not the center of the solar system! Or perhaps that same universe is telling us to be more aware; to pay attention and to take part in our communities, helping those who do not have the conveniences we have. Perhaps we need to retrieve my little sign; the red circle with a slash, make copies and post them everywhere.

    Late March, in addition to annoying weather, brings us that much closer to daffodils and hyacinths. William Wordsworth* seemed to be partial to daffodils, as I am.     He wrote: “I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o’er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd,  a host of golden daffodils. Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze……for oft when on my couch I lie, in vacant or pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude, and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.” All that golden yellow just shouts --- spring.
    I expect that you all have your favorite signs of spring, depending on the climate where you live. However, life can make us very busy and when we move too fast, suddenly spring has passed us by and, it is summer. May I suggest that we all slow down just a trifle and take the time to notice spring moving in. There are wonders to behold,  from the first snowdrops to pussy willows, to the violets, daffodils, hyacinths and tulips. There are baby woodchucks poking their noses toward the roads,  ignoring mama’s instructions to stay put!  Baby rabbits are just coming out into a dangerous world full of hawks, owls, and coyotes.  Foxes are sending out harsh, throaty mating calls. And birds are singing with gusto as they attract mates and build nests. Even if we have more snow flakes, we can take heart and know that: “For lo, the winter is past, the {snow} is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing birds has come, and the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land.”**
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *William Wordsworth –English Romantic poet who helped to launch the English Romantic period along with Samuel Coleridge.  1770-1850.
    **The Bible – Song of Solomon 2:11.
  8. Carol Bossard
    “It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade.”  Charles Dickens*

    ‘Tis the month of shamrocks, aquamarines, and the vernal equinox. I’ll soon pull out my recipe for Irish tea cake to go along with a hearty stew, in lieu of corned beef and cabbage. I’ve just never been thrilled with cooked cabbage. My family (except for one sister-in-law and her daughters) has no Irish background that we know of. However, since my father’s heritage is Scottish, I’m sure there could have been some cultural mixing and marriage. We do have a granddaughter in Dublin right now, and I expect she will be seeing all sorts of festive times this month.
    Having read all the “Sister Fidelma” books by Peter Tremayne, set in Ireland around 7th century AD, we have an appreciation for Irish culture and their impact on our own culture. These books are fiction, but meticulously-researched fiction. Their laws protecting women’s independence were far more impressive than ours. I especially like their long-ago criminal justice system; those individuals who broke the law seldom sat in prison for a long incarceration.  It was a system of recompence. Instead of idling in prison, criminals had to work out their crimes’ paying those who they had hurt. If the crime was dire and the criminal unrepentant and considered unredeemable, he/she was put in an open boat with one oar, food and water for a day and towed out to sea.  This was considered leaving them to God’s judgment.  I’m not sure about that one! Of course, people ignored the laws, just as they do today, so Ireland wasn’t Paradise, and when the Saxons and Britons began filtering into lands around Ireland, and becoming part of the culture, and when the Church’s Roman influence spread to Ireland, more severe punishments began to be common. They emphasized suffering for punishment rather than paying back and redeeming one’s self.
    St. Patrick’s history is equally interesting. He was an actual person, who grew up in Roman-controlled Britain. He was captured by slavers, and ended up in Ireland. Interestingly, the Irish did not, by law, buy or sell slaves, BUT those individuals captured in battles, or convicted of some kinds of crimes, basically had no rights until they had earned their freedom through work. Technically, however, they weren’t slaves. Patrick eventually was freed and journeyed to Rome. After some time there, he chose to return to Ireland to spread God’s word, where he had been a slave. There are many legends around his missionary work, including driving out all snakes, and he is certainly venerated by the Irish and celebrated every March 17th.
    St. Patrick’s Day is a good reason for partying, Irish or not. One of our sons met his future wife at a St. Patrick’s Day party. Some years ago, Beebe Lake, on Cornell’s campus, miraculously turned an amazing green every March 17th. That was before everyone reluctantly agreed that it is ecologically improper to tamper with Mother Nature’s water. However, a magnificent dragon, created by the architecture students still makes its creaky way across campus on March 17th.

    March has many other things going for it besides this one popular holiday. This past week was Ash Wednesday; the beginning of the Lenten season. This marks the 40 Days (plus Sundays) until Easter.  March also holds the vernal Equinox, when the day and night are equal. Early March is when enthusiastic gardeners begin putting seeds into peat pots and keep checking to see if the ground is thawing at all. Three members of my family and one good friend, celebrate their birthdays in March. Owls are hunting to feed babies, skunks are mating or may have already done so, chipmunks are running around on fine days, and there is a certain feeling in the air.
    March was (in my time with 4-H) when 4-H kids began sewing for Dress Revue. As our sewing skills grew, modeling in the Dress Revue was something to anticipate. My very first sewing project was an apron made from a pink-flowered feed sack. Feed sacks were great for beginning sewers; both for their cheerful prints and for the price ---zero. Next came a gathered skirt. Then I was brave enough to try a whole dress --- yellow polished cotton with cap sleeves, and later, a green wool suit. Those were successes in Dress Revue, a heady experience, for one was judged on both sewing expertise and poise in modeling the garment.  The event was held in some elegant place, like the Granger Homestead in Canandaigua and was covered by local papers.
    On the strength of 4-H experiences, I chose Clothing and Textiles as my major at Cornell,  a decision that needed more deliberation than I gave it. I enjoyed all of my classes: Draping, Tailoring, Pattern-making, so it was a while before the realization penetrated that if I were to make this my career, I needed to live in or near a large city. The rural areas that I prefer do not have many calls for fashion designers or buyers for non-existent dress shops. Fortunately, I had two minors, food & nutrition and journalism.
    I did use some of all that textiles information though. My first full-time job was a 4-H and Youth Educator in Maryland and I helped 4-Hers with sewing projects. Later, in both private and public schools, in Pennsylvania, I helped teach sewing skills again. I made my own wedding gown, a satin and lace confection with a flowing train, for $100 instead of $1000. And because I made it, it had a unique touch of pennies sewed into the hem of the train so it would flow smoothly and stay down nicely, my very own invention.  😊 Mostly, my sewing skills were used for family and home, which is not a bad thing. Observing the high cost of ready-made draperies and pillow shams, I was glad I could make them for only a fraction of that cost.
    In addition to sewing, I remember March for baby chicks.  My mother, for fifteen years or so, sold DeKalb seed corn.  All the farmers knew her, from membership in Farm & Home Bureau and Grange, and respected her for her integrity.   This was something she could do from home, when I was small.   For a few years, DeKalb sold chicks as well.  The chicks came in large square boxes (ventilated, of course) and on delivery day, when I came home from school, our dining room had boxes and boxes, stacked shoulder-high, full of peeping chicks.  Talk about too much noise!!  I could stick my fingers in the vent holes and pet fuzzy little birds ---- also getting a few minor pecks.  I can almost hear the peeping chorus even now.

    As we come into March, whether it entered as a lion or a lamb (and actually, it was a little of both this past weekend), we have a few messy, muddy weeks ahead of us. But what can we expect from a month named for the Roman god of war “Mars”? If you took Latin in school, you will not have forgotten the Ides of March (15th), in 44 BC, the day on which Julius Caesar was assassinated. “Et tu, Brute?”
    After last week’s warmer temperatures, and today’s 57 degrees, it is finally possible to anticipate Spring.  No daffodils are poking little green shoots through the soil yet, and snow drops are still shivering beneath a pile of snow. But, a whole flock of red-winged blackbirds flew into our bird feeders on Saturday and there were starlings on the suet.  And who guessed that we might get a thunder storm in March (last night)? Those who observe Lent are in the midst of deciding on a Lenten practice; will it be giving up something for the season? Chocolate? Desserts? Meat? Judging others?  Or perhaps this year it will be adding something to their lives: thinking through biases? Reading Scripture more faithfully? Planning to do an act of kindness each day?  Spending more time in prayer? Paying forward for someone? A yearly six weeks of thoughtfulness is probably a very good practice.
    Meanwhile, March is here, and it has much to offer.  That very familiar Irish song,  “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”, could cheer us on as we sing of brightness, gaiety, and laughter. Singing always makes me happier, so I can recommend it highly. Life can be good, whether the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold or it is summer in the sun and winter in the shade. If the snow ever melts, search for a shamrock or two.
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Charles Dickens 
    **Peter Tremayne 
  9. Carol Bossard
    Yes, it is still February! February has the fewest days, making it the shortest month, but it doesn’t feel so. Most of us are so tired of heavy coats and boots that February seems to take much longer than necessary; sort of like adding insult to injury.  Our attitudes tend to “drag us through the month”! Of course, winter won’t last forever but as another front comes through, we do wonder. This week is COLD!!
    I have said (probably too often) “This too shall pass,” when something truly annoying or dire comes into life. And of course, it will, but knowing that, often doesn’t help in the moment. Charles Dickens must have agreed, though, when he wrote, in A Tale of Two Cities, this observation: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”  We are in those times----- temporarily, in February ----- longer-lasting with our country and the world!  My guess is that no one born on earth, escapes this puzzling situation of wonderful mixed with dreadful.  And despite good intentions, it is no easy thing to switch our perspectives into hope and joy when in the midst of negatives.   
    Late February weather does little to help us in this dilemma.  Remember the old adage, “As days lengthen, cold strengthens.”  We have just celebrated Valentine’s Day, which may have brightened last week.  And President’s Day is also just past, a day off for many. There are available activities that might add zest to our February days; we have people ice-fishing on the village pond and there are pancake breakfasts offered by the Fire Company and the Masonic Lodge. Ithaca and Elmira (25 miles away) offer concerts and a variety of other options. Locally, the schools give concerts and plays, and maple syrup festivals (depending on the weather) are beginning. Attending some of these may help with our winter attitudes ----- for one’s attitude and perception are all-important in whether we meet mornings with a smile, or spend the day in grumbling. I do a bit of both,  usually immediately upon rising!  What a wonderful wood-fire in the stove. 😊  WHAT???  Two degrees below ZRO??! ☹
    Grumbling comes so easily.  There’s the weather, the news, the flu, the odd noise from the furnace, the rattling in the dishwasher. In addition, then there are so many issues today that both irritate and appall me.  It would be so easy to fix them if I were just granted a magic wand for a few days.  Wars would cease, food would be more equitably distributed so that no one went hungry, animals would be cared for with compassion and good sense, schools would take individual needs into consideration and education would be fun, nursing homes would have ample care-givers who were well-trained and kind, diversity would suddenly become acceptable to all, and kindness would be the “in” way to live.   Health care would actually be healing and not atrociously expensive. And there would be a French bakery in every village.  Life would be ideal ---- my ideal!
    Of course, that it is exactly what potential dictator’s say:  You give me that scepter and crown, and I’ll make everything wonderful.”  However, my ideal and your ideal (and their ideal) may be miles apart, and good-looking, glib-tongued fairy- godfathers or godmothers, too often, morph into goblin-tyrants.  Looking back at history, there may have been one or two kindly and benevolent dictators, but not many.  And even those rare individuals who intended to be good rulers, eventually succumbed to a lust for power, or those who surrounded them did, and they were assassinated.
    Since I’m very human, I probably couldn’t be trusted with that magic wand either. No one can! Which is why we must put up with the arguing and tediousness of a democratic republic; it seems to be fairer than any other form of government, frustrating though it might be for those who want what they want - yesterday!
    Even though we cannot always control the world around us, we can decide whether we wish to face life kindly and generously; carrying our own inner happiness or not. Situations may occur that affect our happiness, making it necessary for us to adapt ---- divorce, theft, fires, mudslides, unpleasant attitudes, deaths of people we love. All of these certainly require a time of healing and adjustment, and they may change us in some ways. Certainly, other people can contribute bonus happiness to our happiness with their love and thoughtfulness.  But no one, other than ourselves, can be responsible for seeking that inner joy that becomes part of us. We decide how we will meet what life brings. No one ever said it would be easy but it does bring growth and wisdom.
    Gratitude helps with that inner joy. When life around us is discouraging, or even calamitous, we probably should remember that quote: “There is nothing new on earth.”  (I think that might be from Ecclesiastes.).  All of the emotions we feel, all of the dire happenings, all of the losses and the unfairness, have happened to someone before.  So, we are not being singled out.   Even amid hard times, when we think of all the things we have,  both material things and wonderful, usable qualities, we should have no trouble being grateful.  Gratitude transforms our emotional state.  If we focus on all the things we think we lack, we immediately become unhappy.  Some people spend their entire lives gathering more and more and are never satisfied.  I’m guessing that their happiness is short-lived and dependent on what money/possessions they can get into their hands.
    There is a good book called “If You Give A Moose A Muffin.”  It is an amusing, well-written book for kids, on greed.  I once made a gift of that book to Amo Houghton, to share in Congress.  He thought it was good too, and we laughed over it, but I doubt that he ever read it to his colleagues. Those people who have made the decision to live happily with whatever it is that they have, become joyous spirits who are shining lights to the rest of us.  We all have a choice!

    Naturally the world being what it is, there will be days when it is quite impossible to summon a good attitude.Those are the days to curl up in a corner of the couch and read a comforting or inspirational book while listening to good music and sipping a cup of whatever seems good.
    We also have a choice about February.  We can be despondent because winter is taking so long to depart, or we can make every day a scavenger hunt; looking for signs of spring.  In addition to checking often for swollen buds on trees, for a bit of green grass in the boggy places, skunk cabbage showing its tips, and red-winged blackbirds, there are some fun things that may brighten up this late winter month.  On a relatively warm day, cut some forsythia branches and put them in tepid water. In a week or so, yellow blossoms will bud and soon you will have a vase-full of spring right in your kitchen. Other shrubs can be forced to bloom early too, but I’m not sure which ones. I do know that lilacs are reluctant. You might find experimenting with this a fun project.
    While thinking about this, I relived a February memory of fun I had back when I was more agile and resilient. I was a freshman in college at SUNY Plattsburg, on the shore of Lake Champlain. My roommate, Barbara, and I, thought it would be fun to skate on that lovely, large lake, and we did. And had a great time, though the ice was a little rough since no one had cleaned it off. We discovered later why it wasn’t cleaned off; that no way should we have been skating there, especially by ourselves. Apparently, the lakes have huge air bubbles and fractures in the ice, that could give way and plunge us into icy water.  Our guardian angels must have been alert, and thankfully, that didn’t happen.
    As February’s days come to an end, we can look forward to winds, mud, and a few more snow squalls.  But also, we’ll have starry, frosty nights and sunny, melting-snow days.  So perhaps this poem, “February Twilight,” by Sara Teasdale* will inspire us to enjoy what comes:
    “I stood beside a hill smooth with new-laid snow,
    A single star looked out from the cold evening glow.
     There was no other creature that saw what I could see ---
     I stood and watched the evening star as long as it watched me.”
     
    May you find magic moments in the rest of February.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Sara Teasdale ---American writer and poet.  1884-1933.
  10. Carol Bossard
    It is only the sixth day of this new month, but Valentine’s Day is only a week away.  Do you remember the lacy-decorated box on the teacher’s desk, made to hold valentine cards?  Do you remember those packets of little valentines, about 20 of them /box, we exchanged with each other?  Valentine’s Day still can be a fun time that brightens our winter and gives us another chance to spread a little love around.  One of my favorite poems for this occasion is by Robert Louis Stevenson:*  “I will make you brooches and toys for your delight, of birdsong at morning and starshine at night.  I will make a palace fit for you and me of green days in forests and blue days at sea.”  Gift options (unless you are a poet) for today’s valentines are less imaginative, but still delightful.  Retail stores go all out to sell heart-shaped boxes of candy, beautiful bouquets of flowers, sparkling jewelry and silky lingerie. And there are little bags of tiny heart candies in the grocery store.  Made-by-you gifts are also wonderful; a box of fudge, special cookies, a heart-shaped pillow, or a promissory note to clean the refrigerator or wash the car.  When I have the time/energy, I still like to make my own valentines; I enjoy working with construction paper, doilies, ribbons and glue; probably a bit of that inner child they talk about in therapy.  Whether you buy your valentines or create your own, send an Email or make a phone call ---- those people who receive one, people you care about, feel especially loved.

