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Carol Bossard

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  1. 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.
  2. 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. 
        
  3. 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.
  4. Carol Bossard
    Leaves are turning all shades of brown, bronze, gold and scarlet ---- and falling ---- falling ---wafting down into crunchy heaps---- and there’s a morning chill in the air.   As the spooky time of Halloween nears and the weather grows less balmy, our daylight hours will shorten with the ceasing of DST next month.  I moan and groan about this every year since, when the darkness closes in, my mind tells me it is time to cease labors and go to bed.  Five o’clock is a bit early for that message.  Thus, I struggle ---- and complain ----- and look forward to the Solstice.
    Amazingly, Halloween has become the second most observed holiday in our country, and it isn’t even an official holiday.  Halloween decorations have become artistic wonders ranging from funny to a bit gruesome, and insane prices reflect their popularity.  I suppose this strange attraction is also what drives the ventures into the macabre and occult in TV series.  I don’t really understand the lure, but………well, I won’t go there.  On our porch, we mostly decorate with harvest-y things; pumpkins, broom corn, chrysanthemums, etc.  Some of the available Halloween lawn decorations are fun --- like the circle of filmy dancing ghosts --- but I can’t bring myself to pay the prices of such ephemeral creatures.  This isn’t to say that we’ve totally ignored Halloween.   When the Main Street Café was thriving, we used to have dinner there on trick or treat night, so that we could watch the kids come in their costumes, for treats.  We’ve also given a few Halloween parties.  In Livingston Manor we had a wonderful Gothic, gabled attic, where we set up a spooky maze.  And below, in the living room, we did skits, played games and consumed cookies and Halloween punch.  I’ve sewed my share of Halloween costumes too, that could afterward be turned into pajamas, and in later years, princess outfits for granddaughters.  A couple of times, Kerm was a hairy, scary “Wolfman” for the S-VE school party.
    What I really like is All Saints’ Day --- the day following Halloween.   I like thinking about not only the formally-canonized saints like Mother Theresa, St. Julian or St. Francis, but also the wonderful people in my life who are no longer with us.  I have personally canonized a few people who have contributed to who I am.  My great-uncle Fred was a man who was exceedingly kind to small children and very firm about ethics and his faith.    Grandma Dusett was mostly immobile from Parkinson’s Disease, but she always held out a shaky hand to squeeze mine and her love was evident. Grandpa Dusett never said much, but very clearly enjoyed his granddaughter’s early piano-playing and singing.  Grandpa lived with us for a time, and couldn’t really avoid the scales and etudes, so it is good that they pleased him.  There was my Aunt Selenda, sophisticated and ready to laugh, with her fascinating collection of porcelain ladies and a large Maxfield Parrish painting that I loved.   She always made me feel like a real person.  And there are many others who have loved without ceasing.  In fact, I was imagining a party and who I’d like to sit with around a table of saints who have gone on to another stage of life.  It would take a very long table ---- I’d have to put in all the leaves and maybe get another table too.  Besides family and dear friends who have gone on, I’d also invite Madeleine L’Engle, a fine writer and very good theologian, who cared enough to send me a couple of songs mentioned in her books, and, for years, her annual Christmas letter.  I’d hope Gladys Taber would come and Pat Leimbach.  They are two non-fiction writers who encouraged me; who made me feel I had something to say worth listening to.   And there are several people we’ve known from our “Faith At Work” years.  Maybe C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien would join us.  We’d have a great time but, since I’m still earth-bound, I must be content with visualizing that gathering of the saints watching over us.   I wonder if they ever wish they could intervene in our earthly lives, or if they’ve truly gained that serenity that trusts in all things.

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

    Life Circles

    By Carol Bossard,

    Caesar Agustus!!  Is the calendar page really about to turn again?  In our circling of seasons, July is bringing its warm, humid self to closure as August comes along with its half-summer and half-fall days.  Some garden produce is ready for harvest (lettuce, cherry tomatoes, kale….).   The roadsides are full of periwinkle blue chicory and Queen Anne’s Lace, and golden rod is beginning to blossom suggesting summer’s waning.  August is my birth month, a month with no holidays except my birthday, but now-a-days it comes around far too quickly.  How can a wonderful, anticipated summer speed by so fast?
    A couple of weeks ago, some of my classmates from 1960 (and a fine class it has always been) gathered for dinner.  It was good to see people and to catch up with how they’ve all lived through more than a year of semi-isolation.   Earlier in the week I mentioned my plans to a friend and she shuddered.  She said that she always dreaded these events.  She is a charming and intelligent person, so I had to wonder why.  She has, apparently, had no continuing contact with her former classmates, so that a reunion is, for her, like walking into a group of strangers.  I’ve remained closer to some classmates than others, but we’ve mostly kept in touch enough to have some idea of where people are and what they have been doing.  I find it quite interesting to hear how people are living their lives, and to observe what fine individuals most have become.  There are always little tidbits of information to be learned; things I didn’t know back when, and it is fun to remember and laugh over some of our teenage antics.  I did notice some marked changes in people from six years ago; less energy, more fragility in some.  But I hope we can meet again ----sooner --- for now every year is a gift.
    Another event ---- our family picnic is this coming weekend.  Due to medical issues and life in general, we will be missing some who are usually there.  But those of us who are able, will travel to the west side of Cayuga Lake and will find comfort in re-grouping.  These gatherings began many years ago with Chicken BBQs at my sister’s home and over the years have moved to our house, to my brother’s house and now we picnic at my niece’s lovely home and lake shore.  Naturally we all bring food ---- lots of food (we’re good cooks!) ----- and lawn chairs.   There is the lake for swimming ----- and we sate ourselves with conversation, catching up on our lives.  I’ve been taking along a basket of craft materials for the kids’ use after swimming has lost its lure, so over the years, there have been some cool creations from glue, glitter, stickers, markers and other ingredients.  We also laugh about the “Family Quiz” which is an attempt to keep us current about everyone’s life.
    “Who discovered new painting skills during COVID?”
    “Who nearly lost the end of a finger when a crossbow mis-fired?”
    “Who has, for the third time, donated her hair to charity?”
    “What two siblings had an on-going joke about ‘when pigs fly’”?
    ETC.
    Families have had a rough go of it as many of us have moved from our places of birth.  It used to be customary to stay in the same community for generations; sons following in fathers’ footsteps; daughters marrying someone local.  But now there could be a continent or even oceans between fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, siblings, cousins, etc.  Even with Skype, Zoom, Face Time and supersonic jets, it is hard to stay close.   And with a wider arena for living, new ideas and new vistas come along; changes and possible opposition to former ideas and ways of living occur.  It takes effort to circumvent (with grace) differences in thinking!  We all know some families who have issues that create insurmountable barriers to their loving and caring for each other. I’ve heard that back in the mid-1800s, part of my mother’s Dusett clan picked up their possessions and moved from the Rochester area to Michigan because of political disagreements.   I realize just how fortunate Kerm and I are to have such close relationships with our extended families.  It isn’t that we all think alike ----- definitely NOT.  We undoubtedly could have those same disagreements now that occurred in the mid-1800s ---- but we make every effort to not go there!  Our love for each other and our shared heritage is far more important than either our political opinions or our theological choices (the two biggies that stymie conversation).  And I imagine we all have, in the backs of our minds, the image of what Grandma Wiley (my mother) or Grandma Bossard (Kerm’s mother) would say if we squandered the good family feelings we have thus far achieved, over something so ephemeral as the opinion that I’m RIGHT!   We keep the family circles intact by being courteous, tactful, allowing ourselves a sense of humor and allowing the possibility of other perspectives than our own.  And I’m still working on a poker face that doesn’t advertise my thoughts.

    Of course, there are some families that can’t, for many serious reasons, be tolerated.  Robert Frost* said: “Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”  This doesn’t sound too welcoming to me, and there are families that aren’t welcoming at all.  Thankfully, non-blood-related families can be formed with close friends.  We have lived in several places, and in each place, we found friends to whom we could turn had we not been blessed with good relatives.  And since we were at a distance from our actual families, our friends often did fill a gap.  When our children were small, several older women provided fine grandma-care.  Among our close friends, we’ve shared child-raising problems, marriage issues, spiritual thoughts, times when we felt inadequate, and many, many times of laughter ---- and we are so grateful.  It would be great to have a non-family family reunion ---- if only people weren’t scattered from Maryland to Pennsylvania to New York.
    One of the ways to achieve closeness is to not demand closeness.  I know some families where parents moan if their kids aren’t there with them on every holiday, where the adult children feel so criticized, patronized and judged when they return to the nest, that they avoid the whole horror by being “too busy”.  Why go home if home is not welcoming and affirming?  Naturally, parents are hurt and resentful, not understanding how abrasive their attitudes seem.  Seeing one’s children as capable, functioning adults, able to make their own decisions, generally takes a while, but we have only to think back to how it was with us with our parents when we were in our twenties and thirties; if they did or did not deem us capable of managing our lives.  How did we feel?  No one likes to watch their children struggle or make mistakes.   But that is part of maturing; part of growing in wisdom, and we simply can’t keep our children as children if we wish for good relationships.
    Letting go should start in high school (in safe ways) and gradually grow as kids get older.   One of my nephews has been an RA for his college dorms.  He has mentioned that too many parents call him when their kids have problems; problems that the kids should be solving themselves.  These “helicopter parents” are hanging on too tightly and keeping their offspring from growing into competent adults.  We all speak disparagingly about people feeling “entitled” ---- being self-centered, expecting the world to bend to their needs and desires.  Doting on and over-protecting our kids leads directly to that result.  Loving does not mean accommodating every desire or mitigating all results of bad choices. Kids need to learn to deal with sadness, with frustration, with boredom, with consequences.  Hothouse plants don’t tolerate real weather well!  It is the dilemma of parents to determine when they should or should not step in with rescue.  To be truthful, I’m not sure how much thought we gave these things while bringing up our children.  However, they seem sensible (usually) and not at all entitled, so probably, due more to our obliviousness than our attention, they came out OK.
    Also coming out OK is this season’s garden---- except that the weeds are prospering.  The over-generous rains have kept everything growing apace.  Our cucumber vines seemed to have over-loaded the trellis until I looked more closely and found a spaghetti squash in there. ☹  The day lilies are blossoming in bright orange, shades of yellows and wines.  Cleome is standing tall and soon the cosmos will be adding its pink, magenta and white petals to the colorful mélange.  More turkeys are emerging from the woods now.   On hot afternoons, a turkey head may suddenly pop out from under the comfrey where they’ve been enjoying the shade.  And we haven’t seen a bear in a while.
    July is ending and August adventures are beginning.  As the days circle into weeks, take the time to absorb and enjoy.  “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?  No time to stand beneath the boughs and stare as long as sheep and cows.  No time to see, when woods we pass, where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.  No time to see, in broad daylight, streams full of stars, like skies at night…….A poor life this if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”**
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Robert Frost ---New England poet with multiple awards for his poetry.  1874-1963.
    **“Leisure” by William H. Davies ----Welsh poet and writer who spent much of his life as a hobo/tramp traveling through the United Kingdom and the United States.  Even so, he was one of the most admired poets of his time.  He reflected on the human condition and spoke of the people he met on his travels. 1871-1940.
  6. Carol Bossard

    Mid-December

    By Carol Bossard,

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

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

    The world is really full of wondrous things.  It is true that there are wars, rumors of wars, and enough hair-raising disasters to keep our anxiety levels high.  There is worrisome illness and the loss of people we love. There is stupidity, intentional ignorance, meanness and vice.  But there is also the daily rising of the sun, the sparkle of frost on each needle of the fir trees, the song of a cardinal. There are joyously-playing puppies and kittens that turn into comforting pets.  There are the immense and wondrous elephants, giraffes and then the tiny shrews and amazing honey-bees. There are hollyhocks, roses, peonies and all the vegetables that keep us fed.  And there are “helpers”; thousands of people who go out of their way to encourage, assist, make life better for those in their paths, and also inspire each of us to observe the need in our own paths, and to take action to improve life where we are.
    My wish for you this season is that no matter what issues may be giving you sadness or discouragement, that you find an inner joy and unquenchable hope for the world in this December of stars, snowflakes and space.  And may your Light shine out into a world that needs your gifts and your being your own unique self!  And remember (Though this is a bit daunting!) --- “every time any one of us opens our mouth to speak, we are saying ‘Let there be light, or we are adding to the darkness.”******
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Edith Wharton---American novelist, writer of short stories and designer.  1862-1937.
    **Julian of Norwich ---- English anchoress of the Middle Ages whose visions and writings have become well-known in our own times.  1342-1416.
    ***Wisdom for Life & Living Well ---- Ginger Harrington--- writer on Christian spirituality.
    ****Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks---British Orthodox Rabbi, author, poet, theologian and Peer.  1948-2020.
    *****Glennon Doyle via a Max Lucado book via Dreisbach UCC newsletter --- Glennon Doyle is an American writer and activist.  She is founder and president of “Together Rising” an all-woman organization that supports women and children in crisis.  Max Lucado is an American writer and pastor.  Dreisbach UCC is located in between Lewisburg, PA and Mifflinburg, PA.
  7. 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
  8. Carol Bossard
    No matter how many Christmases have gone by, or how many gray hairs I have, every year brings this feeling of expectancy, happiness and a bit of mystique when the season of Advent arrives.  This is when I pull out our collection of Christmas and Hanukkah stories and try to read one or two/day.  It is when I begin playing Christmas CDs alternately with the usual classical and folk music. It’s time for my totally unrealistic “to do” list, designed to create the perfect holiday times. Of course, I don’t do all those things. I’ve grown sufficiently wise that I don’t even expect to accomplish everything.  Planning is part of the fun, and we always manage the essential things.  (And really, it is amazing how few things are essential.)
    I am a bit tired of this year’s woeful news commentators moaning about empty shelves; how the toys will be fewer this year because they are sitting on ships out in a California bay, and maybe this will “spoil Christmas.”   Now I can sympathize with retailers and their losses, but spoiling Christmas?  Have we forgotten what Christmas is all about? Turn off the news. Get out the Scrabble game, or even better --- Twister! Collect some Christmas films or old musicales.  Read stories. There is enough good will and wonder about Christmas to provide delight regardless of finding just the “right” toy.  Parents need to give experiences along with things ---- to make time for good happenings ----to actually listen to their kids and share stories about growing up.  A relaxed attitude---- genuinely feeling that time with family is a good time --- that is what kids will remember.  A day of creating a gingerbread house or baking cookies, a taffy-pull, an evening of popcorn and movies, driving around town to see all the decorated houses, setting up a creche and reading Luke, Chapter 2, maybe an in-house contest to see what gifts can be made from whatever can be found, will hold more value than the very latest 1000-piece Lego set or whatever this year’s magnificent digital toy might be.
    My most memorable Christmas, as a kid, was the year my father built a doll house.  It wasn’t a surprise, because we watched it grow.  Actually, he built two of them; one for me and one for my niece, my eldest brother’s daughter, who grew up with me.  The houses were built of plywood, were two-stories with eight large rooms and a patio.  These edifices took up a lot of space; a bit over a foot deep, probably 4 feet in length and 20 inches high.  They were nothing like the elaborate plastic models one finds in stores nor were they as beautiful as those a friend built.  But they were quite wonderful in their own way.  Those simple empty rooms were just waiting for creative play.  I painted each room, pasted on “windows”, made rugs, bought or made furniture bit by bit, filling hours with fun.  It cost my father something for the wood probably, and took hours of his time, but I expect the cost was tiny when divided by the hours I spent using it.  Currently it is in a great-grand-niece’s play room where I hope she will find it as wonderful a toy as I did.
    Gifts do not have to leave a family in financial chaos; chosen wisely, they can express love, caring, fun ----- and be affordable.   Kerm’s grandma always gave boxes of home-made goodies and every one of us eagerly looked forward to those boxes.  My mother knitted slippers and mittens, and also hand-painted containers which she then filled with cookies.  No one was ever disappointed to see their name on one of these.  And to those of us for whom Christmas is an integral part of our faith, gifts are a pleasure, but incidental to our celebration of new birth and beginnings.  “Joy To The World” is a gift that fills us with awe, delight and hope for the year ahead.  Those stranded ships full of toys may create an inconvenience, but Christmas will be Christmas regardless.
    I think that perhaps we all have mistaken expectations not only for Christmas. ----but for ourselves---- much of the time!   In our rush to acquire everything on our universal life-list of wants, we often amass possessions to the point where we really don’t have space or time for them.  And we do the same with Christmas ---- scheduling activities until the holiday season flies by in a blur and we end up exhausted and wondering how we missed the magic.  We need to plan for space and silence; we will never hear the angel bells of legend amid our rushing and tintinnabulation.  We will miss the depth of the Christmas story --- or the Hanukkah story ----- unless we give ourselves time to think about what it means to have a Savior of the world born in a barn (so alien to our worldly values) ---- or a lamp whose oil kept burning for days after it should have run out (so impossible!) ----- or the fact that these stories have impacted so many lives for centuries.  Thinking about the simple and yet miraculous things in this world will bring more joy than all the glitz in the shops and malls.  And this is also true for life in general.
    Speaking of a lack, many people have chosen, in the past few years, to not send Christmas/Hanukkah/holiday cards.  This is quite understandable.   There is an immense amount of time involved in writing notes and addressing them and there is the rising cost of postage.  But so far, I’ve not been able to let go of this annual connection.  We began making our own cards, I think, in 1966.  I drew a design, and friends silk-screened them for us.  That became a bit overwhelming all around, so then we began running off our own; first on a mimeograph, then silk-screened on our own frame, and now we use a copy machine for the design of the year, and our rather lengthy letter.  As I address each envelope, I think of and am glad for the friends to whom that card is going.

