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Carol Bossard

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Blog Entries posted by Carol Bossard

  1. Carol Bossard
    February is sort of a transition month.  We may still get snow, sleet, and freezing rain but, there is some snow melt, and daylight becomes darkness, later and later. Somewhere out in the snowy woods, high up in a tree, a mama owl is sitting on eggs, warming them with her fluffy self.  And squirrels, having found mates, are aggressively defending their territories.   Hal Borland*, renowned naturalist, said: “In February, snow will actually melt in very cold weather; evaporating without going through the water stage, and is absorbed by the dry air passing over it. I’ve seen a snow drift shrink six inches in four days, without the temperature getting above 30 degrees.  ……the sun is warmer, the day is longer, nights are shorter.”  No wonder our skin suffers in winter; dry air = dry skin.  Lather on the moisturizers!
    Today would be my sister’s birthday were she still with us.  Betty (Elizabeth Selenda) was 12 years older than I, and we had three older brothers. She took me to school at least once that I remember --- sort of a senior high show and tell, baby sat me a few times on the rare occasions my parents were away ----- and I babysat her first child when I was in my early teens. We were sort of like ships passing in the night while I was in college, seeing each other mostly on holidays; she was busy with family and later, after college, I was occupied in the same way. We also lived hours apart.  But in our later years, saw each other more often and found much to share.   She was fond of gardening, bird-watching, and reading. She was also fascinated by the big locks on the St. Lawrence River and collected Cape Cod light house replicas.   She and Ray, my brother-in-law, had four fine sons, losing one baby in between.  And she gallantly put up with motorcycles, big shoes, and more people in and out of her house than she might have preferred.  We were different in many ways----- but quite similar in others ---- and I miss her. I always think of Betty when I see this poem by William Butler Yeats**, the Irish poet:  I will arise and go to Innisfree, and a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made, none bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade.  ….I will arise a go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore…...”  She would have liked the peace and simplicity.
    We are less than a week away from Valentine’s Day. Some call this a Hallmark Holiday since it creates considerable income for retailers selling greeting cards, lingerie, chocolates, and flowers. Perhaps you remember, as a kid, making valentines --- and the valentine box at school?  Our big table, when the boys were small, was covered with tiny red paper cuttings, glue, glitter and those small, humorous valentines that came in a package of 25.; a rather messy collage of creativity.  I loved it! I still have a small stash of red construction paper, lacy doilies, and appropriate verses, in case, some fine February, I am taken over by a valentine-making mood.  And of course, we always try to stock up on those little candy hearts with the terse sayings.

    The day, itself, is named after a pastor and physician. Valentine, was a Christian Bishop of Rome, when Rome was focused on conquering much of the world.  He fell afoul of Emperor Claudius II Gothicus.  Claudius was fighting wars and needed soldiers --- preferably young men with no romantic attachments to distract them from warlike duties.  So, there was a ban on marriages for people of a certain age.  Bishop Valentine, in direct disobedience of the no-marriage edict, continued to marry hundreds of young couples.  His defiant behavior came to Claudius’s attention, and Valentine was thrown into prison where he was beaten and finally beheaded on February 14th, 270 AD, thus becoming a Christian martyr. While he was in prison, he sent notes to his friends, signing them “Te Amo ---, Your Valentine”.  So, we mix history and romance (and a bit of Latin with English) and get our Valentine’s Day.  The world today surely needs more love -----all kinds of love –-- romantic (eros) -- the love of friends (Phileo), without whom, life would be savorless, and selfless love (Agape), which emits grace and appreciation/care for all ----- lacking which, our world has become a mess!
    Lack of respect/ compassion, and far too much apathy, greed, and actual evil are all reasons our world seems to be falling apart quite regularly.  Another, possibly more fixable reason, could be lack of communication.  People don’t listen well even when the conversation is agreeable; we are busy framing replies in our minds instead of hearing what is being said. We frequently fail to “hear” (or even contemplate) viewpoints that differ greatly from our own and --- in addition --- we are often inept at sharing our own opinions in a way that doesn’t put others down.  A few years ago, a local foundation sponsored a seminar in listening skills.  It was excellent three hours; learning how to clearly speak our thoughts, and how to immerse ourselves in another person’s thinking. This does not mean that in our new understanding, we agreed.  But we were able to grasp what someone else saying, and often, why.   We also discovered, in this process, that expressing intense feelings without being patronizing or insulting takes thoughtfulness and finesse.   
    Tolstoy said: “Everybody thinks of changing humanity and nobody thinks of changing himself!”*  If you or I feel very strongly about something, we may find that 1) discussion is uncomfortably threatening to that inner belief and 2) attempts to be understanding may fly out the window if someone disagrees with what we feel is a universal given. Surely if a concept is set in stone for me, it should be for everyone!    Tolstoy is right about how we humans think, but perhaps, if understanding is our purpose, we could remember this thought from Henry Drummond**: “Life is full of opportunities for learning love…...The world is not a playground; it is a school room.  Life is not a holiday but an education.  And the one eternal lesson for all of us is how better we can love.”  And no one said the lessons would be easy!
    (It would probably also be useful to not  bristle like a porcupine, metaphorically covering our ears going:  La -La La- La!  I can’t hear you!”)
    Loving February can be almost as hard as hugging a porcupine. Most of us are unhappy when Punxsutawney Phil predicts six more weeks of winter; we are ready for SPSRING!  There may be fewer days in February (Yes, even in Leap Year), but it seems like a too-long month. If there is a thaw and mild breezes (as this week), I cut forsythia branches, forcing them into early bloom inside.  Forsythia tries to take over the world, so pruning it is a good deed.  If one has access, a mixed bouquet of forsythia and pussy willows is lovely, but our pussy willow trees, unpruned by their lethargic owners, have grown far beyond our reach. Later in the spring, the fuzzy little gray nubbins will flare against the sky about 25 feet up. So, my early bouquet will feature only forsythia.

    There was a pussy willow tree on my brother’s farm, grown sturdy and tall, between a stone smoke house and a shed used as a play house.  His children and I would climb that many-branched tree, sitting up amid the branches, viewing our “kingdom” o’er.  At my home, I had two trees for my personal scaling. One was the cherry tree that met the roof outside my west bedroom window; perfect for up and down.  Our cat thought so too; he would climb up to my window and meow to be let in.  The other was an ironwood tree growing in a hedgerow in our back pasture.  It had a horizontal limb, creating a seat, about five feet up, among the leaves. (And it was nicely far enough away from the house, that I couldn’t hear if anyone called.)   
    Every child ought to have at least one tree to climb; a sylvan sanctuary! A few years ago, the larch trees in our front yard were at the right height for our granddaughters. Now they have shed lower branches, as larches do, so climbing them wouldn’t be safe but the girls have probably mostly out-grown the desire anyway. Jungle gyms may be good on a playground, but there’s nothing like an actual tree for pure, tactile satisfaction.
    February is still winter, but that vase of golden forsythia will remind us that spring isn’t far off.  My seed and plant orders will be in this week ---- early for me.  Last year I missed some plants I really wanted because I was so late in ordering, so this year, I have pushed myself to order 2 months earlier.  I also am trying to restrain my overly-optimistic view of what I can do in the garden.   SIGH!  Plant catalogs are SO convincing and so tempting with their marvelous photographs.  My imagination immediately envisions beds of roses backed by clouds of delphinium, rows of peonies, and lilies.    We are supposed to be cutting back, so, expanding my gardens is not acceptable.  However ------ fine-tuning what we have is surely a good idea ----- right?  I remember (and repeat to my husband and children) this truism: “Gardening is cheaper than therapy ---- and you get tomatoes!”
    Whatever the weather outside your window, try to have a little love for February.  Right now, at this very moment, it is all we have.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Leo Tolstoy – Russian novelist; considered one of the greatest classic writers.  1828-1910
    **Henry Drummond ---Scottish writer, lecturer and evangelist.  1851-1897.
  2. Carol Bossard
    Snow, snow and more snow!  Winter snows and winds have impacted several of our trees, especially our lilacs.  The oldest one, probably at least 60+ years old, had three large broken branches that we removed from its center.  Now it looks like two champagne flutes with space in the middle.  Kerm taped another newer lilac back together, hoping it will reattach.  Butternut and tulip trees have shed limbs all over the lawn, and one crab apple tree is split right down the middle.   The deer have been nibbling one rhododendron whose burlap cage was too low.  Winter can be a relentless pruner.
    I’ve been indulging in garden dreams (catalogs); White Flower Farm, Jung, Bluestone, Pinetree, etc.  I particularly enjoyed this thought by Rumi*: “And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter.  It is quiet, but the roots are down there riotous!”  Our 2022 gardening clarified some gardening choices for 2023.  We no longer wish to weed endlessly, to cultivate new spaces or even to process bushels of food come harvest time. I enjoy carrots and beets from my garden, but fresh produce from the local store or Farmers’ Market will provide adequately.  This year we will need more mulch, and we’ll be growing only what I won’t be without; potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, basil and lots of flowers.  Well ---- maybe some pumpkins!  I believe that working in the soil is so healthy for the body and mind, that unless I’m confined to bed, I’ll be out there with trowel doing something.  Just not quite as much!
    Remember our pinochle group? Ten or twelve of us around the table playing with three decks of cards?  We even played by the light of many candles one night when the power went out.  This group hasn’t met for three years because of COVID and other obstacles.  We happily got together a couple of weeks ago.  It isn’t that we are super-serious about pinochle ---- which is fortunate---- because some of us were a bit hazy about a double run, what was trump, who led, and one of us (who shall certainly remain nameless!) even played an entire hand leaving meld on the table.  But, as we played, we caught up with each other’s lives, nibbled on delicious snacks and laughed quite a lot.  We are a diverse group; there’s a retired teacher turned life coach, a retired music teacher who continues to direct choirs and draws wonderful music from pipe organs of the region, a retired Head of Maintenance in a large company and retired dental hygienist, two retired human services administrators, and an entrepreneur currently running a book store.  We were missing the Bee Master and the retired University forester.  Pinochle is one of our vehicles for having fun and feeling better about life.  We are good for each other!  Everyone needs friends like this, not necessarily for cards, but to add affirmation, humor and understanding to life.
    Anne LaMott** says that “Laughter is carbonated holiness.”  I like that because laughter lightens the heaviness that we all feel and it often improves perspective.  A sense of humor is a curious thing.  I’m not sure whether we are gifted with it, or whether one can develop it.  It is the old argument regarding nature and nurture.   My mother didn’t have the same sense of humor that I had.  She would laugh at a duly labeled comic strip and the antics of small children, but puns and small bits of coincidental humor never registered with her.  Fortunately, she managed to be light-hearted without this gift, but both she and I wondered why we didn’t always find humor in the same places.  Some people view life as super-serious.  To the too-focused (fanatical), laughter seems frivolous, and they find little humor in the surrounding world.  Some TV examples would be Temperance Brennan, forensic specialist on “Bones”, and the annoying young scientific geniuses in “Big Bang Theory”.  These characters are intelligent, inner-directed, and very, very serious with nary a gleam of humor entering their consciousness.  Laughing at themselves wouldn’t be possible!   My high school English teacher wrote in my year book, (with slight exasperation, I thought): “you made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.”  Maybe that was good --- a high school English teacher probably needs to laugh more.  I do know that seeing the humorous bits in most situations has been a boon and blessing for me.  Without laughter I’d be mired in the deepest despair for the world.
    And because there’s currently so much world-wide anxiety, I would like to share a poem by Mary Oliver.***  In spite of fun and humor, I am a chronic worrier, though I’m also chronically trying to reform from undue worrying.  So, I keep this poem where I can see it regularly.
    “I worry a lot.  Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and if not, how shall I correct it?
    Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better?
    Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless.
    Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia?
    Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.  And I gave it up.  And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.”
    ‘Tis a fine line between contemplating--- being prepared ---- and worrying.  I hope to step over that line less as I go along.  However, having made only small improvements in 80 years, I have to accept that I’m a slow learner!
    One thing that would probably create less worry and more understanding universally, would be a better awareness of past events.  After all, “There is no such thing as the past; there is only someone else’s present!”****  Which means the same things keep happening.   The lack of historic awareness among the general population, is abysmal and frightening.  For example -- every one of us who lives in these United States (unless one is a Native American, and even then…) stems from immigrants who came from somewhere else.  Our forebearers were usually desperately escaping poverty or tyranny.   Those who know history, know that every time a new wave of immigrants enters the picture, there has been bigotry and tension with claims of losing jobs and rising crime to stoke the fires of fear. During the gold rush, the Chinese were scorned as heathens, fit only to launder the miners’ clothes.   When the Irish came, there were “No Irish need apply” signs in shop windows, and you’d never want your daughter to marry an Irishman!   When the Italians came, they were disdained and relegated to “Little Italys”.  The United States shamefully disregarded the danger to Jewish people at the beginning of WWII and refused them entrance.   Arrogance combined with ignorance, is scary.
    There are many other examples of historic forgetfulness; The witch mania in New England,  two centuries of minimal educational opportunities for any except the elite, “blue laws” that trespass on the neutral zone between church and state, lack of labor laws for the welfare of children and other workers, the institution of slavery, the mistaken idea that during the “wonderful fifties”, there was little violence or unrest.  Ignorance of history allows us to judge the rest of the world by our own experiences and to think no one ever before had problems like ours today.  We are so busy despairing of each “new” issue that comes along, that we throw up our hands, and make little effort to solve the problems in a sensible and equitable manner.  The back story might actually help us see what works and what does not.   By the time situations are so bad that we must do something, we usually over-react and make laws that ignore common sense.
    Most frighteningly, ignorance of history allows us to be easily duped by those who wish to manipulate us, using fear, our lack of knowledge and glib words.   Spending less time memorizing dates for the War of Roses, and putting more emphasis on what has changed mankind’s journey in the last two-hundred years, including the difficult parts, would be useful.  Our children are leaders of the next generation. They need to know about Barbara Fritchie’s flag and Nathan Hale – but they also need to know what conditions necessitated an inspired Jane Addams, Rosa Parks, Nellie Blye and Martin Luther King Jr.  Delighting in our heroic past needs to include honesty about where we’ve erred and how we can be better. History shouldn’t be boring; it should be enlightening!
    There are only five more days before January is “history.”  We can feel joy because we are closer to spring, or be equally as happy that we have plenty of winter to go.  I hope we each find something that pleases us in every day, even the stormy ones.  Blue jays vs. cats with the cat food make me laugh.  In the stillness of a winter night, with flakes of snow filtering down I am grateful for living here.  It is often the little things in life that bring delight.  January is just the cusp of the new year, so as 2023 progresses, I wish that:
    “God gives you blessings for this new year --- stars for your darkness, sun for your day, light    on your path as you search for the way, and a mountain to climb.”*****  And laughter --- may there always be laughter!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    ***********************
    *Rumi –Poet and writer from the Islamic Golden Age.  His works have been translated into many languages.  1207-1273
    **Anne LaMott ---American novelist and non-fiction writer, speaker, activist and writing teacher.  Her base is Marin County, CA.
    ***Mary Oliver –American Pulitzer-winning poet.  1935-2019
    ****-- David McCullough –American popular historian and two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize.  1933-2022.
    *****Myra Scovel –American nurse and missionary for the United Presbyterian church, and writer.  She wrote “Chinese Ginger Jars” among other books.  1905-1994.
  3. Carol Bossard
    A few snow squalls, some bitter wind gusts, and there goes January! The mild weather throughout December and some of January has discouraged the long winter naps for our resident skunk and possum.  They’ve been out and about, thieving at bird feeders and the cat’s dish. The birds haven’t been quite as ravenous as when the snows come fast and deep, though the cold of last week sent them often to the suet.  The deer have been down from the hill, but not in multiples; I think only one or two.  The squirrels have been bouncing off feeders and trees like dizzy acrobats; it is mating season for them; apparently, showing off is part of the process. We have not seen even one turkey.  Usually, by this time, we have two or three groups of them, coming off the hill to browse around the feeders, but I haven’t seen a turkey since mid-summer. I’m not sure whether to blame coyotes or the turkeys’ wandering spirits. It could also be the lack of berries and nuts due to that late frost last spring.  Maybe they went south? Does that make them snowbirds? We miss them but out bird seed lasts longer.
    Winter months are designated, by some people of wisdom, as a restoration time; an opportunity to replenish energies and clarify hopes and dreams. Of course, much of the world races on as usual; trying to forge ahead on in-the-hurry journeys, with no change in habits to accommodate winter.  I have found it less and less attractive to slog through snow drifts or even venture out on the roads when they have gunk on them, so I’m leaning more toward the restoration idea. It is rather pleasant to simply sit inside by the fire and look out at the liberally frosted branches and twigs after a large snowfall. If I have an appointment, I pick up the phone and say: “Sorry, but there’s snow!”  Naturally, when things are shoveled and plowed, we get out into the world again.  But that brief time of feeling snowed-in, is restoring in its own way.
    I recently saw a post on FB that had kids of all ages, and then adults too, singing “Sing A Song” from the Muppets.  One viewer said, “Now I can’t get this out of my head!”  It’s not a bad thing to have stuck in one’s head.  Instead of moping over world news, instead of grasping for power and fame, instead of snarling at foolish behavior, we could be humming along with “Sing, sing a song --- sing out loud, sing it long --- sing of good things, not bad, sing of happy, not sad…...”  Our Friday AM group is looking at what is called, by many, the Beatitudes, a section that makes clear how our behavior depends on our attitudes.  Singing always improves mine!

    I spoke recently with a dear friend who lives some distance away, and who is care-giver for her husband. They are a little older than we and a bit less mobile.  She said it was rather comforting to be less active in the world, and more attuned to the small things around her; the snow coming down, a good neighbor’s visit, contemplating life (from the perspective of someone who has “seen these things before”) as seen on TV, and knows that ill tidings will, eventually, pass.  She can pray for people and for serenity without being distracted by too much busy-ness.  There are seasons in our lives as well as seasons in the calendar year. This friend and her husband have what I consider super-stellar attitudes toward getting older in this life.
    Right now, I find less time for participation in “multiple activities”, and maybe more time for puttering.   One definition of “puttering” is “the act of doing dozens of little chores that no one knows need to be done, that no one wants to do, and no one notices have been done.” * So, puttering brings no E -for Effort, or blue ribbons for achievement.  And yet, it is quite satisfying in its own way and occasionally, I spend a day doing just that.  If I clean out three drawers, I smile, knowing those drawers are now lined with pretty paper, and the contents are tidy and available.   The seeds that some house-mouse had stored there are gone and, temporarily, so is the confusion. I can putter among our books and know that once again, maybe for only a short time, they are on shelves according to author and/or subject matter.  While trying to downsize, as I’ve determined to do, puttering makes a dent in the baskets and boxes of papers. Items for recycling, the church yard sale, and the burning pit grow.  Puttering gives me time to think, to re-group and to shine up my attitudes for busier moments.
    There is a world full of always-energetic people who look askance at puttering.  And for those of us who move to a different drummer, this tacit disapproval can be difficult.  Or, as Brene Brown** says, “It takes courage to say yes to rest and play in a culture where exhaustion is seen as a status symbol.”  When busyness became a gold standard, I’m not sure.   Too much of our population is metaphorically gasping for breath as they strive to keep up.   We need to rest, not just our bodies, but our minds.  One of the things I find restful, is noticing small things around me. If I spend a few minutes watching a tufted titmouse happily dining on suet, that makes me smile ---- and somehow, that smile and the titmouse made me relax.   Watching a sunrise or sunset takes very little time, but suddenly the wash of wonder over the colors, lifts fatigue away. Winning the approval of others by over-doing will lead to exhaustion of mind and body.  We should maintain ourselves at least as well as we maintain our cars, don’t you think? Instead of a lube job, we give ourselves a a rest-job and that includes awareness.
    Blindness to our surroundings actually leads to more than just weariness. If we are unaware of the created world around us, we are also probably unaware of the people in our lives, and how they are feeling.  Someone who once worked in my office was a perfect example of this. That person mostly kept all the county mandates and fulfilled duties.  But people’s feelings were, daily, splattered right and left by thoughtless words and total disregard for what was going on in others’ lives. This lack of awareness and disregard for feelings is probably a major reason for damaged and broken relationships everywhere.
    Rachel Carson*** was a biologist who was made famous (actually, infamous at first) by her book, Silent Spring.  She was quite explicit about the need to be aware, of the earth around us, of our own back yards, and of the people in our lives. She said: “One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, ‘What if I had never seen this before?  What if I knew I would never see it again?’”  Surely a few days/weeks of asking these questions, would increase our appreciation of the world in which we live and the people we love.  And we might just find ourselves feeling an energy and enthusiasm for life that, somewhere along the way, we had lost.
    Meanwhile, we are in January, named for the god, Janus; a two-faced god who looks back at the year just past, and forward to the year we have entered. He was considered the Roman god of new beginnings, of gateways and open doors.; the embodiment of longing for the past and hope for the future.  Mostly, in this northern hemisphere, January is known for its winter weather, and (on a more celebratory side) remembrance of Martin Luther King, who did so much, in a completely non-violent way, to help our country realize its lack of justice for so many of our citizens.   We humans don’t much like changes to our comfort levels or our thinking. But each new year forces us to consider changes.  Thinking of these things; re-sorting in our minds how we should be living, is a gift for a new year, a Leap Year, which gives us one extra day to be delighted with life.