    Valentine’s Day exists because of a clergyman’s (possibly a Bishop) kind heart and his martyrdom. The Reverend Valentine continued to marry young couples in violation of the Roman emperor’s decree (who wanted those single, young men for soldiers), and he was thrown into jail.  While imprisoned, he sent notes to his family and friends signed, “Your Valentine.”  He was executed on February 14th for his disobedience ( it didn’t take much to be executed back then), but, as St. Valentine, he lives on in the hearts of all romantics.  So, carry on his tradition and do something special to brighten your day and those you care about. Happy Valentine’s Day!
    This time of winter is when we all start sighing, and begin looking for signs of spring,  imaginary or not. Suddenly we can hardly wait for a tomato and lettuce sandwich straight from the garden. I go over my garden plans again, and check the plant catalogs.  Last fall, while the summer’s dreadful gardening experiences, due to illness and weather, were vivid in our memories, I was determined to cut back, making less work for us.  But then the catalogs came in December, with those enticing pictures of peonies and roses, delphiniums and lilies ---one can almost smell them.  I can, with some difficulty, cut back on growing vegetables, but leaving out flowers is a painful. I can, all too well, envision blue delphiniums against the gray fence posts and another climbing rose on the pergola.  The periwinkle blue of scabiosa (dreadful name) would be lovely against the stone foundation of the house and creamy nasturtiums spilling over railings would be charming. Maybe more big pots will help.

    I come by my garden addiction honestly.  I have written before about my mother’s gardens. But my sister, Betty, had quite impressive gardens too, and one sister-in-law was really good as well; she had a carpet of bluebells beneath a tree that was beautiful in the spring.   And my brother Frank’s gladiolus, were always large, brilliant, and satiny.  Several of my nieces are carrying on this gardening tradition in California, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York and possibly South Carolina; I haven’t been there, yet to see, but she has a lovely garden in NYS.
    If the garden catalogs aren’t tempting enough, we have at least three garden stores within a half-hour’s drive. And even more compelling, several studies have indicated that working in the soil is beneficial to one’s health.  There is something about contact with the earth, and being outside, that calms the mind and lifts the spirits. So, my concrete plans last Fall for closing down some of the gardens, may crumble with the onset of spring. However, revising plans and creating flower combinations, is something that gets me through the weeks of February cold and snow.  Imagination is a wonderful thing!
    The flower for February is the snowdrop. The month is named in honor of Februa, the Roman goddess of cleansing, and prior to the Roman influence, to Brigid, the Celtic goddess of healing, poetry, and craftsmanship.  February 2nd is well-known in America, as Ground Hog Day, one of our sillier, but fun, customs to get us through the winter.  This is when we allow someone to awaken a very comfortable woodchuck to consult him about the arrival of spring.  If the woodchuck’s expression on morning TV is any indication, he would just like to bite someone and go back to his nap.  February 2nd is also Candlemas Day.  This is a Christian holiday to commemorate the day Mary took Jesus to the temple, as a baby, to be dedicated. This is when both church and personal candles are blessed for the coming year. February brings the Full Snow Moon and/or the Full Hunger Moon. I expect that the latter name was very realistic for those people who lived close to the land.  Supplies were getting low and hunger was the norm for this time of the year.
    Many years ago, when I was in elementary school, we celebrated Washington’s birthday, and Lincoln’s birthday on separate days. Some decades ago, they were combined into Presidents’ Day. I don’t really know what kids do now to mark the occasions, although they do have the day off from school. Do third graders still draw pictures of cherry trees and hatchets?  Do they still read the story of why Abraham Lincoln took the advice of a little girl regarding his beard? And is the Gettysburg Address still required reading?
    Memorizing the names of presidents and the order in which they served, may still be done, but wouldn’t it be more valuable to talk about them, as real people?  Discussions of their accomplishments, and their mistakes would teach kids to think and evaluate. George Washington apparently had thoughts about our thinking when he said: “In a free and republican (not political party; a form of government) government you cannot restrain the voice of the multitude. Every man will speak as he thinks, or, more probably, without thinking, and consequently will judge of effects without attending to their causes.”  Washington had a dim view of the thinking coming from the general populace and I do not think that has changed much. Too many people are stuck in a rut of non-thinking, only accepting a news channel that tells then what they wish to hear, fearful that their children will think differently, afraid of new ideas, unused to thinking about the procession of an idea’s beginning through to the consequences.  People need to question, research, and process all components of ideas that will affect many others.
    Moving from philosophy to the view outside my window, we are still turkey-less.  They left in October (turkey season began) and must remain in whatever haven they’ve found elsewhere.  It saves considerably on bird seed, but I miss them.  They pushed each other around like a crowd of adolescent boys, fanned their tails as spring approaches, and provided an interesting scenario beneath the bird feeders.  There are plenty of bird varieties that do come; juncos, Carolina wrens, cardinals, blue jays, several kinds of finches, nuthatches, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, and the cheery chickadees.  A hawk came swooping through one day, right after I’d put out seed.  There were many birds on the ground and on the feeders. I don’t think the hawk caught one; those little birds surely did scatter; in a whirlwind of beaks and feathers.  They were definitely traumatized, for they didn’t come back for two or three hours.

    As we proceed into February, the days grow lighter and we know we are closer to spring.  However, there is plenty of winter left unless we have a most unusual season.  People who live in more urban areas, where there are many lights and much activity, wonder what on earth we country-dwellers do with ourselves in the cold and snow. Trust me,  we are seldom bored! There is an exercise program for upper arms and shoulders in scraping ice from car windows and shoveling sidewalks or paths.  And there is the equally-useful exercise acquired when splitting wood for kindling and carrying logs. 😊  I don’t think I’d enjoy living where there wasn’t a change of seasons. I like variety in my life. And there is a delicious feeling of being cozily snowbound when one is inside and the snow is coming in flakes, showers or squalls, outside.
    Winter gives us time to enjoy the scenery through the window, since we can’t be doing all that much outside.  Inside, there’s time to write real letters to friends.  We can pick up a paintbrush and try those water colors we got for Christmas three years ago.  We can, whittle, knit, embroider, hook rugs or braid them ---- all old crafts that shouldn’t be lost. But most of all, in February, we can send a valentine or two, to let people know they are cherished and important to us.  And we can move slowly through each fleeting day, appreciating every precious moment to the fullest.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Robert Louis Stevenson--- Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer.  1850-1894.
  11. Carol Bossard
    Note: This column was originally intended to be posted January 23rd however I'm just getting to it now. My apologies for the delay -Chris

    Here we are, past mid-January. With each fresh snowfall, our lawn is crisscrossed with tracks; cat, deer, rabbits, mice, and possum. There was one slightly larger track that featured long claws, and a dragging tail.  I’m thinking it might be a fisher. I am envisioning nightly, wild, wild-life parties after our lights are out. Perhaps Fauns, Ents and Dryads too, for all I know.
    January hasn’t many holidays, but we just celebrated one that helps us remember the struggle people of color have had as to acquire the same rights as anyone else. It seems impossible to me that such extreme measures would be necessary among civilized, intelligent people, but unfortunately, too many people have been raised to think it is OK to fear and demean those fellow-humans who do not look like them, or who come from diverse cultures. This attitude needs to be outgrown and erased.
    Historically, every time a new group came to the United States from Europe, Africa or Asia --- the Irish, the Italians, the Poles, the Chinese, the Vietnamese ---- they were rejected by many people.   Any “excuse” given for banning entire groups (instead of individuals) is not just undeniably lame, but immoral and unjust.  Martin Luther King *set an example of reform when he combined non-violence with continual in-your-face reminders that he was not going to give up his quest until his goals were on their way to being met. He was a 20th-century Don Quixote,**  only far more lucid. He didn’t fight imaginary windmills, but real attitudinal barriers.

    Recently, Kerm and I spent an evening with neighbors. We ranged in age from mid-80s to a delightful 4-year-old. Several of us have lived here in Spencer for decades, some came, more recently, from Guatemala and Mexico. We chatted, laughed and told stories over pizza and cookies.  But there was also some serious discussion about cultural differences and changes ---- how we regret some of those changes in values (courtesy, kindness, respect), and in ethics (courage, honesty, honor). And we felt not only regret, but fear for the future and for our grandchildren.  We have all seen signs of this letting down of standards, from the halls of Congress to the halls of our local schools. So, why do we fear? And should we fear?
    I recently heard a speaker say that we all have three basic fears: fear of failing, fear of being judged and fear of the unknown. We humans fear change!! There are some valid bogymen to frighten us: worse and more frequent storms, human violence and anger, disrespect for laws, businesses that value the bottom line more than people, suffering that evokes too little compassion, and an everyman for himself philosophy.  Then, some things that frighten us are mostly in our heads.
    Most people with whom I regularly have contact are fine, caring, courteous, law-abiding people  including school kids, and in spite of cultural changes!  And I know that you, who read these essays, are people who are responsible, kind and caring.  So, I’m wondering if perhaps I, perhaps we, are over-stressing the bad guys. Perhaps if we turned off the TV, stayed off the net for a while, we might feel less fearful and more trusting in the integrity and goodness we see around us. We might believe more in ourselves too.  Media not only instigates comparisons that make us feel inadequate, but shines a brilliant light on startling and dreadful things.  Humans eagerly feed on sensation, which brings in more money. We all might consider letting change bring curiosity and suspended judgement, more than fear. It is a choice.
    I found this writing by Khalil Gibran.**
     FEAR
      ________
    “It is said that before entering the sea, a river trembles with fear.
    She looks back at the path she has traveled, from the peaks of the mountains, the long winding road crossing forests and villages.
    And in front of her, she sees an ocean so vast, that to enter there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.
    But there is no other way.  The river cannot go back.
    Nobody can go back.
    To go back is impossible in existence.
    The river needs to take the risk of entering the ocean because only then will fear disappear.
    Because that’s where the river will know it’s not about disappearing into the ocean, but of becoming the ocean.”
     
    We may kick and scream, but change is guaranteed, along with death and taxes. Some changes might be distasteful; but some may be good.  What actual differences will these changes make?  Am I, are you, personally affected?   If change only disturbs our sense of what “should be” then maybe we don’t have to be in a tizzy.  Of course, simply burying one’s head in the sand,ostrich-like, isn’t a useful either.  Ignoring reality is not useful practice, comfortable though it may be.  We weren’t put on earth to be totally comfortable.  If I feel called to participate either for or against a particular change, then I should do that. But perhaps, it isn’t really my business, in which case, I can control my attitude and keep my mouth shut, according to Victor Frankl***  who certainly should know. We might remember Pandora’s Box. Curiosity opened that box and let a whole slew of things escape into the world; irritating, bad, scary -----and very good.  The last escapee from that box was Hope!
    I often think of my mother when people complain about changes. She lived from 1898 to 1993; the Spanish-American war ended, then lived through WWI, WWII, the Korean Conflict, the Cuban crisis, war in Viet Nam and all of the “cold war” days.  She saw transportation change from horses and buggies to trolley cars to automobiles and trains, to planes. She lived through The Great Depression, saw both inept and good presidents, and watched our landing on the moon. I never once heard her moan about change, unless it was the change in her energy level and eyesight. She didn’t approve of everything she saw, but her freely-shared disapproval was specific, not general. In other words, she usually watched and waited before she labeled something.  And she was often intrigued by new opportunities brought by the change.
    Wishing for the “good old years” is delusional, and a bit selfish. They may have been blissful, for you or me, but a peek into history tells us that they probably were not great for the rest of the world’s people, or even those down the street. My childhood was mostly trauma-free, and generally happy, but that was partly due to my ignorance.  I was mostly unaware and clueless about poverty, injustices, discrimination and the incredible burdens planed upon so many of the world’s people. Now we know about these things, and see horrors as they happen.  Advocacy and tireless work have made some changes (with some people kicking and screaming about changes, all the way), but much still needs to be done. And it won’t happen without different attitudes and openness to change.  I have a poster; a quotation from Gandhi*****:  “The Seven Deadly Social Sins:  Politics without Principle ---- Wealth without Work ----Commerce without Morality ----Pleasure without Principle ----Worship without Sacrifice.”
    Of course, most of us cannot focus totally on saving the world.  We need balance in our lives; fun, spiritual growth, exercise and times of restoration. As you’ve probably discerned, I find my relaxation in reading, gardening, or listening to music. Others may go skiing or hiking. Or do woodworking or puzzles. This winter, I’m contemplating a rather ambitious project; writing, My Little Book of Theology.  I’m not sure why I want to do this, for I don’t plan on publishing it. I have no expertise in this field; no theological background nor do I read Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek. But I have had, and do have a spiritual journey.  Writing about this seems like a good winter project. We all need to tell our stories of life,not for an ego-trip, but to share experiences with others who might find them useful. One of my nieces wrote a book about growing up in her family and it was very good reading. While cleaning out my mother’s house, we discovered a few pages written in long hand; some of her story. We learned several things about her that we hadn’t known, and it was like having a conversation with her again. I wish she had written more.  Perhaps, one day, when the wind blows cold, you could begin writing down some of your stories. They will surely be appreciated by someone who needs to hear them.
    Meanwhile, January is waning and February is on the horizon. If you sense a case of cabin fever coming on, or are frustrated with life, my suggestion is to go outside and throw a few snowballs.  It is amazing how hitting something with a good “splat” will improve one’s mood.  What we did for fun when we were seven, often still works at seventy.   And in remembering Martin Luther King Day --- along with Presidents’ Day coming in February-- perhaps we will be inspired to face change with curiosity, courage and good sense.  The “tracks” we leave in life should allow others to safely follow and continue on our path upward and outward.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be contacted at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Martin Luther King ---20th Century advocate for Civil Rights, and a Baptist pastor.  1929-1968.
    **Don Quixote ---A gentleman, created as hero of a novel by Miguel de Cervantes ---- Man of La Mancha.
    ***Khalil Gibran ---Lebanese-American poet and artist.  1883-1931.
    ****Victor Frankl ---Austrian psychiatrist who was incarcerated by the Nazis for being Jewish.  He was the author of several books, and sad this after his experiences: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms; to choose one’s attitude.”
    *****Gandhi---Indian attorney, Anti-colonial nationalist, and political ethicist.   Known for his non-violent protest, and leadership in making India an independent nation.  1869-1948.
     
  12. Carol Bossard
    “The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.  Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig in the elm tree was ridged inch-deep with pearl.”*
    And so, the cycle begins again. Winter has arrived, and will undoubtedly outstay its welcome, before our portion of the earth slowly finds spring. Just as we are enjoying spring, summer will suddenly pounce upon us, with all its heat and greenness. Eventually, golden fall will enchant us once more before we find ourselves back into winter again, a year from now. I am finally, in my older years, beginning to look at the “big picture” instead of always focusing on the close-up of often-worrisome details, though I still do the latter too often. This movement through twelve months seemingly took more time, thirty years ago, than it takes now. Of course that is a matter of perspective. If I could do anything with my writing, I’d etch in fiery words, the idea that: every moment is precious; that even in negative moments, we are full of life, and because of that, are able to find shining gleams of gold amid the darkness.