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

    Growing Season

    By Carol Bossard,

    Planting season isn’t yet here for our gardens, but it is growing closer and closer.  The red-winged blackbirds arrived two weeks ago. To discourage them from mobbing the feeders, I’m filling the feeders later in the day.  They are, however, a happy sign that spring has arrived.  There is also a starling that has found the little basket I put out for orioles last spring.  He sits in it and demolishes the cake of suet hanging right next to the basket.  There are four “gentlemen turkeys” (unattached to a harem) who watch for me to come out with bird seed.  They come down from the woods almost as soon as I get back into the house.  And one of the blue jays is clearly a designated “watch bird” for the rest and gives out a raucous “all clear” when I’ve filled the feeders and returned to the house.  Birds aren’t really bird-brained at all.  Or at least it is obvious that being bird-brained doesn’t necessarily mean being stupid.
    We are nearing the Spring holidays.  Passover begins this coming Saturday at sundown,  Sunday is Palm Sunday and Easter is only a week away.  The date for Easter was a matter of considerable controversy in the early centuries AD.  Theologians argued with great heat; those from the East campaigned for one time; those from Rome another time; and those from the Celtic branches of Christianity, another.  There was even violence over dates at the Nicene Council in 325 AD.  It was finally decided by most western churches to accept the decision finally reached at that Council.  Easter would be the first Sunday following the first full moon after the Spring Equinox.  This is why the date changes; it can be any time between March 22 – April 25.  The Eastern Orthodox churches follow a different calendar, so their celebrations of Easter generally come a week or so after those of the west.
    Somehow, Easter crept up on me this year and suddenly it was past time to order flowers for church.  Individuals in the congregation tell me what to get, display them for the Easter service and then carry them home to enjoy.  So it takes a bit of coordination ----- which I found stressing for a day or two.  I haven’t really needed alert coordination for over a year now!  And what one doesn’t use --- one often loses!  But our understanding fellow-church members responded quickly----- and the nave will have a lovely Easter display of color and fragrance as always.  We are still meeting via Zoom as well as in person, so it is too bad we can’t send fragrance over the computers.
    Last week, while watching “Growing A Greener World” on Create TV, they were discussing the use of vacant lots in Chicago, to make community gardens and they mentioned the Victory Gardens of the war years.  The concept of Victory Gardens actually began in WWI --- both here and in Canada.  In that early part of the 20th century, the national food supply was questionable; we didn’t have the coordinated transportation or safe ways of preserving foods that we currently have, and the governments were afraid of too little food for both troops and the people at home.  So they encouraged gardeners to plow up front lawns for growing vegetables.  When WWII came along, Victory gardens were once more encouraged, but not because the food supply was in question.  By then, the U.S. had quite an efficient food production system in place.  This time it was to give citizens a common cause and hope during the war years.  And now, the back to the soil concept is with us because: a) we have all been at home for months and b) so many people question the quality of processed food; the use of pesticides, GMO seeds and transportation.  Those who are concerned know their gardens will provide fresh food for their tables.  Many small communities as well as cities, now have community gardens.  These encourage good community feeling as well as good, fresh food.
    Now that the piles of snow are mostly gone and it is possible to walk outside without fear for life and limb, I’m looking at the garden plans, trying to decide where I can insert just a few more rows.  And I’m trying to devise a way to keep the wild turkeys out of our freshly-planted beds.  I plan my gardens in much the same way I plan how a room looks.  I  visualize the luscious colors that a row of cosmos will provide and how cheery the sunflowers will look behind them.   And I use “companion planting” which pairs plants and herbs that either protect or enhance each other.  As an example, one never plants dill close to carrots; the dill impedes the growth of the carrots according to this philosophy.  Potatoes and tomatoes share a common disease, so planting them near each other is not a good idea.  Basil enhances tomato growth so plant in the same area.

    It will be lovely to have salads made from our own lettuce instead of the greens that emerge from plastic boxes --- grateful as I am for those in mid-winter.  And finally the snow drops (with white drooping bells)s and winter aconite (with butter-cup like blossoms close to the ground) have emerged.  My lavender came through the winter really well --- probably because it was buried in snow from December on, and its roots never had opportunity to heave.  I’m looking forward to sitting outside in the twilight with mild breezes, fragrance and purple shadows on the garden.  We have a lot to do before sitting though; all the small branches and twigs from the trees we took down last fall remain to be cleaned up before we can lounge in lawn chairs.
    Gardening always makes it easier to eat in a healthy way.  I’m slowly coming to understand my body’s reactions to food.  Since my last slightly annoying blood tests, I have been trying to eat with more regard for balanced nutrition.  We’ve never eaten much processed food, but the truth is that after nearly 60 years of meal prep, I’m tired of fixing daily meals!  In spite of that, however, I’ve tried to plan for more salads, more vegetables and fruits.  And I have eaten fewer starches (pasta, potatoes, etc).  So when we ate out a couple of weeks ago, in a restaurant (which shall remain nameless since this isn’t their fault) I succumbed to a hamburger, French fries and a Coke.  First of all, the servings were huge; I couldn’t finish it all and took the left-overs home for our resident skunk/possum/raccoon.  But all the rest of the day, after this over-indulgent lunch, my digestive system complained ---- and complained ---- and complained.  It was nothing drastic; just a slight feeling of un-wellness all afternoon. So I guess that new and better behaviors can become addictive as well as bad habits.  It was a lesson that I won’t forget --- at least for a while.
    And speaking of lessons and growing ---- we have this Women’s Bible study group that meets weekly.  It is a place where those who gather can be totally honest and can expect both understanding and confidentiality.  And while the studies are always good and useful, occasionally something sharply ZINGS into my consciousness like a razor; a thought expands and takes on new meaning.  One of our recent topics was on forgiveness ---- which seems appropriate since Easter is all about that.  Un-forgiveness hasn’t been a frequent problem for me since I haven’t had super numbers of either trauma or nasty people in my life.  And my personality is such that while I flare quickly I generally don’t hold onto the anger for a long time.  But no one of my age goes through life without one or two intense hurtful episodes that linger; episodes that are etched into the soul and require forgiveness ---- or not.
    I know all the excuses for not forgiving: “they don’t deserve to be forgiven!”  “How could anyone forgive such a horrible thing?”  “They are absolute creeps and deserve to be in jail!”  The point is that forgiveness isn’t really for and doesn’t necessarily affect the person I am forgiving; forgiveness affects me.  When I forgive, (which to me means giving the problem to God and not taking it back again) I no longer carry around the weight of anger and grief.  It slices through the tethers holding my spirit down in a bog of misery and frees me for more happiness.
    There is one situation with which I still struggle; perhaps I could say I’m in stage 3 of forgiveness.   A trusted individual in our lives severely and in an “unforgiveable” way, impacted the lives of people dear to me.  It was at least six or eight years after I learned of this before I could stop actively wishing this person harm in return.  I considered all sorts of retributions the least of which was the bottom layer of Hades.  I was beyond angry!
    I have passed through several stages of anger, grief, self-recrimination and have reached the point where I am willing to leave the consequences up to God and am able to pray for whatever it was that steered this person into despicable and evil behavior.  But I still struggle a bit --- and that’s where the ZING came in ------ when I realized that I had not reached the forgiveness depth of Corrie TenBoom, who actually shook the hand and looked with forgiveness on one of the guards from the Nazi prison camp where she had been interned and where her sister died.  As with all things of faith, forgiveness is a process into which one grows.  And growth requires remembering that brokenness is part of the human condition; we are just broken in many different ways.  And for that, thankfully, Easter comes!   
    This year, along with Easter comes April, longer days, more sunshine and another growing season for our gardens, our lawns and our understanding of life.   To live a good life, we need to look at each day as a precious gift and realize that no matter what, “Outside the open window, the morning air is all awash with angels.  Love calls us to things of this world.”*
    Joyous Passover and Happy Easter!!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    Richard Wilbur – American poet and literary translator.  He was named Poet Laureate in Library of Congress in 1987.  He won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry twice.  His work has been marked by wit, elegance and charm.  1921-2017.
  10. Carol Bossard

    Mellow October

    By Carol Bossard,

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

    I recently spoke with a friend who said that one of her family members was feeling led to leave her current work, to provide health care where people desperately need it.  In our family, we have a missionary couple who have created orphanages and schools, have helped dig wells, breed cattle, and have found lucrative work for women who had been running illegal stills to survive.  They combine their desire to share the love of God with the very practical skills and assistance that people in Kenya, Tanzania and other countries in Africa need desperately.  In our own country, when floods or other disasters occur, people from all over run to help.   Closer to home --- in our own community ---- the local Food Cupboard has been a life-saver for those who have lost jobs or who are unable, for whatever reason, to make ends meet.  Also, the driving to medical appointments service of INSPIRE helps mitigate the lack of rural transportation.  We are a small community, and when there is a need, someone hears about it and arranges help.  It may seem as though we are applying mere bandages to large wounds, but each bit of assistance contributes to healing the whole.
    So far, none of our efforts have wiped out the ills of the world.  But I am remembering the story about the young person who went along the beach, tossing the stranded star fish back into the water.  When it was suggested that his efforts didn’t make a difference compared to the numbers of starfish washed ashore, he simply replied: “it makes a difference to this one,” and went on tossing star fish back into the ocean.  Even if the only thing some of us can do is to write an encouraging note, share a meal or pray for someone, it creates a vibe that may echo out into infinity.   So, we need to follow our hearts.  Small bits of kindness have an immense impact and a cumulative effect, even if we don’t see it right away.  “I want to change the world,” said Tiny Dragon.  “Start with the next person who needs your help,” said Big Panda.”**  Emily Dickinson*** expressed this well: “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not have lived in vain.  If I can save one life the aching, or cool one pain, or help one fainting robin into his nest again, I shall not have lived in vain.”  We are responsible to do only what we can do --- whether that happens to be across the seas or next door.  But doing something surely beats not participating at all.  We need to join hands in service to each other.
    After my last essay went out --- with the bit about anxiety --- a recipient sent me a clip of the old Hee-Haw show with the four guys singing “Gloom, despair, and agony on me……deep dark depression, excessive misery…….”  She suggested we substitute “anxiety” for “agony” and we could all sing it together. 😊  This brings up a very good point --- laughter.  We can probably assume that if we find life just too, too serious ---- if we’ve abandoned laughter---- we’ve lost part of what makes life worth living.   I think God loves laughter; a Creator must have a sense of humor to have imagined the giraffe, the sloth, a kitten, a duck………” From troubles of the world, I turn to ducks, beautiful, comic things……When God had finished the stars and whirls of colored suns, He turned His mind from big things to fashion little ones……..beautiful things (like dawns) He made…… and then He made the comical ones in case the minds of men should stiffen and become dull, humorless and glum, and so forgetful of their Maker be as to take even themselves – quite seriously……Caterpillars and cats are lively and excellent puns.  All God’s jokes are good, even the practical ones.  And as for the duck, I think God must have smiled a bit, seeing those bright eyes blink on the day He fashioned it.  And He’s probably laughing still at the sound that came out of its bill!” ****
    One of the delights of being in the S-VE community are the creative people who live here.   Over the years we have provided much fun ---- for ourselves and for others ---- with our variety shows, dinner-theater, plays and skits (often sponsored by “All Wet Productions”).  There was the DMV skit --- a perennial joy ---- for anyone who has languished in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles.  And “Chicks and Pits” --- a play that was a play on words for the chicken farm industry that used to be here in Spencer and Van Etten, and the grape industry not too far away.  Then the “Throw him out of the boat” song for our local Jonah, in “Whale of a Tail”.  So many evenings full of laughter!  When Spencer Singers assembled a few weeks ago to rehearse for the first time in two years we were not great!!   Our voices went hither and yon and there was little strength in our musical output.  However, we could still laugh about it even as we hope and pray our voices return with practice.  It is a fine balancing act to take life seriously enough but to maintain our joie de vivre.
    Right now, October is here and we know that the days will fly by.   Suddenly we will be wearing heavy coats, boots and maybe even mittens.  Ghosts on the lawn for Halloween will morph into Thanksgiving decorations and all too soon we’ll be scheduling in Christmas concerts and concocting fruit cakes.  I like these few lines that speak of this time: “Just after the death of the flowers, and before they are buried in snow, there comes a festival season, when nature is all aglow.”*****   While autumn is still with us, let’s enjoy it, celebrate it, soak up the glow and share our enjoyment with each other.  As we’ve discovered, nothing is quite so wonderful as being with friends or family, or both, and being grateful for the time together.  And if the sky is blue and the sunshine mellow, that is an additional reason for thanks.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    ***********************************************
    *Warsan Shire --- British writer, poet, editor and teacher, born in Kenya of Somali parents.  In 2013 she was awarded the inaugural Brunel University African Poetry Prize.
    **James Norbury.com ---American writer and cartoonist.  He writes about subjects he loves and hopes to create a love for nature in his readers.  He is a Zoologist as well as writer.
    ***Emily Dickinson ---American poet, who was little known during her lifetime, but is now considered one of our foremost poets.  1830-1886.
    **** Frederick William Harvey --- excerpts from “Ducks”.  British poet, writer of essays and short stories, lawyer.  He may be best known for the poems he wrote in WWI prisoner-of-war camps and sent them back to England.  1888-1957.
    *****Emeline B. Smith ---American writer.  1869-1944
  11. Carol Bossard
    Remember that old song (well, depending on your age, some of you may not!) ---- “What are you doin’ New Year’s, New Year’s Eve?”*  Ella Fitzgerald, Andy Williams, Margaret Whiting and more recently --- Harry Connick Jr. ---- were some of the notables who made this song popular.  2021’s last day is tomorrow and how will you spend the Eve?  How have you spent New Year’s Eves in the past?  We have had all sorts of “eves” in our lives; parties, watch-night services, quiet evenings at home, and one spent wandering fruitlessly in Ithaca, looking for a place to eat while our kids partied at home; we were trying to give them a little space and ended up dining on ice cream at Purity!  I stayed up past midnight at the turn of the century, watching as the year changed around the world. This year we expect our evening will be quiet and maybe restoring.  I might exert myself enough to make a yummy drink consisting of vanilla ice cream, milk, eggs and a little B&B Liqueur ---- or perhaps just hot chocolate. We will maybe look back on this year to see what stands out for us and consider what we’d like to do in the year ahead.   We will probably read our books-of-the-evening in silence a lot of the time. Appreciation of quiet and peaceful is one blessing that comes with what one of my doctors tactfully calls a “lot of good years”.   
    When 2021 changes into 2022, will we notice any differences? Only humans have made time so arbitrary; for the rest of living creatures, each year morphs into the next with no realization of anything except the seasons. Do you make new year’s resolutions? Are they realistic? I don’t do that anymore although I do have lists for my days. I once had an astute therapist who advised me to STOP making those lists. He was right ---- at the time. I was setting up impossible goals for myself each week. But now ---- those lists keep me functioning. Without them I’d likely forget whose birthday was when, which appointment was coming up and might even forget to bake cookies or tie my shoes. Lists are a life-saver as long as they are taken with a very large grain of salt.  But what do you expect from 2022? A year can be one you are glad to see depart, or it can be a miraculous year. Usually it is a matter of our perspective and whether we expect miracles in the midst of challenges. Looking inward and being honest with ourselves can determine much of how our  year goes.
    I look forward to more light in my days. In about two weeks, the increase in daylight will be noticeable. Of course, there is the old saying ---- “As days lengthen, cold strengthens.” I expect, in the next months, we will be getting more chilly temperatures and snow than we really want to experience. When I was a kid, snow was exciting. I remember building snow forts next to the front steps, and snow men, with carrot noses and leering pebble grins facing the road. Our family occasionally had moonlit sledding parties; one of the fields on my brother’s farm sloped perfectly for safe and lengthy sliding.  As a teen, we had snow parties and hot chocolate at the local Rod & Gun Club.  When a young child, I remember riding in my parents’ car with snow coming at the windshield like the business end of a broom.  Now --- knowing the hazards of driving in snow, I’d be highly anxious, but then I felt cozy and safe inside the car.  What a difference in perspective there often is between that of a child and that of an adult who has lived a few years in awareness.  Keeping a small portion of that child-like curiosity and trust would probably be good for us all.  We’d have lowered anxiety and could meet people with less worry about their motives.
    But back to what I would like --- or what I expect--- from 2022.  Spencer Singers has a song called “Winter Is At Hand”** and one of the lines says: “It’s so much more than we deserve or I expect, when winter is at hand…..”.  and that’s what I’m thinking about 2022.  I’d like to envision/deserve a year of fine weather without tornadoes, without flooding or droughts and without pernicious bugs bent on destroying crops, trees or my roses.  But ---- we have not always treated the earth well, nor been deserving of Utopia, so I imagine what we will get is a mixture of lovely weather with all the other less-desirable, seasonal possibilities.  I would like to think that my singing voice will recover immediately from two years of non-use and that my energy of a few years ago, will miraculously be restored.  But I will be pleased with a large percentage of good days and something on-key and fairly melodic coming out when I open my mouth.  I would like to believe that no one I love will experience illness or distress --- that life will run smoothly for them.  That is what my father might call a “pipe dream” (referring, I suppose to opium smoking) and he’d laugh. Those I love will probably experience life in all of its facets.  So, what I really hope for them is the courage, strength, faith and a sense of humor to meet their challenges.
    Actually, all of us need those things.  Peter, Paul and Mary performed a song entitled “Light One Candle”***.  Googling results mentioned it was considered controversial at the time it came out.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out why ----- it seems unquestionably acceptable to me.  But then, people are always finding things controversial that I think quite appropriate.   The song ends with a chorus of “Don’t let the Light go out --- Oh NO --- don’t let the Light go out..!” And that is, I think, our task for 2022; we’ve had some dark days, but we should never forget the lights that have brightened our way and we must radiate out the light we need to move forward.    We have a responsibility to shed all the light we are capable of carrying, to light the way for all those who experience darkness.  New Year’s Eve fireworks are symbolic of this, I hope.
     