    The birds, squirrels, and deer that do not go into hibernation for the winter months face the winds, survive cold and messy conditions seemingly with the same vibrancy with which they enjoy the summer months of sunshine and warmth.  We could learn something from them --- about acceptance, about joy in adverse conditions, about being a part of a natural network of creatures inhabiting our planet.
    I like what Frederick Buechner**** says about living well:  He said, “One life on this earth is all that we get {here}, whether it is enough or not enough.  And the obvious conclusion would seem to be that at the very least, we are fools if we do not live it as fully and bravely and beautifully as we can.”
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. 
     
    *Terry Hershey --- Author, humorist, inspirational speaker, ordained pastor, dad, golf addict and lover of French wines.
    **Brene Brown –Author and speaker who studies human interactions and vulnerability.
    ***Rachel Carson ---American author, marine biologist, whose book “Silent Spring” brought about cascades of criticism; truths that we now accept.  1907-1964.
    ****Frederick Buechner ---American author and theologian.  Ordained Presbyterian pastor.  1926-2022.
  4. Carol Bossard
    Happy New Year again, now that we are actually in 2023.  I have so appreciated the holiday season that is just past, and wish some of the benefits could go on and on, as this says: “Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”*   New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were both busy and engaged because our granddaughters were here all week, and then our adult kids were here and life was lively.  There wasn’t a lot of time for year-end introspection, but in the back of my head was a little voice saying, “live this coming year well; so much can change and challenges may come, so treat each day like the jewel that it is.”
    The Christmas tree, dropped needles liberally so was taken out before Twelfth Night, where it resides behind the bird feeders for the winter.  In the spring, we’ll remove it to the hill, adding it to the escape piles for small creatures.   The snow babies will, by this weekend, be tenderly packed away in bubble wrap and tissue.  The evergreen wreath, made by FFA kids, remains on the door and the outside lights will be part of our landscape until March or April.  A Christmas gift was an iron welcome sign featuring bears.  We will hang it on the porch, but we’re hoping the bears can’t read, because --- unfortunately -- they feel far too welcome already.  We are mixing the old (driveway lights) with the new (bear signage) to take us through the winter.
    There are always two edges to newness.  Will the new things create discomfort?  Will I know what to do in new situations?  It usually takes some wearing before new shoes are really comfortable.  It takes a while for new acquaintances to become friends, if they are ever going to be.  A new house doesn’t really become home until it has been lived in for a bit, collecting memories.  But the other edge is vitality; without new experiences, life becomes dull, boring and tasteless, leaving us in a rut of non-growth.  Rainer Maria Rilke** said, about his new year, “And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.”  It is a matter of perspective; do we believe the universe is basically friendly --- or hostile?  Whichever we believe deep inside, will color how we regard those “things that have never been”.  It could be wonderful – it could be scary - it might be uncomfortable!  Even when I’m flailing against change, or find a change disturbing, I am still glad that I’m able to experience it; still able to awake, get out of bed, make decisions, move around, fix my own tea and connect with friends.
    Mornings are especially good now that there’s generally no need to rush off somewhere.  As I sit in my living room, a crackling fire in the wood stove, the day ahead of me, I feel happy and contented.  The finches, and an occasional cardinal, are socializing in a viburnum shrub outside the window, the day is quiet except for the usual traffic going by.  Because there are so many places in this world that are filled with the chaos of over-crowded streets, fear of bombings, tension and poverty, this quiet is a gift.  I am warm, not hungry and I don’t tremble in fear of armies or mobs.  Gratitude fills me up, and there is a feeling that if I am this privileged, I am surely meant, in some way, to share this plentitude.

    And speaking of sharing, I am always amazed that with so many groups and individuals creating programs to help those who need assistance, that help seems to be a proverbial drop in the bucket.  I think my difficulty comes because my mind doesn’t grasp huge numbers; they simply don’t compute. So, when someone says “two billion people,” my mind has no parameters for such a crowd.  But, accepting that we reach only a small percentage of people in need, even in our own small community, we continue to make sure the food cupboard is available, contribute to those organizations that mean most to us, and make an effort to be available for people around us.  If God cares for each sparrow (as the old hymn goes) then we surely can do our bit for individuals in our arenas of life.  I think if each of us who are able, devoted a portion of time to helping, in some way, that maybe the percentage would change from a drop in the bucket to buckets-full of helped people.
    The holidays are over and we are now in January, “ordinary time” on the church calendar --- with 31 days of potentially yucky weather.  I have thought about how my perspective on snow and cold has changed.  As a child and even a teenager, I liked winter.  There were snowmen and snow forts, parties with sledding and hot chocolate, dances and roller skating --- even occasional ice skating.  I remember riding in the car when I was very young, watching the snow coming at the windshield like the end of a witch’s broom --- and I thought that was really cool. Apparently, ignorance of potential danger really can be bliss!    Now I try to not go out on the roads at all when snow is coming down.  And those heavy boots, bulky coats, scarves and gloves or mittens?  As a kid, donning those things was no problem; now they weigh me down, making it difficult to be mobile.  A ski pole accompanies me on my snowy rounds outside, for balance has become uncertain!  Fortunately, we can count on fairly rapid weather changes.  There’s an up-state NY saying that if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute and it will change.  The 60-degree temperatures after Christmas while a bit weird, were pleasant though at the same time, I am aware that such outlandishly mild temps signal unhealthy iceberg melting, increasing allergies and danger to habitats for penguins and polar bears.
    I don’t actually make New Year’s resolutions, but there are some changes I hope for this year.  I have, for many years, lived with a bad habit (common among humans, especially women) of neglecting things that may improve my life, but take time.  “Me time” has seemed irrelevant and a bit self-indulgent.  I think this attitude begins with having children and the need to put their welfare first.  After children, it has become a fixed habit to get over-busy with details of the house, or other activities, and the hours fly by.  I didn’t do much introspection on New Year’s Day, but I’ve determined to make space for this in tiny chunks of time every day; more quiet time for myself, to consider the state of my soul.  I’m not speaking of meditating or actively deep-breathing or planning menus; I’ll just be pondering whether or not my day has been satisfying and if it’s not, why? Am I feeling part of the universe around me, or am I bogged down in my own concerns?   If the dishes and laundry have to wait a couple more hours, life will still go on.   Then there is my flute, poor neglected instrument that it has been for several years now since my neck and fingers became more arthritic.  It was reconditioned just before Christmas; all its little key pads refreshed, and so I will work on playing again, enough to make music in my heart even if it isn’t good enough to make music in an orchestra.  And finally, along with a challenge from The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, I’ll be spending more time outside than the usual quick tour from bird feeder to bird feeder.  Fresh air is good for my lungs and walking good for the entire body, even when it isn’t comfortable.  These things may seem miniscule, but I think they will have large impact on both my body and my attitudes.  Of course, your small changes might be way different form mine, but we all probably need one or two uplifting, happiness-engendering adjustments to our lives for 2023.  We mustn’t allow ourselves to become jaded and world-weary, nor should we be set-in-concrete with habitual ways.
    As we look to the months ahead, all of us hope for good days and loving relationships.  I thought the following was good advice: 1) Do the things you love more often.  2) Let go of people or situations that drain you.  3) Sometimes you need to get uncomfortable to get comfortable.  4) Where your attention goes, your energy flows.  5) If you change your mindset, you will change your life.”*** These seem, to me, to be basic for making little changes that mean a lot; that may well improve all 365 of our days this year..
    Rainer Maria Rilke may have been rosily optimistic about what his year of “things that have never been” would hold, or maybe he simply made a resolution to adjust his perspective when challenges came along.  Perhaps frequent adjusting (being flexible) is the secret to finding what we long for, and what we hope for at the beginning of each new year.  Perspective lies within us!  We are each here for a purpose, or so I believe.  So --- may we welcome in this new year, with things that have never been, and trust that whatever is new in our lives, will be right for us.
    Coming next ----“What’s trump and who led?”
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *********
    *Hamilton Wright Mabie---American writer, essayist, editor, critic and lecturer.  He wrote books like: “Norse mythology and “Fairy Tales Every Child Should Know”.  1875-1926.
    **Rainer Maria Rilke --- Austrian poet and novelist.  He was born in 1875 and died in 1926.
    ***quotation from Inner Growth Reset --- not just sure what this group is, but they seem to have a lab for research, and opportunities for therapy.
  5. Carol Bossard
    “Outside the open window the morning air is all awash with angels.  Love calls us to things of this world.”* This totally describes a morning in June with its singing birds, dewy grasses and long hours of light.  Besides the beauty of the world around us there are all the people who give love and those who need love. June —— when graduating seniors get a bad case of “senioritis” and grade-schoolers gaze longingly out the windows of their classrooms ——when birds who flew north in March have fledglings just growing their feathers —– when gardens are showing little green rows where lettuce and spinach have been planted. To quote a line from “Oklahoma” — “June is bustin’ out all over!” It is a symphony in green and gold.

    Speaking of symphonies and other lovely things, I was reminded recently about our high school days, when Jan and I cut arms-full of garden flowers for an event at school called “Moving Up Day” at just about this time of the year.  I’m quite sure schools no longer have this sort of event with queens and courts (although they still do have prom queens).  For this annual occasion there were two attendants chosen from each class, 8-12, plus the queen, who was always a senior.  The attendants were voted on by their classes except for the attendants from the senior class and the queen.  They were voted on by the entire high school plus 8th grade., and those chosen were a closely guarded secret until The Day!  There was great pomp and ceremony as the girls moved slowly down the aisle to the tempo of “A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody”, to take places on that flower-decked stage.  The slow beat was necessitated by the hoops beneath the skirts.  It is incredibly difficult to move in hoops, especially with the hesitation step.   Those hoops sway back and forth, and soon the wearer also begins to sway and without care, there is every possibility of falling headlong.  My respect for the agility of all those southern belles, with their big skirts, has increased since then.  For this event, there was music, there were speeches and it was the VCS attempt to make moving to the next class special; mini-graduations.  Because our mothers had large perennial gardens, Jan and I cut a large swath through their peonies, daisies, lupines and mock orange to decorate the stage. The whole concept might feel a bit outmoded now, but we, who were there, remember both the music and the much ado, with pleasure.

    With June comes Father’s Day, this year on June 19th.  I’m not sure why we separate mothers’ and father’s celebrations; parenting is supposed to be a joint venture.  Of course, what is supposed to be often isn’t.  And good parents probably do deserve at least two days of recognition.  Father-honoring has been done for many years, in eastern Europe, on March 19th — St. Joseph’s Day.  A church in W. Virginia celebrated it in 1908.  Then, in 1910, it was officially designated to be on the third Sunday in June.  It doesn’t get quite the press of Mother’s Day —- perhaps because June is such an event-filled month.
    My father was probably somewhat unusual among the fathers of my contemporaries.  For one thing, he was older than most of them.  I was a late-in-life child and my father was 47 when I came along.  My grandfather (Dad’s father) died when Dad was two years old, from typhoid fever and pneumonia.  An uncle provided a male presence in his life until his mother married again, to my kindly step-grandpa.  Dad’s Uncle Fred was a kind and generous man but an exceedingly proper individual who had some very firm standards that he instilled in my father.  There was no alcohol in our house — ever.  Dad mildly disapproved of coffee too, but my mother was a Universalist of French descent, who although she cheerfully became a Presbyterian, needed her coffee.  So, there was coffee!    Dad worked hard, expected his children to be respectful, obedient and to always meet their responsibilities with their best efforts.  I imagine that, in this regard, he was occasionally disappointed.  But he never gave up trying.  He also — unfortunately for me — had no comprehension for anyone who couldn’t understand —–nay —- couldn’t take delight in algebra, geometry and trig!!
    I have mentioned in prior essays that my father was a bit autocratic, highly irritable (which trait he may have passed on to me), very caring about his land and his community and a Scottish Presbyterian to his core.  So, you might guess that over the years, especially when I was a young teen, he and I might have had some disagreements and tension.  There was never any estrangement between us, but we weren’t always the best of comrades during my adolescence.  We did have some very good interaction when I became an adult, and had we lived closer, I’m sure there would have been more.  He took much delight in his grandchildren — all 16 of them.  I certainly respected my father and I know he took his responsibility as a parent very seriously and really loved his family.  When I see this quotation, I think of him — and my mother too:  “Quality — in the classic Greek sense — how to live with grace and intelligence, with bravery and mercy.”** I wish we’d had a little more time.  He died at age 72 — too early.  

    Fathers come in all varieties with many diverse ideas about how to live and how to raise children.  Some do not accept responsibility at all and are absentee fathers — which is their disgrace.  Some do not know how to love and cherish.  But so many fathers are amazing; most of my friends’ fathers were fine people.  Kerm and I were fortunate that our parenting ways complimented each other.  I wasn’t the most patient mom when our boys were toddlers, but Kerm could blocks with them and endure the splashing of their nightly baths.  When they were teens, the bedlam of the house and their highly energetic and articulate games sometimes tired him, so I was the one who stayed up, made cookies and sometimes corrected the D&D philosophies.  He endured their car engines hanging from trees and their casual attitude about his tools.  I waited up for them and kept their baseballs out of my gardens.  Together we worked well.  
    Now, as we watch our sons interact with the children in their lives, we are pleased and proud that they have become adept, caring and wise in helping young people to grow up. And we empathize with their occasional discouragements.  I admire the many fathers who quietly assume responsibility and often stretch themselves thin to provide both the material, social and spiritual needs of their children and often the children of others.  So —— Happy Father’s Day!!!
    June brings high school graduations, weddings, reunions; there is so much crammed into the month of June that it flies by far too fast, and suddenly it is July!  As veggies are popping up — and so are the weeds.  We have mulched the potatoes and tomatoes so that we need not weed those garden beds.  Mulching the little seedlings is harder and we haven’t been as successful with that.  But grubbing in the garden for weeds is not a bad way to spend some time.  There is something about handling the soil that works wonders on my psyche.  It provides bodily exercise, reaches the senses of smell, touch and sight, and cheers me up.  There is a whole movement now called “grounding” that encourages contact with the earth for good health.  I remember that some years ago, when I’d take the time to lie on the lawn for 15 minutes or so, my back felt quite a lot better.  I probably wouldn’t buy the available “grounding” equipment for my bed, but will ground myself outside while good weather is with us.   Being outdoors is also an antidote to the closed-in-ness of the time we spend on phones or computers.  That hunched-forward position leads to back pain, headaches and probably clogged thinking (I could comment further on the epidemic of clogged thinking!); anything we do — from gardening to walking opens up the shoulders, stretches the legs and clears the head.
    Daylight is still extending itself in early June; night moves slowly from Atlantic to Pacific over a three-hour span.  There is little lovelier than a June twilight sliding into a just cool night.  I am remembering days when, at home, we brought in bales of hay all day and then sat outside when night came, enjoying the fragrance of the new hay along with a sky full of stars.   And since we had a pond close by, there was the hypnotic chunking of frogs.   The world is full of clamor and distress and yet at the same time, the world is full of quiet and beauty if we are only aware.   As one wise person said: “The gloom of the world is but ashadow; behind it yet in our reach, is joy. Take joy!”*** A happy June to you and may you find it more full of blessings than problems.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net 
    *Richard Wilbur—American poet and literary translator.  Associated with Amherst College and Harvard University.  1921-2017.
    **Theodore H. White —American political journalist known for his reporting from China during WWII.  Also known for his “Making of a President” series.  1915-1986
    ***Fra Giovanni—Belonged to the Order of Friars Minor.  Was an Italian friar, architect, antiquary, archaeologist and classical scholar.  1433-1515.
  6. Carol Bossard
    It’s warm outside, which is a nice change from our long winter, but I’m grateful for AC. There’s over-the-top hot and humid! We are in the doldrums time for flowers.  Peonies and other spring flowers have bloomed, and late summer blossoms haven’t yet matured.  I keep thinking I’ll add more biennials to the garden for this in-between time (canterbury bells, foxgloves, hollyhocks) --- but somehow, I have fragmented follow-through.  The grasses along the roadsides are ripening; ranging in color from ivory to bronze.  And standing tall above them are the wild parsnips with lacy golden flowers.  Some find the sap of this plant painful to their skin.
    Our lives are opening back up now that more and more of us are vaccinated.  We recently spent an afternoon with Kerm’s siblings, chatting and sharing stories; catching up from over a year of not seeing each other.  We were grateful to be together; four had been ill with COVID, one very seriously.  So being together in person and sharing laughter was a gift.  Another bright spot is coming soon; some of my high school classmates will be gathering for a mini-class reunion this month.  It will be good to see whoever is able to come.
    The 4th of July is a time for fireworks, parades and flag-waving.  It is a celebratory time when we sing “This land is your land; this land is my land, from California to the New York Island…..”  or “This is my country, land of my birth…” (but fail to learn the second verse, “This is my country, land of my choice…..”).   I do feel love for country and am filled gratitude that I have been privileged to live here. But love for country does not mean approving always of what my country does, just as loving a child doesn’t mean approving of all that child’s behavior (though some doting parents as some patriots, haven’t learned this!).  I have been appalled in the past few years, and even more so lately when I learn more about some of our hidden history. And I’ve been angry and unbelieving at some of the distasteful attitudes that not only linger but find excuses for doing so.
    It is always distressing when illusions are shattered and innocence lost. There is much that we just never learned in class, that now has come to light.  And often the mistaken and bigoted actions we were allowed to hear about were diminished and made to seem like way-past history.  It takes seeing the situation through another’s eyes ---- to realize truths that have been veiled by our own sheltered lives and to realize how wrong we’ve been.
    245 years ago, when our country was created from a rebellion of settlers against tyranny from afar, there were high hopes for democracy and freedom.   A new and wide country sparked new and brave thoughts and desires.  We were an admired prodigy among European countries.  France followed soon thereafter with its own revolution.  But our elevated ideas didn’t include the native Americans who had lived here for centuries.  Nor did they include those brought from Europe as indentured servants or from Africa as slaves.  Oppressing and enslaving people was, is, and ever will be wrong.  Equally wrong is a class structure that disregards some and values human worth by wealth, heredity or fame.   As we learn about our past, we tend to be highly critical of these glaring commissions and omissions from back then.  And we often let the bad overshadow the good things that happened.  This shows a lack of critical thinking on our part!   
    First of all, we have many of the same problems today including our own misguided attitudes.  Then, to expect “normal” of 245 years ago, to be the human rights norms that we now know, is unrealistic.  Think how much has changed in just our lifetimes.  Discarding all that George Washington or Thomas Jefferson did that was good because they owned slaves, is trying to re-write history to please ourselves.  The same applies to white-washing their lives and pretending they were perfect   Most humans are a mixture of admirable and unbecoming behavior and are products of their time. We can’t change who people were, but we can sift out the good and discard the bad and make sure our “times” don’t produce the same bigotry and oppression.  It is our responsibility to make sure that we have learned to know better and do better.
    Our country’s birthday is only three days away.  While fireworks can be enchanting for humans (not so much for pets) perhaps a truer way to celebrate would be to give our citizenship some serious thought. We have more freedom here than most other places in the world.  It is not the sort of freedom the undisciplined desire --- to always act as they are so inclined and never be held responsible for anyone else or told what to do ---- but we do have freedom to seek our own futures, to have good friends and to live much as we choose.  Our artists are not imprisoned.  We are not being bombed by our own government or any other.  We have recourse if we are hungry.  I do not have to fear the police, the FBI or the CIA.  This has been true for me ---- but not everyone.  And until it is true for any law-abiding citizen of this fine land, it cannot be totally true for me.  Thus, my question on this July 4th would be, will what I say and do encourage good change?  That question can be the symbolic candle on our nation’s symbolic cake.   A problem child can become a prodigy once again!
    As we express our own love of country, we need to remember that other people love their birth countries too, while not necessarily liking their governing bodies.  Many of what we call “third-world” countries have longer histories by far, than ours.  Their governments may be unacceptable to us; often they are unacceptable to those living there, even while they love their countries.    Several years ago, a friend shared with me a small hand-written book of poetry that he found while he was a soldier in Viet Nam.  It was written by an “enemy” soldier.  The poetry revealed that this North Vietnamese soldier had the same feelings that any soldier would have ---- he wanted to go home, he missed his girl, he loved his country, but…….    It brought tears to our eyes as we read the very human feelings of someone who was an enemy only because of his country’s political choices.  Love for country is an honorable emotion but it should never blind us to the understanding and love of humanity.  Viewing an entire country-full of people as enemies is both foolish and inhumane.
    When I was in high school, a 4-H exchange student from the Philippines lived with my family for six weeks.  Justa broadened my cultural awareness immensely.  Later I had a pen pal, also from The Philippines --- Rebecca.  She later came to the United States, entered nursing school and we met in person.  Our family hosted a young man from Mexico who sang with “Up With People”.   We have family members who have lived in Kenya.  It has been one lesson after another that though someone comes from a far-away land, has different customs and a different physical appearance --- we are all experiencing similar fears and hopes, and find fun in many of the same activities.  We were, and are, humans together, trying to cope with a diverse world.  Respect for what makes people feel comfortable and happy and what feeds their spirits even if it seems odd to us, is something we all need to achieve.  Humans need community.
    Speaking of community, one of the July traditions I remember from growing up was the Victor Grange picnic.  There were grilled hot dogs of several kinds on an open-pit fire, corn on the cob and all sorts of dishes to pass. People sat around on planks propped up on bales of straw and enjoyed being together.  I miss that kind of community.   Here in Spencer, the Grange existed for many good years, and came to an end only a short time ago.  This organization still provides considerable legislative clout for rural areas, but I fear that will diminish, for when a grass-roots movement wanes, the influence for the cause grows less.  There is an unfortunate trend nation-wide; more and more people are not joining anything.   There is a frightening lack of volunteering and regard for community.  Not only does this indicate less responsible citizenship, but those who do not belong to any organized service group like the Grange --- or Lions, Rotary, Kiwanis ---- or churches ---- will be unaware of the camaraderie that they miss as well as the satisfaction of contributing to something that blesses the whole.  There is much room for thought when we consider our responsibilities as citizens as well as human beings.
    Meanwhile it is time for this summer’s picnics, sweet, juicy watermelon, and lemonade.  We awake to warm, clear mornings, bask in days of brassy sunshine and are rejuvenated by occasional thunder storms.  It is swimming weather, water-skiing weather, lazy afternoons weather.  And it is a short-reprieve-from-the-garden time.  Plants are growing but not ready to harvest.  It’s a great time of the year for a little idleness at dusk.  “Evening, and all the birds/In a chorus of shimmering sound are easing their hearts of joy/For miles around.”  *  Enjoy!
     