    January has always been a hopeful month, for me. It begins a new year, and there might be great possibilities ahead. The calendar pages are mostly empty of obligations. But, Oh. woe! January has suddenly filled up with doctors’ appointments which is not a really good omen. But isn’t it fine to have those skilled medical people available when needed? Our son came by the other day, having back issues, and growled: “Just who decided these were the golden years?” He has a long way to go before he can consider himself old, but he is absolutely right; aging brings challenges; and not just physical ones. I remember a friend, who was nearing 100 years, wondering why she was still alive when all her friends had passed on. At a small party she said: “I do enjoy all of you, but I am sad that there is no one left with whom I can share past experiences, who will understand them. It is true that as one’s generation thins, and as one’s capabilities ebb, one does wonder.  But life itself,  with all of its troubles, is reason enough, isn’t it?  Even though I cannot whirl around in a polka, get the house cleaned in a day, plant four garden beds in an afternoon, or throw a 12th-Night party, I am alive and so far, lucid,  a solid resource for our sons, grandchildren and family members.  Kerm and I are a reliable “constant” for at least a while longer.
    Albert Camus said: “The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.  Inside this aging body is a heart that is still curious, still as hungry, still as full of longing as it was in youth.  I sit at the window and watch the world pass by, feeling like a stranger in a strange land, unable to relate to the world outside, and yet within me burns the same fire that once thought it could conquer the world.  And the real tragedy is that the world still remains so distant and elusive, a place I could never quite grasp.”**  I don’t regard my world as alien as Camus  apparently felt, but perhaps that is because my world smaller and I have no desire to conquer those larger realms to which he refers.  I do understand though, how one can feel young inside, regardless of parchment skin, whitening hair, and stiff joints. The inside person sometimes bears little relevance to the outside shell. According to the “young” part of my mind, I could square dance the evening away, buy the church that is for sale and turn it into a tea/book shop, or start an after-school spot for kids to gather. Fortunately, my “common sense” part kicks in and swats me (Gibb’s-style), bringing me back to reality.
    I recently heard a podcast by Dr. Kelly and Juliet;*** they were discussing signs of not aging well. One of the top signs was lack of mobility; increased episodes of falling and being unable to get up from the floor or the ground. Since this recently happened to me, and I was still recovering from that fall in November, I took special note of what they were saying. Bone-Builders has ceased to be in my community, so I’ve done no specific exercises to strengthen the legs. After listening to that, I have decided to begin again, regardless of how boring it is to exercise alone. It is important to me to maintain both mobility and independence. It is distressing to all concerned, when I must be picked up off the floor. So, in addition to the exercises, I will walk in the snow (carefully, with my new pointy cane) and take time for deep-breathing to strengthen my lungs, and maybe my balance. While out there, I’ll only visualize making snow angels and sliding down the hill.  Just visualize!
    And now that I’ve mentioned snow, we’ve had a weather-cycle of light snow, melting away, and light snow again.  No huge amounts but a constant covering.  There seemed to be more, and it lasted longer, when I was growing up.  Of course, I lived near Rochester, so we got lake-effect from Lake Ontario. I remember making snow forts, snow angels, and snowmen quite frequently when told to “get your nose out of that book and go outside!”  In my teen years, we had sledding parties or skating parties, with hot chocolate afterward --- some delightful ones by moonlight.  And we occasionally tobogganed; a hazardous sport when barbed wire fences are involved.

    Another part of my winter experience was how difficult it could be for dairy farmers when snowy roads closed. Until the 1960s, the road I lived on was unpaved; iffy driving in snow and mud.  One snow storm, I remember, made it impossible for the milk truck to get through to our farm for two-three days. Cows do not stop giving milk just because there is nowhere to put it.  So after all the milk cans were filled, we began finding other containers. Our final resort was sterilizing and then filling the bath tub with milk. My father swore me to secrecy, but I think that after 70 years, it’s probably OK to share what was a creative and frugal winter necessity. Today’s milk tanks may make excess storage easier perhaps, but I if I had a dairy farm, I’d keep a few of the old milk cans around, just in case.
    As we begin this year of 2025, I’ve been trying to equip my mind for happy things that this year may bring. Conscious gratitude may be a buffer against the frightening things; that are blatantly evident on every newscast and newspaper.  Besides the activities mentioned above, there are some cold season blessings we may choose to make our winter pleasant. None of them involve TV, social media or driving in snow!  We don’t have hot chocolate often, but once in a while, it is a comfortable way to end the day. Making soups; bean and ham, vegetable/beef, chicken noodle, potato; they taste great and make the house smell wonderful.  Those stacks of books or magazines?  What better time to read them than when we want to be cozily inside.  A recent cartoon showed a girl sitting in a chair surrounded by stacks of books.  The caption read: “Books won’t solve your problems, but ---- neither will housework. Read!”  My sentiments too!  There is music; because we are inside, we listen more often or maybe even produce some music ourselves. Popcorn and movies at home drown out those cold winds.

    Brisk breezes and fresh snow have a way of clearing the mind of sludgy thoughts too. A walk outside is good for both the mind and body. A warm coat, mittens and good boots are necessities, and most people in my age category should probably use a ski pole, cane or walking staff for balance.  One of my jobs (before falling) was filling bird feeders. I may moan slightly in mid-afternoon, about going out into the cold, but once out there, I enjoy the chickadees bopping about, the tree branches against the sky, the flash of a cardinal, and checking who’s been by; via the tracks of rabbits, cats, mice, deer, and other visitors.
    January offers time to absorb some new ideas; to broaden our experiences, maybe to reach out to community in some way.  The Spencer Grange used to have what we called a “Winter Wake-Up.”  It was a dish-to-pass for anyone who wished to come. It brought a wide mix of people.  There was conversation, sometimes musical instruments for a fun jam, and games or dancing.  Being a comfortable part of a community is important, and we need to get together  often. There are also many places to volunteer for everyone’s good: Food Pantry, Fire Station, Lion’s Club, Library, churches, etc.
    As we observe this yearly cycle, pay attention to the world around us – the star patterns, the times of meteor showers, changes in daylight hours. Taking the time to watch the sun rise or set is a pleasure for the soul.  January skies can be brilliant.  And increased daylight hours lift my spirits.  So, begin this year’s cycle with relishing each day and being grateful for all the small beautiful happenings.  Stay connected – with people around you, with the earth and skies, and with your own feelings and thoughts.  Then, no matter what difficulties pop up in 2025, as they surely will, you will be glad you are alive and perhaps even grateful for January.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *James Russell Lowell – American poet and diplomat.  1819-1891.
    **Albert Camus, from “The Fall”. --- French writer, dramatist, activist.  1913-1960.
    ****Dr. Kelly and Juliet--- American mobility trainers.
  13. Carol Bossard

    The Day After

    By Carol Bossard,

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

    I used to be madly sewing holiday pajamas for our small sons, robes for grandmas, sachet bags, neckties, etc.  Said sons are quite large now, and can acquire their own pajamas, and I plan no more sewing projects for them or anyone else.  In the kitchen, I no longer make six kinds of candy and a dozen kinds of cookies. I find two or three kinds of cookies and one batch of fudge is more than sufficient ---especially when everyone is watching their A1C and trying to stem the tide of weight gain.  Now, usually when my head begins spinning, I very sensibly sit down and listen to some Christmas music, from the Kings’ Singers, Enya, the Monks of the Weston Priory or Rod McKuen. And I am restored. When one lightens the daily weight of too much to do, and moving too fast, it becomes possible to share the warmth and blessing of our personal Light within.
    This year, because I had the misfortune of falling and injuring both ankles, just before Thanksgiving, I’m slowed down by necessity. Talk about bad timing! Or is it? While I am recovering, it is certainly difficult to rearrange furniture, hang the greens and buzz about in my usual speedy manner. And that is a bit frustrating, but impaired ability has taught me several things: 
    1) It isn’t so bad to allow people to help you. I greatly enjoyed Thanksgiving where my only contribution was a casserole of Dutchess potatoes taken from the freezer.  I have felt blessed by the flowers, applesauce, Emails and cards from friends. I also was grateful for the kind assistance provided by sons and daughters-in-law.  
    2)  For right now, I have discovered that I can enjoy the season without some of the decorations and traditions that I thought necessary. This may not be true of every year, but the world actually doesn’t fall apart if I take a nap instead of decking the halls.  
    3) This experience has helped me to sort out what is important to our happiness and what is ephemeral. There is much that is pleasant and pretty but won’t be missed. I save my limited energy for what delights me.
    One of those things is putting out simple seasonal decorations. I like pumpkins on the porch for Halloween and Thanksgiving, and then evergreens for Christmas.  When it is time (and this year, the days were so warm that the jack-o-lanterns sagged quickly), the pumpkins go to the turkeys and deer. Then, the green wreaths with red velvet bows, take over the porch. I enjoy the annual reappearance of old ornaments, setting up the creche with all our odd, collection of santons (figures), and creating a winter scene with the Sno Babies.  And I love the large bouquet of seeded eucalyptus that I only get at this time of the year. There will be one difference this year. My rearrangement of the living room in September, left no room for squeezing in a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree. Just none!!  I’m very skilled too, at squeezing things in, but even I can’t do it this time.  So, for the second time in our lives, we will be having a table tree.
    Our first, and so far, only table tree was in 1964, our first Christmas together. We lived in what was optimistically called an “efficiency apartment” just over the D.C. line into College Park, Maryland.  This abode consisted of a tiny kitchen, a miniscule bathroom, and a slightly larger room that doubled as a living room and bedroom, in the below-ground level of a house. Kerm was in grad school, and I had been working all of three months, as a 4-H and Youth educator for Maryland Cooperative Extension. To mention that our budget was tight would be redundant. Kerm finally found an “affordable” Scotch pine ($35 in 1964 was considerable!!  Rent was only $95/month!), and set it up on the only possible piece of furniture,  an oak dresser. We found some shiny inexpensive ornaments, a string of lights, and a box of tinsel. This was our first Christmas tree. And it was beautiful!

    Another dilemma created by our extremely limited income that year, was with Christmas gifts. At the time, I was accustomed to giving to 14 nieces and nephews as well as the adults in our lives.  What could we do?  Happily, we found an unusual solution to part of our problem, as we were exiting a five and dime store. There was a 16-inch-tall “Gonk” on display; a creature that resembled the Shmoos in the “Lil Abner cartoons.*  When inflated, they kind of rocked and popped back up when knocked over. And they were $2 apiece.  What a success they were!  As the living room, at Christmas filled with gonks, everyone laughed and laughed, and one kid who we thought too old for a gonk, complained that he hadn’t gotten one. Happy Christmases do not have to be expensive. Inflation has made gifting a bit harder, but ingenuity still works. Baked gifts and home-made candy are always wonderful and so are promissory notes for helping out at a later time.
    I grew up with a regular Christmas tree every year with lights, tinsel, and Shiny Brite ornaments, as did Kerm. Sometimes we even had “angel hair” (popular in the 1950s), that prickly-to-the-hands stuff made of spun glass, resembling cotton candy.  But after my father died, and my mother was alone, the large tree became too much for her to handle, even with help.  She gradually drifted into setting up a large crock full of evergreen branches from her own landscaping---spruce, fir, pine, and yew.  Her decorations were simple, often just bright red bows or white snowflakes! She passed the Shiny Brite ornaments on to us. I was a little sad to see that change, but the fragrance and the vision of the mixed greens was just as Christmas-y as a tree stretching from floor to ceiling.  And the really important thing, that we came home to find, hadn’t changed  the pleasure of being together.
    Humans need togetherness to really thrive in life. If one’s blood family isn’t compatible, then we must create a family from friends.   No one should allow themselves to be isolated.  Everyone has heard that “no man is an island unto himself,”* and this is quite true. We need each other.  Some of us are more comfortable than others with plenty of alone time.  But every single one of us also craves companionship.  One of the worst results of the pandemic,  in addition to the deaths, and loss of many small businesses, was the effect of isolation on people. It created major difficulties for kids who were doing all of their schoolwork on line, and also for adults who had no social resources.  Some elderly people in nursing homes died without family nearby; they weren’t allowed in. I hope that if another such time comes along, we realize how damaging all that isolation can be, and will try some ideas for mitigating the loneliness even as we try to keep from spreading disease (masks are useful things after all)   We are undeniably interconnected!

    The light from the sun is needed for our survival on earth. The Light that we seek, each year in December, in the seasons of Chanukah and Christmas is necessary for our spiritual enlightenment and growth.  And Kwanzaa also reminds us about the blessing of Light and a supportive community.  Releasing some of the weight of our imaginary holiday burdens and taking time to find lightness of spirit, is the purpose of Advent.  Christmas Eve is only 12 days away. Chanukah begins at sundown on Christmas Day. Kwanzaa begins on the 26th. With dark clouds (both real and metaphorical) around every corner, carrying Light within is not always easy.   I think that this next year may be one of those difficult times for many.  We need a spiritual connection with a Higher Power than our own, we need to realize our ties to and responsibility for the earth, and we always need each other.  A personal in-filling and sharing of Light is what saves humanity and this world.  Leo Tolstoy*** knew that when he said: “There is something in the human spirit that will survive and prevail --- a tiny and brilliant light burning in the heart of man that will not go out, no matter how dark the world becomes.”  May this holiday time be full of blessings for you --- music, laughter, good memories and a strengthening of your spirit.  Let your Light shine!
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *”Lil Abner” by Al Capp ---American cartoonist and humorist, known for his satirical cartoon, “Lil Abner”.  1909-1979.
    **John Donne ---English poet, scholar, soldier and cleric in the Church of England.  “No man is an island”  came from Meditation XVII --- a study of the relatedness of humans.
    ***Madeleine L’Engle – American writer and teacher.  Wrote both young person and adult fiction and non-fiction.  1918-2007.
    ****Leo Tolstoy – Of the Russian nobility and a well-known writer.  1828-1910.
  15. Carol Bossard

    Sensing November

    By Carol Bossard,

    “Something told the wild geese it was time to go. Though the fields lay golden, something whispered ‘SNOW”! Leaves were green and stirring, berries luster-glossed. But beneath warm feathers, something cautioned ‘FROST!’ All the sagging orchards steamed with amber spice, but each wild breast stiffened at remembered ice. Something told the wild geese it was time to fly ---summer sun was on their wings, winter in their cry.”*
    There is something about hearing geese fly over, especially at night. Their call ignites a breathless wish to fly along with them ---- to escape the routine and anxiety; to be free, to explore warmer, sunnier, magical places. When mid-November comes, if snow hasn’t already made an appearance, we know that it will be along soon. I like the brown, taupe and gray tones of November, especially before the snows come. I like the designs of the bare tree branches against the sky. I like the textures and patterns, the different shades of brown along the roadside; the round galls on golden rod stems, the delicate tan cups of Queen Anne’s Lace, and the many-shaped seed heads that stand ready to drop their fruitfulness everywhere. And I like foggy mornings that disappear into sunshine two hours later. Sunlight becomes more precious because of its rarity.  It is said that we have five senses (sight, smell, touch, sound, and taste), but there is a nameless, sixth sense, that pops up serendipitously when certain things alert us, like flying geese.