    With Christmas and the Solstice just past, I enjoy thinking of the garden sleeping peacefully beneath the snow.  It cheers me to know that bulbs are storing up energy to burst out of the ground in April, that even in this chill, owls will soon begin nesting up on our hill and that it is only two months before the sap will be rising in the trees.  “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe” by C.S. Lewis**** portrays the worst of rulers and situations ---- a queen whose realm had endless winter with no Christmas.  It is a good tale --- perhaps an allegory-- ---- but definitely a can’t put-down story for anyone from age 10 through 100.  An endless winter with no Christmas is just so descriptive of a life with no hope, no humor, no delight and no birds building nests in January.  But be reassured; the book has a good ending.
    We are emerging into a new year, and there are only three months to go before spring.  So ---- rejoice and be glad.  In spite of all the old-year dregs that insist upon intruding into the new year, we have fresh new days to live out as well as we can.  So ----- Happy New Year and may many blessings shower all over you.
    ***********************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *”What Are You Doing New Year’s?”---Written by Houston Person
    **”Winter Is At Hand” ----Words from the play Richrd III by William Shakespeare; music by Ruth Morris Gray.
    ***Light One Candle” by Peter Yarrow, one of the trio Peter, Paul and Mry.
    ****C.S. Lewis --- British writer and theologian educated at both Oxford and Cambridge universities.  “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is book 1 of “The Chronicles of Narnia” series.
  12. Carol Bossard

    Sing Out Happiness

    By Carol Bossard,

    Happy Birthday to my turning-seventeen today granddaughter!!!  We’re sending virtual gifts of joy and delight, courage and wisdom and wish we could send a yummy birthday cake!
    It is also, according to the Monday Morning Epistle from the Burdett Presbyterian church, “White Tee Shirt Day” “Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk Day” and “Peppermint Patty Day”.  And elsewhere I heard it was “Make A New Friend Day”.  So this is obviously a day worth singing about!
    Hasn’t February been fun so far?  Of course, if you don’t reside in a frequent storm path, perhaps life hasn’t been quite as exciting.  Someone has been singing “Let it snow, let it snow…” because we’ve had snow upon snow upon snow.   This has been the first winter I have seen our outside cats persistently try to sneak in.  None of us have seen actual ground since Christmas.  And cats really do not like being confined to a few paths between towering snow banks; there has been some angry snarling at intersections.  I’m rather thankful though, for in spite of the snowy inconvenience, we need moisture.  We had so little rain last season, and hopefully these drifts will replenish the water table.
    February is the month of hearts and flowers; of lingerie and lace; of birthdays (for us) and valentines!!  A delightful little poem by Robert Louis Stevenson* entitled “My Valentine” speaks to our love of romance:  “I will make you brooches and toys for your delight, Of bird song at morning and star-shine at night.  I will make a palace fit for you and me, of green days in forests and blue days at sea.”
    Valentine’s Day actually honors a clergy-person (either priest or bishop) who ministered to persecuted Christians during the third century AD.   Valentine was arrested and later executed for his positions disagreeing with the ruling government of Rome.   He sent notes from prison to his friends signed “Your Valentine”.  He died c. 269 and was later canonized as a saint by the Roman Catholic Church.  Our February 14th customs are far from those beginning roots, but both roots and blossoms have to do with love.   St. Valentine exhibited Agape (all-encompassing) love and today’s celebration usually features Eros (romantic) and Philios (brotherly) love.  But it is all about loving and caring for people in our lives, and we all need to be doing that.

    Amid our concern for others, we do often forget that caring for ourselves is also a wise thing to do.  Actually, many of us were taught to not think of ourselves at all, which can be detrimental,   I recently saw a slogan that said: “Spend time on your wellness or you will be forced to spend time on your illness.”   This is not to say that we can control all illness. We can’t!   Some ailments are just facts of life on earth.  But neglect of basic health habits does leave us open to health issues we might not otherwise have.  We do have some control over how we live.  Unfortunately, until I was well into my 50s, I was super at not practicing what I preached.   There are consequences for that; the body eventually rebels.   Eating whole foods, keeping the body moving, getting fresh air and good sleep are not just suggestions.  Those practices are the basics for vibrant health.  Maybe that’s why vitamins are named “A”, “B”, “C” etc. like little kids’ building blocks
    It is also true that the thoughts that linger in our minds and our resulting attitudes impact our health.  If we spend our waking hours wallowing in gloom, in accumulating the world’s problems like a mop attracting dust, in feeling cheated and resentful or angry and stressed, our immune systems will eventually have a sit-down strike.   There are therapists who believe that an unforgiving spirit, untended trauma, or a lingering sense of “poor, poor me” will result in serious bodily illness.  One of my brothers, who tended to have strong opinions (actually all my brothers had strong opinions), insisted that we could keep from getting sick by simply determining to stay well.  Sometimes mind over matter does work!  I think it worked often for him -- or maybe he was just too stubborn to admit that he felt badly.   For me, sometimes a positive attitude (plus elderberry elixir and Vitamin C) has worked; sometimes it hasn’t.  The mind is a strange and curious thing.
    A condition that has plagued me for a while is a combination of arthritis and fibromyalgia.   There are certainly times when I have to medicate for pain.  But often, I can distract my mind from what hurts by exercises and walking, by finding a project that keeps me totally invested or by traveling to another place via a good book.  Music helps too.  Filling my ears and mind with Beethoven, the Irish Rovers or Ann’s Praise Songs, leaves less room for the pain to register.  I think the mind uses these things to trigger its own opiates for pain.   An amusing side note: I broke my ankle many years ago and, naturally, was in some pain, especially at night when I was trying to sleep.  So I would listen to a tape (yes, way back when there were cassette tapes) that my singing group (Spencer Singers) had made.  It worked ---- I always fell asleep after a short time.  The down-side is that now, whenever I hear that particular music --- or try to sing it --- I begin yawning.   Once trained --- the mind remembers!!
    Our psyches are also badly affected by two closely-related emotions; fear and anxiety.  There is so much happening to stir these emotions in today’s world.   Some comes from too much “breaking news”, some from financial worries or work situations------- and some is triggered deliberately by manipulative people.  Peter Tremayne** in one of his books says; “In times of uncertainty, fear is the unifying force.  Fear binds people together in a way that cannot be achieved by any other means.  Those who would convert people back to the old ways need fear ---- need something that will drive everyone back to the paths of darkness.”  Probably all of us when making decisions --- whether personal, political or professional ------ should ask ourselves what is driving our choices.  If it is the fear, is the fear rational or an imaginary bogy-man created by someone who wants to frighten us for their own reasons?   And really, should we ever let fear and anxiety drive away our good sense, our daily happiness or joy in living?    
    Even being aware of these things, my happiness or unhappiness has been frequently tied to outside circumstances.  If the sun shines, I’m happy ---- if it is a cloudy day, I’m slightly grumpy.  If I don’t burn the batch of cookies, I’m happy.  Charred cookies not so much!  Actually, barring immediate tragedy, happiness is a choice; a decision we make.   The atmosphere over the air waves, for the past year, has been of gloom and doom.   I was falling into the trap of looking at the day through emotional dark glasses.  This region has little enough winter sun; we don’t need the added gray filter of whatever headline news is hitting the world.  So, in a rare moment of clarity, I just decided to try to face each day happily if at all possible.  I have to frequently remind myself for it isn’t yet a habit, but my days have been noticeably better than when my mood was over- dependent on outside influences.  A pertinent computer post:  “Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to look like and celebrating it for everything that it is.***  Awareness and gratitude!
    Gratitude that we are nearly half-way through February!  And awareness of good things to come!   Valentine’s Day is Sunday.  Lent begins next Wednesday.  I understand the Mardi Gras will be quite different this year.  Since there can be no festivals or parades, many who live in New Orleans are decorating their houses with float facades.   It would be fun to see.  But even here in the cold north-east, we can still celebrate Shrove Tuesday with pancakes or doughnuts and maybe even blow up a few balloons.  And perhaps consider, how will we make Lent a special time for spiritual growth.
    Some of my seed orders have gone in, which is cheering.  It is hard to visualize gardens right now, when surrounded by banks of white.  Late winter does have its own beauty though. Sara Teasdale*** was good at describing the white silence and cold of “February Twilight”:  “I stood beside a hill smooth with new-laid snow; a single star looked out from the cold evening glow.  There was no other creature that saw what I could see ---- I stood and watched the evening star as long as it watched me.”  Do enjoy these chilly, clear evenings and sing out happiness now, even as we look forward to balmier breezes and green grass.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
    *********************************************
    *Robert Louis Stevenson--- Scottish novelist, poet, essayist and travel writer.  In addition to his poetry, he wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Kidnapped and Treasure Island.  1850-1894 (not a long life.)
    **Peter Tremayne --- from “Dancing With Demons”--- his Sister Fidelma mysteries are really good reads.  Peter Tremayne is a pen name for his well-researched mysteries in Ireland involving Irish customs and the early church.
    ***M. Hale ---- taken from a Face Book post.
    ****Sara Teasdale---American lyric poet.  1884-1933
     
  13. Carol Bossard

    November's Warmth

    By Carol Bossard,

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

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

    We returned recently from a short weekend away that we had planned for October, cancelled then because of my venture into bronchitis and COVID.  A trip to our former home in Pennsylvania is always a welcome journey no matter what time of year.  Though we have visited every year or so, we have been gone from daily life there for 45 years.  I find it amazing to see how quickly we can pick up conversations with people we haven’t seen in quite a while.  With kindred spirits, the connecting bond stays strong.  We attended our former church where, back in the 1970s, Kerm and I both taught Sunday school, and where I sang in the choir.  We sampled some nice restaurants and stopped at the Country Cupboard--- in the Garden and Christmas shops.  We drove around the county admiring the foliage, the beautiful farms in an area we once knew well.  And best, we just enjoyed being with friends and catching up on their lives.  We shared laughter, memories of good times and what we are all doing now to keep our days interesting.  We must do this more often for when we see friends there, we suddenly realize how very much we miss them.  It was a super weekend, and the drive down on Rt. 220 was lovely too; many of the leaves have fallen but lots of color remained.  We could have done without the rain mixed with snow that greeted us just below the NYS border on our way back, though!
    More leaves will fall as November moves on toward winter.   I try to be outside as much as possible, to make up for all the days when it will be too cold or snowy.  We enjoy sitting out on mild days and don’t put the lawn chairs into storage until the heavy snow falls.  I have a sturdy walking stick for stability on our hilly yard.  There are still wonderful things to see if one looks closely; empty nests in small trees, small tracks of our under-the-shed possum, the flash of a cardinal in the spruce trees.  And I’ve put my Happy Light where it’s easy to use every morning.  It fools my brain into thinking the sun is shining and all is well.  As November merges into winter days, I like this poem by Dixie Willson.***
    “I like the fall, the mist and all, I like the night owl’s lonely call ---and wailing sound of wind around.  I like the gray November day and bare, dead boughs that wildly sway against my pane.  I like the rain.  I like to sit and laugh at it --- and tend my cozy fire a bit.  I like the fall ---- the mist and all.”
    Thanksgiving is only a week away.   It will be a little chaotic around here with three dogs and eight people.  But it will be a time of good fellowship and fun stories as well as dogs in any convenient laps.  I wish that your Thanksgiving will also be a time of gratitude and hope for good days ahead, and that you will find it a celebration of blessings.  And wear your mittens!!
     