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *”This Land Is Your Land” ---- song by Woody Guthrie; American singer-song writer who epitomized the fold song era.  1912-1967.
    **”This Is My Country”  --- written in 1940.  Lyrics by Don Raye and Music by Al Jacobs.  Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians were the first to play and record this song in 1942.
    *** poem “Dusk In June” by Sara Teasdale (also in July!) ---- Sara Teasdale was an American lyric poet.  1884-1933.
  7. Carol Bossard
    We have just exited the Christmas season. Having made it through December and New Year’s, many people are breathing a sigh of contentment, repletion, and maybe —- relief.? Wonderful holidays and the Christmas decorations lovely, but it is time to take the tree down and put the ornaments away until next year. Twelfth Night, just past, is traditionally when the Magi reached their destination (probably not the stable in Bethlehem although all of our creches have them there), to worship Jesus. Regardless of time and place, it does commemorate a special event; that the hope and love in the Christmas story are for all the world.  

    The other name, Epiphany, originated in the Orthodox Christian churches but quickly spread to include the European churches. It also marked the end of the 12 days of Christmas merry-making. For many years, we held a 12th Night party, always including more people than our house could comfortably hold. Somehow, its walls stretched, perhaps aided by the laughter and good conversation. It was a warm and wonderful occasion that fortified us to meet the rest of January.  We miss doing it, but it was an activity that became too difficult, regardless of how much fun it was.
    I recently found a word that expresses our coming year’s journey very well: “Coddiwomple.”This word means: “To travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination.” Isn’t that perfect for a new year? We all have hopes and plans, and some people, who are more confident and/or arrogant than others, have no doubt that their plans will work as they wish. Those of us who are more experienced (generally older) know how quickly life can change regardless of our wishes. So, I really like that word both for its uniqueness and for the reality that our year’s journey will be full of surprising side trips, some not always of our choosing, but many that are delightful — for which blessings we can be grateful.
    When one reaches our elevated state of “elderly”, there are decisions to be made; issues to discuss. One that came up for us recently was our home. Our sons and daughters-in-law,- and rightfully so, were concerned that the maintenance of house and land was getting to be too much for the energy and strength we find it possible to summon.  The gardens that I’ve had so much fun creating, with Kerm’s helpful digging, raking and weeding, are way too vast for us to keep in order, especially with mutually uncooperative artificial knees and a tendency to run out of steam too soon. Inside the house, the dilemma is nearly as bad; both of us have several projects going at once, creating too much stuff for tidiness. Creative ideas keep on flowing, but my organizational abilities, sadly, have diminished. Our concerned family members also, undoubtedly, are contemplating the huge job it might be to clean out and distribute our way-too-many belongings.  So, what to do????
    We considered several options. We could buy a smaller house. A couple of houses in town have come upon the market, but there isn’t a lot of turn-over in our community. And we are relatively fussy. As we considered that move, we agreed that it would cut down a bit on the volume of our maintenance, but only a bit.  As for cleaning out our stuff, certainly some of that would be accomplished, but I’ll never live as a minimalist, so we will always be surrounded by too many things.  We cherish our books, and I enjoy various sorts of porcelain silver, sculptures, and glass ware. We could consider renting, eliminating outside maintenance. However, rentals in this community are not numerous either and we are rather firm about sufficient space for each of us to do what we want to do. Neither of us wants to sit in the other’s pocket! Ithaca has some fine senior living places where we’d probably do just fine. But, as much as we enjoy visiting Ithaca, we really do not wish to leave our community where we have 45-year-old roots, a church, fine neighbors and friends.
    So, after analyzing things, we finally decided to stay right where we are, but to revisit the issue each year. And we’ve agreed to try to find help for cleaning and gardening.  This may not be easy or inexpensive.  But it seems to be the best solution for us right now.  

    There is a concern that one not put off too long what changes might be necessary.  Too often, older people procrastinate with decision-making, and those choices, by necessity, fall upon their reluctant children. It is sad when older adults are “put” somewhere, often with no opportunity for closure, because they didn’t make changes in their lives while they could. Of course, sudden illness or disability unexpectedly hastens the need for other accommodations.
    In former centuries, most homes had multiple generations living in them. But with healthier old age and young adults going out on their own earlier, this simply is no longer the norm.   Certainly, multi-generations in one abode bring their own challenges, some of which probably means a bit of discomfort for all involved.  We went through a series of care needs with Kerm’s mother; moving her, reluctantly, from her farm home to an apartment in town, then to assisted living, and finally to a nursing home. And that nursing home didn’t always please us, but her need for care was more than we could provide at our home. My sister moved from her home, also reluctantly, to a lovely senior apartment, but from there, right into a nursing facility when she suddenly needed more care. That nursing home was excellent though it still wasn’t really “home”. Quality of care varies considerably, sometimes due to available finances; sometimes due to lack of staffing or training. And most places have nothing happening that would encourage a resident to feel needed or valuable. There is a nationwide need for continued discussion, planning and creativity around elder care.  People are people who all need the same consideration and medical opportunities. And even more important, for mental health, no one wishes to feel stashed away and useless.

    Meanwhile, we are still at home, and hope to be fully participating in this new year. And while we intend to eliminate some of the unnecessary stuff ( via yard sales, auctions, and loving relatives —-lock your cars! — 😊) in our lives, I found other even more important,  but less solid things we all should remove.  All of us, regardless of age!  
     “Fitting in” should not be all that important. We all wish to be liked but we shouldn’t deny our uniqueness and gifts to accomplish that.    Being harsh and critical of ourselves is foolish and unhealthy; our brains don’t respond well to self-bashing.    Be careful about criticizing others, especially for small things.  We have no idea what troubles and pressures exist in their lives.  Instead, pray for them.    Do not spend time with people who make you feel badly about yourself.   You are the only just-like-you in the universe. This is good. Don’t let someone else make you uncertain about that.    Don’t worry about or agonize over failures. Mistakes become learning experiences if we are at all wise.    Don’t become too attached to material objects. This one is tough for me; I’m a “thing” person and many of my possessions remind me of times, places and people I love.  But I’ve also reached a point in my life when I could give almost anything to someone who needed it. I might replace what I gave away via the next antique shop or auction, but….. 😊… So perhaps better advice would be to not let material things be first in our lives.     Stop comparing yourself to anyone else. We are each different —- purposely.  We can learn from others, but shouldn’t try to be clones of them.   Develop a spiritual connection. Someone once said we are spiritual persons in a physical body. So, this is a health issue that also, during spiritual growth, brings a few growing pains, but also a certain quiet joy.  
    If we all consider putting these into practice, 2024 would be a gift to ourselves and all those around us.  And surely one step toward a happier world.
    We may be looking at the year with gloom, doom and fear in our hearts; certainly, there is enough evil, both generally and specifically, and potential chaos to make that dour perspective reasonable, even logical. Or we can trust what has been true for eons; that joy will find its way into the chaos and there will be many times of happiness, warmth and enjoyment in the coming days. I hope to go on setting goals, finding interesting things to do and continuing to plan ahead, even if I must go to Plan Z. I hope the same is true for you — that your year finds you looking for both enjoyment and ways to help wherever you are, and that you can look ahead with that trust and faith that makes life worth our participation. 
    Ranier Maria Rilke* had an especially good thought that starts this year off well. He said: “And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us — new, untouched, full of things that have never been.”  
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. 
    *Ranier Maria Rilke —- actually Rene Karl Wilhelm Josef Maria Rilke. Rilke was an Austrian poet and novelist.   1875-1926.   
  8. Carol Bossard

    Autumn Impulses

    By Carol Bossard,

    The Equinox has come and we are now truly in autumn.  Seasons are flashing past in double-time.  Sooner than seems possible, we’ll be contemplating Thanksgiving dinner and then Christmas cards.  But even now, there is this strange pull to prepare for winter ---- though most winter days here are navigable and fairly easy to manage.  We are seldom snowed/iced in for more than two days.  But, still, something inside ---- maybe all those years of helping put in hay bales or canning tomatoes, or perhaps ---- survival genes from eons ago ---- makes me want to be sure we are snug and ready for anything winter can bring.   
    “….She was covered from head to foot with stove blacking.  On the floor all around the stove were dribbles and splotches of blacking……That was the worst day.  On Friday the house was almost in order and they worried lest Ma come home too soon….”*
      “Little Town On The Prairie”, quoted above, has Laura and Carrie trying to do the house-cleaning while their parents are gone.  Everything that could go wrong, does.  That also describes my comprehensive cleaning dilemma; I begin one thing and that leads to something else and suddenly I’m over my head in too much to do and where on earth will I put things?  The traditional housewifely practice of the 19th and early 20th centuries demanded deep-cleaning, spring and fall.  Of course, then, there were no vacuum cleaners, no carpet shampoos, Scrubbing Bubbles or Windex for regular maintenance.  My seasonal efforts are, admittedly, minimal.  I bring out the quilts and pillows, change the wreath on the door and add pumpkins and chrysanthemums to the porch.  But I don’t take the carpets outside for beating, nor wash the walls.   Some windows may be cleaned as we remove the ACs but my efforts are more cosmetic than seriously cleansing.
    My college major {then called “Home Economics;” now called “Human Ecology!”} was because a) I wanted to be a 4-H agent and b) I’ve believed that making a home where people feel comfortable and loved is both a fine art and necessary skill for happy living.  Even an aero-space designer or nuclear physicist --- of either gender ---- needs this. That opinion wasn’t popular in the 1960s when women were trying to escape the rigidity of society’s assigned roles.  I agreed about need for change in societal expectations, but if one is free to develop a career outside the home, then one should also be free to make home a career without feeling like a betrayer of womankind.   
    Of course, there is far more to home-making than the house itself, but most of us do tend to focus on our houses, since they are the basic structures within which and around which, we create a living environment.   Kerm and I lived in three apartments and one half-house before, we moved to a large, square Pennsylvania farm house; 4 rooms upstairs and 4 rooms downstairs with an attached summer kitchen.  We and our then-toddlers moved in to face high ceilings, big windows and empty walls.  I was staying home with the children, so one salary had to stretch for all things.  My mother, always good at re-purposing, kindly offered me a pile of white sheets she no longer needed, and I made cottage curtains for six big windows, from those muslin sheets, and trimmed them with ball fringe.  The living room walls were soon brightened with fabric hangings upon which I appliqued patterns and quotations.  It took me about 3 days per hanging, to cut out letters and shapes, hand-sew them on and fringe the burlap, this being before the advent of digital sewing machines that do everything but fix dinner and wash the dishes.  We also discovered a new hobby; household auctions.   We found large, round overhead lights from the county building that, tipped over, turned into ultra-modern table lamps ---- industrial meets Star Trek.   We found gold-framed paintings we both liked and occasional pieces of furniture.  I bought an entire bolt of orange corduroy and covered floor pillows, slip-covered a chair and couch cushions.  We purchased a good couch and bed, but the rest of our house was put together with very little effect on the budget.  It e slowly evolved into an eclectic décor that was pleasing, at least to our eyes.     
    I have always enjoyed seeing the unique ways in which people create their living spaces.  Karen, whose casual house-keeping style is similar to mine, and who also enjoys vintage things, arranges pleasing vignettes on her table.  I remember one that featured a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, some interesting stones and a charming little bowl.  It was a conversation-starter.  Jan fills her walls with original paintings --- not Van Gogh or Rembrandt--- but artists from her community. They may never be famous (or they might) but the art is attractive and unique, and it inspired me to go and do likewise.   Pat has her own amazing paintings on the wall and makes beautiful quilts.  Ellie keeps a neat and tidy abode without clutter, but adorned with African carvings, flowering plants and a comfy porch where one can watch hummingbirds.  Her home breathes out restfulness and peace.  Another Ellie’s home always has a touch of elegance whether she is living in an old house, a new house or an apartment.  Her elegance comes from within and is expressed via good taste, not thousands of dollars.  And Joette’s rooms could be in the pages of “Country Living,” a magazine that we both enjoyed some years ago.  All of these houses have a unique ambiance that just fits those who live there.
    Our preferences have altered some over the years; I currently surround myself with what makes me happy.  Books!  Music!  Photographs!  Art from people we know!  The top of a high bookcase has a painting of the Campfire Girl’s Creed (done by my mother) and various items suggesting camping and the outdoors.  It is a dust-collector but every time I look at it, I think of the fun (and crises) we’ve had camping, and I remember the stories my mother told, about growing up in the early 20th century.  I have framed photographs on tables and walls, surrounding myself with people I love.  My living room curtains are still white with ball fringe, though not the originals.  Our orange decor has changed to rose, blue and green. None of our rooms are “show rooms” in any sense, but they are comfortable. I believe that if we listened closely enough, we’d undoubtedly hear echoes of music and laughter --- of dinner parties and rehearsals, of D&D games and graduation parties---- of adding up the pinochle score ---- all caught in our walls.  What happens in a house, over many years, must be absorbed, becoming part of the very air.    A home that exudes warmth, welcome and happy times --- in one’s very personal style ---- is one of life’s blessings.  And considering how many homes have been recently lost in floods, earthquakes and fires, not to mention bombings --- having four walls and a roof, is definitely something for which to be deeply grateful.
    We turn to the outside, tucking our gardens in with cover crops.  We no longer have livestock (chickens or rabbits), but we do have outside cats who believe they own us, and wild birds with expectations involving suet and seeds.   We make a shelter in an ell of our house for the cats, enclosing a table with sheet foam, lined baskets beneath.  Some of the warmth from inside seeps out to them and they are protected from the wind.   There’s also a double-walled dog house that, with the demise of Freckles, is open to cats.  (Freckles would be appalled!) And cats grow thick coats of fur, soon resembling walking muffs.   There are shelters for birds to use on cold nights, and we try to provide fresh water for whoever might need it.  Concern for the creatures around us is part of being grateful for our life and theirs.
    This doesn’t mean romanticizing them to the point where they become more important than humans.  Here I’m thinking of the cows in India that walk wherever they choose, of the deer in Ithaca that do the same and the people who are all warm and squishy about deer, whales and manatees, but forget about starving or abused children.  We need to be compassionate toward whomever or whatever we met on our individual paths, but we should develop well-informed common sense so that our compassion doesn’t morph into gooey sentimentality.
    A home’s most important quality is probably that of acceptance.  Carl Larsson**, an artist of all things homey, says: “A home is not dead but living, and like all living things, obeys the law of nature by constantly changing.”   And “The nourished spirit is essentially what we pass on to others whether family, friends, coworkers or strangers.”***  Home should soothe us, inspire us and take us in, that we might be renewed to face a not-always-friendly world.
    Meanwhile, autumn has come --- today!  Golden rod is blooming everywhere.   The crickets sing their autumn songs while trying to sneak into the house.   We all, with some dread and some relief, await the first hard frost.  There is an aroma ---- perhaps a combination of composting leaves, flowers blooming for one last time, a tinge of woodsmoke on crisp mornings and a long, fragrant sigh from the earth as the season turns.  Whatever the source, the bouquet for our noses triggers an impulse of urgency deep within us, to prepare for the colder days ahead.  So. bring out the quilts, polish the windows and view, with gratitude, the changing life around us wherever we live.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Little Town On The Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder----American writer.  1867-1957.  If you haven’t read these books, or if it has been years since you did, now is a good time to re-read them.  Excellent reads!
     