    Because of our travels, the recent untimely (in my opinion) deaths of friends, and All Saint’s Day back on November 1st, I’ve been reminiscing and remembering. I often wonder about my memory files; how many of them must be squished, in confused disorder, into my brain somewhere. If only there were a guaranteed way to call them forth at need. Instead, they make random appearances, often oddly mixed and strangely unrelated to whatever I am doing. I can’t really blame my brain for refusing to organize itself; I’ve always disliked filing, as anyone who viewed my desk would know; I’m sure the brain that fills my head, had something to do with that. However, the oddest things come popping into my consciousness, uncalled.  Sometimes it is the snatch of a song like: “Tell me a story, tell me a story, oh tell me a story, remember what you said. You promised me, you said you would; you gotta give in so I’ll be good.  Tell me a story and then I’ll I go to bed.”  I can’t remember how old that song is (very) ---- or when I last heard it (when my kids were little?). And then there are those unconscious, jumbled memories that assemble themselves into strange dreams during my sleeping hours.  If I could remember then all, they’d surely make successful novels.
    A couple of fine writers have books about how all of our senses impact our daily lives; Gretchen Rubin --- The Five Senses, and Diane Ackerman – A Natural History of the Senses.  Touch, for example. The accidental touch of a nettle leaf reminds me, not happily, of the time I grabbed a whole plant, not realizing its nasty potential. It is a good thing that nettle has other, good qualities, both edible and cosmetic.  The soft velvet of mullein leaves is as soothing to my fingers as mullein tea is to a bronchial cough Touching any of the herbs fills the air with fragrance. When I’m wrapped in my great-grandmother’s quilt, or the soft, knitted throw made by my daughter-in-law, I am warmed twice; my body by the extra layer, and my soul when thinking of all the stitches that went into these gifts.
    When preemie babies are in the hospital for a time, volunteers come in to stroke or hold those babies.  Without human touch, babies do not thrive. It is true of other creatures; baby chimps need touch or they die. Foals and calves all need a mother’s tongue to bring them into full life. I remember hearing from a client in a nursing home how she missed human contact. Her remaining family was sparse, she didn’t have children, and there were few, if any, times that someone hugged her or held her hand.   That came to mind as I watched an episode of “Bones” on TV.  The whole scientific staff was shut behind glass doors on Christmas Day because of some toxin that had accidentally been loosed.  Their families could only come to visit them with the glass barrier in in between. And as each family came, they put their hands on the glass and “touched” the fingers of their imprisoned loved one. Without any words, this segment emphasized the importance of touch; how crucial to our well-being.
    A kind of touch, hugging has now become more common as a greeting, especially if it has been a while since people have been together. And that is a good thing, I think. I was a little slow to accept hugging, especially from people I didn’t know all that well or at all. My first exposure came at a Faith-At-Work conference. In my growing-up world, my parents hugged me, but we didn’t casually hug others. At this conference, everyone was hugging everyone. We had come to this event with our pastor and his wife.  Kerm had no trouble with hugging and neither did Connie, our pastor’s wife.  However, Bill and I stood a bit apart, watching, as if we were afraid hugging was contagious. And you know, it was, and is!  By the end of the conference, we were hugging fellow attendees along with everyone else.
    I think that all of us should probably make the effort to be a bit more touchy-feely with people, especially those who are so alone. When visiting people in lonely circumstances, it might be kind, and even healing,  to hold a hand or give a gentle shoulder hug.  I have a friend who, when he comes into a room, often gives shoulder massages.  It is a kind gesture to those of us who travel through life with tenseness in, around, and about us. And I know he does that in nursing homes when he visits. Touch - so important to our health and how we feel about ourselves!

    Another task that employs touch, and sight, and smell, and brings memories surging back in, is going through old blanket chests and cupboards.  Mine have some wonderful old textiles: blankets, quilts, laces, and linens that my mother either inherited or acquired over her 94 years of living, and a few more that I’ve found in my auction forays. There are two possible scents; lavender and sweet clover ---both of which she  (and I) included in the chests.  Because we really need to down-size, I have given quite a few things away, but I’m running out of people who care for these old items.  It is the same with lovely old dishes, glassware, and silver.  No one wishes to wash things by hand, and everyone wants cups and plates that can be microwaved. Wedgewood, Spode, and Minton may be prestigious names in the porcelain world, but they carry little influence with the digital generation. (I did notice that new Spode plates can be microwaved.) As I imagine the lives of my grandmother and great grandmother who wove the blankets and pieced the quilts, and who owned the dishes and glassware, I am grateful for the lovely items, of course but also for all of the unseen qualities that I inherited from them.  I know their lives were often difficult, and I feel their strength flowing into me when there are challenges to be met, as there surely are right now and as there are in every era.
    Speaking of gratitude, we have only a few days until Thanksgiving. Our family gatherings have changed over the years, as things tend to do. We used to drive two hours to be with extended family. Now, in a different era, we gather with our own family; all eight of us, plus an occasional friend or two.  When I look around the table, I am still happy and thankful for the company and the day.  I think that gratitude for simply living, waking in the morning and being mobile,  is a daily crash course in glad awareness for all of our senses.  Especially do I appreciate that unexpected sixth sense that comes so unexpectedly and with a a touch of strangeness.
    As we move further into November, this poem, by Dixie Willson**, speaks of that un-named sixth sense, and seems appropriate: “I like the fall, the mist and all, I like the night owl’s lonely call –and wailing sound of wind around.  I like the gray November day, and bare, dead boughs that coldly sway against my pane. I like the rain. I like to sit and laugh at it ---And tend my cozy fire a bit.  I like the fall ---- the mist and all.”
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Rachel Field --- “Something Told The Wild Geese”.  She was an American poet, novelist, and children’s fiction writer.
    **Dixie Willson –An American writer, author of children’s books, novels and short stories as well as poetry.  1890-1974.
  16. Carol Bossard
    Every year, I’ve written about Halloween, but never had the opportunity to send out an essay ON Halloween. As you know, this is a popular, and controversial,day. The word comes from the Celtic “Samhain” (pronounced Sa-ween). It was the Harvest festival and beginning of the new year in Ireland and surrounding regions; sort of like New Year’s Eve for us. The belief, at that time, was that on Samhain, the “curtain” between the here and the hereafter was very thin. Uneasy or angry souls could come back to admonish/ take vengeance on those who had caused them grief during life on earth. So, people carried candle-lit vegetables (lanterns were too expensive for many) at night, to feel safer, going from one place to another. And, of course, all sorts of spooky legends have grown up around this day, involving “eye of newt and toad spit,” ghosts, skeletons, headless horsemen, dressing up as someone else, bon fires, and Jack-o-lanterns.
    Some people find this autumn celebration, at the very least, annoying, and others, totally unacceptable, feeling that it promotes Paganism and maybe, actual evil. Some just ignore it, pulling the curtains to avoid trick & treaters. Others find it fun to dress up, to go trick-or-treating, or to have parties with slightly spooky games and steaming punch. We probably fall into the latter category, for we have had several Halloween parties over the years, sewed costumes for our children and grandchildren, and carved many a Jack-o-lantern. Mostly our boys did not go trick or treating; we had the parties instead, that included skits, mazes, seasonal food, and campfires.  Our former house had a split-level attic with gables.  It was perfect for a Halloween maze. That was the same year we took the “Duck, Duck” skit from “The Electric Company” (or was it “Sesame Street”?) and reproduced it in our living room. Home-made costumes became pajamas or went into the dress-up box when Halloween was over.  One year a Mexican student was staying with us; he was part of an “Up With People” performance, and his group was having a Halloween party. From our capacious dress-up box, we outfitted him with my sister’s nurse’s cape and a fake moustache, until, with his dark, good looks, he made a convincing Dracula.  He only had to buy fake fangs!  Note: everyone needs a costume box, it’s not just for Halloween.
    I do think that many lawn decorations observed in our recent travels, are too expensive, and of dubious taste - macabre even. The dancing circles of ghosts are kind of fun. Some amusing displays in several places this year are using the fake skeletons. On one lawn there were probably a dozen skeletons busily “working”; mowing, raking, pushing a cart!  And just down the road from us, a line of skeletons stands on guard, outside an old barn.  They really should be chicken skeletons; that barn was full of poultry when we moved here.  And ---- a warning about those cob-webby things that people drape over shrubbery; they create lethal traps for good insects (butterflies, moths, bees) and some small birds, so, not good. Thus far, I’m sticking to pumpkins, corn stalks and a scarecrow or two and a treat for any kid who makes it up our long driveway.
    Some believe I’m too casual about Halloween. I do not dismiss the potential for evil in this world, and I know that on Halloween some misinformed individuals are involved in unpleasantness like a black mass and similar unsavory practices. I believe however, these are minimal and obvious when compared to the evils caused by greed and the worship of power and money. I think we find more real evil in respectable places; Congress, country clubs, business offices, yachts, and arenas; places we do not necessarily expect evil to be.  Wealth, status and glib language impress too many, and can create moral blindness!  This obtuseness allows us to shrug off daily practices of injustice, greed, abuse and hate-mongering. So, a fun celebration of Halloween seems relatively innocent in comparison.

    There are other special days at about the same time.  When Christianity was introduced into the Celtic regions of Europe, the new religious leaders made a habit of “revising” pagan holidays, turning them into Christian celebrations.  Halloween became “All Soul’s (or All Hallows Eve) Eve” and the day after Halloween became “All Saints’ Day.”  These are times to remember the wonderful people in our lives; those still with us, and those who are no longer here, but who have impacted us in good way.
    For our first Christmas together with family, Kerm’s Grandma Storm quietly asked me if we went to church.  I replied that we did --- but not every Sunday.  She nodded and said: “That’s good.  You’ll go more after a while.”  This turned out to be quite true.  When we moved to Pennsylvania, the pastor of the church we chose, and his wife, not only made us welcome, but made sure we had many opportunities to grow.   They convinced us we should teach Sunday school --- which guaranteed we’d be there every week and created so-o-o many learning experiences!    The pastor was new and we were new, and we shared some fine occasions.  In Livingston Manor, we became better acquainted with the Jewish faith and Catholicism via good friends and participation in Interfaith Marriage Encounter.  And in Spencer, we’ve found guidance and examples in good pastors and good people.  As we look backward, we are very grateful for all our grandmas, grandpas, aunts, pastors and wise friends who have blessed us in many ways.
    Speaking of special days, the autumn time change is about to be inflicted upon us.  This very weekend, Daylight Savings Time will be whisked away, the clocks will be turned an hour backward, and, in another month, it be dark at 4:30, Standard Time. There is one friend in my life (I suppose there could possibly be more…) who rejoices over this day that gives her an extra hour. People who like this end of the time change, tend to get up early. I do not, so I don’t need morning light as much as I need late afternoon/evening light. As a result, that first weekend in November always leaves me a tad grumpy, even supposedly having had an extra hour of sleep.  I look forward, with eagerness, to the winter solstice in December. My motto is “bring back the light”!!
    Life goes on, and as we come to the end of October (a most delightful month) and waltz into November (an iffy month), we have about three weeks to enjoy the month’s variations of time and weather before the holidays are upon us and we are caught up in the rushing hither and yon. I must bake fruitcakes (a new tradition begun after I retired).  I wait to bake them until I’m sure the bears have denned; I’d be upset should a hungry bear break into our porch for the fruit cakes he smells mellowing there. Now lest you try to tell me that even bears won’t eat fruit cake, I will inform you that my fruit cakes are yummy!  The spicy cake batter is full of raisins, glazed fruit, pear conserve, pecans, Brazil nuts, almonds, and a “touch” of B&B Liqueur. The cakes rest a while, and are basted again with B&B Liqueur, after which they are ready to share with other fruit cake lovers.  And my afternoon tea time becomes an especially a delightful experience.  (And a razz-berry or two, to my fruit-cake-denying sons and husband!)

    Even more fun than fruitcakes was our recent pinochle night. We used to play frequently, but life has gotten more complicated, so a pinochle evening is nearly an annual event now.   Unfortunately, when there are long gaps between activities, some of us tend to forget what we are supposed to do.  Is there a right and left bower?  Nope, that’s euchre.  Oh, someone must open with a bid?  What makes meld again? “What do you mean a king of hearts can’t marry a queen of diamonds?  We managed to pull ourselves back up to speed after two or three hands so we could actually converse and play cards at the same time, and we were reminded of how much we enjoy each other.  We also observed that two or three people still should be sent to “Over bidders Anonymous!”  We aren’t serious about our card-playing but we are very serious about the good it brings into our days. I am convinced that the camaraderie and laughter build up our immune systems.  And the recall of our playing skills keeps our minds agile.  Friends and fun are undeniably as health-building as vitamins!!
    On this day of ghosts, goblins and big, orange pumpkins, I hope you will be doing something good, fun or refreshing.  A line from this appropriate poem should challenge our senses: “….listen…..with faint, dry sound, like steps of passing ghosts, the leaves, frost-crisped,  break from the trees and fall….”* Look with kindly tolerance at costumed kiddies, having a fine time scuffling through those same dry leaves.  Think about old Ireland and the interesting Druid theology that led to many of our customs today.  And take time to appreciate daily life here and now.  Even with so many frightening things in our world (including the coming elections), there are stars in the sky, birds singing, puppies rolling on rugs and music waiting for the listening ear. And --- “October baptize me with leaves!  Swaddle m e in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup.  October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins.  O Autumn! O teakettle! O grace!”**
    And take responsibility!  We have good lives in this imperfect but fine land.  You may have grievances, but living here is still better than in most other countries of this world.   Be a good citizen and VOTE!!!  No excuses!
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *from a poem (November Night) by Adelaide Crapsey --- American poet and writer from Rochester, NY.  1878-1914.
    **Rainbow Rowell –American author known for young adult and contemporary adult novels.
  17. Carol Bossard
    These first two weeks of October have flown by,  as have most days and months, to my over-busy mind. Suddenly we need a fire in the wood stove on chilly mornings. The plants that I will attempt to overwinter are inside now and the garden looks relieved that fall has come and it can sleep until spring. If you could get an opinion from my garden, I’m quite sure it would relate a sad story about being neglected; that the summer was tough, the weeds grew tall, September brought little rain, and it is feeling unloved! Fortunately, it is now time for good gardens to go dormant and to build up hopes for next year.   There is no longer any possibility of hanging onto summer, though one may still plant a few more spring bulbs.  But nix on another row of lettuce and there’s no basking in the hot, hot sun or gardening in as few clothes as possible. It is now time for flannel shirts and wool socks.