    *Robertson Davies ---- Cnandian novelist, essayist, journalist and critic.  1913-1995.
    **Pat Conroy ----American author who wrote several acclaimed novels and memoirs.  1945-2016.
    ***Dixie Willson ---- from poem, The Mist and All.  American screenwriter as well as poet and author of children’s books.  Meredith Willson was her brother.  1890-1974.
  14. Carol Bossard
    What wonderful golden days, even though steamy weather came too early!  Here, in the Finger Lakes, it is strawberry season.  This year I’m hoping to make jam as well as enjoying the fresh berries.   Even strawberry-less gardens are starting to look good with their emerging rows of green seedlings.  High school graduations are coming too.  Because of standardized Regents tests, school endings in NYS are written almost in stone, but there seems to be no set season for graduations elsewhere; a nephew in California graduated back in May, and a niece graduates from her second career training (nursing) in July.  New beginnings, moving from one stage of life to another, can take place at any time and are always exciting ----- rather like seeing those green seedlings popping out from garden soil.  As high school seniors toss their tasseled hats in celebration, I hope that they realize this occasion is just one milestone of many in their life-time of exploring the world and themselves.
    Back a century or so ago, when Kerm and I were calling square dances with Cornell’s Recreation Team, one of the newer dances (at the time) was to the tune of “Climbing Up The Golden Stairs.”*  It was a fast, western-swing kind of square dance; fun to watch and fun to dance.  I think that moving through life is akin to those golden stairs ------ a curving, winding staircase where we are always climbing, sometimes at swing dance speed, now more slowly (with a bit of huffing and puffing).  Our graduations and other momentous happenings are like landings on the stairs. The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis** uses this phrase to describe one’s journey into eternity; “onward and upward”.  This, for me, is synonymous with continued growth and joy in the process ---- which brings me to contemplate the difference between fun and joy.
    Fun means different things to different people.  COVID restrictions cancelled much of what people rely on for fun (bars, theaters, restaurants, arenas --- all closed) and many people were bereft.  Some insane individuals out there think free-climbing up sheer cliffs is fun.  Many of us find dancing and singing fun.  Some college students find their fun on crowded beaches for Spring Break.  Others enjoy a cozy evening in with friends.  Often, as young people, we are urged by our peers --- “C’mon; it’ll be FUN” ----- often for something risky.
    But joy is a whole different thing.  Joy is an inner spiritual contentment; a bubbling spring inside that can’t be taken away by circumstances or time.  Joy says: “What a privilege it is to be alive.  I wonder what’s coming next…”  Anne Truitt***, in The Journal of An Artist, says: “I would be a fool to sacrifice joy to fun.”  What is good fun and what is fun in name only, might be worth a thought or two.  And does the immediate fun sacrifice later joy?   There’s nothing wrong with some fun, but fun is temporary.  Joy goes on and on.

    One of my joys – and also my fun --- is family and special days with them.  June 20th is Father’s Day this year.  Somehow, it doesn’t get the “press” that is accorded to Mother’s Day even though it is a much older celebration.  In Europe, Father’s Day has been celebrated on St. Joseph’s Day (March 19th) since the Middle Ages.  In the U.S. it was first celebrated in the state of Washington on June 9, 1910.  In 1972, the third Sunday of June was designated to be observed nation-wide.  As is true with mothers, there are good fathers, not-so-good fathers and really terrible ones.  Parents, being oh so human, don’t always fit into the nice framed picture we’d like to put them in.  Hopefully most parents do their best.
    I think my father’s view of parenting was probably typical of his generation (he was born in 1895) and he was nearly 50 when I was born.  He’d already lived through three sons and a daughter, so it might be understandable that he’d quietly sigh at the thought of dealing with one more. Actually, my father didn’t quietly sigh about anything.  He expressed himself quite loudly and with vigor!  He was a bit autocratic --- of the “children should be seen and not heard” philosophy --- and easily irritated.  He saw no reason for slip-shod work, lame excuses or not getting math.  But he also didn’t mind endless games of Candyland, Chinese Checkers or listening to boring scales on the piano.  According to my older siblings I had a much easier time then they did.  If this was so (didn’t seem so to me) it might have been because my parents were tired.  A toddler in one’s mid-forties is no easy task.   

    Dad’s education stopped at high school, probably due to financial constraints, and I think that was why he was avidly pro-education.  If I didn’t get an “A” in everything, I had to explain why.  And when it came to chemistry or geometry, there was considerable explaining to do!  Also, there was no riding to school in cars with other kids when I was in high school.  Dad worked too hard to get those buses and to create a centralized school replacing the one-room school where my siblings began their education.  I was supposed to use these services!  It took me a while, but I came to realize that while he was often hard to deal with, especially in my adolescence, my father’s demands/standards were eventually going to help me be who I’ve turned out to be ----with some assets surely, like good work standards and appreciation of courtesy and honesty, but also including some less admirable traits like the quick temper and irritability.  One of Dad’s favorite desserts was home-made vanilla ice cream topped with authentic maple syrup. I wish I could offer him a dish of that now and celebrate this Father’s Day with him.  I think he would be amazed at and proud of the large extended family he engendered.
    Parenting is no easy task and each generation does it differently.  I don’t think we had immovable expectations for our boys ---- except perhaps in manners and ethics, though they might have a different perspective.  And I must admit to some unwise parenting outbursts on my part during their childhood and adolescence.  Enough king-sized shoes left where I’d trip over them, jackets draped over chairs, and cereal bowls under the beds do sometimes engender a “response” after a bit.  And this doesn’t even begin to mention carburetors in the Corian sink, climbing to the tippy-top of slender firs, trees dropped on tractors, shutting one’s brother between the storm door and inside door or basketball practice in the dining room.  What I’ve observed though, from our grown sons and others around us, is that young parents, facing many of the same challenges, are doing very well and perhaps taking into consideration what each child needs more than we did.   Maybe they are also trying to correct the mistakes their parents made?   I applaud all the good fathers I know, young and older, and all those individuals of any gender who feel it is their priority to support, encourage and inspire kids to be good people.  An old saying expresses it well: “What goes around comes around”.  And it would be great if all kids come around into confident, caring, happy adults.
    Seasons go ‘round and ‘round as well ----seems as though we just had the equinox but the summer solstice is June 20th, when we will be enjoying the longest daylight of the year.  And then there are weddings;  June is traditionally the month for weddings.  Planning a wedding can be fun, but can also create “Bridezilla”s along with exhausted and financially-stressed parents.   Wouldn’t it be more useful to give thought to one’s actual marriage relationship before concentrating on the event itself?  I’ve always liked this excerpt from “The Prophet” by Kalil Gibran:****  “Then Almira spoke again and said, And what of marriage, Master? ‘…………………’Love one another, but make not a bondage of love; let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.  Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.  Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.  Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music………’.”  In short, do not try to control or make selfish demands on each other.  Cherish each other and help each other to be the best person each is designed to be.  Chiam!!
    Meanwhile, it is mid-June and the summer stretches ahead in a long series of days, AKA those golden stairs of growth and change.  What will your summer be like?  I’d like to sit down with friends, hug family members, enjoy the garden and eat out a bit.  A few concerts would not be amiss.  But whatever actually comes, if we take the advice of Jon Kabat Zinn*****, it will be a summer to remember.  “Instead of being on automatic pilot, we can explore what’s possible if we start to kindle the flame of being fully alive.”  June is a great time to be fully alive and aware as we’re moving upward and outward in unfolding life.
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Climbing Up The Golden Stairs ----An old song, a spiritual, that has been revised many a time.
    **C.S. Lewis ---British writer and theologian.  “The Last Battle” is from “The Chronicles of Narnia” series. 1898-1963.
    ***Anne Truitt --- American sculptor of the mid-20th century.  She became known for her large, minimalist sculptures.  1921-2004.
    ****Kahlil Gibran -----Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist.  1883-1931.
    *****Jon Kabat Zinn -----American medical professor emeritus.  Creator of the Stress-Reduction Clinic and the Center of Mindfulness Medicine.  Born in 1944.
     
     
     
     
     
  15. Carol Bossard
    Our recent spring-like weather has most of us who garden looking through our seeds and perusing the plant catalogs once again ---- just to make sure we have all that we need.  Last week, the turkeys stopped coming down so often and I think the deer didn’t come at all.  Of course, another snow-fall, and they will all be back.  We probably are not quite done with wintry weather, but soon, soon!  Someone (not sure who) said, “The first day of spring and the first spring day are quite different events.”
    As spring days near, anyone living in a rural area knows the pungent odor emanating from farms and fields.  Tractor and spreader begin a smelly process that recycles waste into something good ---- fertile soil.  I was thinking that we probably should do the same with mistakes we’ve made in life.  Instead of storing them in our own little Pit of Errors, we can recycle those things into learning experiences that make us wiser and more compassionate persons.
    We are now three weeks into the season of Lent --- the traditional 40 days before Easter---and we have three weeks to go.  It began on March 2 with Ash Wednesday and will end on Easter Sunday which, this year, is on April 17.  The week prior to Ash Wednesday is, traditionally, Mardi Gras week.    Parties precede the sacrifices of Lent and celebrations begin again upon Easter’s arrival.  I like tradition and also celebrations.
    A lot of years ago, I read a book --- Open Heart/Open Home by Karen Burton Mains.*  It spoke of the responsibility of hospitality, and I liked what it said.  Of course, hospitality doesn’t always mean celebrations or parties.  It is more a way of thinking and being willing to open ourselves to provide acceptance, comfort or shelter.  One can be hospitable at church, at Lion’s Club, or on a plane.   Both Kerm and I grew up in homes where the doors were open to anyone who knocked.  I had four siblings who were older, married and had children, so stopping by was just part of our life-pattern.  That doesn’t happen as often now, so we try to arrange occasions for seeing family and friends.
    It isn’t about formal “entertaining” with elegance.  It isn’t a way of showing off ----which is a good thing because while we have a comfortable home, it is no grand mansion with crystal chandeliers and spacious rooms.  It is simply a way to bring interesting, wonderful people together, to share ideas and experiences and to find enjoyment in each other.  Hospitality adds flavor to life!
    One of my favorite memories is of a New Year’s Eve party back when our children were toddlers.  Those invited were unmarried singles from church.  We lived in an old farm house with an attached summer kitchen ---which was unheated---- but it had an immense fire place one could walk into.  It was a mild night that year for December 31st, and we built a fire in that fire place as well as lighting up the rest of the house. This group, some of whom had been around the world, seemed to be having a marvelous time making balloon animals in the living room, playing charades upstairs and down, and simply talking around the fire place. One attendee told us that he had been in Paris the year before, and this party was more fun.  Ah ---- a Pearle Mesta moment!!
    Of course, our children had birthday parties as they were growing up.  We used nature films from the PA Conservation Service, and age-appropriate games or crafty things to make so that bedlam didn’t occur.  Actually, the kids and their friends were well enough behaved that bedlam wouldn’t have happened anyway ---- probably.
    One of the finest acts of hospitality in my life came from strangers, when we were stranded in a snowbank on Christmas night; stranded with two boys and our English spaniel.  The people who lived on the other side of the snow bank came out and invited us in.  They didn’t know us and we didn’t know them. They gave us blankets, provided games for our boys and allowed our dog to point their cockatoo all evening.  They gave us breakfast the following morning and took us to a local garage where we could get our car towed and repaired.  Our sole contribution was a Swedish tea ring and a few cookies.  I still think of them and their willing hospitality, with extreme gratitude.
    Probably our most recent and fun gatherings were Twelfth-Night celebrations.    Because there is so much going on during the weeks prior to and the week after Christmas, we decided to push our time with friends further, to end the 12 days of Christmas.  That first year, when we began making a list of people --- the number was more than our not-so-large house could comfortably hold.  We thought ---Aha!  We’ll do an open-house where people can come and go, and invited 40-50 people.  The problem was that people did come ---- but they didn’t go.  So, we had a “musical chairs” situation where people stood until someone got up and they could grab a chair.   No one seemed to mind this, though, and the Saturday nearest 12th night was on calendars for the next year and the next.
    We never served gourmet or fussy foods; we made a couple kinds of soup, snacks and cookies and a big bowl of frosty, fruit lemonade.  And people often brought goodies to share.  Every chair, stool and even the stair steps were filled and the conversation flowed.  It was a time for just total enjoyment when being hospitable was really easy.   About three years ago, we had a “last 12th Night Party” simply because I no longer have the energy to prepare ---- but I miss them and I know others do also.  I try to remember the advice: “Don’t cry because it is gone.  Be glad that it happened!”    It is time for other kinds of hospitality more fitting for our capabilities.
    We’ve also had revolving beds --- or, perhaps more accurately, revolving sheets.  Since we’ve lived at some distance from our extended families, an extra bed or two for when they come by has been wise but the traffic grew beyond that.  Once we hosted a young man (Jorge) from Mexico --- part of the Up With People** musical group.  Occasionally we’ve welcomed someone who needed shelter for a few days.  Nieces and nephews have come.  Our sons have always felt welcome to bring people home with them for dinner, an evening of games or overnight.  There was an unexpected twist though; a couple of their friends came for the weekend, and stayed for 5 or 6 years ---a bit unusual, but the circumstances that allowed us to borrow these “extra” sons during their college years, were a blessing.   We enjoyed them, and our boys benefitted by acquiring two more brothers.   I’m still not sure, though, how we managed with six people and only one bathroom.    
    Overnight traffic has now slowed even though we have more space now and two bathrooms.  But back in February, in the space of a week, we made up beds for our granddaughters, followed by a son for a couple of nights and then the other son and his wife for a night while they were moving from one house to another.  It’s great fun, but I do think that we need to increase our sheet stash for our often unplanned, B&B!
    Hospitality is a very personal thing and depends on individual circumstances.  When we moved here, we found hospitality when a woman (Janet) at church welcomed us personally, when a local musician (David) invited me to sing in a group and another person (Ellie) made me feel comfortable in a rehearsal. During this COVID era, we’ve had fine porch visits and times in the gazebo and around a campfire.  Making people welcome wherever we happen to be is hospitality.
    Our homes can be the refuge that we all need, but they can also be --- to quote one of our family members about a family home ---- “a place that embraces you when you walk in.”    We’ve all heard: “No man is an island; no man stands alone.  Each man’s joy is joy to me; each man’s grief is my own…”***This truism is a good reason to extend ourselves to whatever need comes our way.  We grow in our humanity as we share our lives with others.
    Right now, “People of the Book” (Christians, Jews and Muslims) should be involved in inner searching and celebration.  Ramadan begins April 2.  Passover begins at sundown on April 15th.  And Christians are in the midst of Lent, awaiting Easter.    We are reminded that even during this unwelcome, tragic war, because of these special, faith-related, traditional times, we should be a standard of peace for all of humanity.   Our prayers need to rise like incense for a permanent cease-fire and freedom.
    Meanwhile, it is spring by the calendar.  And no matter what your tenets of faith, it is definitely a time to be grateful for life itself.  Take time to look around as things green, and inhale the fresh air.  You can feel the turning of the season.  And this is true even if the spring aromas aren’t always that of hyacinths and lilies. If we care well for what we have, if we make all parts of our lives more fertile, if we open our hearts to the people around us, ---- “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”****
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Karen Burton Mains –An American writer; the wife of a pastor who writes from her own experiences.
    **Up With People –American non-profit organization that uses a 5-month series of workshops, concerts and other learning experiences including travel.
    ***Quotation from a song which was excerpted from a poem, For Whom The Bell Tolls, by John Donne, who was an English poet.  1572-1631.
    ****I’m sure you’ve noticed how much I like this thought from Julian of Norwich.  I use it often.  You may recall that she was an English anchoress who wrote, prayed and led a group of nuns.  1342-1416.
     