    **Carl Larsson---Swedish painter who exemplified the Arts & Crafts Movement.  1853-1919.
     
    ***Alexandra Stoddard--- American decorator and writer; philosopher of contemporary living.
  9. Carol Bossard
    Today is Earth Day ---- an occasion for taking time to appreciate the very ground beneath our feet and all that grows thereon.  It is a day to notice the bees (dwindling in numbers) on dandelions, the white of shadblow on the hills and to appreciate the rain (although maybe not so much that mixed precipitation!).  We (human-kind) have been careless and lacking in gratitude for the amazing connections and interconnections in our world from the depths of the seas to the starry endlessness of space.   Earth Day, even on a too-frosty morning, is a perfect time to think about how each one of us is important in making the world continue to go ‘round in a healthy way.
    Easter Sunday is past, but I’m still feeling in the Easter season (and it is still Easter on the liturgical calendar).  This holiday, in the past days when wearing hats was still the custom, was when ladies got new, sometimes quite elaborate, hats --- “In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, you’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter Parade* ----“.  I was given a lovely white, wool hat this year that I simply forgot to wear on Easter.  (It was a busy morning!)  But it did trigger memories of past hats ---- mine and those of others.
    My first Easter bonnet (that I remember) was a pale ivory straw trimmed with black velvet ribbon and white daisies.  I also remember a pink straw cloche when I was a bit older.  That was the year my father took me shopping for an Easter dress, and I came home with two dresses instead of one.  (Note to my 11-year-old-self; “shop with Dad more often!”)   The very last hat that I purchased for wearing to church was in 1966; a pale, yellow straw cloche trimmed with yellow velvet ribbon, from a hat shop in Lewisburg, PA.  I wore it until I joined the choir; in that role, hats were just unnecessary.
    My mother wore hats as did most women in the 1940s and 50s; a red velvet pillbox with a rhinestone clip, a sparkly brocade pillbox with a tiny veil, a powder-blue halo with tulle and a dark blue straw cloche with red, white and blue trim, just to remember a few.  I hoarded her hats in their hat boxes for some years before finally making them available for the dress-up box.  I don’t know what happened to my father’s hats.  Men also wore hats in the fifties ---- when doffing one’s hat was good manners.   Dad seldom went anywhere without his felt fedora or straw Stetson, creased just right.  I expect my mother gave them to someone who could use them after he needed them no more.
    I really do love hats, and will eventually wear the white felt that I forgot to wear on Easter but, in general, people are not wearing hats as much unless they are sun hats or baseball caps in their many and varied forms.  My husband and our sons say those baseball hats are to shade their eyes, but I think it’s a genetic thing passed down from fathers and grandfathers; bare heads make them feel vulnerable.
    Our attic and the dress-up box have always had a stash of hats --- for costumes, skits and who knows what.  There’s a magenta satin top hat with a plume that could have been worn by one of the Musketeers.  There are several varieties of men’s straw hats, a velvet coachman’s hat and any number of ski hats knitted by my mother.  Kerm has a mad bomber’s hat for terrible winter weather and I have a tall fur hat of the sort one sees in “Dr. Zhivago”.  Then there is the multi-colored bubble wig that a fashionable clown would be glad to acquire.  One just never knows when a certain style of head-covering will be necessary.  When we lived in central Pennsylvania, I became accustomed to the little white caps that Mennonite women wore on the backs of their heads, usually covering a braid or bun.  The little cap was both a sign of worldly modesty and of submission to God. I admire the willingness to wear a visible sign of one’s beliefs and the little caps were pretty too. I’m looking forward to summertime when I can once more wear my wide-brimmed, flower-trimmed straw hat that signifies nothing at all but a love of hats.
    And speaking of summer, if these multiple viral variants do not create continued need for isolation, perhaps we can be freer to see friends and family during the coming days.  Some events I was hoping for have already been cancelled (my 61st class reunion and Alumni banquet) but hopefully, smaller gatherings will be possible.  I’m surely looking forward to seeing people I haven’t seen in two summers.  I am anticipating sunny picnics with friends and hoping for family campfires, singing and marshmallow toasts as fireflies light up the nights.
    One of the blogs I recently read spoke of on-going research into gratitude and what this emotion actually does in the brain.  William Arthur Ward says: “Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joy and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.”** It turns out that thinking thankfully actually changes how the brain thinks; they apparently can measure this on some kind of scan.  This is also true in my own experience, for in spite of all we couldn’t do for the past year, there have been many things for which I am truly grateful.  My moody perspectives can create some pretty dark days, but equally small things can bring back the light.   I’ve found that it actually is possible to extricate one’s self from gloom by remembering blessings and allowing a feeling of thankfulness to fill me up.  Henry Ward Beecher was a pastor and Civil Rights advocate back in Civil War times, so he had plenty to be unsettled and gloomy about.  But he said this:  “….If you can eat today, enjoy the sunlight today, mix good cheer with friends today, enjoy it and bless God for it.  Do not look back on happiness nor dream of it in the future.  You are only sure of today; do not let yourself be cheated out of it.”***
    It’s fun to think back to former Easters with the frilly hats and patent leather shoes.  But as our pastor pointed out to us the first Sunday past Easter, for those who believe, “Every morning is Easter morning from now on…..”****.  Each day offers us a chance for new beginnings.  Today, this moment, is where we should be focused.  What is out there for me to do today?  How can I be using my time well today?  In what can I take delight today?  Ruing yesterday has little value.  A certain amount of planning ahead is useful, but worrying ahead usually creates stress which can easily become gloom and doom.  Today is when we can live with intention.  It helps to dispel the angst brought on by the world around us to take special note of the small things that brighten each day.  I must admit that I don’t always practice this; I do worry behind and ahead --- too often.  But when I write about this, I am reminding myself too, and that’s progress!
    I’m hoping that last night’s dip in temperatures didn’t freeze my tulips, but in spite of  spring ups and downs, I believe that soon we’ll be out mowing lawns and planting rows of lettuce, cosmos and basil.  The finches are beginning to show their brighter colors; house finches are rosier and goldfinches are little bits of sunshine.  I’ve seen several birds checking out nesting sites; one right by our picture window, so it’s time to put out dryer fluff and yarn pieces.  The flowering cherries were in bloom in Montour Falls last week, and the spring rains have made the waterfalls there and in Watkins Glen really worth seeing.  In whatever way spring comes to your region, I hope that you grab your favorite bonnet and enter into the greening newness with enthusiasm and gratitude.  And Happy Earth Day!!
    “For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.”*****
    ******************************************************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *-“Easter Parade” by Irving Berlin---- American composer born in Imperial Russia.  Prolific composer and lyricist and considered one of America’s greatest composers.  1888-1989
    **-William Arthur Ward--- American motivational writer; poems, essays and meditations published in many American magazines.  1921-1994
    ***-Henry Ward Beecher ---- American Congregationalist clergyman.  He was deeply into spreading the Word of God’s love via social reforms and the abolition of slavery.  1813-1887
    ****-Easter Song by Richard Avery and Donald Marsh.  Richard Avery was a Presbyterian pastor and Donald Marsh was the choir director in the same church.  They collaborated on music for 40 years.  Donald Marsh died in 2010 and Richard Avery in 2020.
    *****- The Song of Solomon --- The Bible
  10. Carol Bossard
    ‘Tis the season of the Strawberry Moon, according to the Algonquin, Ojibwe and Lakota peoples.  And from ancient Rome, we’d be one day past the Ides of June! Few people realize (unless they sat through Latin classes with Mrs. Dunn) that the Ides come every month.  The 15th of March is the famous Ides because it was the chosen date of Julius Caesar’s demise via assassins. “Et Tu Brute?”!!  But we are now just past the middle of this lovely month, in our time, and Mid-Summer Night’s Eve is soon to be with us — a time of myth and magic extending far back into history.  It is the eve of the Summer Solstice, arriving on June 21st.  From that day on until December 21st, the light fades a bit day by day.  Now that I am seeing less well, light is very important to me.

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

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

    Image courtesy Chemung County Historical Society
    Probably everyone has had an experience at some point in their lives that remains vivid in their memories. We didn’t know until later that several people had drowned in NYS’s Southern Tier region, not far from where we now live, and in Lewisburg, the chief of police drowned on Main Street. The flood left not only visual images in our heads, but sensory memories; the smell of flood clean-up is something no one forgets.  
    While I still love water —- the ocean — rippling streams — water falls—–lakes, I have great respect for what water power can do.  And I have no desire to live on the banks of any streams.  Maintaining the dams and the flood control efforts are incredibly important.  As storms increase in frequency and severity, remembering the past will ensure that there won’t be such destruction and loss of life again.
    Learning from history most definitely applies to other areas of life too; the economy, wars, ecology, conservation of our resources, education and sociology.   The majority of humans simply seem unable to think further than today and perhaps, tomorrow; seldom next week and almost never, next year.  There is a Native American philosophy that before we do anything, we should consider the effect it will have on the next seven generations.  This is not a concept that we seem to carry in our pioneering genes — but perhaps we should begin developing that long-term concern as we think of our earth and the fate of the grandchildren we love as they live upon it.
    Right now, though, on this day and in this time, we are finding ourselves in beautiful mid-June. Peonies are blooming and sending their fragrance out over our yard, and my huge, unruly rose bush resembles a waterfall of pink blossoms cascading down over the wahoo trees. Currently the many waterfalls/streams that make the Finger Lakes region so very scenic, are neither roaring nor flooding — thankfully.  I am grateful for the bounty around us. It behooves us to make every effort to be aware of life, each day we live — the fragrances, the people, the colors. To be grateful, we need to notice and appreciate.  “The earth is the cup, the sky is the cover, of the immense bounty of nature, which is offered us.”  Emerson.* We need to shake off our superiority and arrogance in our human accomplishments and realize that we are a working part of this earthly habitat.  As Louis Armstrong **sang “It’s a wonderful world!” It will take all our efforts to keep it that way.   Read Wendell Berry’s*** The Peace of Wild Things while sitting in the sunshine, absorbing the world around.  Have a bowl of strawberries.  Your stress will melt away and your eyes will find a new appreciation for your surroundings.  And in another five days, keep your eyes open for a pixie or two!
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.  
    *Ralph Waldo Emerson —American philosopher, essayist, poet, lecturer and abolitionist.  He was a graduate of the Harvard Divinity School.  1803 – 1882
    **Louis Armstrong —American trumpeter and vocalist; of immense importance in the jazz world.  1901 – 1971.
    ***Wendell Berry — American novelist, essayist and poet, attorney, farmer and environmental activist from Kentucky.
  11. Carol Bossard

    Celebrations!

    By Carol Bossard,

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

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

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

    Humans can be in distress too. Grocery costs continue to rise as do fuel and transportation prices.   While we are taking pity on the feral cats and wistful deer, we need to remember the local food pantries and Deacons’ funds and give them a little help. There are food-challenged people in all of our neighborhoods, and many with fuel issues.  Somewhere the Bible mentions that those who have much, from them much is expected. I think that might apply to those of us with full pantries and warm living rooms.  We are surely to enjoy the good things we have, but it is my belief that we are not supposed to clutch to ourselves an over-abundance of these same good things while others are suffering.  Sharing when we can, lightens our hearts and sustains those who, for whatever reason, are finding life hard.
    Even this month of love, holidays and parties, can be emotionally challenging.  SAD**** is the down-side of late winter.  A little dancing, a little singing, a heart-shaped card that says “I LUV U!”, and a lot of getting out and moving around can expand one’s mood immensely. So can greenery.  On a warm day (and surely there will be a few!) when the temperature is above freezing, cut some stems of forsythia or other supple shrub, and put the stems in water.  After a week or so, they will blossom or leaf out, bringing a little early spring. Meanwhile, remember: “When it snows you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels.”*****  Probably we should do a little of both.  Happy Valentine’s Day!!
    Carol Bossard lives in Spencer NY. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *from My Valentine by Robert Louis Stevenson --- Scottish poet, novelist and travel writer.  He is best-known for The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Treasure Island. 1850-1894.
    **Dr. Tieraona Low Dog ---MD who studied herbal medicine, midwifery, massage and martial arts before becoming a respected medical doctor.  She researches combining natural remedies along with traditional western medicine.
    ***Robert Henri ---American painter and teacher.  1865-1929.
    ****Seasonal Affective Disorder brought about by long winters and little sun.
    ***** Unknown but wise advice. 
        
  12. Carol Bossard
    It was odd... this winter, just past, of 2023 and 2024. And, spring seems reluctant to stand firm. Winter keeps making dashes back with a little graupel here and a snowflake there, as if to make up for its earlier lethargy.  We are usually safe from deep snow by mid-April, but one never knows. Early in March, warm weather brought out the snowdrops and winter aconite.  Potted Easter flowers have gotten me through to now, when my daffodils and hyacinths are beginning to open and bring more life to outside.
    Change can often be a charged topic. People generally applaud winter changing to spring, and, in gardens, brown becoming green. A baby has a whole new attitude when his/her diaper is changed.  Finding pocket change (coins) is always fun. A changing of the guard is a relief for whomever has been on duty for hours. A change of clothes and shoes to PJs and slippers defines relaxation.  But when it comes to our habits, perceptions, comfort levels, or thinking, we would prefer to make no changes.
    Over Easter weekend, one of our family conversations discussed how we humans resist changes in our perception of what we can do and be. One of our sons left home in Vermont, about 9 PM, to drive to Spencer, getting him here around 1:30 AM.  To quote him (the timeless answer to moms and wives): “I’ll be fine!  I’ve done it for years!”  His wife, who was already at our house, and I, were discussing the difficulty people (men especially) have in even contemplating the idea that they cannot do everything they have always done forever.  But, even as we laughed a lot, and worried a bit, I admitted that I, myself, do not take kindly to seeing my capabilities diminished. Who wants to adjust the vision of one’s self from a coping, can-do person to a fragile being with limited possibilities?  Life, however, frequently disregards our wishes and forces us to get real.
    Reality compels me to confess that I can no longer dance all night. My doctor had the nerve to ask if I ever could!! I assured him that not only could I, but I had more than once. Now, unfortunately, I can’t do a polka without stopping half-way through to breathe and settle my spinning head.I’d probably never make it through a set of 3 square dances, though maybe, with steady practice, say, a square dance/weekend!! 😊   When sciatica hit two weeks before Easter Sunday, rather intense pain meandered from my lower back, down through my left hip to my ankle, and didn’t go away.  I was just a little cranky about the bad timing, and abandoning my usual holiday preparations.  I ended up baking no cookies, no Swedish tea rings, and we dined out for our family Easter dinner. While the bakery cinnamon buns from Owego, and pastries from Vermont, were very tasty ---- and dinner at the Parkview in Owego quite satisfactory ---- I was not happy at the necessity. It wasn’t what we did, but the change in what I could do that I wanted to resist.  But ---- as one of the Star Trek (the Borg, I think) lines went: “Resistance is futile!”  At least when it comes to change!
    Hindsight proves that life is constantly changing. And changes generally bring discomfort, even angst, until they become routine. In our seven changes of residence, I only welcomed two of them.  And even then, while I was happy about the one move itself, I hated leaving friends behind.   I grumbled when my family home was sold out of the family and had a similar reaction when the houses of my siblings met the same fate. In my work life, when there was an opportunity to take more responsibility in the agency where I’d been for twelve years, I took forever and a day to decide; I was very comfortable in my position, so why change? And there were our offspring! Except for the rare occasions when I was tempted to send them to Outer Mongolia, I mostly enjoyed being an at-home mother, so when our children grew into adults, as children tend to do, (our granddaughters have also done this!), I missed those fun years with tweens, and teens.

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

    Currently, we are on the cusp of change  from mud season to blossom time. The amusing woodchuck I watched last summer has waddled out from beneath the woodshed, and is once again happily munching sunflower seeds. I don’t know its gender; I’m hoping that there aren’t babies back in the den. Spring flowers are about to burst into bloom. The change from brown to green, from dormant to alive and growing is, for me, a most welcome change.  And this is a change upon which we can rely.  So far, we can be sure spring will come every year and these lines by Rudyard Kipling seem both humorous and reassuring:  “Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God, who made him sees that half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees.  So, when your work is finished you can wash your hands and pray for the glory of the garden, that it may never pass away.” *  Proving that some things never do change after all!
    ****
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *from The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling.  Kipling was a British poet and writer, born in India.   Two of his most famous books for kids are: The Jungle Book and Just So Stories.
     
  13. Carol Bossard

    Collecting Life

    By Carol Bossard,

    We are already at the end of January!!!  It has been a month of astonishment, disbelief, grief, relief and, for some, continued fears --- many conflicting emotions as the world turns and our country goes through another stage of growing pains.  As someone pointed out to me, we are really only a bit over 200 years from living under a monarchy.  While 200 seems a lot of years to me, on a historic time line, that isn’t very long.  We are still learning ---- and developing ----- and growing ---- and, hopefully, becoming more caring empathetic people though the process seems to be painfully slow.  Sometimes I’m discouraged, but -------there’s some progress------ slavery is no longer acceptable even if bigotry still lurks among us -----we’ve refrained from massacres for quite a few years now ------ women are actually regarded as full citizens (by most).    Now if we can learn to be color-blind, disenfranchise the whole idea of white superiority, stop being afraid of so many things out of our personal experience and learn the difference between individual rights and license, we will have grown in integrity, in truth and in common sense.
    In January, it takes very little to make me happy.  I’m not sure what created this phenomenon, but on several of our rare sunny days, at about ten o’clock in the morning, the sun comes in the window at just the right angle to put sun spots all over the ceiling and down the walls.  It is rather like one would imagine a starry, starry night --- but they are bright round circles of sun.  I’m not sure whether it is the glass snowflakes in the window or textured silver balls on the Christmas tree that enabled this, but this delightful shower of sunspots raises my spirits just to think about it.  As I said --- it is often a very small thing that makes the day brighter.   Perhaps I should collect more snowflakes and more silver balls?
    Speaking of collections, I was looking through a 2021 magazine and discovered two or three pages devoted to collectors of Pyrex kitchenware.  The pictures of dishes, bowls, and casseroles showed several that reside in my cupboard ----- either wedding gifts or from my mother’s cupboards.  I’m still using them.  The thought that someone actually finds them collectible is a little startling. Perhaps I should work harder to scrub the stains from mine.   I shouldn’t be surprised; people collect rusty advertising items that go for hundreds of dollars, toy tractors that sell for what I think are exorbitant prices and some people even currently design 1950s-looking kitchens.