    We harvested both tomatoes and potatoes, but neither were abundant nor were they large. And the tomatoes were rather tasteless. Other gardeners in this area agreed, about their tomatoes. My radishes grew out of control, but I have waited until now to pull them.  In their over-growth, they bore lots of small white flowers, and I noticed that bees were all over the flowers.  Since I didn’t have all that many flowering annuals this year, I thought leaving the radish flowers would be a kind thing to do. Bees need all the help they can get, but hmmm… I wonder how radish honey would taste????!
    We’ve been pruning things quite severely this fall; my lilacs have all acquired some disease and many of their branches have died.  The leaves aren’t looking good either; most of them fell a month ago after becoming brown and dry.   I’m hoping that some of them show life next spring.  I would hate to lose that wonderful purple mist and the fragrance.  Other shrubs have grown out of control --- seemingly suddenly, though I’m sure they have been sneakily growing bit by bit until ----ZOOM---- they could take over the house. I can understand how the impenetrable rose hedge grew up around Sleeping Beauty in the old fairy tale. And good for the prince; it takes real courage, not to mention muscle, to fight with a determined shrub!  Kerm has had a many-years-war with multiflora roses and one or two of my climbing ones.
    In the last essay, I spoke of depression, an ailment that plagues so many people. I seldom succumb to it in the Fall of the year; instead, I feel a certain lassitude --- lack of ambition to accomplish. By mid-October, I have this strong urge to curl up in a corner of the couch with my wonderful wooly coverlet and a stack of books. Depending on the time of day, there should be either a cup of tea or a cup of hot chocolate on the end table. I wonder if this is the autumn version of Spring Fever!  It seems to be how I transition into late fall and early winter.  Unfortunately, my desire to be inert, does little to accomplish house-keeping or meal-preparation☹.  So,eventually, out of guilt and necessity, I try to summon enough energy to put in another load of laundry, make that casserole, and get at those cobwebs.  I fully agree with “Alice**” who when she was “Through The Looking Glass” said: “’Oh, it is too bad, ‘she cried. ‘I never saw such a house for getting in the way.  Never!’”*
    Deer season is nearly with us again, so for the deer who take up residence on our hill it is a time to be extra-alert. Our son has been chopping his way up our hill and I’m sure the deer are observing. Over the summer, big winds have blown down quite a few large branches that now bar advancing feet or vehicles. Shawn has both a tree-stand and a blind up there somewhere, and he hopes that after a few weeks, those structures will seem “normal” to the deer, but I believe deer may be smarter than he thinks. Shawn hunts with a crossbow and a gun in the appropriate seasons. Since he likes venison and uses it, I don’t give him grief about hunting deer. I am aware that the deer population, without enough natural predators, tends to over-run gardens, cause many an accident on the roads, and spread disease among themselves. So, hunting is useful to mitigate what we humans have done to unbalance nature. But I am also glad that when the hunter drives down the driveway, the deer come out to eat our wild apples and bird seed. Sometimes I’ve seen them emerge from the woods in time to watch Shawn’s truck roll down the driveway.

    September and October have been very social months. Friends from afar came to visit, so, of course, a party was absolutely necessary. A couple of days later, our neighbors came over for ice cream sundaes and conversation.  It is so easy to isolate one’s self; we are all busy, and sometimes we just don’t take the time to be neighborly. Getting together for informal fun helps us stay acquainted.  Over the first weekend in October, we drove to Vermont to spend some time with our son and family. The weekend after that, Kerm’s siblings and families came to our house for an afternoon of sharing stories and good food. We will continue our connecting by driving to Pennsylvania for a couple of days with friends there.
    Our time in Vermont exposed us to beautiful scenery during leaf-peeper season, and gave us time with our granddaughters, daughter-in-law, and son. We explored a bit, rode to Burlington to see Kaylah at college and got a glimpse of Ashlyn’s senior photo ops which, I assure you, are far more artistically done than my 1960 senior pictures. We feel very comfortable with Vermont’s twisty/often-dirt roads; we have spent vacation time there off and on for quite a few years.  The Green Mountains look very blue in the distance and the rock formations are impressive. The leaves were a beautiful mélange of colors.  It is hard to imagine that solid granite moving for any reason at all (rather like some people’s minds; great in the mountains, not so great in our thinking.). We don’t do as much traveling now, nor do we go as far as in former years, but getting out and about keeps us alert to the world around us.  We may not have all that many years to feel able to take off and safely drive whenever we wish.  So, we mustn’t waste an opportunity to do so while we can. We need to be with people who make our lives better just by being, and this time, we did miss some of those. I wish we’d had time to visit with all our New England friends and family while we were in Vermont. We didn’t want to neglect you, but time away does have its limits.

    Meanwhile it is mid-October, and may I call your attention to the old childhood craft of waxing colorful leaves and hanging them in the window? That is simple and fun, but there is actually another way to preserve them for a table arrangement.  ou will need a bottle of glycerin (local drug store) and water.  Make a solution of 2 parts boiling water to 1 part glycerin.Stir well and cool a bit.  Place your cut branches with lovely leaves into 3 inches of the solution and allow them to stand until the leave darken a bit.   Remove and arrange in a vase.  The attractive foliage will last for weeks. I plan to spray the Advent wreath (coming all too quickly) with this solution, as an experiment. Hopefully, it will keep the needles from drying out quite so soon. We don’t want a wreath fire to enliven our services; the services are (in a very good way, of course) quite lively enough already.
    Henry David Thoreau** wrote: “Live each season as it passes, breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.”  There are specific autumn aromas ---- decaying vegetation, sunshine on damp ground, burning leaves (though one really shouldn’t do this), drying grasses, and sometimes the sharp, cold smell of snow.  Every day has small, quiet happenings if we are observant.  Savoring these little miracles is how we grow in gratitude. We need to be appreciating whatever season we are in with all its quirks and delights. So do take time to really enjoy October before suddenly it turns into November.
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *“Through The Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll, an English author, poet, mathematician, photographer and Anglican Deacon.  1832-1898.
    **Henry David Thoreau --- quotation from “The Gardener’s Assistant.”  Thoreau was an American philosopher, poet, essayist and naturalist.  1817-1862.   
  18. Carol Bossard
    October can be the quintessential autumn month full of sunshine, changing foliage and mellow breezes, or, it can rain, blow, and even, very occasionally, snow. Kerm used to schedule a multi-county 4-H horse show on Columbus Day weekend, and several times, there was rain and twice, there was snow. And there have been a few snowy Halloweens. We’ll hope for a sunny and mellow October this year; we have a couple of road trips in mind, and want really good weather. Then too, family will be coming to our house for a get-together, and we’d hope roads would be good for their drive and for hiking up our “dragon-infested” hill (we put up a sign that said: “Beyond this there may be dragons!”). We’d like that perfect October day, when it is as though angels had made a night visit to touch up the leaves; making everything delightfully crisp, colorful and exhilarating. I’m glad my brain accepts angels and dragons; it makes life more interesting.
    While leaves are dancing in the breezes outside, inside, it is time for people-dancing. Community dances usually begin in the fall, and there will be the polka, square dancing and line dancing. Sadly, I don’t think I have energy or balance for either the polka or square dancing, but maybe line-dancing would work. FYI, the gem of the month is the opal (found largely in Australia), and the flower is the marigold, which is a bit odd since in many places, marigolds would be frosted by October. But the frilly blossoms do hold all the gold, mahogany, reds and oranges of fall. I thought I had none, but yesterday, I found three plants peeking brightly out from beneath the weeds. We have several family and friend birthdays in October. My brother, Ken’s birthday was at the end of October, often celebrated with a yummy molasses cake, and just a day later, Kerm’s parents marked their wedding anniversary. My sister-in-law celebrates her birthday mid-month as does a good friend. So, it is a month of festivities and memories.
    It is also, annually,a time to adjust things in my house, energy permitting. With  Kerm’s help, I rearranged the living room a week ago. This is not an easy task; the room isn’t all that large so there are not many choices for some of the large furniture. Things like the book case, the wood stove and a desk are sort of permanently in place. But I do what I can to change the setting a bit. Both sons dropped in at different times, but their query was the same – “Hmm --- you rearranged things. What prompted that?” Maybe their wives don’t disrupt things when they are once in place, but you’d think the boys would remember that pulling chairs and tables around and about is something I’ve always done. Moving furniture gives me a fresh perspective on life. And it also encourages some deeper cleaning than the norm.

    October, delightful though it might be, isn’t all bubbles and happiness. We were with a group of friends lately, chatting about many things, as in "The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings ---and when the sea is boiling hot--- and whether pigs have wings!”  Naturally, there was discussion of the looming election, which for most of us, created a heaviness of spirit. Then, the fall season itself, can, for some, bring discouragement and even, depression. Difficult events at the same time, can worsen this feeling; dancing is the las thing that depression wishes to do, and there seem to be many more dragons than angels!  As sunny days grow fewer in the Finger Lakes, the gray skies can bring bleak attitudes, rather like an emotional flu bug. Gloom that might vanish on a sunny warm day, hangs around and grows darker when the skies are gray or spitting out precipitation of some sort.   I have written before about depression because I have lived with it several times, as have a number of friends; it is neither fun to work through, nor easy to disperse. Those who have not experienced it are usually clueless about its depth and difficulties.    Admittedly, it is hard on the people around us when depression hits, but more understanding of the ailment and continued patience, can help. We need to talk about it!
    Depression, like any other ailment, can become even more serious if left too long untended. An analogy would be a broken leg; painful, but repairable. But if one leaves a broken leg untreated, infection may set in, then gangrene, and one might end up losing that leg, or even one’s life. Depression may begin as a light case of “the blues.”  But it can rapidly become a heavy enough cloud to engulf a person, who to needs the intervention of professional help.  Help may be talk- therapy or medication therapy, or both. There are also things that we can do individually that may hurry the process on.  Getting out and about (not easy but doable), interacting with other people --- especially those who are light-bearers to the soul are steps in healing. Reading books or watching videos or podcasts that talk about depression will also help, as does journaling.  Listening to music, being outside in fresh air and sunshine, and interacting with pets are all things that inspire us, and help to dissipate the block cloud that clogs our minds and spirits.  Whatever path we may choose, whichever changes to our lives we need, the important thing is to not ignore our feelings. We need to give ourselves the sort of care that will restore us to ourselves.  And I would say to everyone who is deep in despair, repeat these two mantras: “This too shall pass!”* and “I will STAY - the world needs me!”**
    October is time to ready ourselves for the cold months ahead. This month has enough rain and chilly wind to remind us that worse-weather days are coming. Even if we are not inclined toward depression, winter can be challenging, and we all need ways to get happily through it.  We repair the bird feeders, hoping that no more bears come by to pull them down. We check the insulation around Smoke’s cat bed by the back door and make sure there is straw in the former dog abode, for wandering feral cats. Kerm splits more wood and kindling to feed our morning fire in the wood stove.  We load up on sunflower seeds for the bird feeders, and chicken scratch for the wild turkeys. We surround the rose bushes and azaleas with burlap, protecting them from both wind and deer.  This does help, but the far-too-intelligent deer have learned to lean on the burlap cages, and squiggle their noses in for a leafy tidbit now and then.

    On Facebook, there is a fun sketch of a squirrel, scurrying up and down a tree, carrying stacks of books to his hole; attempting a good balance of nuts to novels.  Appropriate, for one of our fall jobs is to make very sure we have enough books to get us happily through the winter.  Of course, we have our own books, and we enjoy re-reading many of them. But we also need some new literary material. We go to used book stores, regular book stores and on-line sources. This might be a very good time to renew library cards; both Spencer and Van Etten have lots of great books, including ones for listening.  Too, there are library book sales- one coming up next week in Candor.  With sufficient books of many kinds: fiction, non-fiction, biographies, poetry, and even re-reading books from childhood like the Anne of Green Gables series, or the Black Stallion books,  you might not even notice the snow blocking your path or the sleet coming down.
    There is still time to get in any traveling we want to do before the roads become iffy. When I retired, I determined not to subject myself to slippery roads, ever again. I had driven, and ridden, on some perfectly dreadful ones to and from work. This hasn’t completely worked for me (unfortunately, Kerm considers bad roads a challenge!), but mostly I manage to stay inside, safely ensconced in my chair with a book. But October driving can be beautiful here in the northeast. Foliage is brilliant and even if the day is cloudy, the colors lend their light, brightening the day. So, we are off………
    As we go dancing (I hope) into Fall, and feel immense gratitude for our suddenly lovely surroundings, I would quote the poet, Mary Oliver: “You might see an angel anytime and anywhere.  Of course, you have to open our eyes to a kind of second level, but it’s not really hard.  The whole business of what’s reality and what isn’t has never been solved and probably never will be.  So, I don’t care to be too definite about anything.   I’ll just tell you this: I don’t care how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.  It’s enough to know that for some people, they exist and that they dance.”****
     
    ********
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    * Quotation taken from the seal ring of a Persian King, centuries ago.
    ** Quotation from Heather Leindecker   
    *** From The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll
    **** Mary Oliver –American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award.                                                     
  19. Carol Bossard
    Ah, September!!  Time for a few verses from my favorite autumn poem by Helen Hunt Jackson*.  I hope you enjoy its annual appearance too.
    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 milkweed 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. Be all these lovely tokens September days are here with summers best of weather and autumn’s best of cheer……..”
    “Dum-dum-ta-Dum!  Dum-Dum-Ta-Dum**……. Also in September, sixty years ago today, Kerm and I were married in a candle-lit service at the Victor Presbyterian Church. My created-by-me dress had a 3-foot train (kept flowing gracefully by sewing pennies in the hem), and I had invented a way to bustle the train after the ceremony so that I could walk around without sweeping the floor with a satin “broom.”  Our simple reception was in the church social area, and finger-food was provided by the church ladies. Our wedding cake was made by a friend; three graduated tiers with roses all around. I remember a lot of questions about where my train went; there was much laughter, and chatting as we moved around the room.
    Afterward, we had the quite unplanned, but exciting (not to mention, raucous!) adventure, of escaping an enthusiastic troupe of followers.  We were using a get-away car*** not our own, that had a reluctant engine, apparently not accustomed to high speeds.  Eventually, we lost the followers (they were too “frugal” to follow us onto a toll road), got off at the next exit, retrieved our own car --- safely parked in my brother’s corn field---- and were on our way to Lake George and points north and east.  With the wedding itself on our minds, and packing for a move to Maryland, I am quite sure that neither of us gave much thought to what 60 years together might be like.   We were young, our whole future before us.  Sixty years--- when we’d be OLD --- never crossed our minds.
    There were only two divorces in the generation of family prior to mine (two of my maternal aunts) and no one talked about them. Our boys had never heard of divorce until we watched “The Parent Trap.”  Now, divorce is a ready solution for impatience, poor choices and restlessness. I can’t remember the exact statistic, but a distressingly large percentage of kids in our current school district, come from single-parent homes. It is not that I think divorce is always wrong.  Sometimes people have such conflicting life views and goals that separating is the only solution.  And no one should endure abuse of any kind; when that happens, one should leave the abusing narcissist.  But I really think that too often, people don’t give their relationship a fair chance.  They may feel unhappy about each other, maybe someone else looks more attractive, perhaps things just aren’t working out well (“I deserve more!”) ----- and divorce is so handy and so acceptable.  However, being so reluctant about getting help for marital difficulties does annoy and puzzle me.   Why wouldn’t smart people try to mend things? Lack of communication and misunderstandings are problems that sometimes needs a mediator.  If two people loved each other enough to marry, at least trying to retrieve that love is surely worth the effort, unless, as I mentioned, abuse or totally different life views are involved.
    If people expect a smooth and effortless road through marriage, they are delusional.  Even the best marriage is not all bliss or one continuous honeymoon.  Love is not only an emotion; love is a choice!  We can choose to behave in loving ways that will build love --- or not.   We can allow chips to super-size on our shoulders, making no effort to pare them away.  Or we can choose to address irritants before they loom so large. Love and marriage are life-long learning experiences; they are probably supposed to be.   If enough effort, by both partners, is put into keeping a relationship viable, each individual grows, matures and becomes a better person.  A working sense of humor surely helps!