     
     
  16. Carol Bossard
    Easter parades are over; a total solar eclipse before us. Birds are returning. I heard, in late February, that a friend had seen two bears, locally, and another friend mentioned the return of her bluebirds.  The bluebirds were a welcome sign, but we hoped the bears would stay away until May. However, one or two have already come by, briefly, and so we will soon be moving the big seed cans into our storage shed.  This means some inconvenience for me --- up our hilly lawn and around to the back of the out-building. But the exercise is probably a good thing and certainly better than allowing an ursine sunflower seed orgy on our sidewalk. Hopefully, those early bluebirds will find enough buggy food to satisfy their spring optimism.

    Do you know what a vernal pool is? In the woods on our farm, there were little pools that held water only for the spring season. By mid-summer they had dried up. But for a little while, they glimmered and rippled like tiny lakes, surrounded by mossy stones, and inhabited,just briefly, by tiny frogs, darting water insects and,maybe,possibly, wood faeries. They reflected carpets of violets and starry bloodroot blossoms.  And on a nearby slope, in slightly drier terrain, there was a hillside of white trilliums.  These 3-lobed trumpets must line the path leading to Heaven, they are so beautiful. In a slightly different terrain,the sandy soil in my brother’s woods (only 3 miles away) we used to find creeping arbutus, a delicate pink flower with a lovely fragrance. Vernal pools, opening wild flowers and a variety of mosses, all greening my little portion of earth.
    As lawns lose their winter brown, and the trees show the beginnings of leaves, it is good to just get outside. Andy Morris,* a regional poet, says this about the spring of the year in an aging world: “Kneeling down to feel the fresh green grass, I found, lying just beneath it, white as bone, a ghost of grass from a summer past, long since mown I held in my hand like so much paper, or even less than that, a milky vapor.  And I thought of how age gives way to youth.  And how truth is but the mulch for further truth.  And I thought of how my life is but ashes, little more than a fading blade of grass.   But when I looked again upon the scene, and remembered what I felt when at first, I knelt, and took the time to celebrate the green.” Celebrating the small bits of new life brightens my day.  The seasons of fall and winter, and realization of aging may dim our spirits briefly, but we are restored by the whole, panoramic view of increasing “green”.
    “Green” is now what we all try to be in an attempt to be environmentally wise.  We try to use products that do not pollute land, sea or air. Traditionally, spring cleaning has its own season. This endeavor, in the 1800s and early 1900s, involved rug-beating, scrubbing brushes, pails and pails of water, sometimes lye and white wash (and no latex gloves!).  It was a labor-intensive series of tasks that truly was an actual “season”.   Little House on the Prairie books give a couple of vivid house-cleaning scenarios.  For them, it involved taking the old straw out of mattresses and replacing it with new straw, dragging the rugs outside to be beaten, and washing (with home-made soap) anything washable in the house.  My only memory of anything resembling this, was when the inside of our dairy barn was swept down, hosed down and whitewashed, in the spring, after the cows had been let out to pasture. Today, vacuum cleaners, rug-shampooers, Swiffers and a whole array of cleaning products make house-cleaning all year ‘round a much easier process (though often quite polluting), and there is little need anymore, to tear up the entire residence. I think home-makers today may well wish to lift a glass of whatever to the new robotic cleaners, power washers and wipeable paints that make life so much easier --- and, if we are alert, safer too.

    As I thought about the tradition of spring cleaning, I was also reminded of other traditions with which I grew up.  Sitting around a table for daily meals or for tea time is one custom that seems to be dwindling.  TV trays, frozen dinners, and conflicting schedules have made meals less of a gathering-together event and more of a fast-food way of survival.  We may be feeding our bodies, but are doing less in the way of nourishing our souls and connecting ourselves with family and friends.  We did fairly well with sitting at table while our boys were home and in school but then college and summer jobs saw us sitting together less and less often.  Now, Kerm and I do eat together but while watching the nightly news. Talk about inviting indigestion!!
    I have good memories of sitting around several tables. When we went home to visit, our first activity, after dropping our suitcases near the stairs,was to sit around my mother’s kitchen table for a cup of tea and molasses cookies.  The table was placed before a large window with a bird feeder attached to the sill, looking out on a flower garden and a pond.  So, there were plenty of beautiful things to watch and to encourage conversation. It was like taking a deep breath and relaxing for the allotted time of our visit.
    Then, at my brother’s house, the front door opened straight into the dining room. We shed shoes, and claimed a chair around the large dining table.  We had cups of our favorite tea accompanied by considerable conversation and laughter as the stories flowed with who was doing what.  There was a merry tale of a salad that was the “last straw” for Bob (not one for creative or odd foods) when he found a plastic curtain ring therein. There was the time I requested a wonderful potato soup recipe --- discovering that it was originally mine, but totally forgotten.  Other family members often dropped in.  As we talked, hands were busily doing bead work, blankets were being knitted, and one patient person was creating a needlepoint pillow cover.  Coming home and being around a table was a mini-vacation from daily reality and created a sense of forever belonging.

    When we visited at Kerm’s home it was much the same feeling. I have old photographs of family sitting around the table at holiday time. The round table, pulled out, with leaves added, was laden with good food and filled the small dining room.  Smiling faces indicated that we were in good company.  Besides meals at that table, there were also riotous times of playing Monopoly or triple-deck pinochle, instigated by Kerm’s grandmother. Then the kitchen table was where we had delectable pancakes for breakfast and where we caught up with Kerm’s mother and what was going on in her life and the neighborhood.
    What we  prideful, independent humans do not always realize is how much we need each other. Some of us mingle more reluctantly than others; we are introverts who find our peace in solitude and quiet.  But even introverts need the company of others for healthy living.  Good company, that is.  I used to give my sister grief about not participating; about staying by herself (with a good book, of course) so much.  In recent years, I’ve found myself behaving in a similar way.  Given a choice, I’d usually rather stay home and read than go out and socialize, unless the people are near and dear.  But when I do make the effort, I have felt completed and renewed by participating.  Especially do I find this fellowship and encouragement in our small groups whether they be pinochle nights, Bible study or Spencer Singers.  Small groups create a space where we feel safe and affirmed.  So many people boast that they don’t need other people.  But, of course, we all do.   Every single one of us!  Families, whether blood relatives or those we’ve built from friends, keep us connected to people who care about us and keep our ability to love, polished.
    There are two quotations that speak to the value of companionship. “Life is full of opportunities for learning love….the world is not a playground but  a schoolroom.  Life is not a holiday but an education.  And the one eternal lesson for us all is how better we can love.** And, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed…….three are even better for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”***  We need good people in our lives for support, for mirrors, and for inspiration.
    In April, besides finding companionship with people who make life better, the usual spring work is waiting to be done.  As the buds on the lilacs and trees swell, so do the numbers of tasks on the “to-do” lists.  We’ve had some rainy days this week, the upside of which is giving us a brief respite from the outside jobs.  It is good to cross off some of the inside tasks ---- like taking down the glass snowflakes still decorating my porch and picture window, and sorting the immense pile of catalogs, letters and notes to myself.  Whether inside or out, may your April bring you just enough showers to refresh, and may you rejoice in every bit of sunshine that comes your way. Be sure you notice the increasing, wonderful greening all around even as you carefully, with special glasses, watch the solar eclipse.
      Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Andy Morris ---from “Quiet Moments; Lessons In Life And Love”
    **Henry Drummond ---Scottish evangelist, biologist, and writer.  1851-1887.
    ***Ecclesiastes 4: 9 and 12b.
  17. Carol Bossard
    Mid-July and outside I hear the buzz of lawn mowers, the subdued sound of birds and occasionally, the rooster next door.   I haven’t done a whole lot of dancing up and down the lawn recently, but there have been lovely twilights for porch-sitting or around a campfire.  This has been a dreadful year for mosquitoes, but the “fragrance” of punk sticks keeps them at bay where we are sitting.  That aroma reminds me of 4-H camp in the Bristol Hills of NYS, where I went as a camper and later as a counselor.  I don’t recall that it was buggy there; punk sticks were probably why.  The pungent smell brings back campfires, starry skies and the quiet breathlessness as we listened to yet another tale before going to cabins for the night.
    A lot of years have passed between then and now.  I am probably older than the “elderly” gentleman who made a “magic” campfire and used to tell us stories around it. But age is easy to forget!  The truth is that how we think and behave doesn’t have to age unless we choose to allow it!  Our skin may thin and parch.  Our joints may creak and our balance may waver.  But those are outer problems; laughter, appreciation of the world around us, love – they all survive, ageless.   Most of us do not feel old; we just feel like us.  A 90+ friend commented once that she really felt about 18 years old.  Incredible thought to someone who is currently 18.   What younger people do not realize is that we elders have now lived through a lot of life-stages.  If we’ve been wise and alert, we can remember well what it is like to be 16 or 30 or 50 and sometimes feel we are those ages still.  But those who are younger have no clue yet what it is to be 60, 70 or 80.  And younger doesn’t listen a whole lot to older.  Younger sometimes has trouble imagining that we do have a clue.
    “’You are old, Father William’, the young man said, ‘and your hair has become very white.  And yet you incessantly stand on your head --- do you think at your age it is right?’ ‘In my youth’ Father William replied to his son, ‘I feared it would injure my brain.  But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, why I do it again and again.’  ‘You are old’ said the youth, ‘as I mentioned before, and have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door --- Pray what is the reason for that?’  “In my youth,’ said the sage as he shook his gray locks, ‘I kept all my limbs very supple by the use of this ointment --- one shilling the box --- allow me to sell you a couple….’”*  Read the rest of “Father William” and you’ll not only be laughing but will understand the large gap in generational understanding.
    Aging is a curious thing.  People seem to experience it at different rates, in different weights and measures and with way different attitudes.  There are those individuals who become stodgy and “old” at thirty (one of my classmates), and those whose joie de vivre is evident at ninety (my mother).   I have one friend who occasionally helps out at her daughter’s dairy farm --- even to fixing fence--- which is no easy task.  And another friend in my general age group is running marathons.  Others may be using canes to help movement, but are still active in their areas of interest.  A very few have retreated from life, unable to cope with changes.  These differences in attitudes may be due to genetics or what we’ve expected of our lives all along ----- mostly the latter.  It is a choice because neither physical disability nor aging necessarily have to disable the mind and spirit.
    A few weeks ago, I had to admit that whether or not my mind was inclined to believe in my age, my body definitely had some issues with it.  I unwisely tried wandering through the house at night without turning on enough lights and tripped over a chair leg.  This had nothing to do with age; it was carelessness.  But the results had plenty to do with how my aging body deals with trauma.  That chair spun me around so that I fell backward against a corner of a dresser, cut my head and bled profusely.  Three days in the hospital and a blood transfusion later, I was home putting arnica on the bruises --- of which there were many.    My physical shell was loudly declaring to me that I could imagine all the positive things I wanted to about aging, but I’d better start being wiser about a body that has less balance, that bruises and bleeds easily and is disinclined to just “get up and get moving!”  Reality vs. fantasy!  Thinking “young” is good but it doesn’t do to ignore our mortality.  Anyone who is inclined to be a bit careless or to stretch their capabilities (and you all know who you are!!) might keep this in mind.
    One of the things impossible to avoid contemplating ---- as one ages ---- is the end of life as we know it.  I may have come perilously close as I lay bleeding that night, which realization definitely made an impact on my behavior hence-forth.  I do not wish to sound either maudlin or gloomy, but to avoid speaking of a life experience that comes to all seems a bit foolish, rather like the proverbial ostrich with its head in the sand. One’s offspring seldom wish to contemplate life without you, annoying though you might be to them, so they tend to cut off discussion quickly, although they may be very verbal about your way of living.   And grandchildren are even more skittish.  Actually, death can come to anyone at any age, due to illness or accident.  My first experience with a friend’s death came when I was fifteen years old.  Someone I knew, who was my age, was killed in a train/car accident.  I remember being absolutely stunned that this could happen.  Usually, though, we expect to live a certain number of years before worrying about death.  Despite its difficulties, life here on earth is good and should be enjoyed.  Life after earthly life is a curiosity.
    Kerm and I have tried to be responsible about living and also about arrangements for what comes thereafter.  We reserved spaces in a “green” cemetery to replace our original thoughts of cremation after we discovered that the cremation process puts all sorts of nasty pollutants into the air.  We liked better the idea of being buried where black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s lace dance in the breezes and where all is natural and non-chemical (our brief Hippie-past is kicking in).  We’ve made our wills (for the third time) and tried to make sure all loose ends are tied up.  But in addition, we’ve thought about what some people call a spiritual will.  Everyone wants to be remembered.  But how?  How do we want our families to mark our passing?  We surely want them to feel hope for our place in eternity rather than the despair of total loss.  I don’t believe that anything is wasted in the universe and that goes for all of the wonders and talents that humans have.  I think all of it must go on and grow better in some other form that includes all-encompassing love.  And my personal theory is---- we are designed so that when we’ve dealt with enough years of too much world chaos and maybe even too much personal chaos, looking at another kind of life becomes a welcome thought.
    This is a well-known poem about death, but I like it despite its frequent use:  Do not stand at my grave and weep --- I am not there ---- I do not sleep.  I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow, I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain.  I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush of beautiful birds, in circling flight.  I am the starshine of the night.  I am in the flowers that bloom.  I am in a quiet room.  I am in the birds that sing.  I am in each lovely thing.  Do not stand at my grave bereft.  I am not there; I have not left!”  Mary Elizabeth Frye**
    Meanwhile it is summer.  We are alive and grateful for that life, and none of us should be wasting our days by not enjoying them.  When I added “dancing” to the title of this reflection, I meant it both metaphorically and in reality.  Dancing is something that Kerm and I have enjoyed for most of our dating and married years together.  Unfortunately, my feet and my breathing don’t currently accommodate the dipping, diving and whirling.  But those who can, should!!   Dancing can be a state of mind; a lilting of the spirit as well as moving of the feet.  If we move in rhythm with life that is a sort of dance.   I think we are intended to live fully, savoring each day and in joy and trust that “all will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be well.”***
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *”Father William” ---- Poem by Lewis Carroll, the pen name of a British writer of children’s fiction, most notably, Alice In Wonderland.  1832-1898.  This particular poem has been set to music, and after writing this, I can’t get the tune out of my head!!
    **Mary Elizabeth Frye ---an American home-maker and florist.  She is known for her poem, written for a friend’s mother, “Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep”.  1905-2004.
    ***Julian of Norwich ----Sometimes called Dame Julian.  She was an English anchoress who wrote the best-known surviving book of the Middle Ages.  1305- 1416.  This portion of what she wrote is a reassuring avowal that when all is finished, all will be well.
    Some fiction that gives interesting perspectives on life hereafter:
    They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera --- This is something my granddaughters have read (I haven’t), and they said it was very interesting and very good, but probably shouldn’t be read by anyone younger than teenage. By Fannie Flagg ----Can’t Wait To Get To Heaven and The Whole Town’s Talking” “The Last Battle” (fifth book of the Narnia series) by C.S. Lewis
  18. Carol Bossard