     
    I remember that my mother was dismayed when those painted milk cans were in vogue back in the 60s and 70s.   She had dealt, for a lot of years, with milk cans full of milk being hauled in and out of the cold water storage and then needing to be scrubbed out.  Pipelines for milking parlors were a major improvement in her life.   She just quietly said that there would be no painted milk cans holding bouquets or umbrellas in her house.  My sister had no desire to emulate the antiques that filled our mother’s house.  She was more apt to make her family room look as though it were on Cape Cod with its lighthouses and other nautical items.  She did live on the Cape for a while, and obviously had good memories of those years, while antiques reminded her of few conveniences and hard work of the 1940s.  My first collection was rocks, but I loved the old furniture and pretty dishes, and the stories that went with them.  Life was much easier by then.  I still pick up attractive stones now and then, but I am helpless before beautiful porcelain and furniture with well-turned spindles.
    What is it that makes us want to collect something?  Unless it is an investment (like art, jewels or coins) collecting usually means a connection to something we care about.  I clearly remember the days after my mother died when we were cleaning out the house.  Many of the dishes and textiles she owned were from her grandmothers and even further back in the family line.  As we were deciding what to do with the rooms-full, I think we all took things that we didn’t need nor would ever use.  We were trying to keep my mother by clutching her things.  One niece came out hugging a comforter that had been on Mother’s bed.  She later admitted that while she loved the comforter, what she really wanted was to hug Grandma.
    So our collecting habits have roots somewhere in our hearts.  In the past year or two my collecting enthusiasm has dwindled slightly.  My heart has decided it doesn’t need so much stuff to be happy!  I’m not quite ready to give away my mother’s English Spode or the Franlee Farm and DeKalb signs on my porch.  I’ll certainly look forward to using the glass snowflakes and silver balls next Christmas along with our Kermit-made creche.  Nor will I be tossing my scrapbooks of memorabilia and photographs any time soon.  But I am ready to loosen my grasp on much that has seemed necessary or attractive to me in the past.  I can let some gardens go quietly into retirement (shrubbery).  The antique linens need to be enjoyed by someone else (someone who wants to iron!).  My china cupboard is overflowing.  So ----- to my nieces and nephews and to my sons and their families ----- next time you visit, feel free to take home something that could become precious to you.  It will help me feel lighter and less besieged by clutter.  And --- to quote a famous “clearer”, Denise Linn* ---- “Clearing makes room so what you love can come in”.
    Note:  lest certain family members take this to mean my auction days are over, they shouldn’t get their hopes up.  Auctions are fun!!  Instead of entertaining myself at casinos or with shopping sprees, I bid, not very high, on possible treasures that I can keep for a while or share.  I consider it rescuing beauty.  I also consider that it is responsible recycling to use again or re-purpose things that others no longer need.  As long as there are fund-raising yard sales, where I can share stuff, I’m good.
    My most valuable collection is filed away in my mind; a collage of experiences and memories.   I’m sure you have something similar.   Interestingly, it is not always the huge, impressive events and sights that one might expect to retain.   My favorite things are often very small happenings that glow like precious gems in the mind.  I can clearly see a vista some place in the Tetons ---- a wide meadow with mountains all around and sunshine glinting off the small lake.  I thought it would be a fine place to build a house.  In another memory, I visualize the faces and feel the warmth of aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews sitting around a dining table; some knitting, some beading and some just listening to the stories ---- and much laughter and love flowing all around.  I remember the last book Kerm and I read to our boys before they did all their reading on their own.  At bedtime, we’d all assemble on a big bed and read a chapter in Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy.  Shortly thereafter, we moved to this community, and I guess the boys suddenly grew up and out of bedtime stories ---- or perhaps we parents became too preoccupied.  But I remember those as times of closeness and laughter as we tried to pronounce some of the elvish names.  Then a few days ago, as I was listening to “Stormy Weather” sung by Lena Horne, on an oldies CD, I vividly recalled the third floor of Warren Hall at Cornell University.  That is where the campus 4-H Club held their dances.  And “Stormy Weather” was always how we closed the program for the evening.  One of these dances is where I met Kermit --- and we often danced to that very tune.
    None of these are what one would call stellar occasions but they were obviously wonderful enough to stay in my mind.  It is a reminder to be aware ---- to not zone out ---- to listen and to appreciate all of the small things in each day.   They might bring happiness ten years from now.  This applies to collections of any kind; if a collection doesn’t feed our souls we probably shouldn’t be bothering.   “It isn’t necessarily the great and famous beauty spots that we fall in love with.  As with people, so with places; love is unforeseen, and we can all find ourselves affectionately attached to the minor and the less obvious.”  Mary Spark** from Tuscany By Chance
    The past two weeks have kept us wavering and tense; some people are still angry and bereft; others are full of hope for the future.  This might be a good time to reflect.  What is important to us for the year ahead?  Is it holding on to fears, complaining about the challenges of life and being judgmental about the people around us?  Snarky comments and demonizing someone we don’t like is an easy road to take.  But, Martin Luther King Jr.*** said something a lot of years ago that is so relevant for today.  For those who actually believe that love is the most powerful tool in the world listen up:  “We have before us the glorious opportunity to inject a new dimension of love into the veins of our civilization.”  Maybe it is time to put both our mouth and our money where our heart really is.   As we exit out of January let us enter into some new and useful perceptions of life ahead.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Denise Linn ---Healer, writer and teacher.  Currently teaching a course “The Ultimate Clearing”.
    **Mary Spark----I was unable to find any information about this writer.  It is possible that I took down her name inaccurately --- and I’ve lost my source.  It is still a good thought!
    ***Martin Luther King, Jr.----American Baptist pastor who became leader of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.  He peaceful protests changed the world --- slightly ---- for people of color.  1929-1968.  He was assassinated while speaking to crowds who came to hear him.
  14. Carol Bossard
    There was no dancing around May poles this May Day.  With COVID restrictions as they are, intertwined children and ribbons are not a good thing.  But spring flowers are dancing in the breezes.  Lilies of the valley look as though they could ring those little bells as they shake in the wind.  Tulips are a bit stiffer, but they too move, in a stately way --- rather more like a minuet than the free-form bobbing of the little lilies.  Lilacs will soon be scenting the atmosphere everywhere around along with dogwood and apple blossoms.  A little celebratory pirouette on the lawn would not be amiss.
    Even with necessary cautions still in place, and the awareness of those ill due to variants of the original virus, I think we all feel that we can see light at the end of this unusual tunnel.  We are simply trusting it isn’t an on-coming train!  Spring seems to bring with it this up-beat positivity; the world doesn’t look quite so bleak when grass greens and trees begin leafing out.  Roethke* says: “Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.”  Perhaps that profound thought is why, with the first little snow drops and later the daffodils, a sense of newness and refreshment comes flooding in, regardless of the stray snowstorm or continuing pandemic.  The early daffodils have faded but are being replaced by later narcissus, and more and more garden plants are growing and thriving.  It is hard to be anything but optimistic in May.  If a person can criticize creation amid all this lushness, they need to remove their blinders or go on retreat!
    Some weeks ago, the group of women with whom I meet on Fridays, discussed the very human habit of harboring a critical spirit---- the tendency to blithely see past the log in our own eye, zeroing in on the annoying little speck in another’s eye.  It is so very easy to be critical that surely it must be one of those innate human traits that, as we mature, we should curb; sort of like getting over sucking one’s thumb.  I am remembering a day when I was too tired to bake, so I purchased a package of molasses cookies in the grocery store.  As I ate one along with my cup of tea, the baker in me said to myself: “These are really thin and don’t have quite the flavor of my cookies.”  Catching myself, I thought ---- “This is a COOKIE!  It is a goodie to eat with my cup of tea. I spent no time baking it.  WHY am I criticizing it????”  We are so quick to judge/criticize/wish something could be different.  And I think we do this with ourselves as well as those around us.  From people we do not know at all to the people we see daily; maybe especially those for whom we really care, we tend to be swiftly critical.  And we metaphorically beat ourselves up as well.  I’m thinking maybe May would be a good month for affirming people ----- those at a distance, in our community, in our homes and ourselves.
    Complimenting people on doing a good job, on being responsible and faithful to task, on being good people, is probably one of the kindest things we can do and yet we seldom think to do it.  Many parents (and I include myself here) as we teach our children, too often concentrate on their faults instead of affirming all the good things that they are and do.  Married couples frequently find fault with each other, forgetting the qualities that drew them together in the first place.  Frequent criticism tends to strip away self-confidence and self-esteem, no matter what a person’s maturity level, and may take years (if ever) to repair the damage.  At one conference I attended, we were asked to make a list of our good points and another list of our negative qualities.  Guess which list was almost always the longest.   So even if your family and friends all seem confident, capable, kind, generous and good to their dog, they may not see their own fineness, and it is a kindness to let them know what you see.  Warming hearts is a joyous thing to do, for our own hearts are often warmed at the same time.
    May is “Older Americans’ Month”.  Having worked for an Area Agency on Aging for over 20 years, I’m quite aware of achieving and celebrating the Older Americans’ Act of 1965.   Older people, in our culture, are too often disregarded, and ignoring people has the same effect as constant criticism; ignored people fade into the woodwork.  They feel that no one really wants to hear what they have to say; that their experiences are worthless.  Ageism is alive and well all over this country.  What a waste!  There is vast wisdom in people who have lived for seventy plus years; I learned so much while working with them.  People who came to my office not only came with questions or problems, but they had lived out amazing experiences; they danced, told jokes, were compassionate, didn’t suffer fools gladly and found life worth living even in pain, poverty or the nightly news.   I learned about integrity --- and the lack thereof.  I learned about wonderful families ---- and those who were bad to the point of being abusive.  I learned about living well ---- and dying well.
    I am now the age that many of my clients were, and what I understood intellectually back when I was working with older Americans, I now understand in my heart (and creaky body and unreliable mind).  And I’m grateful for what I took away from my years there --- from the lady who refused to do PT because it hurt too much (and spent her remaining days in a wheelchair) to the woman who had a pizza party for family in her hospital room a few hours before she died; fear versus courage.  If you are a young person, take the time to really listen to an older person this month.  Look into their eyes and absorb what they are saying.  If you are an elderly person, be glad for your collection of life experiences and stories and find a way to share them.
    Mother’s Day is Sunday.  I am, in recent years, just a little sad on this holiday because neither my mother nor Kerm’s mother are still with us, nor are some of the other people who I considered “mother figures”.  I miss having tea with them, laughing with them and talking things over.  My grandmothers died when I was quite young, so in my elementary school years, I kept “adopting” grandmothers; an elderly neighbor up the road, my older sister-in-law’s mother, a kindly older woman at church.  These delightful women all influenced me when I needed to fill that empty “Grandma” space.  When Kerm and I moved to the community in Pennsylvania where our children were born, there were many women who “took me under their wings” and helped me get over homesickness, feel more confident as a new parent and just made life better.   Some were considerably older than I; some were closer in age, but all were aware that I needed some TLC. and extended helping hands.  I will be forever grateful to Nancy, Freda, Ella, Connie, Joy, Mabel, Hertha, Marge, Betty Jane, Barbara and others.
    One does not have to physically bear children to provide motherly or grandmotherly influence nor does one even have to be of the female gender.  So Happy Mother’s Day to every individual out there who has ever nurtured, affirmed and blessed any person (child or adult) who, for a time, needed tender, loving care.
    “ ‘Tis merry in the greenwood --- thus runs the old lay ---In the gladsome months of lively May……..” ** May always seems to me to be a happy month ---- even though as much sadness can happen in May as in any other time of the year.  In the countryside, things are bursting with life.  It is true that the bears have already been back to harass us (so far a mama with a trio of year-old cubs) and the raccoon babies will be out and about, eating the cats’ food and creating a loud hoo-hah during the night with their quarreling.  People are still getting sick and dying.  Wars still go on.  But ----- grass is growing, the violets are in bloom and the birds are singing.   “….Though a thousand branches join their screen, yet the broken sunbeams glance between, and tip the leaves with lighter green, with brighter tints the flowers….”**  The seasons go on regardless of human intervention or problems.  And it is a healing and a balm to take full enjoyment of what May brings.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *-Theodore Roethke --- American poet.  He was the son of a German immigrant and he was born in Saginaw, Michigan.  He was a university professor, teaching poetry, and was considered by many to be one of the greatest American poets of his time.  He won a Pulitzer Prize in 1959.  1908-1965
    **-“’Tis Merry In the Greenwood” by Sir Walter Scott--- Scottish novelist, poet, playwright and historian.  1771-1832.
  15. Carol Bossard

    Darkness Into Light

    By Carol Bossard,

    I cut enough broccoli heads in the garden last Saturday for dinner.  December 12th !!!   It was so good!  An odd blessing in December!  The remnants of our ash trees are slowly becoming firewood.  The weather in the past two weeks has allowed outdoor work, and Kerm is splitting the big chunks that remain into useful pieces for our wood stove.  As the old adage says, wood warms twice --- once while getting it ready to burn and then again when it sends its heat throughout the living room.  My doctor suggested ---- many years ago when I was dealing with chronic bronchitis----- that we get rid of that air-drying monster.  However, there is nothing quite as comforting on a chilly morning as the flickering flames and warmth of burning wood.  So we just put a pot of water on the stove to help the air quality and enjoy.  Flu shots seem to keep the bronchitis at bay, and it is no longer chronic.
    In spite of the annually-touted “Christmas spirit”, many people are experiencing considerable angst and even depression this month.  Ordinarily, one would expect wide-spread happiness enhanced by shiny ornaments, caroling and shopping.  Even in a normal year, this is probably an inaccurate and thoughtless expectation for many people.  This year, the encroaching virus and shutting down our usual activities plus the spreading discord and dissension are dimming everyone’s light.  And for some, the lack of a job, no money for food, rent or gifts and the specter of gloom all around nearly puts the light out.  King Solomon of Biblical fame wrote some pertinent, if annoying, words for times like these in Ecclesiastes:  “To everything there is a season*” …and basically “there is nothing new under the sun”.     So we try not to despair; good times and bad times will just keep on circling around through the eons.   It is called “life” and in dealing with life’s challenges, we grow ----- or not.  The process isn’t always just what we’d choose!                             
    Another reason for our being disgruntled in this 2020 season may be the wide-spread need to break traditions.  Traditions can be wonderful.  I love getting out the vintage ornaments every year, and hanging them on the tree.  I enjoy writing our notorious and far-too-long Christmas letter that usually arrives sometime after Christmas.  I would feel bereft without the Christmas Eve candle-light service and then a Swedish Tea Ring for breakfast on Christmas morning.   Recently, in our Women’s study group, we talked about traditions and how often they get so institutionalized that people are aghast when anything changes ---- especially in churches --- even to the color of the carpet or placing of furniture.
    One of the more memorable scenes in “Fiddler On The Roof” is where Tevye sings, “Tradition”.  Even though unhappy about it, he is able to bend his cultural mores a bit for two of his daughters, but the third daughter asks too much when she rips tradition to shreds by marrying out of the faith.  Traditions are what make us feel safe in a world that sometimes feels like “Where the Wild Things Are”.   But sometimes traditions become a barrier to growth and so we must learn, as Tevye did, to bend a bit.  Each of us must determine when bending is a good and useful thing, or when bending would hurt too much.  (The same with our backs I would point out to some members of my family!!  ☺ )
    I think we all might find it necessary to forego a few of our traditions this year; no large family gatherings, no gala friend parties, no singing of the Hallelujah Chorus for our Christmas Eve service, and actually, a virtual Christmas Eve service, and maybe not even the  usual gift exchanges with family.  In place of these good times, maybe we can give closer attention to why we are celebrating and how these wonderful-sounding Christmas sentiments impact how we live our daily lives year-round.   Social inactivity may also give us time to really notice the world close around us ---- the birds (they do sing – even in December), the patterns in the snow, people’s faces (even covered by masks) and there will be time to realize and express gratitude for each small, wonderful blessing in each day.
    Dealing with challenges may produce two quite different effects.  Some people grow stronger and blossom with what they learn from difficult times while others become self-centered and violently protest the changes to their lives, taking out their displeasure on the world around them.   We need to not only remember why Christmas exists, but to also be aware that if we have open hearts, the core of Christmas can be a balm of healing all year ‘round.  Agnes M. Pharo** expresses it this way: “What is Christmas?  It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future.”
    I do remember Christmases past with tenderness.  My eldest brother’s family held their Christmas Eve service at home and I was often with them for that time of candle-light, music and reading.   Our local church service was a late one --- 11:00 PM --- and since my brother had to rise early for milking the omnipresent cows, having a service at home was sensible.  Later, when I was deemed old enough to attend the late service at church, I found that equally as special.  Going out into the starry darkness in what seemed the middle of the night, was exciting, as was the candle-lit service. I’m sure that the collective effect of those services and observing the adults in my life, helped me to develop at least some inner strength for tough times.  My parents survived WWI, the Flu pandemic of 1918, typhoid fever, not a lot of money with which to begin married life and sending two sons off to WWII.  Christmas still came every single year regardless of a troubled world.  So it has with us in spite of blizzards, tonsillitis, fevers and even death.  And because I believe what I believe, I’m not really afraid of the future even while admitting to some angst regarding the process of how those future challenges roll out.  I truly believe with Julian of Norwich that “All will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well!”***---maybe not tomorrow, but------eventually.   The more I --- and we ---- learn to be less self-centered and more loving and caring toward others, the sooner all manner of things will be well.
    It is now only eight days until December 25th.  The fourth Advent candle (Love) will be lighted this coming Sunday and the tall white candle (Christ candle) on Christmas Eve.   If, at this point, cookies in sufficient numbers aren’t baked, or the decorations totally perfect or our families can’t join us, we need to appreciate what is done and relax into the wonder and simple delight of Christmas.
    I would wish a deep comfort to be with you not only for this Christmas season, but also a hope that it becomes the fountain out of which flows a life of clarity and confidence in 2021.  May you be blessed with some of your traditions but also find openness in your heart for new experiences.  If you are feeling despair or a sense of futility about the world, now is the time to remember the famous Christmas hymn by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow****:
       
       “…..And in despair I bowed my head, ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said.
            For hate is strong and mocks the song of ‘peace on earth; good will to men’.
            Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, ‘God is not dead nor doth He sleep;
            The wrong shall fail; the right prevail for peace on earth, good will to men.’”
     
    A blessed Christmas to you.  And rejoice--- soon we will have a bit more light each day!  YES!!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
     
    **********************************************************************************
     
    *Ecclesiastes --- Old Testament of the Bible, Chapter 3
    **Agnes M. Phara ---American writer and painter; there seem to be a few caustic remarks about her writing and very little information.  She is best-known for this quote.   1937-2019.
    ***Julian of Norwich ---English anchorite of the Middle Ages.
    ****Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ---American poet and educator.  Well-known for his poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride”.  This quotation comes from “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day”, 3d stanza.  1817- 1882
  16. Carol Bossard
    April showers --- and the slow increase of temperatures --- have brought May flowers and growing weeds as well as discovering which plants have made it through another winter.  There are the burgundy sprouts of peonies --- old-faithful plants that laugh at winter weather.  Day lilies are inches high, the ferns are tightly curled fronds, the trout lilies’ yellow bells are sunshine in the garden, and trilliums are going to bloom very soon.  Hands in the dirt bring good vibes to the psyche!
    May is also Older American’s Month --- something engraved in my mental calendar from my 23 years at the Office for the Aging in Schuyler County.  We always celebrated with a splashy dinner-dance and with choosing a Senior Citizen of the Year.  I miss conversations with the people who participated in OFA programs.  There is so much wisdom to be shared by those who have lived well, over many years ---- and often so little regard for that wisdom in society.  In some populations, age brings respect and honor.  Not so much in our youth-oriented culture.  Much retail advertising is focused on the young in spite of the fact that more of the money resides with the older buyers.   As soon as one uses a cane or hair turns white, we are seen by younger people --- and too often by ourselves --- as less than.  Of course, just being old doesn’t necessarily endow one with wisdom; foolishness can abide for a lifetime.   But experience and life-stories are meant to be shared.  One astute friend called retirement, “refirement” --- a chance to do new and different things that fill us with joy and to share from our experience.   Turning 70, 80 or 90 is not a timer switch that suddenly turns off one’s capabilities.   We might have to make some adjustments in our heavy lifting or speed of movement, but we can still contribute to life.
    Sunday is Mother’s Day, and for those of us whose mothers are no longer with us, it is a time of wistful remembrance.  There are times I’d like to apologize to my mother for not understanding --- and so many questions I wish that I’d asked.  Louis L’Amour* expressed this well:  “You never think of  your parents as much else than parents.  It isn’t until you get older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions and secret thoughts.  You sort of take them for granted and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two…..You never stop to think about what they were really like inside until it is too late.”  Family stories are only carried on if an effort is made to do so, and by the time we pause to realize our need for this, our opportunity for getting those stories may be past.  That’s one reason I create a “Family Quiz” every summer.  It lets the stories live on, keeps our far-flung clan connected --- and besides---- it’s fun.   “Who moved twice in one year?”  “Who lost pool balls all over the NYS Thruway?” “Who was so intent on taking a photo that she fell into a pool?”

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

    In addition to bird-watching we could be wild-food foraging.  I did more of this during an earlier time in my life when I was both energetic, and enthusiastic about Euell Gibbons.  He lived not far from us in Pennsylvania.   I experimented with several wild foods, some of which were really good--- and a few ---- well, not quite so good.  It was fun and added some interesting textures and tastes to our experience.  This early in the year, the options are basically greens, but of several kinds.  Violets (both blossoms and leaves) and dandelion greens are excellent sources of calcium, potassium and Vitamin A, as are yellow rocket greens.  A bit later in the season, little, green day lily buds, cooked as one would green beans, are delicious salted and buttered. Violet blossoms make an interesting jam, to be served in tiny portions only.   Pansy petals brighten up a salad.  If you decide to try foraging for wild foods, be SURE you know what plants are what.  It is wise to purchase a good field guide for wild plants --- and, if you can find it--- Euell Gibbons’** “Stalking the Wild Asparagus”.  Avoid plants that grow along a well-traveled road; they will be covered with pollutants from car exhausts.
    For more traditional food, garden-planting days are nearly upon us. Weeds grow overnight, so one mustn’t malinger.  I saw a T-shirt recently: “Surgeon General’s Warning: Gardening can be dirty, addictive and may lead to OWD – Obsessive Weeding Disorder”.   It’s true!  We feel this urgent compulsion to get out there!
    As spring moves along, suddenly there is more to do than there are hours in the day.  I recently read a book ---- “The Music of Silence” ---- and it impressed me mightily with its take on hours in the day.  Its author is a monk, David Stendl-Rast.***  I know that my personality is not such that I’d make a good monk/nun, but his idea for living well our 24-hours is something that, to a certain extent, I can adapt to fit mine.  He speaks of the “seasons of the day”, beginning with Matins --- the dawn of the day.   It is true that my personal dawn comes several hours later than actual dawn, but it is my day’s beginning.   David Stendl-Rast then goes through his twenty-four hours ---- stopping at specific moments in the day, to be aware, to be at peace, being fully aware and expressing gratitude. Vespers and Compline end the day and provide a time to bring the day to a close and even to embrace our wakefulness.  Observing these quiet spaces keeps me aware and in-the-moment instead of running fast-forward oblivious to time passing.  It is taking moments to notice the life in soil as I weed --- the crisp, tender dandelion greens ---- and the sun slanting in the window setting off sun spots on the ceiling.  Being grateful and finding joy both change the brain ---- in a good way.   And in the “merry month of May” (from Camelot) that shift in perspective seems an excellent spring tonic.
    **********
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Louis L’Amour --- American writer, poet, novelist who wrote about the American west and also historical fiction.  This quotation is from “How The West Was Won”.  1908-1988.
    **Euell Gibbons --- American naturalist known for preparing foods from wild plants.  1911-1975.
    ***-- David Stendl-Rast ---Born in Vienna, Austria in 1926.  He is a Benedictine monk and committed to interfaith dialog.
  17. Carol Bossard
    It’s mid-August and the stores are blatantly advertising school supplies and autumn clothing, not to mention Halloween decorations ---- this, in spite of the humidity and 80-90 degree temperatures.  August is still summer!!--- and days continue to be good for picnics, sun tans, and nights fine for star-gazing.  Hal Borland* describes August well……….”Dog Days ….Dragon flies and Damsel flies follow the boat when I go out on the river……little spotted turtles sun themselves on old logs and slip into the water when I come too close…………..barn swallows begin to leave and so do the chimney swifts……golden rod comes into bloom everywhere……milkweeds have formed their pods, still green and tightly closed………..wild blackberries ripen.” I remember, as a child, trudging down the lane, to our back pasture, where blackberries grew in the hedgerow.  They were harvested with considerable effort, while garnering mosquito bites, scratches from the impressive thorns and purple fingers and mouths.  Inside that hedge row, was a wild, unexplored and slightly enchanted world of vegetation, birds and bugs, ripe for the exploring.