    Consider food likes and dislikes. Kerm’s mother, and my mother cooked differently, so we each grew up with some difference in our food expectations. In our first few months of marriage, I made a casserole from a new recipe. Kerm refused to eat it!   What was that green stuff in there??? It may, possibly, have looked a bit alien; as I remember it was a combination of rice, cheese, spinach, and I’m not sure what else. But only a few years later, he would at least try almost anything, even if there were suspicious-looking ingredients peeking out.  When he took me to meet his parents, he also scheduled in a dairy-judging show; not at all my usual venue for a date.  But I learned to enjoy watching the skill it took to convince a cow to walk calmly and pose prettily and have attended many cattle shows since.  When Kerm was in grad school, he took a horticulture course on trees.  Because there was much to memorize, he convinced me that I should help him drill ---- and now his trees are taking up space in my head, probably a good thing.  Over the years, constant exposure to music, and coercing him to sing along, have put a wider range of music into his head, also probably a good thing.   At our first auction, I bid on what I thought were a couple of crocks. When Kerm went up to retrieve them, we found that I had bought 13 crocks of the same gallon size.   We gave crocks full of cookies away as gifts for several years.  And we laughed!
    Not everything inspires humor. We’ve had spats, have gone off in huffy snits, and have hurt each other’s feelings.  I can’t say that we always obeyed the Biblical admonition to never go to bed angry, but we did manage to solve the problems, forgive the hurts, or decide that ten years from then, whatever it was, wouldn’t be important.  On the up-side, we agreed about basic line items; the importance of our faith, how we wanted to raise our children and our political leanings.  Neither of us cared much about wealth, social prominence or traveling the world.  Agreement in life expectations is crucial, I think.  Marriage is made up of highs and lows, of amazing times and awful times, exciting events and routine days, ordinary living and frightening episodes.  But for those who actively cultivate awareness, and kindness, life can be incredibly beautiful.
    Now that we have somehow stumbled into our eighties, we have new arenas of discussion; down-sizing -- what we want from these last ten or fifteen years of life here on earth, how we wish to live as our capabilities diminish.  It is never easy to sort things out, talk about them, and come to an agreement, but I figure if we could live through four teenage boys and their friends, two human services jobs, serving on the S-VE and BOCES Boards of Education, and all the other turmoil and choices that life brings, we can probably figure these things out too.  It is important to talk – to express feelings --- and to listen well.  There was a post, the source of which I’m not sure, but it is quite true.  “Relationships don’t last because of the good times (though those are important).  They last because the hard times were handled with love and care.”****
    Speaking of love and care, we’ve seen many examples of this in our families, among our friends, and in our communities.  If I miss a Sunday at church, someone calls to see if I’m OK.  Now that I can no longer drive due to vision loss, three friends besides my husband, have offered to take me where I need to go.  On a community level, neighbors keep track of one another --- not so closely as to be an irritant, but kindly, to know if there is a need.   A couple of weeks ago, because I was sort of grumbling that we hadn’t used our fire pit for nearly 2 summers, one of our daughters-in-law, son and granddaughter made a special effort to bring S’more ingredients and to start a campfire.  It was a beautiful, starry night with a full “blue” moon and we truly enjoyed the experience of sitting around the fire.    Of course, our surrounding wildlife creatures were probably muttering “WHEN will these humans go to bed so we can get a snack.” But they politely (and kindly?) kept their distance.  Kindness and awareness make a difference everywhere; living in community, happiness at work, and certainly in marriage and family.   Taking each other for granted is a pitfall we should recognize and avoid.
    For the rest of September, I am also looking forward to all the fun times, just enjoying them. I’m hoping we can make some good decisions for our future.  I’m thinking, too of the seasonal changes; of ripe apples, of purple asters and potted chrysanthemums, of canning tomatoes, and keeping a watchful eye out for our first frost. Since the days are observably shorter, I will pay more attention to enjoying my flowers and to soaking in the sunshine.  The golden days of September are unrolling for our enjoyment; let’s not let them fly by unnoticed.
     
    *********************
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Helen Hunt Jackson –American poet and writer.  1830-1885
    **This is Mendelssohn’s Wedding March --- in case you aren’t good at putting music to “Dum-Ta-Dums”.
    ***My apologies to Jim, whose car I have described here.  We appreciated the generous loan, but……that engine surely didn’t have many horses beneath that hood!  😊
    **** A post seen on FB ---- no source.
     
  20. Carol Bossard

    Summer Countdown

    By Carol Bossard,

    Late summer is a mélange of ripening aromas, dog-days heat, and lawns growing several inches per day. My Clethra shrub is in full bloom and very fragrant, along with clumps of phlox; both having a sweet and wholesome smell.  Yesterday, our road to an appointment was lined, on both sides, with corn fields. Growing, maturing corn has a distinctive perfume, a bit musky and just slightly sweet; it seems to be the signature scent of late August. Summer is calling us to enjoy while we have the chance.

    We have just returned from some time in Maine. All eight of us (sons and families) came together in Camden for a lovely five days of sea breezes and restoration. I seem to need seaside fragrances and sounds about once every two years or so. Kerm and I were celebrating our 60th anniversary (a little early) and our hosts at the High Tide Inn were amazing. They brought us a grill for cooking, a picnic table, and even a bottle of champagne! They also dubbed all of us “bookworms” because we all were so often found on the porch reading. Of course, there was hiking, and visiting little shops along the coves, but we mostly enjoyed just being. It was the perfect vacation for us --- to be with people we love, to have enough books and to sit, watching the boats sail by.
    Summer is coming to its end, not in actuality, but by custom. When school starts, summer is over for most people even though the equinox is a month away.  While our children were small, I spent some time as a substitute teacher. Subbing is an experience that every criticizing voter should have to perform, at least for a couple of days. And those who vote down budgets simply because they can, should be assigned to a month of teaching every grade.  It might instill some understanding of how difficult it is, how many skills it takes to encourage, teach, discipline, comfort and find resources for a classroom of anywhere from 25 to 45 kids. The general American attitude toward the needs of school kids leaves much to be desired; too often I’ve heard “If it was good enough for me, it should be good enough for my kids.” This is a short-sighted and selfish attitude toward those who will be growing up, in a world with new expectations and resources. Each generation must learn new things to maintain this good and changing country in which we live.  In an ideal world, teachers, parents, and communities should be working together to provide optimal education.
    Because substitute teachers are hard to come by, I was asked to teach everything from kindergarten to high school physics even though my major was home economics. Some teachers do leave lesson plans, but others, zilch! To make subbing days easier, I finally created a folder for each age group; something I could grab quickly after that early AM call, and full of things that would hold the interest of kids from K-12.    
    Perhaps the most important thing I learned as a sub was how crucial it is for kids to be respected and seen as individuals. It helps to visit the classrooms before teaching or at least, getting to know your own child’s friends. If kids know that you genuinely like them and care about them, they will interact in a positive way, mostly. There was the 9th-grade class in a science lab (with sinks and faucets), who had a field day dampening each other. However, when their teacher returned, they were given the task of writing apologies to me and the notes were both hilarious and endearing.  “Dear Mrs. B.; I don’t know what came over me…”

    One of my favorite memories involved a 5th or 6th grade kid,  a friend of our oldest son. This kid was a bit older, and a bit bigger, and he had been in reform school for a year. He had also been at our home for dinner once or twice.  I was working in the school library that day, when Shawn’s class came in.  The kids were a bit noisy and suddenly this older, bigger, tougher boy stood up and said: “You guys sit down and listen to Mrs. Bossard!”  And they did!  It pays to have friends among the troops. 😊  A teacher (substitute or regular) needs a good sense of humor.  Too much indignation, shock and glowering have no place in a learning-friendly classroom.  Kids desperately need people who look at them with caring, with liking and who are real and honest.  I’m sure I didn’t always exhibit those good things, but at least no one (to my knowledge) groaned when I walked in.
    A “funny bone” and ready laughter are needed outside the classroom too; needed for a good life. The Bible tells us that “A merry heart doeth good, like medicine!”* When  Normal Cousins,** an American political journalist, became seriously ill, and wasn’t getting better, he released himself from the hospital, rented a hotel room where he took a lot of Vitamin C, watched funny movies, and TV shows like “Candid Camera.”  He insists in his book, The Anatomy of An Illness, that his cure was greatly due to the laughter. I was relatively quiet in school, but I did find humor around me.  My favorite teacher wrote in my year book: “I’ll miss you; you made me smile even when I didn’t want to.”
    One of the joys of moving to Spencer was finding the people with whom we are now well-acquainted. For some reason, the Spencer-Van Etten area has collected a large number of community-minded, very creative, talented people, in music, crafts, and the arts of all kinds.   Among them, there are those with several kinds of quirky humor. Together, we’ve planned variety shows, dinner-theaters, concerts, musicales, and fun nights to combat winter’s “cabin fever.”  The events included singing, acting, and sometimes silly but always, clever skits.  Planning sessions, involving “All Wet Productions”, or the “Rescue Squad”, brought on gales of laughter, extravagant punning and a comfortable sense that we’d put something together that would entertain us and others.  These creating and planning together, built camaraderie, and all that laughter healed our tattered senses.  We’ve been fortunate to find so many kindred spirits.

    One of them, a retired teacher, had a good sense of how important it is for classrooms to be places where kids, in addition to book learning, also build camaraderie, discover how to settle disagreements, and learn self-control.  She was so good at this that I often wished we could recycle our boys just so they could experience life in her classroom, though they do seem to have accomplished all those things on their own.  Many people see the goal of education as acquiring reams of data, along with prestigious degrees.  However, learning how to think creatively, how to find answers for one’s self, and how to work with others is even more important.   One recent study warns parents that allowing toddlers too much screen time creates a well of anger inside that toddler,  maybe from the content of the screens, or maybe because they are missing out on other important toddler activities.  As we look at the world around us, it is quite evident that large numbers of people, for some reason, seem to be full of anger and jangled emotions, that spill over in unwelcome ways. In today’s tumultuous climate, I’d strongly recommend talk-therapy and anger management classes for grades one - twelve.
    Horace Mann*** said: “A teacher who is attempting to teach without inspiring the pupil with a desire to learn, is hammering cold iron.”  In a classroom of needy, diverse kids, being inspirational is no easy task.  In less than two week yellow buses will be rolling up and down our roads. Perhaps as we see kids heading back to school, we can give some thought to how each of us can be part of a more wholistic education.   Our schools could use the community of supportive adults as a resource. And if each of us did such a simple thing as sending out prayers and good vibes for our schools, every morning, as the bus goes by, that could make a difference.
    Speaking of a difference, have you noticed that daylight hours are noticeably shorter?  It is dark here at 8:30 and a bit before that while we were in Maine. Goldenrod brightens the roadsides as well as my gardens.  I pull it out in the spring, but seldom get it all, and now it is tall and deeply-rooted. The days have flown by so quickly since June, and this quotation expresses my feelings well: “The summer is so radiant I cannot see it go.  I hug it closely to me for its final warmth and glow.”****  Even with the extreme heat on some days, I’ve enjoyed summer with its foggy mornings, its yummy watermelon and orange creamsicles.  Our rose-breasted grosbeaks left quite a while ago, but the hummingbirds continue to buzz around my head, assuring me that there is summer still to be had – for a few weeks.  Soak it in and enjoy every moment.
     
    Carol  writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *The Bible: Proverbs 17
    **Norman Cousins --- American Journalist, author and world peace advocate.   1915-1990.
    ***Horace Mann --- A famous American educator who sparked the improvement of public schools in America.  1796-1859.
    ****George Elliston –American journalist.  1883-1946
  21. Carol Bossard
    August is named for Caesar Augustus, and it’s also my birth month. The green peridot is the gem for the month. These are stones found in some lava deposits and stand for history and strength.   Brown-eyed Susans are the month’s flower according to Native American lore, and I prefer those to the gladiolus usually attributed to August. Gladiolus are stately, colorful and lovely, but the wilder, cheerier brown-eyed Susans seem to fit me better.  This August has two full moons; the sturgeon moon and the blue moon. As I contemplate my birthday, I am recalling how many different cakes my mother baked over the years --- not just for me, but my siblings too.
    Because we lived on a farm, and summer is a busy season for agriculture, most of my birthday celebrations were with extended family. There was one party, I think I was about 9 or 10, where some of my school friends came. I have a photo (black and white, of course) of a round oak table taken to the back yard, and around it sat Bonnie Gillis, David Tischer, Sharon Segbers and two of my nieces (one nearly my age).   There were sandwiches, ice cream and cake.  My mother’s cakes were over-the-top yummy, and every birthday, she asked each of us which we’d like.  There was the white cake filled with banana pudding and topped with creamy icing,my sister’s favorite. There was a maraschino cherry cake, pink through and through, with a pink, cherry-ish glaze, that I sometimes requested. A molasses cake iced with thick white butter frosting was the choice for two of my brothers (the third wanted mince pie!).  There was also a delectable chocolate cake with a rich brown-sugar and nut filling. My very favorite was probably a sponge cake, sliced in 3 layers and filled with a mandarin orange/ pudding filling, and iced with an orange-flecked 7-minute frosting.  Birthdays were special, but not extravagant. And they made the long (seemed long back then) summer something to anticipate.
    Mid-August begins my favorite part of the year. From then until mid-November, I find special delight in the days. It may be partly nostalgia, but I really enjoy harvest time and fall flowers. Brown-eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s Lace, bloom along the roadsides, and later these same areas are filled with bright golden rod, purple asters, and airy white Boltonia.  On our farm, there was a swampy pond in the furthest pasture, surrounded by a wide variety of materials, perfect for bouquets. There were brown cattails, button bush, red osier dogwood, boneset, Joe Pye weed, vervain and much more. Crocks filled with those beauties on my porch exude contentment.