    Winter Angst

    By Carol Bossard,

    We’ve had snowfall nearly every night --- another half to three-inches on top of our since- Christmas snow.  This morning there was NO new snow.   There is a slight change in the air, and some of the birds are singing spring-ish songs.  I’ve heard from one or two observers that a few robins have emerged from the swamps and are out there conning people into thinking spring has come.  I expect they won’t stay around long; finding worms beneath our banks of snow will be impossible.  But yesterday’s 40 degrees was a teaser and gave us little signs here and there that winter is waning.
    The turkeys are beginning to think “spring”.  The unfurled tails and pompous behavior of the toms probably amuses the hens as much as it does we humans who observe.  I imagine the hens, if they bother to reply at all, are saying, “ARE you nuts???  We’re standing in three feet of snow! I’m always amazed at how quietly, how unobtrusively these large birds can vanish.  They are all over the lawn ---- and then they aren’t.  Especially if the snow is coming down, they just quietly disappear into the swirling flakes.  Of course, it they are startled, they can exit with great pandemonium; squawks and flapping wings everywhere.  The deer that come down from the hill are also good at rapid departures but as they skim across the snow, their tail flips up and turns into a very visible white flag.
    Yesterday I saw one of last year’s fawns (he obviously thought he was a big guy!) chasing the turkeys --- and then a cat came along and chased the deer --- and soon the same deer came back accompanied by three older turkeys and they shared the sunflower seeds on the ground.  I think they were all just bored.  Late winter stirs restlessness in all creation, from those posturing turkeys to humans.  It’s too early to garden unless one has a green house.   With all the snow, we can’t even get out and check the garden spaces against the garden plans we so optimistically sketched last fall.   There is too much snow to get out for walks.  And socially, so much is closed due to COVID that there are few places to visit.  So --- February and March are good times to begin some projects that get pushed aside for the more immediate.
    One of my bête noirs (as I’ve mentioned before) is my filing system --- or lack thereof.  I have boxes and piles of unfiled papers and some actual files that I no longer really need.  The ideas for each grade level from my substitute teaching days is really unnecessary now; I have no plans for being in the classroom any time soon.  And those adorable little clothes for tots; I’m not sewing much nor do I currently have tots around.  Somehow they all grew up!   I probably don’t need the travel folders either.  When we travel it is almost always to visit family or to vacation in a place we’ve enjoyed before, like mid-coast Maine.  I’d considered a very large dumpster, but……… instead the project of working on this reducing-paper project makes the dining table unusable for dining just now; if you come for dinner, you’ll be balancing a plate on your knees.  Recycling bags will be heavy.
    February and March ---- in any year------but perhaps more this year due to circumstances---- is a time when those who may be subject to depression (see note at end of essay) could have a bad time.  And this year, even those who haven’t had problems previously, may find themselves in an unusual state of gloom.   If one is unaccustomed to feeling this way, the  restlessness, angst, sadness, grumpiness, panic or lethargy may leave them clueless.   These feelings can be as short as one bad day or can last for weeks at a time.  And the feelings, if lingering too long or intensifying, may require medical intervention.
    Having had plenty of experience both in enduring and in fending off depression, I’ve developed several remedies to try before considering medications.  Therapy can be wonderful --- even just talking things out with a trusted friend or mentor.   A professional is necessary if the depression is severe or is the result of deeply-buried past trauma, but sometimes a friend who is a good listener can help us sort things out..
    When I feel despair hovering like fog, I first do things that for me, make a day happy: escaping into a book, listening to or making music, sorting memorabilia, cleaning out a few drawers, walking, etc..  And I remember the good things in my life.   Gratitude changes perspective ---- recalling all those happy things we do have and experience daily lifts spirits.  Your route to happiness may be different than mine, but think about what you like to do.  And with all illness, if healing doesn’t happen, go the medical route.  However, it might be necessary to try more than one therapist.  Not every trained psychologist is right for every person.  I believe I saw three different ones before I found one that really clicked.  It helps to think ahead; to have one’s “tool kit” ready for emergencies.
    Last week, while cleaning out a box, I came across materials from my working days at the Office for the Aging.  The writing clearly indicated that I was weighed down by the discouraging world around me.  And yet, I noted small joys even in the midst of that frustration.  When we (as a staff) were fearful and frustrated regarding funding for home-delivered meals, the kitchen staff took time to draw faces on the bananas that went out to home-bound clients.  The photograph of those bananas made me laugh.  After an annoying conversation with a county legislator, I would find a freshly-made cup of tea on my desk with a little note.  Another photograph reminded me about walking, at lunch time, to the marvelous falls at the end of the street, where the roar of water and healthy negative ions lightened my day.  These bits of brightness reminded me that: “Contentment is an inner state of fitness.  It does not rely on circumstances but is the result of a sacred space within, that is given life and substance by the Creating Spirit of all things.”  Not always, but quite often, we can choose contentment instead of angst.
    Probably the most important thing is to realize that the need for mental health assistance is just as normal and fitting as the need for cardiac help or physical therapy.  The body is all connected; perhaps you remember the old song ---- “The hip bone’s connected to the thigh bone, the thigh bone’s connected to the knee bone………..etc.”  Functional medicine has proven that the brain talks to the stomach; that the various parts of our bodies, from blood cells to nerves, are constantly communicating.  We just may need to clear up some of our thinking.  Our subconscious believes whatever we tell it --- whether or not it is reality!   And that is where talking it out with good listener helps.
    Lent is a time when I try to pay more attention to spiritual growth.  This year my chosen way is spending an hour twice/week in meditation and listening.  That sounds easily achievable doesn’t it?   Not so!!  First of all this is a lengthier time span and requires more concentration than my usual 15-minute meditations.  Those are rather like a tonic for the day, where these longer sittings that I’m attempting are more like a serious infusion.  I am still in awe of one niece who did a 6-week silent retreat!

    It took me several days of trying to figure out when I could actually do this during the day.  Right after getting up is when I usually have a reading and quiet time, but I’m not awake enough at that point to sit very long; I’d fall asleep.  But I’ve been working at it, for in addition to being a spiritual exercise; it is also proven to lower blood pressure and calm the mind’s tendency to be “running around like a chicken with its head cut off” as my father might say.  (Those of you who’ve raised chickens know from whence this saying comes.)  And while those short times of quiet begin the day well, I think this longer, less-structured time is the next step, combining self-care and vision.
    Wisdom and serenity come to us from accepting that we each can only do what we can do.  To throw up our hands in despair because we find it impossible to meet every need out there; be the perfect parent, partner, employee, etc. is to destroy our inner fitness and probably make us less able to do anything at all.  Helen Keller* said: “I am only one, but still I am one.  I cannot do everything but still I can do something.  I will not refuse to do the something I can do.”
    Since this wintery world hemming me in is not something I can change, to ease my annoyance at all the snow, I have tried to focus on some of the beauty around me.  The red osier dogwood shrubs (transplanted from the swamp at home) are beginning to glow.  I’m sure it is simple biology that as the sap rises in the stems, the color is enhanced, but in February it looks miraculous to me.  Those garnet-red stems really stand out against the snow.  And the icicles have been quite amazing.  I plucked one off the eaves yesterday that was a yard long; solid, clear and quite sculptural.  There are whole rows of similar ones fringing the house roof.  And the tracing of twigs and branches against the snow is really fine art.  These verses by Christina Rossetti** speak of both the angst and the beauty; just right for late February:  “I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snow drops feel as yet the sun, and crocus fires are kindling one by one: Sing, robin sing.  I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.”
    ************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Helen Keller –American author, lecturer and disability advocate.  Helen Keller was blind and deaf. 1880-1968
    **Christina Rossetti –English poet.  1830-1894
    Note:  Some who have read my essays for a long time may wonder why I speak so frequently of mental health.  It is because mental health issues are overwhelming our culture.  So many teens are depressed to the point of taking their own lives.  So many adults battle with or simply give in to the black clouds that shut them into a world where the sun never shines and hope is fleeting if seen at all.  My own experiences with depression have not been deep enough for hospitalization, but they have made life very difficult at times ---- not only for me but also for those around me.  I think the more we can talk about this, share experiences, share useful weapons, the more society will recognize that this is only another bodily ill to be addressed.  Those who recognize the problem and get help are far healthier and more reliable than those who avoid even discussing it or try to come up with some simplistic answers.
  19. Carol Bossard
    Here in the northeast, we are well into Fall.  Good weather lasted long this year, so we really can’t complain when the season starts being seasonable.  Our cover crops never made it onto the gardens, but the potatoes are in storage and many of the weeds are pulled.   Kerm has replaced the broken rails in the garden fence and repaired the dog pen where the bear broke through in July.   One ursine youngster returned last week on his fall trek, but managed to get around the yard without breaking anything.   
    Kerm just celebrated one of the ---- um ---- significant birthdays.  And it isn’t one to which we all look forward with delight like our 18th or 21st.  One year more doesn’t really matter, but we humans give undue weight to numbers, and this particular number makes us feel old!  In truth, only our brains register this; our bodies don’t really change from being fifty-nine to sixty or seventy-nine to eighty, but our minds tend to shudder away from the thought of a new decade.  Upon turning 50 ---- my charming co-workers decorated my office with black crepe paper and doleful sayings.  Now, nearly 30 years later, I laugh at how little we all knew about aging.  I do know that we should stop thinking so much about numbers and simply trust that we will be around and active as long as there is something we enjoy doing on this earth.
    I was part of a conversation with friends, not too long ago, about getting older.  We all agreed that there is a surprising well of anger inside each of us, when we try to do simple tasks and either can’t or in some way mess them up.  I am furious with myself when silverware just falls out of my hand, or when I see tasks that need doing, but have no energy to do them.  I speak to myself in a sharp way that I’d seldom use with anyone else.  I think this anger springs from fear; fear that we are losing control and being less capable than we’ve always been.  We each have a rather rigid, “color-in-the-lines” picture of who we think we are, and we don’t like changes in that image.  A recent eye examination flashed “losing control” in neon lights in my mind.  I’ve had macular degeneration for a few years now, and it has gradually progressed.  This summer, the gradual became accelerated and my recent exam showed all sorts of unwelcome bumps along the retina floor.  Suddenly something I’d thought of as being a problem in future years became quite immediate.  Not be able to read??!!   I was angry, bleary-eyed and depressed for the rest of that day.  By morning, my equilibrium was somewhat restored and, of course, I could see more clearly when the pupil-dilating eye-drops they used for the exam were gone.  But the foreboding sense of loss still peeks out into my days now and then.
    The question is how to stem the anger and find acceptance --- maybe even meaning ---- in this dubious process of aging when we admittedly aren’t in total control of our bodies.  Nor can we control the attitudes or behavior of people around us, which is often a problem.  In a sense, we are similar to the teenagers I wrote about in the last essay.  We are maybe in a spiritual growth period, and need to have patience with and civility toward ourselves,  realize we aren’t in the driver’s seat for the world and trust that life will smooth out ---- eventually.
    The first question to eliminate from conversation is “WHY ME???”  Why not me? is more appropriate.  Life is full of little and large bumps along the way, and if mine are only in the retina, perhaps I should be remembering that there are many trials I’ve not had to endure, for which I am grateful.  I have friends who have dealt with serious disease, with losing a child, with losing a home, with bitterness in families, with trauma that won’t go away.  I am often awed at how people have risen above their wounds to live good and happy lives.  The least I can do is to handle my discouraging days with a modicum of courage and good sense.  Perhaps I’ll take up painting very large flowers in vivid colors in lieu of growing them or reading about them.  My mother, who was legally blind, went right on gardening.  She could smell some of the plants (herbs) and knew enough of the shapes of the leaves to distinguish one perennial from another.
    The big things in life are challenging, but I think that the little nit-picking ones trigger the daily anger; the new credit card already misplaced, the inability to find the rolling pin that should be right there, the blank space in the mind where someone’s name ought to be.  It is probably good that we make jokes about memory fog, brain farts or “senior moments”.  Laughter is especially healing when it is about ourselves ----- as long as it is understanding and not scornful laughter.  What isn’t OK is letting disabilities embitter us or make us shun fellowship with others.  Anger at ourselves or others, is an acid that can burn away our good sense and turn good days into bad times.
    I visualize my brain as a rather messy filing system ----- as my actual filing always has been.  The files get crowded, shoved in back of another folder, and really need cleaning out now and then.  Unfortunately, I’ve never developed a really workable way to clean and sort --- not in the 4-drawer metal behemoth, nor in my mind.  But working at it keeps my mental machinery moving and allows me to be maybe a tad more patient with my foibles.  “Do not grow old, no matter how long you live.  Never cease to stand like curious children before the great mystery into which we were born.”  Albert Einstein*.  Perhaps this advice is the best advice.  Staying true to who we are and remaining in wonder at the world will keep life good in spite of bodily annoyances and a shaky memory.
     
    “Veterans’ Day” --- or, as it was originally named, “Armistice Day” ---- is next week.  It was first designated when the armistice (cease-fire) was signed ending WWI.  As wars kept on happening, it was renamed Veterans’ Day.  Veterans selling poppies used to be a fund-raiser and a reminder.  We still need to be reminded in some creative way, since we humans have a bad habit of only seriously considering that which impacts our own lives.  We may give lip-service to other concerns, but unless something threatens us or makes us unhappy in some way, we do not put a lot of energy into changing it.  I think we often rationalize taking military service for granted:  “Well, being in the service is good for kids; gives them discipline. Gives them time to think about what they want to do.”  Times of combat --- and even training exercises ---- also give kids the possibility of dying.  If soldiers are fortunate enough to go home after participating in wars, it also may give them severe injuries and deep-seated memories that continue to haunt them; this is called being traumatized.  And we, who have never experienced the raw emotions of a war zone, tend to shrug our shoulders and count pennies when speaking of providing sufficient resources for soldiers as they return.  Veterans have every reason to be hurt and angry, as many are.  Perhaps Stephen Spender’s** evocative lines should be engraved where we can all see and remember:
                                                “Born of the sun
                                                     They traveled a short while
                                                     Toward the sun
                                                     Leaving the vivid air
                                                     Signed with their honour.”
    And the words from the famous WWI poem, In Flander’s Field, from whence the idea of poppy sales began, by John McCrae***:
    “In Flander’s Fields the poppies grow…..We are the dead.  Short days ago we lived, felt the dawn, saw the sunset’s glow, Loved and were loved.  And now we lie in Flander’s Fields.”
    When we bring up the honor of defending one’s country it would be well if some of that applied to us.  Those of us at home need to honorably treat people who have served as our protectors.  Their injuries, both physical and mental, should weigh on us until we have done all we can to provide understanding, mending and healing.
    It seems odd to me, that we can’t find another way to solve international issues than to send young men and women into battle.   What a waste of talent.  There is a pertinent cartoon strip: Calvin and Hobbes**** are facing each other with toy guns.  They blast away, each falling “dead”.  Lying there, Calvin says: “Well that’s pretty useless, isn’t it?”
    Jimmy Carter***** also put it very well: “War may sometimes be a necessary evil.  But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good.  We will never learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”  At the very least we should be taking good and grateful care of those “children” when they come home.
    November is a month of remembrance and change, beginning with All Saints’ Day, then Veteran’s Day and ending with our day of gratitude, Thanksgiving.  It is the transition month between autumn and winter.   Perhaps it is the transitions that incite deep thinking.  We may be happily scuffing in a pile of crispy leaves, but we are always aware of the icy roads ahead.  Rachel Field****** expresses this well.
    Something told the wild geese it was time to go.  Though the fields lay golden, something whispered “Snow!”  Leaves were green and stirring, berries luster-glossed, but beneath warm feathers something cautioned, “Frost!”   All the sagging orchards steamed with amber spice, but each wild beast stiffened at remembered ice.   Something told the wild geese, it was time to fly----- Summer sun was on their wings, Winter in their cry.
    Changes happen --- seasons --- decades ----- life!   Choose attitudes wisely when facing them.
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    **************************************
     
    *Albert Einstein ---German-born theoretical physicist who created the theory of relativity.  He also made contributions to quantum mechanics.  1879-1955.
    **Stephen Spender ---English poet, essayist, novelist who wrote about injustice and societal ills.  1909-1995.
    ***John McCrae ---Leutenant-Colonel was a Canadian poet, physician, artist and soldier.  1872-1918.  Was killed in France during the war.
    ****Calvin & Hobbes----Cartoon series delighting many, by Bill Watterson
    ***** Jimmy Carter ---Born in 1924 and served as the 39th President of the United States.
    ******Rachel Field ----American poet and novelist, and especially children’s stories.  1894-1942.
     