    Our granddaughters will, in the fall, be exploring a different uncharted territory.  One will be entering public school classes for the first time in many years, after having been home-schooled.  And the other will begin her college/further education years.  I’ve been thinking back to my move from home to college.  My freshman roommate visited me this summer, and as she looked at some photos from our year together, she said: “We were so young!”  We definitely were --- though I’m sure we felt quite adult and competent.  I had some really good experiences that first and only year at Plattsburg (including the roommate).  There were some fine teachers and classes.   Once or twice, we biked out into the country; my first experience with a bike that had gears. Despite the frigid winter winds, we blithely skated on Lake Champlain --- having no clue about dangerous things like air pockets in the ice.  I think our guardian angels might have been overworked that year!  Probably needed to work in shifts!    We played tennis, sighed over a tall and good-looking baritone, and – somehow --managed to glean considerable growth in the process of being on our own for the first time.     
    Growing up always includes some angst about fitting in.   How long was it before I felt confident enough to be me --- with everyone?  Honesty forces me to say that the process went on into adult-hood learning experiences.   If only I’d subscribed earlier to the adage often attributed to Dr. Seuss:**  “Be yourself!  Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”  It takes a few years of living to trust the truth in that.  We are all born with gifts unique to each of us, and we need to share that which is ours alone to share --- without fear and without worrying about who will like us and who won’t.  Just as there will always be someone to criticize, there will always be someone to appreciate the persons we are.  Our own uniqueness is how we give back to a world that needs what we have.  And those who criticize should really look more deeply at themselves ---- and mind their own business.
    I am about to experience a personal “turning of the year;” into a new decade.  One up-side to aging is finding I’m able to be more objective about things that might have sent me into a tizzy earlier. My current life-span is just too short to waste meaningless anxiety on people and events about which I can do nothing.  If I’m going to be anxious, it will be for something that I consider important --- like whether Friendly’s will continue making butter crunch ice cream even though they are closing restaurants, or whether one of our sons is again on busy super-highways, driving in the wee, small hours.  Actually, I can’t do anything about those either, but having an excellent imagination, I am capable of creating amazing scenarios for worrying.  I’m trying to learn to divert my thought processes when this happens, but that is a continuing life-lesson in trust.
    Birthdays are a time for thinking; about looking back to see how the year has been, and looking forward with gladness to the unexplored territory that is the year ahead.  Some people get grumpy about birthdays after a certain age, but I feel that celebrating them is good for the psyche.  Having fun times and remaining alert to the world around is a key to enjoying life --- and birthdays.  I will admit that it has been a bit startling to think of myself as “senior” or “elderly.”  My body agrees that I certainly am, but most days, my mind feels no special age.    Regardless of increasing lines and wrinkles, I’m sure that I’ll find this year just as full of challenges, fun, sadness and delight as the last year, when I was only 79.

    It is Spencer Picnic week, a community festival of long-standing tradition of 111 years.  It is a celebration of community; a way to maintain the ties that bind.  There’s good food, carnival rides, a “Miss Spencer Picnic” and a talent show.  There is the parade on Saturday and excellent fireworks.  Kerm and I have always chosen to live in small communities for this very kind of connection, and we find small town positives are far more outstanding than the negatives.  One’s experiences and views, wherever one lives, can be as wide as reading and travel make them.  We have found the Spencer-Van Etten area a good place to live.  When someone is in need people step in as soon as they know.  There are fund-raisers for local children who are in the hospital, fun-raisers for the Ukraine, people who will help new-comers find plumbers, electricians, and play groups for their kiddies.  When one’s large, fawn-colored dog runs away during hunting season, the hunters are careful not to shoot it.  We have personally experienced neighborly kindnesses --- often. I have noticed that people can be adversarial in theory but wonderful in reality.  If the discussion is about politics or local issues --- people can disagree vociferously.  Voices are raised and hostility creeps in.  But if a neighbor needs help, that same person who yelled at the last town meeting will be right there with a casserole and comfort. Therein lies hope for the world.
    For my childhood years, he road on which my home dairy farm stood was a dirt road --- rural!   While growing up, I’d visit up and down that road; there was the elderly couple who I adopted as surrogate grandparents and where I played with a beautiful, old porcelain doll and washed my hands in a dry sink.   There were neighbors who had a TV, which we did not.  They also had a pool table and a slot machine.  So, after school, I watched the Mickey Mouse Club, learned to keep the white ball out of the billiard pockets and tried to avoid putting the slot machine into TILT mode.  I learned to ride on a neighbor’s horse.  Another neighbor came to help us with haying.  So, while we were mostly autonomous, we also relied on each other to be in community.
    Hal Borland* (quoted above) also wrote about community.  He lived on a dirt road, had good neighbors, and observed wild life very similar to that around here.  Of course, when he wrote, 40 years ago, none of us had bears, fishers or coyotes all of which now make themselves very much at home in our back yards.  This summer the creatures that share our outdoor spaces are both annoying and amusing.  As I sat here typing, I noticed the tall weeds waving back and forth at the end of a garden bed (yes – I do have weeds; LOTS of them!) --- but there was no wind.  A slanted brown head poked out --- a woodchuck was gobbling down the lambs’ quarters that had grown up there.  I probably should have let him eat the weeds, but I was so startled to have him dining eight feet away, right in my garden bed, that I spoke rather firmly ---and loudly.  He took off for the wood shed.  Something (Bear? Raccoons? Possums? Skunks?) have also drained the water bowls every night during the dry weather.   I’m thinking we should have a “creature patio” where each one has his/her own little table and cup ala Rabbit Hill by Robert Lawson,***a book much loved by our boys when they were small and by me as well.
    Now that we are in August, it is time to store up good things; to preserve summer, whether it is blackberries, herbs or memories.  We’ll be canning tomatoes and probably freezing some peaches.  I’ve already dried mullein – in case of respiratory problems.  I’ll also be drying tansy to discourage pantry moths and lemon balm simply to smell wonderful.  And I’m trying to store up mental photos and feelings to pull out when the outside weather is less enjoyable.   There is something in the mellow air of mid-August, alerting us that summer though it is, we are subtly moving toward fall.  So, we need to luxuriate in balmy weather now.  “Buttercup nodded and said goodbye, clover and daisy went off together, but the fragrant water lilies lie yet moored in the golden August weather…….”. ****
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Hal Borland ---- American journalist, writer, naturalist.  1900-1978
    **Dr. Seuss --- Pen name for Theodore Seuss Geisel, an American writer of mostly children’s books well-known for their unique rhyming style of prose.  His perceptions of humanity did change over the years and he was a strong proponent of good ecological practices and caring for even the smallest person.  1904-1991.
    ***Robert Lawson --- American writer and illustrator of children’s books.  1892-1957.
    ****Celia Thaxter --- this was the first stanza of her poem, “August”.  She is an American writer and poet who lived in New England and on the islands off the coast of Maine.  1835-1894.
  18. Carol Bossard
    Turkeys can now relax; their season is over while we humans have stepped from November (Thanksgiving) into December (Christmas) with hardly a moment of transition.  We are one week into Advent; hanging of the greens at church occurred this past Sunday.  For nearly all faiths, this is the Season of Lights.  Pagan holidays emphasized light because December brings the longest nights of the year, and asking the gods to send the sun’s light again seemed a survival necessity.  The Jewish Chanukah celebrates the story of lights (oil lamps) burning way past their expiration time, saving an entire branch of humanity from tyranny, briefly anyway.  And, of course, Christmas begins with a very bright star leading to a Light that fills the lives of those who follow.  It is the season of trimmed trees, lighted candles and outdoor displays.  Peter, Paul and Mary sang a soul-stirring song, probably for Chanukah, but it works for all of us.   “Don’t Let The Light Go Out……….Let it shine through our love and our teas….. Oh no don’t let the Light go out, It’s lasted for so many years; don’t let the light go out…..DON’T Let The Light Go OUT!!”  In a time when there is so much darkness in the world, we need to be carrying lights for those who can’t ------ or won’t.
    As temperatures drop here in the northeast and snow comes and goes, we can no longer put off the season of boots, mittens and heavier coats.  (Is that snickering I’m hearing from those of you in Florida, Arizona, New Mexico, So. Carolina and California?)  Mornings here are frosty but energizing, and a cup of tea begins my day well.  Hopefully our intrusive black bears are all sleeping cozily some place distant from our back yard.  We’ve finally put out the suet as well as bird seed and would prefer no destroyed feeders.  Kerm has mended them multiple times this summer and fall; bears, raccoons and squirrels damage them, sometimes more than once/season.  I understand that they, too, are hungry, but they have absolutely NO manners!   Chickadees, nuthatches tufted titmice are all bouncing around the feeders with their usual quick energy.  They, and the woodpeckers, seem grateful for the added suet.
    It is time to transfer pumpkins from the porch to the lawn, for benefit of turkeys and deer.  We’ll be replacing them on the porch, with snowmen and wraths.  Our holiday preparations are less strenuous than they were a decade or so ago.  We’ve simplified and pared, and use only the things most important to us and that we really enjoy.  We’ve ordered our evergreen wreath from the school FFA group, also a poinsettia.  We cleaned out our tubs of decorations a couple of years ago, giving away things we didn’t find useful anymore.  There was a time when all the exhaustive preparation for Christmas was fun.  Now we’d just be exhausted, which seems both irreverent and foolish.  We have grown to find the small, happy things around us enough.  Of course, we keep the decorations that have meaning; the stable that Kerm constructed, layering the roof carefully with full-length straws gleaned from an Amish oat field, the ceramic Christmas tree given to us by a 4-H leader who made it herself, the wreath our granddaughter created for us a few years ago.  Our tree ornaments range from the Shiny Brites my mother and dad had on our tree at home to ones we’ve collected and lovely ones given to us by family and friends.  Less stress and more warm  times would be our current motto.
    This coming weekend we’ll be enjoying the community chorus from a neighboring village.  They will come to our church to present their music and also do a and carol-sing; a fine way to begin December.  At 7:00, on Sunday evening, we gather to hear music that they’ve been preparing for weeks and in between their songs, we get to sing Christmas carols.  We are a singing community!  Afterward (probably why the group is glad to come here) we have a magnificent spread of cookies and other finger foods.   

    Music at Christmas time is one of my special joys.  I play seasonal CDs during the day, as well as in the evening.  We have a stash of the usual Christmas carols that everyone knows, but we also enjoy some English madrigals, some classical music like Handel’s Messiah, and Christmas folk songs that aren’t so familiar.  One of my favorites is “The Huron Carol” written as a Native American version of the Christmas story.  Music is such a mood-changer.  I can put on a CD and be immediately brightened --- or elated ---- or relaxed ---- all depending on the music.   I’ve even begun practicing a bit on my flute.  When arthritis began stiffening my neck, flute-playing became painful, but I’ve missed it, so am working on it a bit at a time.
    Learning to relax, especially in a busy season, continues to be a work in progress.  I think our attitudes toward busyness may begin way back in childhood.  Tutu Mora** says that “Feeling the need to be busy all the time is a trauma response and fear-based distraction from what we’d be forced to acknowledge and feel if we slowed down.”  Perhaps!  I also think there is a fine line between teaching one’s children to work up to their abilities and forge ahead ---- and over-emphasizing the work ethic to the point where relaxation and leisure sound like dirty words.  I think those of us who grew up on farms or in some other family business, have been impressed with the immediacy of tasks and have difficulty in slowing our pace even when there’s no longer a need for pushing.  As a result, we often end up (as we age) with tense and painful necks and shoulders, with a feeling of dis-ease when we sit doing nothing and with a monkey-mind that skitters and whirls when we are attempting a quiet time.  Whatever the source, we too often cross that line where being busy has become a way of life for us; a morally good way to live.  And we have forgotten the benefits of time spent in just being.
    I recently listened to a series of podcasts on Aging --- which I may share more in depth in another essay.  But one thing, offered by a Harvard professor, particularly impressed me.  He said that as one ages, life can be better and quite wonderful, but for that to happen, we must change our perspective on what we should be doing.  His advice was, every day to include a time for walking (in whatever sense our body allows that -- might be Chair Yoga or stretching if actual walking is impossible), a time for learning something new----reading, a podcast or a class, and a time of holding the wider world up for our conscious concern ---- praying or at least thoughtful consideration.  In short, live in such a balanced way that our health and well-being is as important to us as our accomplishments.
    As we look ahead to the next few weeks, instead of allowing ourselves to become hassled, over-worked and exhausted, perhaps we could try this little formula.  Maybe start out by doing each of those things for ½ hour.  That is only one and a half hours out of the twenty-four we have, to work on easing and enriching our lives.   That would be a fine way to fill December with the peace, radiance and love suggested by the occasions we celebrate.   
    I found this poem by Brother David Steindl-Rast***.  I had read one of his books (Music of Silence) and enjoyed it in small bites at a time.  This poem speaks to us about quiet --- about conscious awareness of the world around us ----- about finding peace in small things.
    “May I grow still enough to hear the small noises the earth makes in preparing for the long sleep of winter. So that you, yourself, may grow calm and grounded deep within.
    May you grow still enough to hear the trickling of water seeping into the ground, so that your soul may be softened and healed, and guided in its flow.
    May you grow still enough to hear the splintering of starlight in the winter sky and the roar at earth’s fiery core.
    May you grow still enough to hear the stir of a single snowflake in the air, so that your inner silence may turn into hushed expectation.”
    It takes conscious awareness and determination to keep our inner lights glowing, especially in such a complicated time. Whenever I hear “Don’t Let The Light Go Out” I realize the song hold as much relevance today as it was whenever Peter, Paul and Mary recorded it.  This dark world needs all the light and LIGHT it can get.  If we allow ourselves to be nourished by the creation around us, by time spent in good relationships and caring, we will be Light-Bearers for whatever part of the world is ours.  It is good for us and good for whatever part of the world is in our venue, to make the darkness less.
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Peter, Paul and Mary” --- a folk and activist trio from the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s-
    **Tutu Mora –Tutu (Dorothy) Mora is a breath-work facilitator and also a certified instructor in Qigong and Pilates.
    ***Brother David Steindl-Rast --- Born in Austria in 1926.  He became a Benedictine brother who has degrees in theology, philosophy and fine arts.  He is known for his work with interfaith dialogue and connecting spirituality and science.
  19. Carol Bossard
    We’ve decorated, baked, caroled and the Season of Noel is approaching its end.  We do have until January 6th ---- 12th Night ---- before we must pack the shiny ornaments away and we head into true winter.  It has been two weeks of being together with friends and family, good church services and special music.  One of our remaining tasks would be sending out  Christmas cards.  We have more time now, to write notes.
    New Year’s Eve is coming and it is, for many, a time of merriment and partying.  I somehow managed to escape the “coming of age” inebriation experience.  This wasn’t through any particular virtue of mine, although truthfully, I can’t comprehend why people would want to suffer again and again after once experiencing a hangover.  Simply, there was no alcohol in the house during my growing-up years, and a little glass of wine or a can of beer was never part of my culture.  Most of my friends didn’t drink either.    And after trying a sip or two in college, I realized very soon that I didn’t like the taste; fermentation tasted like something I’d throw away.  However, in a spirit of helpfulness, for those who indulge in a bit too much bubbly on New Year’s Eve, I offer this nutritional advice.  DO NOT drink coffee as a cure.  Two major effects of excessive alcohol consumption are dehydration and stomach irritation, which will also interfere with eating.  Coffee, which acts as a diuretic can cause more fluid loss and possibly more stomach upsets, thereby delaying recovery.  (This is also why, when urged to drink more liquids by one’s doctor, coffee doesn’t count!!)  Instead, you need to drink about a quart of fluid upon waking, and another quart over the next 24 hours.  Water and fruit juices are good choices.  Also, take a Vitamin B tablet.  And rest!  Hopefully, though, you won’t need this recipe as you leave 2022 behind and enter 2023.
    Winter, with its varying moods, will be with us now until the spring Equinox in March, as well as several weeks thereafter. I view this as a sort of hibernation time --- why should bears have all the perks?  This thought from Serendipity Corner* concurs: “The winter is a friend if you make it one.  I look forward to the gray, quiet time for solitude, contemplation, leading long conversations with friends.  Colors are softer, sounds have more depth, the pace is gentler.  Instead of resentment at the lack of sun, snuggle into the gray velvet quilt and make yourself a cup of tea.”  I would, as an aside, disagree about the sun; anyone living in our region, needs a sunshine light; our brains need sunlight to function well, in addition to determined good cheer!

     
     
     
    Kerm and I don’t cease our coming and going, but we cut down.  I find it soothing, to not always be getting ready for something.  I enjoy reading new books, and re-reading favorites.  Two of the books in which I indulge annually are: The Nocturnal Naturalist by Cathy Johnson** and Wandering Through Winter by Edwin Way Teale.***  It somehow makes my winter brighter to remind myself of what the creatures around us are doing.  According to bird experts, owls are currently mating and laying eggs.  Brr!  A frigid nursery for the owlets!  But isn’t it reassuring that owls are sure enough about spring coming to mate and lay eggs, despite chilly winds and falling snow?
    We can soon open fresh calendars and maybe --- possibly ---- even decide to acquire a fresh point of view or two.  For many years I constructed a calendar “from scratch” for ourselves, then for our sons and then for sons and their families.  I’d buy a large drawing tablet and start laying out lines for days of the month.  Then I’d add pertinent stickers or hand-drawn sketches, and the dates of family birthdays and anniversaries.  I finished with a lovely picture for each month.  Arthritis in my hands has made this process difficult, so now I purchase a calendar that I think is appropriate and fill in the dates, along with a few fun stickers.  This isn’t as personally satisfying --- but happily, I don’t need hand therapy afterward.  I like calendars in spite of the current propensity for keeping dates in a phone.  I like seeing a picture that illustrates the kind of month we hope it will be --- and I like turning the pages when the months change.  I’m a visual person and storage of my daily life in a mechanical device just doesn’t do it for me!
    How do your days run?  Or maybe I should ask if your days race by, or are there periods of slow sauntering and maybe even stopping to enjoy the view?   How do you decide to fill your days?  I think most of us glance at our calendars, be they electronic or on the wall, and if there is an empty slot, we agree to do whatever it is we are being asked to do.  Our days fill up quickly, and suddenly, we need roller skates!  Growing up in 4-H, the accepted mantra, when asked to do something, was “I’ll be glad to!”**** I believe in volunteering and being helpful, but is it possible that we need to moderate this philosophy, giving our lives  more thought before we jump into someone else’s agenda?  We tell ourselves we just want to help, but is that all?  Is there a self-serving bit of wanting everyone to appreciate us, that makes us say “Yes”?  Several friends were recently talking together, and the question was: “What if we took the time for some spiritual guidance to determine our calendar activities?  How would that change our attitudes and our days?”  Interesting question!  Might wisdom possibly come filtering through quiet time and into our souls?  I happen to believe strongly in spiritual nudging but even so, I seldom think to ask for clarity about using my time well.    Do I need more time to rest?  Am I saying “yes” to prove I have the stamina for anything?  Should I, instead, be spending time in ways that stretch my mind and spirit?  Am I cheating anyone else by giving my time away?  And, perhaps most crucial, what impact will this have on my inner self?  Will it lift my spirits or depress them?  I’m certainly not suggesting we do not volunteer, but time, especially as we increase in years, is a precious commodity.  Giving more in-depth thinking to how we spend our time, before we scatter our hours abroad, seems like a useful New Year’s resolution.
    “New” years don’t, universally, always start on January 1st; they begin at different times for different cultures.  In ancient Ireland, the new year began at the end of the harvest season --- bringing us Samhain, which led to our Halloween. The new year for Orthodox Jews is Yom Kippur, after the atonement time of Rosh Hashana.  For the Christian church, Advent, four Sundays before Christmas, begins the new church year.  Tet is the Vietnamese new year and it depends on the lunar calendar, but usually comes in January or February, as does the Chinese New Year.  Anyone with children may consider the beginning of school their actual new year.   Beginnings are exciting and maybe a little scary; there’s gratitude for the past year, gladness that life is moving along with us, and hope for the future, along with a bit of trepidation about possible changes.   I have a few regrets for this past year; the loss of friends through death and/or misunderstanding.  I regret the times I’ve been so focused on my worries that I’ve been oblivious to the wonders around me.  I wish I had used my time better.  Mostly, though, I’m filled with gratitude for family, for friends and for all the opportunities available to me.  I have concerns, of course, about the violence so prevalent now and the unrelenting “me first,” greed and desire for power that is somehow viewed, by many, as acceptable.  I regret the fear that drives people to reject, to the point of persecution, life-styles and philosophies not their own.   But I’m also hopeful that eventually, bit by bit, good sense and kindness will prevail.
    This year could be much like last year.  Spring will come, we will garden and mow the lawn, celebrate holidays and continue what we normally do.  But one never knows how life may veer in a new direction.  I note changes in my own life.  Suddenly a good friend dies.  With no warning, my favorite destination store closes.  It is no joyful thing that my eyes continue to deteriorate and that arthritis sneakily bends my fingers further and stiffens my neck.  These are painful little reminders of change that demands more thoughtful coping skills.  Other changes are  more welcome; I have the joy of seeing our granddaughters maturing into creative and talented adults, of enjoying times with friends who are kindred spirits and of seeing glimpses here and there of new and good things happening world-wide.  So – for this next year I liked this little quotation that I found on Face Book --- I don’t know its author ----and will share it with you.