    No time of the year is perfect, and neither are our days. There are issues with both seasons and life that are annoying, irritating and even scary. Just as weather can throw us big problems in all four seasons, we can experience, daily, a variety of emotions ranging from deep depression to bubbling gladness. I also sometimes find a rather large gap in my grasp of reality; my current capabilities versus what I imagine I can do. In my mind, I can lightly run up the lawn, pull weeds all afternoon, and still shoot baskets against the shed.  But in real life, trying to do any of those things would undoubtedly lead to falling on my face or collapsing from exhaustion. The up-side, of days and seasons for us all, is that regardless of what we can or cannot do, each day we live offers some satisfying experiences and many reasons to be grateful.
    A few years ago --- actually, a whole lot of years ago ---Kerm and I called square dances. We were members of the Cornell Recreation Team, and taught folk and square dances on campus, and out in the counties, for Cooperative Extension.  Later, while living in Pennsylvania, we occasionally used our home for practice sessions, for 4-Hers going to a Pennsylvania State contest. If we moved the kitchen table out of the way, there was space for a set of eight people.  It was in the 1970s that “western-style” square dancing came along, and one of the fun calls was to the music of “Climbin’ Up The Golden Stairs.”* It was a fast western-swing type of dancing; fun to watch and fun to dance.  It stayed in my head, and I have visualized life being rather like that curving golden staircase --- going onward and upward through the years.  Sometimes we dance; sometimes we stumble and struggle.  The landings, where we stop for a breather, inserting stained- glass windows for remembrance, are like the stellar events in our lives: graduations, weddings, birthdays, wonderful jobs, etc. ---- things that make a difference in who we are or the direction in which we are going.
    There have been many twists and turns in my staircase; I expect your “staircases” would (or will be) be similar.  I will be 82 in mid-August, which I find quite startling. Like --REALLY???   The “little old lady” that, when I was younger, I expected of 82, just isn’t me.   Except for some physical difficulties, I feel like the same person I have always been, at 20 or 40 or 60  (except for the falling on my face part).  I’m always a little surprised when kindly people are solicitous about packing my grocery bags so they aren’t too heavy, or stopping to let me to cross the street, although I do appreciate the courtesy.  However, I do not appreciate the general media assumption that increasing age makes one lack understanding, deems one incapable, or stifles the desire for fun.  We need, as a nation, to change our age-conscious attitudes.  Of course---- those of us who err by turning curmudgeonly as our hair grays---- might wish to rethink our attitudes as well.
    Americans categorize people too easily. Observe the way we label generations:“Baby Boomers”, “Millennials”, Gen-Xers, etc.  In our desire for statistics and demographics, we plop people firmly into columns and boxes, and expect them to behave in predetermined ways.  There is no totally predictable behavior for any age group!  I admit to tiring more quickly, and probably couldn’t dance all the way through “Climbin’ Up The Golden Stairs.”  But that does not mean that my toes, and my soul, aren’t keeping time to the music.  I rather doubt that my knees would tolerate water-skiing anymore, but I can still swim, skip stones and enjoy the lapping of the water against the stony shores of our Finger Lakes.  My eyesight isn’t good for shooting hoops.   On the other hand, I have a friend, not too much younger, who runs in marathons.  So we are all quite different. I enjoy music from Baroque to ragtime; from Pat Boone to Roger Whittaker, James Taylor; and Placido Domingo; from Beethoven to Blue Grass to Rock with a wide detour around hard rock and heavy metal. I clearly remember what it felt like to sit through some classes and wonder why I was there.   I can still feel the awkwardness of teenage dating, and I remember the exhilaration of sledding down a steep hill and across a wide breadth of snowy field, just missing a barb-wire fence.  I’ve ridden on Motorcycles, rollercoasters and horses.  I’ve had jobs from serving food at a Thruway restaurant to directing a human services agency.  We are all unique; composites of our experiences.  White hair, creaky joints, bifocals, and less stamina do not turn us into aliens!  There is a book that tells the story of what happens when we divide and separate people into age groups; it is “Man On The Mountain” by Gladys Hasty Carroll.  Excellent reading!
    Ageism is a sneaky and pernicious reptile that has sold a sham bill of goods to our youth-worshipping society.  The assumption that because bodies do not remain smooth-skinned and supple, or hair remain its original color and luster, that our understanding of life must also be slip—slip—slipping away is silly.  Some minds, sadly, do lose their way into dementia, but that can happen when one is twenty or fifty as well as in old age.  Dementia is simply another form of mental illness in which research is deplorably minimal.  For most, old age is a time of harvest; the time when the accumulated experiences from years of living are a treasure-trove and can be put to good use.
    Of course, aging is no guarantee of wisdom; there are those who stay --- metaphorically ---- in rompers, for their entire lives.  They resist change, and maintain whatever they’ve been taught as children, as the total truth.  They have never learned to think all the way inside a box, much less creatively outside the box! Aging is not a blessing for them; they fear it and one can only feel sorry for them.   

    Despite my grumblings, this month of August is a time to celebrate; to breathe deeply of the fragrant, warm atmosphere around us (my Clethra shrub is in bloom; very fragrant).  I do so because I’ve survived for another year, with mostly intact mind and still operable body.   But for all of us, regardless of what we lack or what might be challenging us, there is much to appreciate ---- from sufficient rains that replenish the ground water, to sunny, ideal days.  We can rejoice over harvests of veggie gardens and the beauty of the landscapes around us.  In August, I replenish my shiny jars of tomatoes.  Peaches, in all their lusciousness, are ripening on laden trees. Elderberries hang like purple-black jewels, ready for picking.  No matter what is going on in the world, we still have the capacity to continue growing as persons and learning to be kind.   At any age, how we respond to both the wonderful/fun/blessed parts of life, and the burdens/changes/disappointments,-is a true measure of how and who we are.  So, be filled to the brim with August’s delights, and look onward and upward, with hope.  Happy Summer.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
  22. Carol Bossard

    Holding On

    By Carol Bossard,

    Now are “Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer” *that Nat King Cole used to sing about.   The lakes; Seneca and Cayuga, Juanita and Lomoka, are sparkling, the temperatures are balmy. Thunder storms come through frequently, often bringing considerable damage with them, via wind and hail but also clearing the air. Soon tomatoes will be ripe in our garden and sweet corn (not in our garden) ready to eat on the cob, freeze or put into corn fritters. One of my sisters-in-law made delectable corn fritters that, when served with maple syrup, melted in one’s mouth.  Fritters are quite labor intensive, so I haven’t tried them --- preferring to remember them as a fine gastronomic experience. But tomatoes from the garden, sliced on buttered bread and topped with leaf lettuce ---- YUM!  Those are within my capabilities.
    Our Family Quiz has been composed and is sent out:
    “Who has just written a marvelous hard-cover book about family?”
     “Who is juggling two jobs and working on a Master’s Degree?”
    “Who found a French-fried rat in the fryer at work?”
    “Who needs to avoid an over-dose of jelly beans at Easter, lest she spin around like a top?
    “What numbers-savvy person is starting up a free-lance accounting business?””
    These are just a few of the questions for considering/guessing.  As families grow larger and produce more generations, it is more difficult to stay connected.  My family members are spread from California to Massachusetts, from Virginia to Vermont.  I had three brothers and a sister, and all have produced children, who have then produced their children, and so on. So, if we all got together, it would be quite a large (and totally fun) clan. So, to keep us connected in our various locations, there is the annual family quiz. It is like pulling teeth without sedation, to pry information out of the multitudes, but if I keep harassing and listening over the year, I usually can come up with a good and entertaining list.  It helps all of us, for We simply mustn’t lose touch!
    Just a couple of weeks ago, Kerm and I attended two reunion picnics; one with my high school classmates, and one with retired 4-H professionals, plus a few attendees still working at Cornell. These groups were about friendships we’ve made throughout our lives. Family is important, but we don’t want to lose touch with friends either. Being with those individuals who have shared experiences with us, is a reassuring part of getting older. We can laugh a lot and maybe cry a little as we recall past times. And as we are catching up with what we are doing now, we become friends in a new way.  We may all, in our every-day lives, have our collections of pill bottles that keep us going and we may walk with a limp or a slight bend, but when we are together, we are restored to ages 16 or 25 or 40; capable of taking on the world.  Because we are now older and wiser, we find increased depth of spirit in each other and feel good about being together.  On both occasions, the company was super-fine and satisfying.

    Speaking of experiences, summer camps are now in full swing. I was a 4-H camper at Bristol Hills 4-H Camp, and then a counselor there, and then a Summer Assistant who accompanied kids from Wayne County, along with Kathy Treat and Merle Cuningham.  Except for that first summer, when, for at least three days as a camper, I thought I’d die from homesickness, I found camp a fun experience.  Boondoggle lanyards (research Billy Collins’** poem about this), swimming in a pool filled with water that we assumed was straight off a glacier, rising to Reville and going to sleep with Taps ---- it was all good.  I also went to a Girl Scout camp once --- on Seneca Lake.  Seneca’s waters were nearly as cold as the pool at Bristol Hills camp.  Previously, I’ve written about camping as an adult, with 4-Hers, and our kids.  But going away to camp, as a young person, is quite a different experience and one that is good for most children.  It fosters a bit of independence, introduces kids to stories and singing around a campfire, and is one more learning experience in getting along with a variety of personalities. Sometimes, we find new best friends, and always, do we stash away memories that still warm our hearts seventy years later.
    I found this tidbit somewhere, but do not remember its source. It is a good comment on the importance of friends and family (who can also be friends) in our lives.  “Why we need friends; because they laugh at the same stupid things we do.  Because they give us honest advice. Because they will be there for us, even if they are thousands of miles away. Because they celebrate with us when we’re at our best but still love us at our worst.” I am so very grateful for those wonderful people in my life who supply those very crucial needs.
    It is always fun to look backward to the good times.  But realistically, we are compelled to return, eventually, to times in which we are currently living.  And these right-this-very-minute-times are not always so carefree and happy as we’d like.  Mr. Rogers has said that his mother told him to “look for the good; for those doing good”, whenever he became discouraged.  So, when I’m looking with disfavor on the world as depicted in the evening news; the disgusting and clamorous politicking, selfish power-hungry leaders, the suffering from continuous wars --- I try to think of the good things that are happening around me.  There is our local food pantry, providing sustenance for those who experience food insecurity, for whatever reason.  Volunteers “staff” that organization and are willing to take big chunks of time and energy from their own lives to help others.  There is our pastor, who is essentially the “community pastor” since she is the only full-time clergy in town.  She can be found at school, at community events, visiting those in nursing facilities, sharing on Face Book, at Spencer Picnic, jogging by and waving, as well as in her church office, where all are welcome to stop by.  Then there is a guy we know, who keeps track of several people who, seemingly, lack the skills to cope well with life.  He hooks them up with resources and helps where he can. He and his wife have helped to raise three children besides their own two.  And there’s the woman who, even with serious health issues, continues to send out a community news sheet as well as connecting people with transportation to medical appointments.  There is also the man in our neighborhood, who kindly keeps track of his neighbors, helping out when there is a need.  Remembering these people (and many more) keeps me from succumbing to the world’s always-ready-to-pounce nightmares.
    “Here are the bridge-builders, the hand-holders, the light -bringers, those extraordinary souls wrapped in ordinary lives who quietly weave threads of humanity into an inhumane world.  They are the unsung heroes in a world at war with itself. They are the whispers of hope that peace is possible.  Look at them in this present darkness.  Light your candle with their flame and then go build bridges, hold hands, bring light to a dark and desperate world. Be the hero you are looking for.  Peace is possible. It begins with us.”***
    As July speeds by and August moves in, we need to turn off the news more often and soothe our injured spirits by focusing on those who do good, which may inspire us to do good ourselves.  We need to reject the divisive, clamoring and listen to bird song and wind in the trees.  And we need more tomato sandwiches, listen to more of Nat King Cole’s music, and to find more reasons to laugh together, and reconnect.
     
    Carol writes from her home In Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Bully Collins –American Poet and very popular because of his down-to-earth poetry.
    **Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer” - written by Hans Carste ---- originally entitled “Du Spielst ‘ne Tolle Rolle.”  Made popular by Nat King Cole.
    ***L.R.Knost ----Founder of Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting and editor of Wholistic Parenting magazine.
  23. Carol Bossard
    Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day…”

    Such a happy song from “Oklahoma,” and so appropriate for a lovely July morning. It might be lovelier were the temperature ten degrees lower, and no storms were lingering, but that’s summer. Being mindfully grateful is an intelligent way to begin a day, even knowing that there’s every possibility our plans will move unexpectedly from Plan A to Plan Q before the day is over!  In later years, it has become sort of entertaining to watch how agendas for my day morph from one into another, leaving me wondering just where I will end up.
    Being more flexible is a life-long lesson where graduation is (we hope) a long way off. I still produce resistance when events that I’ve worked over – like parties or holidays ---have to be altered. I’m getting better about daily changes, although a pout or two may still emerge. Part of that acceptance, I gleaned from a workshop (1970s) where we chatted about going from Plan A to Plan Z, but I learned much of it the hard way too. In my job with Office for the Aging, you would not believe some of the situations that developed; dilemmas one would never expect.  And then, some of my education in this area, came from having teenagers in the house for a decade.  One just never knows when their car will break down 50 miles from home, whether they will drop a log on their foot, necessitating a trip to ER, or how many kids may have stayed overnight and will appear at breakfast.  One becomes flexible in changing circumstances, to avoid splintering into frustrated little pieces!
    Currently, there are no demanding senior citizens, no frustrating (and usually conflicting) mandates from NYS and my county, and no teenagers, so, no reason to worry about being flexible  right?  Not so. It seems that life continually throws surprises at us. Instead of having a week free from going anywhere, I find that there are three prescriptions that need filling, which means a half-hour trip to and a half hour from, the pharmacy.  I suddenly find that I’m on a committee I’d forgotten, so there goes my afternoon. To feel better about annoying changes in plans, I try to indulge myself. Compensation!  😊 A cup of tea plus a Pepperidge Farm sandwich cookie improves my mood.  Sitting in a lawn chair and observing the cardinals and grosbeaks, or writing a short poem changes my focus.  A friend started me on a “Poem/Day” plan a while ago.  It was a great idea, although I soon became negligent.  However, it is still fun to compose something now and then. Writing a letter to a close friend reminds me of funny things that we can laugh about when we talk next time. Stress melts away with laughter, with creating, music, conversation, bird song. With an almond croissant or a little chocolate!
    Very occasionally, on a fine day, I bestir myself to hang laundered sheets or blankets on the clothesline. I love seeing them fly in the breeze and the aroma that they bring into the house is both refreshing, and a reminder of growing up years, when all clothes were hung on the line.  I have a dim memory of my mother using a wringer washer, hooked to the kitchen sink. She would shoo me from the room; afraid I’d get a finger or arm caught in the wringers.  When our children were babies, I hung diapers on the line for quite some time.  When my hands became arthritic, we acquired a clothes-drier. I think it was less enjoyable to fold diapers (sometimes full of static) from the drier, than smelling wonderful from the clothes line.  But in cold or rainy weather, I was very grateful for that electric appliance. Readers below the age of 50 may not have a clue here since disposable diapers have been the mode for 57 years. They were just becoming available when our first child was born, in 1966. We used them for traveling and special occasions when gauze diapers would have been awkward.  But on our budget, they were a luxury. Today’s mamas and dads should rejoice over all the conveniences they now have.