  20. Carol Bossard
    Is the aroma from my kitchen wending its way out?  Do you smell cinnamon---- chocolate----orange?  This is cookie-baking week ---- a variety of cookies for that family gathering I mentioned in the last essay.  Pineapple cookies, ginger cookies, chocolate cookies and some melt-in-your-mouth buttery nut cookies.  One thing I’ve noticed is that the cost of ingredients for cookies have risen a lot, and so desserts are actually as valuable as restaurants have been trying to make us believe all along.   But home-made cookies are definitely worth it.  Out of the kitchen and into the garden, tomatoes are beginning to ripen, which means that canning season will soon be upon us.  Hurray for the modern kitchen stove.  I can imagine just how hot a kitchen must have been with the old cook stoves that used wood or coal.  That is why many homes in Pennsylvania and further south, had “summer kitchens” where they could keep the heat of preserving out of the house.  Our home in central PA had a summer kitchen with an immense fireplace.  We didn’t use it for canning, but for the occasional party. The first stove I recall from my childhood was a kitchen stove with kerosene burners across the front, like little lanterns of isinglass.  I think that didn’t last too long before an electric stove came to the kitchen.  I so appreciate my large gas burners and the stove’s capacity for more rapid heating for canning or baking, and less heat for the kitchen.
    Another appliance that I ---- sometimes ---- appreciate, is the computer.  Emails are, of course a quick way to write a letter or even to decide committee business.  Thanks to a friend, I often get materials from the Jungian Society --- followers of Carl Jung, the famous psychologist.  A recent article talked about how to make life meaningful.  I immediately thought --- my life has been chock-full of meaning; how can one’s life not be so? Then I considered further about a person who has been trapped by circumstances in work for which they do not especially care, simply to earn money for living.  Or someone in a relationship that simply hasn’t worked out, but lingers on.  People in those situations often find release in heading to the nearest bar after work to ease the boredom/troubles of the day.  Often, they are not part of any social group or community that gives them inspiration and affirmation to know that life can be different. The daily grind/rut for people in such situations, seems to leave little chance for a whole, meaningful life------ although attitude makes a difference.  There is the old story of the two workers.  When asked what they were building, one replied that he was laying stone for a wall; the other said” I’m building a cathedral.”  Creativity and good attitude = Meaning in life.
    Kerm and I were both fortunate in finding work to earn our bread and butter, work that we enjoyed doing.  Occasionally it was sheer serendipity.   After early years of working with kids, both as a professional and a volunteer, the coin flipped.  My college degree was not in gerontology, but that is where I ended up for nearly 20 years, and it was a good fit.  Kerm’s choice of careers was working with 4-H kids but he eventually administered the entire county Extension Service program.  We were part of an army of “human services” workers, careers that didn’t accumulate wealth but did amass rewards for mind and spirit. So, there has been meaning in how I spent my days – both at home and away from home.
    Another plus in our lives, is our affiliation with a church.  With each move, we’ve chosen where to go, not necessarily based on denomination, but on how much Life and Spirit there is in the congregation. We’ve been with Presbyterians, Methodists, United Church of Christ and a community congregation made up of those three.  We’ve also attended Roman Catholic services and a Catholic charismatic fellowship, Lutheran services, Assembly of God services, a Unitarian service and Baptist services.  For years, one of our favorite groups has been “Faith At Work” (now known as “Lumunos”).  It was/is an interdenominational group offering relational spiritual growth. And for several years, we were part of a Marriage Encounter presenting team, working together with a Jewish couple, a Catholic couple and a clergy person. So --- we’ve been on several of the main avenues and some of the side streets of spiritual possibilities. And we have learned that God is in every one of those places we’ve been. I expect God is also to be found in a Buddhist retreat and a Native American sweat lodge, among other locations. God goes where God wishes to go and much as we might like to confine God in our own golden boxes, God won’t be restrained. I mention all this background to explain that our spiritual lives and being in the fellowship of those also growing, are a large part of what makes us mostly happy in the midst of a world full of turmoil and, sometimes, personal crises.
    Other choices have also made our lives exceptionally good --- and very few of them have to do with our bank account. Enough financial security to live is a very good thing; I am not extolling poverty.  But the constant and growing need for more and more material things has not, thankfully, infected us too badly. We were fortunate to be born into families that valued education, hard and creative work, honesty and love, so that glamor, glitz and jet-setting just never seemed too desirable. Instead, we have friends who are amazing people, who have added depth, laughter, and a wider perspective to our being.   I like what Heather Aardmem said: “You can either live by design or live by default.”*  We can’t always control our situations, but we can choose the better of each path as it comes along if we know what we value in life.  This not-always-easy process of choosing may be what helps us to develop  courage for and have appreciation for each day we live.
    One of my nephews, for whom I babysat when an infant, has a birthday today.  I don’t remember much about those days, so he must have been a pretty good kid. He is certainly a good adult. I think that with love and attention, most kids are good kids who then become good adults.  Too often, it is parents with false values and self-centered needs making thoughtless/misguided demands on their kids, who send kids veering in damaging directions. Of course, that is a generalization; there are other factors and parents are not always to blame.  I have liked working with kids --- especially those often-obnoxious but honest and eager twelve, thirteen and fourteen-year-olds.  They are trying so hard to be adults but often still have the needs of a child. They are sometimes awkward and loud but they say what they think unless they’ve been habitually squelched.  I think we all need to pay attention to the young people to whom we have access. They need more smiles from us, more listening ears; they need to feel affection, value and acceptance of who they are coming from adults around them.
    Yesterday and today, family members have been visiting from California and Connecticut.  It was an absolute joy to have time (though never enough) to catch up and just be together around the breakfast table.  When we all lived in the same vicinity, it was way easier and when I read about the families staying in the same communities for centuries, I’m a bit envious.  But we also bring something to each other simply because we don’t all live together; we bring the diversity of what we’ve learned about other people and places.  And any gifts we might have and what we know from our own genetics and our own family experiences has been shared in those places where we now live.
    One time some of us in the family, were fantasizing about buying one of the Thousand Islands (I believe one was for sale at that time) for us all to live upon.  It wasn’t long before we were laughing uproariously.  We love each other; we even like each other but ---- we don’t have the same social needs, spiritual visions or ways of living.  If we were all put on one island, we’d have at least three people building boats in which to escape……and they’d undoubtedly be arguing about how to build the best boat. I do miss sitting around the large dining table at my brother’s, visiting with family; some would be beading jewelry, some would be knitting, we’d all be drinking tea and laughing as we tell and retell stories.  I miss sitting with my mother at her kitchen table; the cookie box open, fragrant “Constant Comment” tea in the pot and a view of the wide lawn and gardens; frogs chunking in the pond below.  Life changes and losing those we love leaves us with a permanent “sad room” in our brains. But instead of lingering too long therein, it is both cheering and strengthening to just allow ourselves to be grateful for these good memories of the past and, recognize how they have led us to our now, for which we are also grateful.
    We have come to the end of another golden summer month. August is only a few days away.  Soon we may be watching the Perseid meteor showers, finding our mornings a bit foggy and noting that the nights are just a tad cooler (hopefully!).  We’ll also see he sun setting a bit earlier. Life cycles go on as usual with summer heat and cleansing thunder showers.   Let’s be open to the gifts of each day --- those “moments when the universal seems to wrap us around with friendliness.”**
    **********
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.   
    *Heather Aardmene –Weigh loss coach and aspiring minimalist.
    **WilliamJames ---American philosopher, historian educator and psychologist.  He was the first American educator to offer a course in psychology.  1842-1910.
  21. Carol Bossard

    Transitions

    By Carol Bossard,

    How about this?  This year’s last essay on the last day of the year!  It is a transition time!  Betwixt and Between!  Transitioning reminds me of the Star Trek method of travel.  Teleporting, however, provides rapid transit from one place to another while this year has required mental and emotional transitions at a slightly slower pace.  As a comment for 2020 ---- I’ll just quote Charlie Brown:  “ARRRRGGGGGHHH”!  And 2021 -----will hopefully be a TA-DA as we land on our feet!

    Actually “new years” occur at different times (depending on the cultures) around the world.  The Jewish New Year begins in the fall, usually September I believe.  Then Samhain, our Halloween, was the Celtic New Year --- harvest time.  The general new year around the world is January 1st .  Tet is the Asian new year in February, with a different symbol for each year --- a kind of Zodiac ---- the Year of the Horse or the Year of the Rat.  The Christian Calendar puts the new church year at the beginning of Advent; four weeks before Christmas.  We all crave new beginnings and carve them into our calendars whether of stone, paper or IPhone.  The Roman calendar depicted the god Janus – a two-faced deity who looked back to the old year while also looking ahead into the new, as we humans tend to do.
    Tonight is New Year’s Eve and that old song is running through my head ----- “What are you doin’ New Years?  New Years Eve?”  Actually we are doing very little as is appropriate right now.  We plan a comfortable evening with hot chocolate or eggnog, shrimp cocktail, maybe a little conversation and a bit of TV until we get too sleepy to stay up.  Forty years ago this would have sounded pretty dull.  Now it sounds perfect.  My brother, Ken, would be amused.
    I was always a bit miffed because I was considered too young for Ken’s and Lois’s New Year’s Eve parties.  Then when I was of an age to go, they stopped having them!   I can’t say that I’ve really been deprived though; Kerm and I have been through 56 New Year’s Eves.   We’ve attended parties and we’ve given parties.  One gala event that sticks in my mind was early in our marriage.  We invited a young singles group, all in their twenties and not much younger than we were to join us on New Year’s Eve.   Our wonderful old rented farm house,  had a “summer kitchen”, attached to the main kitchen by an enclosed porch.   Originally used for summer cooking and canning, during our tenure, it was a play room for our toddlers and, on occasion, a party room.  It had a huge walk-in fireplace for heat.  The weather was unusually mild that year, and the room was quite usable with doors open into the house.  We did charades, made balloon animals, chatted and laughed a lot.  My feelings cup, as a novice party-giver, was overflowing when one guest told us he had been in Paris for New Year’s Eve the year before ---- but had more fun at our party.   Maybe it was the cookies.
    Many years later, our sons were college-age; old enough to have their own party ---- at our house.  Kerm and I decided we’d go out for a while; games of Risk or D&D could get pretty vociferous.  Do you know that, without prior planning, nothing much is open on New Year’s Eve?  Most places offer a package for the evening or weekend and are not welcoming people who just wish to drop in.  We drove around Ithaca for awhile and finally ended up at Purity Ice Cream, had milkshakes --- and went home to join in the celebratory din of college kids.
    Then perhaps you remember the turn-of-the-century (1999 into 2000) when everyone feared the collapse of life as we know it?   People were sure that computer systems would crash and that many things including utilities would come to a grinding halt.   There were anxiety-driven groups who tried to prepare as though humanity would need to begin all over again.  One of our sons now lives in a house that was part of a rural enclave designed for that very time with all sorts of back-to-the-earth plans.   Most of the original residents have now moved elsewhere; hopefully wiser, if a bit chagrined.   
    That stellar year, we opted for a quiet and fearless (though we were a bit curious) evening at home.  I managed to stay awake long enough to watch the fireworks displays from New Zealand to  NYC; from the Sydney Opera House to the Eiffel Tower.  Instead of apprehension, there was a feeling of a world celebration ----with perhaps a bit of relief that not a single network or facility fell apart as expected by the doom-mongers.   One year flowed smoothly into the next year without more than normal fanfare.

    Moving into a new year doesn’t necessarily change life a whole lot.  However, it is human nature to like clear endings and fresh beginnings even if they are mostly imaginary.    So --- we celebrate the end of 2020, with perhaps, a sigh of relief ---- and have high hopes for 2021.  Hope is a good thing!  We should take every opportunity to enjoy the wonderful, good, fun things in life; friends, art, nature, music, dancing……!    Appreciation and gratitude strengthen us for the down times that are also a part of life.  In this household, we believe in planning for the future and in maintaining our hope that the future will be one in which we can thrive gladly and be of use.
    Of course, this year, parties are definitely not encouraged.  But that is OK; I have come to appreciate quiet and the space in which to think: What can we take with us from this unusual year?  What would we like to find in the year to come?  Do we have relationships that need repair?  Are we living according to our own standards?  I hope we wish for more than a return to “normal”.  What have we learned that will make life better in 2021?  A few things pop into my mind: 1) how much I’ve enjoyed not running hither and yon, even if the running is for very good reasons.  I have appreciated less of the stressful getting ready for something. 2) I have found I need fewer new clothes; somehow what I wear has become less important.  And I’ve been wearing all my odd socks.  Who is going to notice??? 3) We’ve all discovered that we can use technology for meetings, saving both time and gasoline.  I think many people will continue to work remotely.  We have learned a new way of accomplishing things.
    I have also noted that with this year’s distancing, we are all more concerned with how the people around us are coping.  “How are you” is something we now ask with sincerity and real interest in the answer.     If we have managed to maintain contact and become more aware of each other, this lesson needs to remain with us.  At the same time, we miss and crave the closeness of our small groups whether they are Bible studies or pinochle friends or just Sunday brunchers.  We need friends with whom we can be open, honest and share where we are and what we need.  Perhaps we will now be better at balancing.
    As I’ve gotten older I have noticed an annoying need to make several small transitions/day.  I can no longer come home from shopping and leap into baking or cleaning.  I have a need to sit down and allow my mind to adjust from the shopping mode to whatever I wish to do next.  I need some time to move my focus and restore my energies; sort of like changing from reading glasses to those that let us see at a distance.  If I try to accomplish something without this interval, my efforts may well illustrate Murphy’s Law ---- If anything can go wrong, it will!  So along with the major transitions, like a new year, I experience mini-transitions as part of every day.
    We are now transitioning into more light and probably more winter.  The Solstice is past and the light will slowly begin to increase in another week or so.  Tomorrow, we step into January with all its potential for snow and cold (even as it rains tonight).  It will be boots and mittens weather for the next two or three months.  And when the Christmas tree goes down, plugging in my “Happy Light” again will be a priority.  Even in this traumatic year just past though, the months have seemingly flown by, so I am sure that spring and planting season will be coming sooner than we can imagine.  I like this thought about each new year from poet, Ranier Maria Rilke*: “And now let us welcome a new year, full of things that have never been.”   Happy New Year to you with wishes that it may be a year with fewer troubles and a multitude of blessings!
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Rainer Maria Rilke ---an Austrian poet and novelist with a very long name: Rene Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke but better known by Rainer.  1875-1926.
     