    “I hope there are days when your coffee {tea for me} tastes like magic, your playlist makes you dance, strangers make you smile, and the night sky touches your soul.  I hope you will fall in love with being alive again.”  And remember that each of us has the power to add to the light or darkness of the world ---- a bit daunting, but also a wonderful responsibility.  Happy New Year!
    *******************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *--Serendipity Corner –New Age & Metaphysical shop in Kentucky.
    **Cathy Johnson –An American writer, artist and naturalist.
    ***Edwin Way Teale---American conservationist, photographer and writer.  He documented environmental conditions all across the United States.  1899-1980.
    ****Dorothy Emerson coined the phrase “I’ll be glad to” as she spoke to 4-Hers all over the country.  She was my first “inspirational speaker” and had a huge impact.
  20. Carol Bossard

    Fear/Anxiety And Joy

    By Carol Bossard,

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

    February Love

    By Carol Bossard,

    February in the Finger Lakes is like a mild case of the flu. Instead of sneezing and coughing, however, our symptoms are less patience with and more grumbles about cold, snow, graupel, ice and slush.  We will assuredly survive, but we are ready for more sun and a few signs of spring.  Yesterday was a good start!   I try to look at winter as a performance and I’m interested to see how the scenes play out.  Will Acts I & II (mid-December- Mid February) bring cold and blizzards, or will it be an open winter with occasional snow squalls and mild temperatures?  The 8 below zero last weekend was  a mean twist in the plot!  After mid-February, we hope Act 3 brings more blue-sky days, occasional signs of swelling buds and a tinge of green in the swamps.   Perhaps the play will conclude early with Mendelssohn’s Spring Song.
    This is a month of celebrations - Valentine’s Day, President’s Day, Mardi Gras (AKA: Fat Tuesday/Doughnut Day/ Pancake Day), the season of Lent and family birthdays.  In January, one granddaughter turned sixteen, and now, in February, the other will turn nineteen.   Both daughters-in-law, another family member and a couple of long-time friends also celebrate this month.  So, bake the cakes, light the candles, open the cards and be glad for another year of adventures.
    Businesses that sell cards, red construction paper, lacy doilies, candy and flowers, rejoice.  According to legend, this holiday exists because of a clergyman, Valentine, who continued to marry young couples in Rome against the wishes of Emperor Claudius II. Claudius thought young men made better soldiers if undistracted by marriage.  So, he threw Valentine into jail.  From his cell the priest sent notes to friends, signing them “Your Valentine”.  Another bit of lore is that he fell in love with the jailer’s daughter, and sent his “your Valentine” notes to her.  Whichever is true, his name came to be associated with love prevailing against all odds.  Sadly, he was executed for his persistence, becoming a Christian martyr who was then elevated to sainthood by the church and given a feast day in his memory ----- St. Valentine’s Day.
    Of course, there are many kinds of love.  In the Greek language, there are at least three options; eros --- the sort of love that leads one into an intimate relationship with another person, phileo --- brotherly love and kindness for a family member or friend, and agape – the sacrificial, all-caring love for all individuals --- for humanity; God’s sort of love.   Tara Shannon’s *Rabbit asked Bear about love: “How do you know when you love someone?” and Bear answers: “When you feel like you’re home no matter where you are.” Bear’s  definition is good for all three kinds of love.
    Movies, TV shows and fairy tales often depict love in ways that are mostly unrealistic.  How many girls have waited for their “prince” to come and found that instead of the glass slipper and castle, real love requires patience, accepting differences, balancing a budget, possibly changing diapers for a baby and picking up sneakers from the kitchen floor before scrubbing that same floor.  Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and several other princesses of lore have set up impossible scenarios for young girls --- and young men too.  What sixteen-year-old boy feels like Prince Charming?    
    And how many adults have felt stuck in their roles because of sitcoms?  According to TV, “Perfect” wives vacuum in their best clothes, after which they prepare a gourmet dinner.   “Perfect” husbands sweep their well-dressed wives into their arms when they return home (after having made oodles of money), they mow the lawn regularly and solve everyone’s problems before bedtime.   More recent sitcoms, unfortunately, depict eros as social recreation for the boudoir instead of a commitment to another beloved person.  Feeling comfortable with ourselves and encouraging our loved ones to be who they are ---- that is a more real love than the ephemeral feelings of fairy tale love or the banal and graceless philosophy of free love.
    I expect all of us have, when we are young, felt what is called puppy love --- being noticed by the cool guy or girl and, hopefully, being asked out!  It is the glamor of dressing for the prom, the excitement of holding hands at the movies, the quality of a school day that depends on whether “he” or “she” is in class that day.  Those developing, delightful, yo-yo emotions need time to mature.  Pat Boone sang about “April Love,” but I’d call this early attraction “February Love.”   Maybe that’s why there are so many June weddings?  Metaphorically speaking, love needs time and wisdom to mature from springtime to summer.  Happiness does include romance but no lasting relationship is all moonlight and roses.   It is also work, sharing the same values and -- very important ---- finding similar things funny.    Kindness, shared interests, laughter, and a bit of moonlight and roses, smooth the twisty path through life. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!
    As I’d planned, I’ve been using this winter to go through boxes and baskets of papers; papers of all sorts and genres.  Some of what I’ve unearthed is family memorabilia.  I’ve found myself wishing once more, that I’d asked more questions when there was still someone alive to provide information.  It takes a few years of living to realize that one’s roots can be exceedingly interesting.   Their importance does NOT necessarily lie in discovering a coat of arms, eligibility for the DAR or even being related to Pocahontas or King Henry VIII.  We each contribute our own value to this world.   But knowing about my forebearers gives me a sense of belonging, and I am grateful.  One of my favorite quotations explains this:  “Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.  Be still they say.  Watch.  Listen.  You are the result of the love of thousands.**” Every time I read this, I feel loved, connected, and grateful that I am part of a special group of people.
    We do know a little, for one of my brothers explored some of our genealogy.  We knew that my maternal ancestors came from France, but we’ve recently learned that they probably made the hard trek from there to Canada, and then to the United States ---- ten or twenty years before the Revolutionary War.  We believe they were part of the sad exodus from Canada, when the British took control from the French, as mentioned in Longfellow’s poem, Evangeline.  My father’s paternal ancestors were Highland Scots who probably came to this country either after the Jacobite Rebellion (1747) or when the lairds selfishly uprooted families and threw them off the land to make room for more sheep (1810-1820).  I’d have to check on dates, but there is usually an economic or life-threatening reason for leaving one’s land of birth.   Along the way, I acquired a Dutch great- grandmother and a German grandmother.  This makes me quite a mixture, and gives me a better sense of who I am.   But I’d still like to know more ---- about “Uncle Abner Dusett” who I’ve heard, grew fields of carrots on his farm. I’d like my mother’s perspective on the 19th Amendment; she was 22 when it became law.   Was “Grandma Allen” really related to Ethan Allen?  And how did my paternal grandmother survive being widowed, with two very small sons, in a day when there were few jobs for women?  You, who still have older members of your family, take note, and ask questions!  History will come alive with stories.
    My gardening gene is definitely an inherited trait although I wouldn’t have thought so when I was nine and sent out to pick green beans.  My mother’s gardens were amazing; I wrote an article about them that was published in Flower and Garden Magazine some years ago.  She moved from a veggie garden (after most of her children grew up) to transforming swaths of land around her home with herbs, flowers and shrubbery.  Working in the garden was her joy, and even though, in her later years she was legally blind, she gardened until the snows came in her 94th year.  When she died the following February, we found her flower orders ready to be sent.   
    One of the fun things ---- for me ---- about gardening, is planning, and I think that may have been true for her too.  After her death, I found several detailed garden plans drawn and labeled in her fine script.  Visualizing color combinations brightens my January and February.  My garden plans tend to change a time or two before planting season.  Then, about mid-June, they are altered again, depending on what didn’t germinate, what the rabbits ate and what cool plants I’ve discovered at Early Bird, Baker’s Acres or Iron Kettle. This year, will be a whole new exercise in creative cutting back.   
    Hal Borland*** said: “Spring advances northward at approximately 16 miles per day; roughly 100 miles per week.  This applies only to even ground though.  When one begins to climb, then northward pace slackens, since Spring moves uphill only about 100 feet per day.”   An enthusiastic mathematician could visit Washington D.C. during cherry blossom time and then ascertain when trees might be blossoming in Albany, New York.  I think I’ll just watch the cats.  When they begin racing around the lawn and dancing on the picket fence, I’ll be quite sure spring is coming closer.  Meanwhile, February gives us time to make valentines, fry doughnuts and plan gardens as the snow filters down outside the windows and the cold winds blow.  It is good to let people know we love them via valentines.  It is a pleasure to use my grandpa’s doughnut recipe (for Doughnut Day, of course) as a once/year treat.  And there is great satisfaction in visualizing a garden by the fireside.  No bugs, no weeds and beautiful blooms!
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Tara Shannnon ---American writer, poet and artist.    
    **Linda Hogan -----American writer and TV personality.
    ***Hal Borland ----American naturalist, writer and journalist.  1900-1978.
     
  22. Carol Bossard
    I get a gold star this year for having my plant orders ready early.  Last year several plants that I wanted were gone by March.  I think people were shut in, bored, and were desperately wanting spring to come.  That might well be true of this winter too.   So --- I’m ready to call/send them in.  I’m also ordering less.  It’s an unhappy realization that the energy I have must be portioned out carefully --- and Kerm’s energy too. Dreaming about gardens is my panacea when winter annoys; I just need to rein in the scope of those visions.  Weeding is much easier from the perspective of a cozy chair by the fire than on my knees in April.
    One of the TV shows that both Kerm and I enjoy is “Finding Your Roots”, aired on PBS.  It is quite amazing to see what research can discover about one’s ancestors.  My brother was very interested in genealogy and compiled reams of information about both sides of my family.  My Scottish father and my French mother with a Dutch great-grandmother thrown in make an interesting combination of genes.  It is --- I hope --- a good mix! Learning about the “back stories” is fascinating.  I wish I’d asked more questions when there was someone to answer them, although my mother did a good job of introducing me to family members via their tombstones.  Knowing about forebearers provides a background that makes me think hard about all those who are responsible for me being who I am.  As this favorite quotation says:  “Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.” *
    I’ve been fortunate in having family members who provided good examples for me --- perhaps not always, but certainly often ---- and lots of love, though it wasn’t always expressed in actual words. My siblings were twelve to twenty years older than I, so it was my good fortune that I was able to find a closer acquaintance with my brothers and sister later in life. I would hope to not waste my opportunities with family members and friends who are still with me.  It is harder as we scatter ourselves from state to state, but good family ties promote health, happiness and a feeling of security, so we keep trying.  I’ve always been comforted to know that if I’m in trouble in New York, in Massachusetts, in Connecticut, in Virginia, in Washington State, in Arizona, in California, in Colorado and now, in New Hampshire ---- I can call on family to rescue me.  😊
    Ties are always being broken by distance and/or death, although the good memories continue to be blessings.  Last week, we had news that a very good friend died at the beginning of January.  Richard Cole hired me to supervise the OFA Nutrition program in Schuyler County way back in 1981.  It was a new agency and we were all unfamiliar with each other.  Dick managed to turn a diverse group of people into a cohesive team.  And in the process, Kerm and I became good friends with Dick and his wife, Mary. Dick had a trio --- the Dick Cole Gospel Group --- for whom he sang, played the piano and wrote music.  Spencer Singers joined them for several enjoyable concerts plus ice cream parties and picnics.  At work, we did an annual Staff Day Away and Dick offered some very funny and creative workshop ideas as part of team-building.  He managed a complicated budget with skill even as he worried over its inadequacy.  This man who excelled in personal integrity, in music, had a great sense of humor, and was good at fending off useless NYS mandates, will be missed.  He was a fine person and a good friend.
    “There is a stillness in winter ---a silence that comes from the gentle, falling snow.  It calls us to listen to the beat of our own hearts and to the ancient wisdom of our ancestors, whispering through our veins.”  Tara Shannon**
    The death of someone close often leads to thinking about one’s own life in some depth. However, we should take the time to do some soul-searching, not just when death makes us pause, but rather like annual chimney-sweeping or cleaning out the eaves. Winter seems a good time for this.  Our early ancestors didn’t have electric lights, cars, planes or anything else that could keep them up at night or traveling hither and yon. Humans, like other mammals, used winter to rest and restore, and from what I have read, it was also a time of meditation and spiritual growth. We, who can run to the grocery store whenever we choose and fly to Florida for R&R tend to forget that our minds and bodies need a surcease from over-active living. We need time to reflect on how our inner spirits are faring.   Could life be more satisfying?  Do we need to be going in a different direction?  Who do we need to forgive? From whom do we need forgiveness?  How can we live a more meaningful life in total?
    A 20th and 21st-century plague, probably more virulent to a good life than COVID, is getting stuck in a rut both in our daily lives and in our perspectives.  We allow our routines to freeze into solid barriers that do not allow change or flexibility; we get up, shower, eat breakfast, go to work, do whatever it is we do at work, go home, fix dinner, watch TV or veg out on the computer, and go to bed.  If we aren’t aware, we end up doing the same thing the next day and most days thereafter.  In a similar way we view the world from our comfy little perspectives; having decided what/who we wish to believe, we refuse to explore further.  We say we don’t have time for reading, for joining community groups or church.  We don’t have time or energy to sit in nature for a half hour to restore our senses.  We don’t even try to understand those who think differently.  We are oblivious to the free moments we could easily have if we weren’t so entranced with being busy or lingering on-line. A routine can be useful, but when overdone it can make a life that sees no growth or blooming.   Possibilities come with thought, and possibilities inject new life into our days. An understanding of why people do what they do --- or think as thy think--- may just temper our frustrations and add to our peace ---- and possibly, the world’s peace.