    So many things have changed in the last 6 decades, and so rapidly. Perhaps these multiple “advances” are one reason for our current epidemic of anxiety, tenseness, and lack of civility, all of which are running rampant.  We may have confused our brains with too many options, too many new behaviors and sudden life-style adjustments, with more than we can comfortably cope. And we don’t dare take a break from being on-line, because something might happen while we are out to lunch (so to speak).
    When we, and some of our friends get together, we agonize over the political scene or the on-going wars. As people of faith, we feel we should be doing something, but find we have few answers and little influence.  All that worrying could become a problem if it incapacitates us. Fortunately, we intersperse our anxiety with bits and pieces about our kids, our travels and what we are doing to stay active.  This brings us into balance. The women’s Bible study group weekly expresses sorrow, and often, indignation, at some distasteful behaviors of our current culture, and there is moaning about the lack of understanding that every human needs a spiritual connection.  We continue to do indulge in this behavior, despite Scripture’s frequent admonition to not worry or be afraid.  So this poem by Wendell Berry is often a reminder that I need some healing time. It rescues me frequently:
    Defeating worry is necessary for healthy minds and souls.  Very few people speak about nourishing either, but both need as much health care as our physical bodies.  I read both historical fiction and non-fiction, and I’ve had almost 82 years to observe the cycling states of the world.  What I am seeing now is a repeat of some of the distressing human behavior that we have seen in the past.  Instead of bonding, we have allowed ourselves to be torn apart and led into dubious paths of bigotry and fear of each other.   With all our opportunities, our communications seem to be worse than ever. The ability to be in someone’s face 24/7 via Face Book or Twitter, does not, apparently, lead to better understanding.  Listening to the news several times in twenty-four hours, may leave us over-informed and in despair. Balance is not easy, but we surely need to woo it for peace in our souls. And a spiritual connection would not be amiss.
      We all have bad cases of sensory overload. Just driving in the car, the radio is on, we are moving along at anywhere from 55 to 75 mph, watching other drivers on the road, possibly talking on a cell phone or chatting with a passenger. Driving itself requires agility and alert attention which may not be the case when it is split 3 or 4 ways.  At home, the TV, radio or stereo (yes, I know, the word stereo dates me!) may be on, children asking questions, dinner to be fixed, etc.  Our brains are flooded with too many things!  Very seldom do we take the time to stop, breathe and spend time healing, with whatever makes us relax and breathe.  Whether it is soft music, candlelight, the aroma of baking, sitting outside at twilight, prayer time, a brisk walk, meditation or going “where the heron feeds,” we desperately need to put those down-times into our days. Only with healthy breaks, will we be able to handle our stress with clarity and grace ----maybe even diminish it.
    Speaking of grace, I’ve seen several examples of that lately, so I am assured that the world is not totally in chaos.  One occurred at a recent Baccalaureate.  Kids had asked teachers from middle school and high school to speak to them – and give them a blessing as they graduated. Those kids were grateful for individuals who had been patient with them, and inspired them.  Another example was seen in the past week, when Kerm was diagnosed with a tick- borne disease similar to Lyme. People called, offered to drive either of us, asked did we need anything, and they let us know we, and especially Kerm, were being prayed for.  A friend, who is a Franciscan priest, brought his anointing oil along when we met him for lunch.  There is kindness and grace that balances all that is wrong with the world.  We all need to inject some quiet, some “Coming into the peace of wild things” into our over-busy and worrisome lives.  We will then worry less and enjoy breaks that bring balance.  “The older I get, the more wisdom I find in the ancient rule of taking first things first ---- a process which often reduces the most complex human problems to manageable proportions.”  Dwight Eisenhower***  Let’s all use this summer as a restoring, happy time.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Wendell Barry ---novelist, poet and essayist from Kentucky.
    **Dwight D. Eisenhower –Military man and statesman who served as president from 1953-1961.  18890-1969.
  24. Carol Bossard
    “Thirty days hath September, April, June and November….”  And the 30th of June is coming right up! Foliage is fully out making good hiding places for birds and small creatures. I see chipmunks slipping beneath the comfrey leaves and a rabbit skirting the current bushes. Mysterious paths are evident in the grass, where a skunk or squirrel has traveled to the sunflower seeds. We are just one week from Independence Day ---- July 4th.   The Solstice is past, so summer is here in all its fullness. We have already had days of very warm weather and there are surely more to come, accompanied by thunder storms and humidity, but there will be blissfully fine days as well.
    We’ve had our usual late-June “raccoon trouble.” They steal cat food or bird seed --- or whatever their agile little paws can reach or pry open. If enough of them swing on a bird feeder, they can bring it down, and they have also learned to open suet cages. In past summers, we’ve relocated some when they became too bothersome, though a forester friend tells us that is a bad idea. So we refrain unless absolutely necessary.  A few years ago, one large, furry individual took on our English setter. The dog was actually the aggressor; he wouldn’t tolerate another creature in his pen; he even once chased out a bear. Freckles came out of his raccoon confrontation a bit lacerated.  Our on-site vet patched him up and we removed the raccoon. Now, Freckles has passed on,and the little bandits seldom bother our gardens, so we won’t disturb them --- unless they learn to open doors. They are just part of the wild creatures with whom we co-exist, along with a very fat possum, a mostly-white skunk, and a fox or two, etc.  My “cute” woodchuck is another matter! I see relocating in his near future!

    For those who enjoy outdoor life, the next two to three months bring camping season. The downside, for me, are insects of varying kinds and degrees of irritation, as well as less-than-comfortable sleeping conditions. My back no longer appreciates bumpy ground or air mattresses that ooze air during the night. On the up-side, I love campfires, early-morning bird song, and the camaraderie of campgrounds. As Kerm and I drove to Lewisburg, Pennsylvania a few weeks ago, there was a road off to the right that led to one of our 4-H camping experiences, about which I have written before - the icy, foggy night and day, with trees snaping off all around. Then there was the 1972 flood when we were stranded with 150 4-H kids in a church high above flooded Jersey Shore, PA.  4-H camping has been adventurous in many ways.  Our personal camping excursions were less so, although they had their moments.  I have mostly fond memories of our camping experiences with our boys.; it was a good way to see many interesting places and to enjoy being together in a different setting. Currently I mostly prefer sleeping in a real bed, in a room with screened windows.

    Our camping travels mostly took us to New England and south to Virginia, but one trip was much more extensive. My oldest niece, her college roommate, Kerm and I trekked from Victor, New York to Billings, Montana, ostensibly to help another niece and her family move back to NYS. I wrote about this memorable trip last summer. We saw a wide breadth of our diverse country. And besides camping, Kerm and I have done some cross-country trips for conferences and to visit family.   We have not, regretfully, taken the opportunity to travel abroad, but many of our family members and friends have done so.  At one point we had nieces and nephews in Kenya and Tanzania, in India, in Nepal and Thailand, a son and family in Europe, and another son and wife in New Zealand. Their travels seem to make the world feel smaller. We have friends in our community, from other lands too; from Russia, from Japan, from Mexico and Soth America. What I have learned from our journeys, and theirs, is that traveling helps us to grow, to recognize our diversity ---- our wonderful variety of land and the collection of amazing heritages our country, and other countries, hold. It dissolves prejudice and misinformation, and we come to realize that our personal choices are not the only good ways to live. There are rich traditions in every culture.
    Sadly, at this point in my life, I find extensive traveling more exhausting than fun. I’d be very happy to teleport ala Star Trek, or Apparate/Disapparate, as in Harry Potter; suddenly being somewhere, eliminating the hassles of packing and weighing luggage, checking for least costly plane tickets, or enduring the heavy highway traffic that adds stress to driving. If I could, I’d stop by Empowering Lives International in Kenya (a Christian Peace Corps-like mission) and the Great Barrier Reef to see those huge tortoises. I’d visit the east coast of Scotland, from whence my father’s family came and some place in France to find my mother’s relatives. I’d certainly visit Finland (where many of our Spencer friends call home), and I might even whisk myself to Alaska, where I’d stand on a glacier, if there are any remaining. I’d spend at least one day sitting at an outdoor café, eating fresh chocolate croissants and drinking tea, in Paris. Those imaginary forms of travel not being currently possible, I am truly grateful for the side roads we have taken, and the wonderful people and unforgettable times we’ve experienced.  We are still on the road occasionally; in August we are off to Maine for a few days, and looking forward to the salty, fortifying air of the sea.
    All of which brings me to the 4th of July, Independence Day, and being appreciative of where we live. This is a celebration to mark the beginning of the United States from sea to shining sea and northern to southern edges. We celebrate all of us, no matter who or where, but being distracted with fireworks and picnics may lead us to forget why we are celebrating.  Our original goals of freedom and opportunity for everyone should be part of our agenda year-round. We have honed and improved original laws by realizing that women are capable people who can actually think and vote, that persons of whatever skin color are not possessions, that children are not fair game for cheap labor. We have laws in place to assist those with disabilities. There are still people among us, who disregard the ethics of humanity, and others who still suffer beneath injustice, but most of us keep trying to right wrongs. I would remind us of what is engraved on the Statue of Liberty, welcoming ships into New York’s harbor: “Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, with conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightening, and her name Mother of Exiles.  From her beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome, her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.  ‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she with silent lips.  ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’”*

    In the 240+ years’ process of creating our country, we have been cruel – and compassionate; overbearing and courageous; we’ve been grasping and we’ve also made sacrifices. We have made grave errors in policy and behavior, but we have also tried to create safety nets, correct injustices and continually work for better things.  It is true that we often disagree about what those “better things” are, or how to achieve them.  Too often, we work at cross-purposes. But we do try.  I think each of us has a responsibility to do what we can in our own spheres. We sometimes ignore needs and protest helpful legislation because we selfishly don’t like, or are frightened of change. But without change water grows stagnant, there’d be no butterflies, we’d still be shouting “OLE” to the monarch of Span, or singing “God save the queen!” (or king) of England. Our country is great because of the wonderful mix of our citizens and because we pay attention to individual fairness. Developing orderly procedures and good laws is essential, but let us not be selfish and uncaring as we move ahead in a way that means living out the words engraved on that statue.
    We are about to drift from Junet into July; usually our warmest month and possibly the most humid here in the north-east, although last week was as about as hot and humid as one might wish to bear.  July was named for Julius Caesar; it was his birth month. The gem stone for July is the ruby, a jewel nearly as hard as a diamond. It stands for strength, vigor, and supposedly shields its wearer from the world’s ills. The month’s flower is the larkspur, a sturdy flower that blooms in many bright colors.  July is swimming and ice cream weather. For farmers, there will be second cuttings of hay, if the rains and sun come in proper amounts. County Fairs and festivals bring fun to town. Whatever you do in July - picnics, reunions, swimming, vacations - I hope you are filled to the brim with happiness and peace. Absorb sunshine (carefully, of course), be grateful for the rains and fill your heart with all the goodness and generosity of summer.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    * The New Colossus and engraved on the statue of Liberty……….by Emma Lazarus.  Emma Lazarus, an American poet who wrote this poem to raise money for the base of the Statue of Liberty.
  25. Carol Bossard

    Choices

    By Carol Bossard,

    We are nearing the summer Solstice, the time of the longest daylight, directly after which we begin to experience diminishing the light once again. We are also nearing the mysterious Mid-summer Night’s Eve, a time of legend; pixies, fauns, and faeries. Each year seems to speed by like someone on rollerblades; no sooner do I write about the Summer Solstice, than I’m pulling out the Halloween pumpkins and the light is fading at 4 PM. My perception of life flying by, is why making each day fully-lived, is so important. We easily label a day “good” or “bad”, but he goodness or badness of a day often depends on how we choose to look at it.  We can emphasize the discouraging, unhappy moments in a day, or we can focus on the beautiful things and people around us.
    Perception can make us sad or happy, and it is variable. Do not misunderstand, there is deep grief, clinical depression, and other situations that make choosing happiness difficult; perhaps even impossible, without help and time.  And we should get help if we need it; therapy is good for nearly everyone. But often, contentment is a daily decision. Here in the Finger Lakes, we have (for most of us) far too many gray days.  But instead of designating cloudy, drippy weather as a bad day, we might instead remember that moist atmosphere keeps our skin in better shape than dry air, and that gray days give us more time to accomplish “to-do” things, leaving us freer to enjoy the sunny days. Even occurrences that we might consider annoying, may turn out to be valuable lessons or gifts, in some way.  We never know all there is to know at first glance.
    We all have more choices in our lives than we may realize. It is generally more comforting to blame someone else for our over-busyness than to accept that our own lack of thought has trapped us.  Our decisions about what we “must” do, are not necessarily what we truly must do.  Of course, if we are responsible and caring persons, then there are things which we accept; as parents we need to nurture and raise our children, if we have a career, it is our responsibility to do our best with that job, if we volunteer, the same sense of task-ownership stays with us.  Often, however, we take on more burdens than should be ours, creating continual stress in our lives.  It is often our own choice to be over-extended.  “Not my monkeys; not my Zoo!” is a rather flip, but astute, way of accepting that some things are not ours to handle, agonize over, or fix.
    Kerm remarked a while ago, that people make the decision to get out of bed in the morning --- or not.  (I hope that wasn’t an oblique way of saying I get up too late!)  But he’s right about the choice; we can open ourselves to the day, or we can dive back under the covers and put a pillow over our heads to exempt ourselves from what the next 24 hours might bring.  Some mornings, the blankets and pillows are surely tempting.  Little excuses easily pop into our minds, and can add up until they become a completely solid reason for staying in pajamas.  But each day we live is a precious day.  Morgan Freeman* said: “Waking up in the morning is a miracle of its own.  Be thankful for another day to experience life and be grateful that you get another opportunity to continue on your incredible journey.”  And ---- if your journey isn’t sufficiently incredible, each of us has the power to make things different, if only a small bit. Have your choices led you where you want to go?
    Father’s Day is fast-approaching, and I think of my father’s choices. He lost his father when he was 2 or 3 years old to pneumonia and typhoid fever. Dad was fortunate in that his father’s brother, his Uncle Fred, stepped up to give some male guidance, and his mother eventually remarried another fine man.  Both were good role models.  I know that he respected education, but was financially limited to high school.  Dad’s brother chose to follow his stepfather into carpentry. My father decided, after returning from WWI, and after briefly working in the automobile industry, to become a farmer.
    After marrying, he and my mother lived and worked on two rented farms before buying the one on which I grew up. After WWII, when my brothers came home and Dad had acquired a painful back problem, my eldest brother took over the farm work, and Dad went to work for first the Federal Land Bank and then Farm Credit.  He was a banker of sorts, issuing loans to qualifying farmers.  He also became a working part of his community; an Elder and Trustee in the church, a Grange member, active in Farm Bureau and worked tirelessly to get a central school and school buses. He strongly encouraged and assisted his five children to educate themselves as well as they found possible.
    His choices took him from limited resources, as a boy, to giving back and being respected in his community, and supporting a family. He assuredly was not perfect; he was easily irritated, quite thunderous when displeased, and had little patience for foolishness.  But he loved his family and his choices reflected his determination to do the best he could for them. This did not mean an easy a life.  It did mean getting out of bed every single day, regardless of his mood. First it was cows to be milked and crops to plant, and later, farmers to be counselled.  And I must add here (with a generous measure of grumpiness!) that when my father was out of bed, he thought everyone else should be also --- regardless of prom night or midnight work on last-minute essays.
    He was meticulous about good manners, respect for people and tradition, including the etiquette around our nation’s flag. Friday was Flag Day --- an often- forgotten, but special day.  Perhaps schools currently neglect teaching its history, and how the flag is to be displayed or flown. Some individuals and groups have thoughtlessly used it as a measure of protest over a disliked governmental issue. Others, in a mistaken sense of patriotism, have draped it around their shoulders or painted it on the street. Our flag, which is a symbol of who we are as a nation, has been displayed in several less than admirable ways. It is not supposed to be carelessly worn, especially worn in a way that requires sitting, lying or treading upon it.  Those using the flag in casual or disrespectful ways, or for purposes of protesting government policy do not think, perhaps, that they are also dissing the courageous men and women who have fought to keep that flag flying. Protestors are often, one-thought people, and they often lack a grasp of history.  They do not consider how the spray of their words and deeds may be toxic to others other than their objects of protest. There are probably better, more intelligent, and more honest methods of getting people’s attention for something that needs correction.

    I have always liked the Civil War era poem, “Barbara Fritchie” by James Russell Lowell*.  It is too long to put here in its entirety, but a few lines will ---- perhaps ---- make you want to check it out for yourself:
    And for the rest of the story, you must look it up.  😊  But it is a poem that demonstrates how important the flag has been to those who love their country, even with its many errors.
    And speaking of June celebrations, Juneteenth is coming soon,  Wednesday, June 19th. Because this is a relatively new holiday, many do not know its history or why it has suddenly become a federal holiday.  Its status has been long in the making but it stems from the extended period of time it took for the word to get out to all slave-owners, especially in Texas, that emancipation had come.   It was months after the law was enacted before everyone was informed or believed it.  Juneteenth celebrates the ending of one of the darkest parts of our history ---- slavery. Owning another person is the opposite of everything our nation stands for, and something I find difficult to imagine; repulsive even.  So, Juneteenth requires us, as a nation, to recognize our past, to go forward in a direction that erases the prejudice and mis-information we have accumulated over the years, and to keep celebrating both the change in law, and hopefully, in our hearts.
    So because it comes but once/year, enjoy the wonderful month of June, whatever it brings.  “What is so rare as a day in June?  Then, if ever, come perfect days….”**  sing and dance --- even in the hay fields.  Remember the wisdom that considers each day we are alive as a gift.  It is your choice!
     
    Carol Bossard wrties from her home in Spencer. 
    *James Russell Lowell --- American poet, diplomat, literary critic and editor.  He was associated with the “Fireside Poets” of New England, who promoted reading, as a family, in the evening.  1807-1891
    **from “The Vision of Sir Launfal” by James Russell Lowell
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