    At this point in my life, I’m not as involved with outside activities as I once was. But I try to stay informed and alert to the world around me. Instead of moaning about what I can no longer accomplish (something I catch myself doing too often --- like daily), I need to do that which I feel especially called to do. Someone else must now join committees, transport people to the hospital, serve on boards and fight fires (not that I ever did this!). I hope the younger people in their communities do feel a responsibility to fill the gaps left by those of us who have less stamina. There was great story recently about high school kids of Sacketts Harbor, NY, who finding a dearth of volunteers for the local ambulance corps, took the training and became the community’s new, and very competent, rescue unit. Good and responsible.
    Our neighborhoods or villages, with their small churches, volunteer fire and ambulance corps, Granges, Lions’ Clubs and community centers are vital to our national health.  Without them, we don’t really know each other which eventually results in not really caring for each other.  And we’ve seen far too much of that. Getting to know people --- even those with whom we disagree quite strongly ----reminds us of our mutual humanity. It is hard to hate someone with whom we’ve eaten pancakes at the Masonic Lodge or whose children have played together with ours. Networking is considered a business trend, but personal networking is far more crucial.  It’s called keeping in touch!
    Now, in late January and early February, cabin fever usually sets in. Any time I’m feeling dull or moody because of too much winter, I go to the garden books and catalogs.    Would that rose blooming with sunrise colors be right on the new pergola or should we try that crimson and cream honeysuckle?  Might we, in our down-sizing decisions, forget about the small veggies like beets and carrots, just getting them at the Farmers’ Market?  Maybe we should follow the old Biblical custom of letting the land rest for a year (and us too)? There are many ways to fill winter days with interest, whatever one’s interest might be.  What is yours???
    I’ll leave this thought with you: “Once upon a time…..there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy.  The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”***    If we can be glad at least twice a day, simply for life, no matter whether the sky is gray or sunny, and no matter what grief we may be feeling, I think that our days will be less frustrating.  And winter might not seem as long!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *Linda Hogan ---Television personality and former wife of Hulk Hogan.  Known for her TV show, “Hogan Knows Best.”
    **Tara Shannon – American actress and the creator of “Rabbit and Bear”, a currently popular and relevant cartoon.
    ***Terry Tempest Williams ---American writer, educator, conservationist and activist.  Much of her writing has been influenced by the arid landscape of Utah.  She advocates for environmental justice, women’s health and protection of public lands.
  23. Carol Bossard
    “I like the fall --- the mist and all.  I like the night owl’s lonely call --- and wailing sound of wind around….”*
    Especially do I like those things if we have a cozy fire in the wood stove and a c up of hot chocolate in hand.  We are well into October and Halloween is approaching.  If you don’t like Halloween, how about “All-Soul’s Night” and “All- Saint’s Day” instead?  Festivals marking the end of the growing season seemed also to have evoked the memory of those who’ve gone on.  Our Halloween comes from the Celtic Samhain (pronounced Sa-ween); a spooky harvest tribute and time when the veil between this world and the afterworld was thought to be very thin, so thin there was passage between.  Both All Soul’s Night and All Saint’s Day are Christian holidays, designed to transform those pre-Christian festivals from spooky to holy.
    Youngsters (and adults too) have fun pretending and dressing up in costumes.  We’ve always had a dress-up hamper available for kids.  Just a few weeks ago, I received fun photos from a long-time friend; the two of us, at around age 11 or 12, were dressed up in way-too-old-for-us clothing, and looking as sophisticated as only an 11 or 12-year-old can, which isn’t very!  I don’t, however, recall going out for Halloween.  We lived three miles from town and walking up and down my road at night wouldn’t have been permitted.  When our boys were young, I sewed fun costumes that later became pajamas or were put into the costume box for another time, and we had Halloween parties in place of trick or treating.  I remember making a Super Man outfit, complete with cape, and another time, something out of silver velveteen --- maybe the Tin Man?  Our home in Livingston Manor was perfect for Halloween parties.  Its split-level attic, with gables, became a wonderfully eerie, but fun, Halloween maze.   In my late years, though, I probably prefer the idea of All-Soul’s Night and All-Saint’s Day.   These have a mystique that connects me with past generations; the many people who came before.  There is a hymn entitled, “For All The Saints”.: “….from earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s furthest coast, through gates of pearl, streams in the countless host, singing……”**  I like that visual and I’m grateful for all those who have helped me become me.
    And speaking of people in my life, we recently lost a very good friend.  Sally had been dealing with one or another variety of cancer for decades.  She met this challenge with courage, trust in the physician who treated her and the surety that she would be on earth, with us and with her family as long as she needed to be.  We collaborated in teaching Sunday school for many years.  She was active in the community --- organizing a pre-school before one was available, starting the community soccer program ---- working in the school library and being available to kids as a listening ear. For much of this last year, she would have agreed with this statement by Agatha Christie: “I like living.  I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, raked with worry, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”  But in the last few weeks, she also felt quite ready to be called out of this life to living in life eternal.   She was a shining example for how to uncomplainingly and courageously face unwelcome changes without fear, with humor and with trust in God.  It will take time, though, before we, her friends, stop expecting her to walk in the door with her knitting and cheery smile.
    Not all of us find “cheery” to be an easy emotion to maintain.  In autumn, as the darkness grows and the temperatures fall, for some people, a tendency to depression also grows and spirits fall.  Unfortunately, there is no one diagnosable cause for depression and while there are practices and medications that may lessen depression, there is no guaranteed cure.  Doctors are unable to totally agree on either cause or treatment and both can be very personal/individual.  Having dealt with this malady myself, I know well how debilitating it can be, even though my experiences were nowhere as severe as those of many others.  Depression can run the gamut from being a glob of gloom, to isolation, to being suicidal.  I found this thought by Gabrielle Roth*** to be something to consider. “In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited or depressed, they would ask one of four questions:  When did you stop dancing?  When did you stop singing?  When did you stop being enchanted by stories?  When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence?”  Good questions!  When did I begin feeling this way?  What was going on in my life then?  What would it take to find joy in my day?  I have found therapy to be very useful but it also helps to do a little personal sleuthing within.  What I read, the music I’m listening to, how much TV news I watch and whether or not I’m getting out and about, all can impact my moods when despondency and depression sneak in.  This may only be good advice for moderate depression or maybe only applicable to me.   We all respond differently and certainly those in deep, unrelenting darkness and despair need intervention and help from professionals NOW, just as one would with a heart attack or stroke.
    I try to plan ahead for possibilities.  This is not necessarily a virtue since it also means I like to be in firm control of my life, which of course, I’m not, nor should be.  But we are as we are!  So, just as we rural-dwellers get wood cut for our stoves before cold weather comes, knowing the probability for low spirits also demands a plan prior to the need.  For this reason, I have what is called a “sunshine” light.  I have books at hand that take me to faraway places, tell me stories of people so compelling that I am diverted from my own troubles, re-route my mind to gardens and cozy kitchens.  Some will be new books and some will be well-read oldies.  I also sort my CDs for music that fits my moods; uplifting music (Sandi Patti, Celtic Thunder or Josh Groban), dancing music (Andre Rieu) and music that makes me laugh like the Chad Mitchell Trio’s rendition of “Lizzie Borden” or Priscilla Herdman’s “Waltzing With Bears.”  It is also good to keep moving.  Bone-Builders may return after a long COVID hiatus.  Exercise alone is boring!   But exercising with a group is kind of fun, and it does provide socialization.   Fresh air is another tonic; being in it, for any reason at all, energizes the whole person.  So, daily chores like feeding birds and outside cats are a blessing that I don’t always appreciate, but that generally works wonders for my psyche.
    Growing things has a dual benefit; watching plants blossom and hands in the soil.  This nearly always helps lift my low spirits.  Even though the gardens are ready for winter I still find excuses for walking around them and thinking of spring.  Bulbs of daffodils and tulips are tucked in for blooming in April ---- something to anticipate.  Planted in with the bulbs are moth balls to discourage the nasty, voracious voles.  A three-dollar tulip bulb is a 5-star dessert as far as they are concerned, so the thought of a vole biting down on a moth ball makes me smile.  By January the memories of this past, dry, uninspired summer will have faded and I’ll be as susceptible as usual to the plant and seed catalogs bringing an hour or so of delight.  It is one of the healing qualities of the human spirit --- to find joy after discouragement and disappointment.  And meanwhile, let’s absorb October, before the weather report says----- instead of lake-effect rain showers, there’ll be “lake-effect snow showers”.   We did get a frost last night, so…………….!!
    There are many stories floating around Halloween, in the history of different cultures.  There was one Celtic custom of rolling lighted wheels down-hill to frighten away evil spirits.   Also, early Celtic Jack-o-Lanterns were actually turnips and rutabagas, hollowed out and filled with lighted tallow --- to protect one from evil spirits (not to mention wandering thieves) if out and about at night.   In many Asian countries there is The Hungry Ghost Festival among the Buddhist-Taoist people.  In Romania, there’s Dracula Day.  Nepal celebrates with a parade for Gai Jatra --- a festival for those who have lost loved ones that year.  And in Mexico, there is the Day of the Dead.  Humans seem to need these occasions to mark transitions wherever they live.  It is a way of turning difficult times into holy ones.  So, lighten up this Halloween and allow a shiver or two at moving shadows in the Halloween landscape.  And be grateful for that long line of saints from the past, who made you who you are.
    “Tonight is the night when dead leaves fly like witches on switches across the sky, when elf and sprite flit through the night on a moony sheen.  Tonight is the night when leaves make a sound like a gnome in his home under the ground, when spooks and trolls creep out of holes mossy and green.  Tonight is the night when pumpkins stare through leaves and eaves everywhere, wien ghoul and ghost and goblin host dance round their queen.  It’s Halloween!  Harry Behn****
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Dixie Willson’s poem “The Mist And All”.   Dixie Willson was an American screen-writer, author of children’s book and short stories as well as a poet.  1890-1974.
    **”For All The Saints” ---words by William W. How, 1823-1897.
    ***Gabrielle Roth--- American dancer, musician and author.  1941-2012.
    ****Harry Behn---American screen writer and children’s author, poet.    1898-1973
  24. Carol Bossard

    From The Heart

    By Carol Bossard,

    What a variety of weather February is bringing us.   Shortly after Valentine’s Day, environmentalists on social media began encouraging us to leave garden debris for a few weeks at the beginning of the “season”, and “don’t pull dandelions.”  I’m thinking, “Umm.….there are still patches of snow beneath my shrubs, plus what we just got, and dandelions haven’t dared show a glimmer of green.  There’ll be no debris-removal until mud season is over and my fingers won’t freeze.”
    Regardless of yoyo weather, I am appreciative of each morning; my heart has continued beating all night, and I’m up and relatively mobile.    Cardinals and nuthatches on the feeder make me smile, and I enjoy figuring out which creatures have been passing through during the night.  The ears of corn are nibbled away, indicating deer, and the large water bowl is empty, so I’m assuming skunks and possums are awake.  I’m glad to be awake myself.  I don’t take these privileges for granted anymore!   And, spring is working its way north, dandelions and all!
    Yesterday, we entered the Season of Lent. Mardi Gras is over.  For Fat Tuesday, I had planned to make some raised-dough delectables from my Grandpa Dusett’s recipe.  The events of the day decided otherwise.  An appointment with the acupuncturist for shoulder pain seemed more important that the sugary wonders ---- definitely an all-day project.    I do enjoy carrying on traditions when possible and making family recipes is always a pleasure.  In addition to the doughnuts, I also have My grandfather’s recipe for oatmeal cookies – soft and chewy with raisins and just a touch of molasses.   I might make those soon, but the doughnuts will have to wait now, until we celebrate Easter.
    Back to the Lenten season which is, for Christians, a preparation time, similar to Advent but without the hanging of the greens and stringing of lights.  It is the six weeks prior to Easter and marks the 40 days of Christ’s sojourn in the desert.  It is a time of less exuberance and more stirring of the heart; a time to recognize how far we fall short of who we could be, but also to rejoice and be glad in the possibilities of change and growth.
    In the early centuries, AD, the Season of Lent was a period of severe personal sacrifice, and the custom lingers --- in a milder way.  Fewer and fewer people are tied to church liturgy, but even non-church people still ask “What are you giving up for Lent?”  Common responses are: “Candy” or “Lunch” or “Ice Cream” --- a far cry from medieval fasting and flagellation.    I suppose forbidding something appetizing does have a certain value in reminding us of what Lent is all about and if that works for you, it is good.  But more recently, I’ve felt that my offering should be more pro-active, something to create peace and joy.   I suppose this would differ immensely for various people, for how we live our faith is very individual.  Some possibilities might be to read more Scripture every day, or perhaps to spend time in praying and visualization of unity and understanding, or volunteering in a soup kitchen/food cupboard or being a friendly visitor in a nursing home.  We, who observe Lent, would do well to use the time in a way that gives us six weeks of soul-building and spiritual delight.
    Jumping to a bit of back-story, you may recall that last October, along with my granddaughter, I attended a writer’s workshop in Vermont.  One of the speakers that day, was John DeDakis*, former CNN Senior Copy Editor.  In retirement, besides teaching, coaching writers and editing, he is creating mystery novels.   I have one of his books, and while it took me a couple of chapters to get into it --- possibly because I hadn’t read the preceding book and so didn’t know the characters ---- by the third chapter, I really wanted to see how this situation would resolve itself.  “Who did it??  Oh NO, Lark is in jail……!” Only a compelling story would keep me up after my bedtime and Bluff did that.   More important (to me) than the good read, however, were Mr. DeDakis’ thoughts regarding the art of writing ----and communicating.  His words do not apply only to writers, but to how we relate, people to people.
    In his workshop, he began by asking us to jot down all the words we would use to describe “grief.”  He then spoke of his own deep grief at losing a son and went on to say that if we want our writing to connect with others, our pens must pull words from the depth of our own experiences; write from our hearts.  Stories should spring from what we know and feel.  I seldom write fiction; it’s not my forte, though I spun out some “Jonathan” stories for our boys when they were young.  Nor do I feel skilled at devising complicated, interwoven plots.  I am far more comfortable writing about life --- my life, the lives around me; my perspective on the world, especially my own small portion of it.   I can describe our snow-covered pergola, bright with three crimson cardinals.   I know about retrieving cows that have wandered onto the NYS Thruway, about catching polliwogs in vernal pools and the aroma of fresh hay bales on the wagon. I can describe mediating a contest of wills between a county legislature and a state human services agency, and am able to reflect on surviving a life with family, job and chronic depression.  I can share moments of delight, and urge a better understanding of history for its importance to our survival. My gardens, the singing birds, our feral cats, black bear visits, and the small homey bits of each day beg to be shared.  I try to send out sparks of hope, create moments of awareness and mete out a quiet kind of joy.  So, John Dedakis’s philosophy made sense to me for both writing and for conversation.
    Personal stories connect us as humans.  We find healing as we share our lives, whether via fiction or non-fiction; whether written or spoken.   Our stories bring us connection and free others to tell theirs.   The Friday AM Women’s Study group that I help facilitate, is a fine example.  When we first came together, we really didn’t know each other all that well and were a bit cautious.  Now we know each other in ways that are, perhaps, different from, and in some ways, deeper, than we know many of our friends ---there is a soul-connection that is affirming and supportive.  Confidentiality is how we respect each other, and how we can trust in the sharing.
    Families, too, need more awareness of each other.  Choosing a time that works ----after school with a snack, or around the dinner table, or just before bed along with reading stories --- is crucial.  Family members need to talk with each other about their day ---- and no reprimanding or preaching.  It doesn’t take much --- a little careless laughter, a pushing aside of an art project, a small scold --- to make a child think no one wants to hear from him.  Of course, parents get busy, worried, frustrated and tired, but if they want kids to talk openly with them when they are teens, the rapport and freedom to do so must begin when they are small children.    Being really heard is key to believing we are worthy of life.
    A “Question Journal” works especially well with tweens and teens.  Parent and young person share a journal.  The parent writes a question in it, gives it to their kid, who then has the day to write an answer.  After they’ve found time to talk about the answer, the young person writes his or her question and hands it back to the parent to answer.  Honesty and consistency are crucial.  It is also honest to quietly say “I’d rather not talk about that now Let me think about it.”
    When Kerm and I participated in Marriage Encounter there was a similar procedure.  Each person wrote on the question of choice for 20 minutes, then silently read the other person’s thoughts.  After writing and reading, there was 20 minutes of discussion.  This non-threatening kind of dialog assists in keeping up with each other’s thoughts and feelings.   How many people, after years of being together, don’t have a clue about what their partner is wanting or feeling? Communication skills need mending everywhere --- in families, in schools, certainly in Congress, and all over the world.  This, as well as other great movements, is a grassroots change that begins at home.
    Here at my home, February is drawing to a close.   I saw a red-winged blackbird on my feeder; probably a scout sent ahead to assess the situation.  Yesterday, after the snow, the feeder was inundated with black birds of all genres.  There were also wild turkeys, coming off the hill, liberally scattering seed and scratching some in.   Sunflowers will be popping up everywhere!  But that won’t be happening for a while; both dandelions and sunflowers have the innate wisdom to lie low.   Finger Lakes weather can be capricious during February and March. “First gray skies, and then blue, Snow blows in on great gusts of wind while the next day is mellow with sunshine and aromas of coming spring.  Red-winged blackbirds come swooping home in spite of unfriendly weather….” **is descriptive of late winter/early spring here.    I try not to be impatient, but my heart is ready to be lifted by the sight --- and smell ---- of hyacinths and daffodils.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *---John DeDakis – novelist and writing coach.  Former CNN Senior Editor for “The Situation Room With Wolf Blitzer”.  He is the author of five novels and is a manuscript editor ---- and, from my own experience, a really nice person.
    **- portion of a poem from “A Safe Life” by CWB.
  25. Carol Bossard
    We are currently living amid the most ebullient, lush time of the year.  Greenery grows inches every night.   The cinnamon ferns in my shade garden are unrolling like so many bright green scrolls.  Soon they will be high enough that I must peer through them to see the bird feeders.  And baby raccoons and skunks will be out and about.  We have an interesting variety of creatures in this region; opossums, raccoons, foxes, bobcats, black bears, skunks, fishers, coyotes, turkey vultures (four of which landed in our back yard some days ago; they are big birds!) and there have been sightings of a puma on and off over the years.   Our school’s mascot is the black panther, so I guess having one in the area would make sense.  There is little danger from any of these animals if good sense and caution are used.   Of course, those two qualities seem to be in short supply with much of the world.  But wild animals, unless they are starving, ill or injured, generally avoid humans if at all possible.
    May brings us frequent celebratory events as the academic year comes to a close, and possibly some pensive memories as Memorial Day approaches.  Here we remember to avoid Ithaca this next weekend (Ithaca College graduation) and Memorial Day weekend (Cornell graduation).   The month’s name comes from the Greek goddess, Maia, who oversaw the growth of plants.  The Romans celebrated “Floralia” --- a five-day festival to honor the goddess Flora --- basically same goddess, different name.  And May is the month of the Full Flower moon for many Native Americans.  May could be considered the bridge month between spring and summer.  On the Liturgical calendar, the Easter season ends next Sunday with Pentecost.
    My high school always held the Junior Prom in May.  Thinking of those proms sends me to my Year Books or albums to check out memories there.  Old programs, candid photos of prom nights, of decorating the gym and of after-prom parties at someone’s home all bring smiles.  No renting the Holiday Inn for us --- actually, I’m not sure the Holiday Inn existed back then.  What all this memorabilia offers besides bringing back some fun memories, is a reminder of how valuable friendships are.  I’ve been so glad I could maintain/renew friendships with former classmates and wish I could see them more often.  My class of 1960 put some very cool people out into the world.  Old friends are good; we share a connective past.  And the new friends made as we’ve moved from Maryland to Pennsylvania to the Catskills and to Spencer have also been wonderful.
    Memorial Day comes, and even as we regret the necessity for it, it has become something of a gala event with its BBQs, parades and fanfare.  At home, when I was growing up, we celebrated quite simply.  We took flowers to family graves; not florist-created bouquets but flowers straight from my mother’s gardens ----fragrant peonies, roses and sprays of mock orange.  At that time, it was still possible to plant flowers and shrubs around the grave-stones ---- which we did.  In the process, my mother would tell me about the people whose names were engraved on the granite markers, giving vivid personalities to family members I had never met.
    Recently I attended a funeral via YouTube.  It is, perhaps, a sign of the times --- the pandemic times --- but I’m thinking that this particular practice might continue because of convenience.  The service was quite lovely and because I couldn’t actually drive the two hours to get there, I was grateful for a way to “be there” for a farewell to someone who had been a part of my life as I was growing up.  I hope though, that this new convenience never takes the place of being together in person.  It is always better when family stories and community support can comfort us in our grief.  That should never go out of style.
    A festive Memorial Day memory is the parade down Victor’s main street.  Those of us in the high school band would wear our sapphire-blue wool uniforms and hats, our polished white sneakers stepping to the rhythms of John Philip Sousa.  Why more kids didn’t pass out in late May heat, I don’t know; I guess we were a sturdy group.  When marching, I’d generally play the piccolo instead of the flute, but one year, for some reason, I played the bell lyre.  That hefty instrument fits into a leather sling around the neck and waist and weighs about a ton and a half.  Finding the right notes to hit as we stepped along the uneven street was no easy matter either.  But I remember those parades with affection.
    Memorial Day is different for us now.  Our family graves are some distance from where we live and we don’t visit them often.  Truly, I don’t need to visit graves to visualize all of the people I have loved who are no longer with us.  Currently we celebrate Memorial Day by watching the special on PBS; not exciting, but usually satisfying.  Even as we memorialize our men and women in uniform, I personally think that humans should have, by now, found some way to settle differences that doesn’t require killing each other via war.  It indicates limited intelligence (or possibly a major and wide-spread mental health issue) that we use the same old methods and expect different results.
    But I do appreciate and am grateful for those who have fought for our so infrequently lived-out ideals.  My father and uncle were in WWI, two of my brothers in WWII, a brother-in-law in the Korean conflict, friends in Viet Nam, the son of a friend in the Gulf War and a nephew in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Thus, in addition to the BBQs and enthusiastic flag-waving occurring this special weekend, I will be taking a quiet moment to remember ---- and give thanks for those who have in the past answered the nation’s call and for those who continue to do so when necessary.   Even more, I appreciate and pray for those who continue working to find better solutions to conflict than shooting and/or blowing each other up.  Perhaps world-wide anger management classes from kindergarten on up?
    While we may sneak a few seeds into soil earlier than recommended, a firm May tradition for us is planting the garden around Memorial Day.  (I must admit that this year Kerm couldn’t resist planting potatoes on one of those warm April days, so we’ll hope for the best.)   We occasionally look back to our gardening years in central Pennsylvania a bit wistfully; we could plant nearly 3 or 4 weeks earlier, and there, our soil wasn’t stubborn clay dotted with rocks.  By late-April, Pennsylvania’s gardens would have experienced the “onion snow”, the “peepers snow” and would have peas sending up little green leaves with tendrils. Ah well………the Finger Lakes is a beautiful region.  And gardening here, or anywhere, surely has its rewards. And here we don’t take thriving plants at all for granted; considering our soil and weather patterns, they are a miracle!
    Our gardens evolve in much the same way that I write.  There’s a basic plan which for us   would be four raised beds.  How I arrange the seeds/plants in those beds gets edited often, as do essays.  We no longer grow sweet corn, which grieves me, but there are several farms in the area that sell sweet corn, so it is more practical to not use up our small garden space with it. And, we don’t have to worry about the omnipresent raccoons getting to the ears before we do.  Several times I’ve tried to eliminate the vine crops --- pumpkins especially.  But every year, the thought of no Cinderella pumpkins or Long Island Cheese pumpkins or Jack Be Little pumpkins just depresses me.  They look so decorative from September through Thanksgiving, and then they provide food for deer and turkeys from Christmas on ---- so ---- they refuse to be edited out and continue to sprawl over a large area.
    Our best and most useful crops are probably lettuce, tomatoes and broccoli ---- plus herbs.  And this year, I have a new mini-herb garden.  We had a super-deluxe sandbox with stone walls and a cover, but no one has played in that delightful sand box for several years.  So ----- this spring we removed the cover, removed the sand-covered toys, tilled in some good soil, and planted herbs. It is a very tiny space for a garden, but I’m looking forward to seeing it mature with all the fragrance and textures of basil, rue, Clary sage, lemon grass, parsley, etc.  All those goodies will bask in the sun and dance in the breeze, spreading fragrance.  Then too, there are all the side benefits of gardening: strengthening muscles, aerobic breathing as we go up and down our hilly yard, Vitamin D from the sunshine and mellowing of one’s mood from working in the soil.
    May offers so many reasons to celebrate and be grateful, from Mother’s Day to Memorial Day and all the delightful days in between.  It is the time of year that inspires dancing whether around a May Pole, at the Prom or out on the back lawn.  Even if our feet don’t dance so well anymore, surely our hearts can.   “The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it yet within our reach is joy.  Take joy!”*
    ************************************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Fra Giovanni – Was in the Order of Friars Minor.  He was an Italian friar, an architect, an archaeologist, and classical scholar.  1433-1515.                   
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