  22. Carol Bossard

    Sensing Spring

    By Carol Bossard,

    The arrival of March is always encouraging even though I know that we can get snow-fall half-way into April.   And as one of our sons said: “The way this winter has been, we’ll probably get two weeks or so of spring and then a blizzard will hit us.”  Could happen!  But it just seems that when March comes ---- especially with the onset of Daylight Savings Time ---- spring cannot be far away. The old saying is that if March roars in like a lion it will bring an early spring for it will go out like a lamb.  March 1st was something in between; not exactly a lion or a lamb but maybe one of our cats having an impressive hissy-fit; it was windy with a temperature drop of 20 degrees.   In any case, this sort of adage is irrelevant to rural America.  We who live in farm country can tell when spring is coming by the “fragrance”.  And I’m not talking daffodils here.  When the snow has receded enough and the ground is sufficiently firm, farmers will be spreading their winter accumulation of animal waste.  The entire region will be liberally and pungently scented, and we can guarantee that planting season is only weeks away.
    Having grown up on a dairy farm, this very basic odor has always been quite familiar and “all-in-a-day‘s-work”.  But back in my elementary school days, my mother decided we should offer a summer vacation to a Fresh Air Child and the first time I took this ten-year-old girl from Brooklyn into the cow barn, she gagged and went right back out the door.  I will say that by the time she left to go home, she was roller-skating up and down the barn aisles just as I did.  Some scents take getting used to!
    The ability to smell is surely one of our most important senses.  One of the COVID 19 symptoms is a change in smell or not being able to smell at all.  That is dreadful to contemplate!  Even blindfolded I’d have known when I stepped into my mother’s home.  There was almost always an aroma of baking cookies or bread, always a whiff of linseed oil from her painting, and frequently a tinge of wood smoke from her tiny little wood stove that gave both warmth and atmosphere to the kitchen. And there were localized fragrances of furniture polish, lavender and, in summer, bouquets of flowers.   Smells can alert us also; to something burning or the smell of gas if a burner is slightly askew. It also helped in discovering an aged bowl of something beneath a teen’s bed ---- many years ago, of course.  Currently a disagreeable and annoying odor at our back door is that of wandering tom cats harassing our cats.  I will have to scrub the sidewalks and fence posts with peroxide when warmer temperatures come.  Even with wrinkle-up-the-nose smells though, I would not want to lose that very important ability of being able to “nose things out”.
    The negative side of that phrase (nosing things out) is being nosy or prying.  Although a certain degree of curiosity is a good and useful thing, “being nosy” usually means that our curiosity has been carried too far.  The place where I’ve noticed the results of undue nosiness the most is on Facebook and this is probably true of any other form of social media.  People not only seem to think that this is a place to assert their thoughts but that their thoughts on all subjects are correct for everyone.  People also sound forth on subjects that should be private; relationships, medical procedures, and personal spiritual beliefs.  Meddling is rampant!  I think probably less nosiness and more minding one’s own business would help the world go ‘round more smoothly.  I’m sure this penchant for meddling is not new because of social media; it has always been around --- in small town or city neighborhoods, there’s always gossip pipelines. All of us need to think hard before venturing comments on someone else’s life, for we never know what another person is going through.    
    Also one must be cautious when attempting to do good things for someone else.  We all want to do our parts in bringing more kindness to this world, but experience has, in the past and more recently, taught me to not offer opinions, money or advice unasked.  And in addition, I try (not always succeeding) to not form opinions when I really do not know all of the facts and nuances of the situation.  This is difficult, because my personal tendency is to jump in with both feet to help or to make someone feel better ---- which action, I have discovered, is sometimes misplaced.  Perhaps we all need to remember these three things:  1) “Curiosity killed the cat!”* 2) “Listening to both sides of a story will convince you that there is more to a story than both sides.”** 3) “I have lived in this world just long enough to look carefully the second time into things that I am the most certain of the first time.”*** One of the devotional readings that I see, mentioned how often we humans misunderstand because we are fenced in tightly by our biases ---- that they are so a part of us that we may be totally unaware that we even have biases.  But they do limit our perspectives and often keep us from thinking clearly and fairly about the perspectives of others.
    Pining for spring is fairly wide-spread right now, and these past two days have increased that, but one of the things this winter has done for me is to reinforce the awareness that every single day of life is precious.  On the dreariest day, there are golden moments.  A couple of weeks ago, I was removing a bouquet of roses that had seen better days.  I took them outside and left them on the garden wall.  The deer thought they were a banquet (I’m not sure whether appetizer or dessert).  I happened to see one eating the flower end of the rose, the stem protruding nine inches out the side of his mouth.   My laughter got me a couple flips of his tail.  I hope they don’t return in the summer to eat the fresh roses on the stem.  We’ve never been bothered by deer in the warm months --- but that could change.  I’ll add this picture to my mental “winter scrapbook” of good days.
    Remembering the fun we’ve had gives us an inner album of good times.  I was reminded in a note from a family member.  She spoke of ice skating many years ago at home.  On the back side of our farm, there was a pond.  This was no wonderful empty, glassy surface.  This pond was hugged by cattails all around the perimeter, shaded by button bush shrubs and prone to grow tussocks of sedge grasses in the shallow parts.  But somehow the young crew at the time managed to shovel off the snow, smoothing the ice enough for skating.  And in addition, there was a bon fire with hot chocolate to warm the tummy as well as the heart.  I could clearly visualize the colorful Grandma-knitted hats and scarves, the laughter and the smoky fire.   Such times I remember with gratitude and it is likely that those who experienced them will go on to create more moments to remember.
    Feeling gratitude for our days means that we must take note of them. I’m sure you have observed how the days sometimes go by leaving little impress on our memories.  My days were once clearly delineated by kids’ school activities or by a work schedule.  Now I find that when I awake in the morning, I need to stop and think, “which day of the week is it today?”  And if you ask me what I did last Tuesday, I may have to get out my calendar or To Do list for that day since some days go by in a blur.  Then I saw a quotation by Matsuo Basho****:  “Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”  Perhaps if we envision each day as a microcosm of our lives, our daily 24 hours will take on more meaning for us.  Un-blurred days will surely allow us to recognize more moments of wonder.
    Regarding time ---- do not forget that Daylight Savings Time begins this coming Saturday night.  We lose an hour of sleep --- but we gain longer day light.  This always cheers me.  I’ve been appreciating the rosy sunsets that I now observe because they come at a time when I’m facing west.  Five o’clock sunsets always came as I was preparing dinner in a kitchen facing east.  Now, at six o’clock I’m eating dinner and watching the news in the dining room that faces west.  Quite often the sunset is far more interesting than the news!  Welcome to March and watch for greening grass and memorable moments..
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *******************************************************************************************
    *Old adage
    **Frank Tyger – American editorial cartoonist. Columnist and humorist.  1929-2011.
    ***Josh Billings --- American humorist and lecturer.  1818-1885.
    ****Matsuo Basho --- Japanese poet born Matsuo Kinsaku.  He was the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan.  He died November 28, 1694
  23. Carol Bossard
    How wonderful is the month of May?  Its thirty-one days are all too short, even as February’s twenty-eight days are far too long.  It is a month of moderate temperatures and new growth everywhere — flora and fauna.  A perfect picture of May would be a spotted fawn peering out from a mélange of ferns, trilliums and dogwood.   There are so many shades of green as the trees and shrubs leaf out, and many of my favorite plants are in bloom. The very air of May is fragrant.  We planted potatoes last week, and will plant seeds soon, but most important, May is a marvelous time for sitting outside and just drinking in the fresh air and Vitamin D.
    May, in many schools, is prom month.  A friend who is a professional creator of wonderful clothes as well as quilts, has been sewing prom gowns for two months now.  In my school the entire high school student body was welcome at the two annual formal dances; one held in December (Senior Ball) and the other in April or May (Junior Prom). No limos and no hotel ball- rooms.  The class responsible transformed the gym into an unrecognizable delight and hired the band.  I was looking back on these occasions in my mind, trying to remember who I went with and what I wore.  I remembered the anticipation of being asked to the dance, the excitement of getting ready and the romance of getting a corsage and of just being part of the music and the night.  I had a little trouble recalling my escorts but I clearly remember the dresses.   We purchased one or two —- not at the exorbitant prices of today.  My first gown was a frothy pink chiffon with puffed sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.  My mother made one or two others and I inherited a couple from my generous sister-in-law.  I especially remember one Mother-crafted gown; it was a heavy white fabric shot with gold threads.  And she made a red velvet cummerbund for it.  The dress is long-gone, but the cummerbund lives on, in all its richness, in the kiddie’s dress-up box.  
    Far distant from the froth of proms and corsages, but also part of May, Memorial Day reminds us to be remembering those who have given years of their lives in service for this country, and sometimes, in actuality, their whole lives.  The PBS annual program is a fine reminder.  We remember too, those in our own families who have gone on before us.  Two of my brothers were in WWII but they did not speak — at least to their younger sister — of those days.  Each of themdid however, teach me to pick out their particular armed services anthems on the piano — the Marines’ “From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli….” and the Army “As the Caissons Go Rolling Along”.  There is always a lot of “glorifying” around wars, and certainly many brave deeds occur, but basically, war is a dreadful experience; that too often seems to discard human decency in the process and leads to lasting trauma.  I think that as we profess gratitude to our defenders, it could be best shown by finding another way to settle differences and stem imperialism.  However, as long as we humans make decisions based on greed, nationalism and the desire for power —- and act out our volatile emotions, I suppose wars will continue to sacrifice our young men and women on the altar of humanity’s dark side.  

    When people for whom we care, die, one of the issues with which we often struggle, is regret.  I have heard people say: “I wish I had told them….” or “I said I couldn’t forgive them then, but….” or “There are so many things I wish that I’d said before they died.”  I grew up in a family that wasn’t exactly exuberant in expressing emotion and feelings.  My father was of Scottish and German heritage; stoic!  Crying was not encouraged and I can’t even imagine having thrown a temper tantrum.   There was no doubt that we all loved each other but we didn’t express it with the ease that family does now.  Looking backward, I certainly wish that I’d told family members, now gone, how much they meant to me.  I hope that somewhere in eternity, they know that.
    The Women’s study group of which I am a part has had considerable conversation about forgiving.  We all have a collection of “if onlys…”.  Cleansing our hearts of grievous hurts is sometimes a hard and a lengthy process.  “But they don’t deserve to be forgiven!” is what we hear most often.  And when we talk about what forgiveness really is, we find that it is really about us —- notthem.
    Over the years I’ve had to contemplate forgiving (or not forgiving) more than a few times.  Haven’t we all?   Lapses in judgement when someone was doing the best they knew how, or even carelessness, is easier to forgive than deliberate hurts.  One situation has taken years. Someone injured not me, but my children, indelibly and, as far as I know, without remorse.  I went through many stages and several years before I could find resolution for that one.  Other women in the group had equally difficult issues facing them, from parental neglect to friendship betrayal to abuse of some kind.  How does one forgive such deeply scarring behavior?
    It really comes down to one’s definition of forgiveness.  Forgiveness does not mean that we condone whatever it is the other person has done.  Forgivenessdoesn’tmean excusing behavior that is hurtful.  Forgiveness doesn’t necessarily make everything hunky-dory.  But forgiveness IS realizing that judgement and consequences are not mine to determine.  Forgiveness frees me from a corrosive burden of anger and leaves the consequences of another’s behavior up to God (or Karma – or Fate -whichever one calls a power outside ourselves).  Forgiveness does not mean that we must continue a relationship with that person if it would continue the hurt.   Forgiveness is explained well in this poem: Decide to forgive —–For resentment is negative —- Resentment is poisonous —Resentment diminishes and devours the self.  Be the first to forgive  — to take the first step ———-Do not wait for others to forgive for by forgiving you become the master of fate — the fashioner of life —- the doer of miracles.  To forgive is the highest form of love.  In return you will receive untold peace and happiness.”  Robert Muller*
    Remembering those we’ve loved, respected and — hopefully — forgiven is p art of life.  When I was a child, my mother took me to the cemetery in Holly, New York, where many of her family members were buried.  As we left flowers on each grave, she would tell me stories of who they were and her memories of them.  Putting flowers on the graves of loved ones has been a long-lived custom that I think is waning.   One of the LM. Montgomery** short stories speaks of how, each year, families took special care of graves, trimming grass and planting flowers; it was a community custom.  But we are a mobile culture and often live nowhere near what used to be family cemeteries.  Kerm and I would have to travel to Holly, to Fairport, to Victor, to Howard, to Bath and Hornell.  We already know that our own permanent resting places will be difficult to access.  We’ve chosen a “green cemetery” at the end of a dirt road up in the hills of Van Etten/ Newfield.  But we hope our stories —the essence of who we are, will linger on with our family and friends.
    Remembering is a fine thing, but being in the moment is the way to live with happiness and gratitude.  The longer, beautiful days of May are a blessing.  The showers and sunshine have created lush greenery — weeds as well as desired plants.  Our war with goutweed, garlic mustard, ground ivy and deep-rooted dock continues.  We know we are in good company!  It is a happy feeling to experience and share those things that keep us connected —- animals, foods, gardening, music, dancing and stories.  It is also good to let new wonders into our lives.  May is all about new life and I like this quotation by Jessamyn West***:  “If I were to join a circle of any kind, it would be a circle that required its members to try something new at least once a month.  The new thing could be very inconsequential; steak for breakfast, frog hunting, walking on stilts, memorizing a stanza of poetry or, creating a stanza of poetry. It could be staying up outdoors all night, making up a dance and dancing it, speaking to a stranger, chinning yourself, milking a goat —anything not ordinarily done.”   Whatever you do with the rest of this month of May, may it be something that brings new life to you, sunshine to your body and freshness to your thinking.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. 
     
    *Robert Muller — I am not sure about this source; there are several Robert Mullers, but I am thinking it must be the man born in Belgium in 1923.  He has spent most of his life working for world peace, developed something called the World Core Curriculum and was once considered for Secretary General of the United Nations.
    **L.M. Montgomery — a resident of Prince Edward Island who wrote the popular Anne of Green Gables stories 1874-1942.                                                           
    ***Jessamyn West — American author, creator of short stories and novels the most famous being “Friendly Persuasion”.  Jessamyn West was a Quaker.  1902 -1984.
  24. Carol Bossard
    The season of Advent is here; a time of preparation, waiting and expectancy.  It feels as though, not that long ago, I was putting away the Christmas decorations from last year; the CDs, the bright ornaments, the door wreath.    But we picked up the new evergreen wreath yesterday, made by S-VE FFA students, and also a lovely pink poinsettia. The time of many holiday celebrations is surely with us.
    I’m a little puzzled by what seems to be jealous clutching of the Christmas holiday and the reluctance to acknowledge those December holidays that others celebrate.  Why is this?  Before our December 25th Christmas there were other days of celebration at this time of the year; the Solstice in the northern European countries, Saturnalia in Rome, Hanukkah in Jewish homes and probably others whose names I do not know, in the far corners of the world.  To be quite candid, the Christian church pre-empted several of those pagan holidays and simply changed the names of what people were already celebrating.   So I think there is plenty of room in our lives to be glad that people are happily celebrating at all in this dark world.  It is good to wish people a Merry Christmas ---- or Happy Hanukkah --- or Joyous Solstice --- or Good Kwanzaa.    Think Love and Light!
    December’s calendar, in normal times, is quite congested.  For years, I’ve written about my attempt to find time in this busy season for just quietly enjoying the beauty, the meaning and the music of Christmas.  The success of my efforts has been mixed, but this could be the year!  With no crowded events to claim my attention, there should surely be time for sitting quietly listening to The Messiah and re-reading Tales Told Under the Christmas Tree.  There should be no need for rushing about, no frenzied cookie-baking and, unfortunately,  not even the joy of friends coming to help us celebrate.  That will be the hardest pill to swallow; not asking people in.  Due to limited energy, we stopped having our 12th-Night parties a couple of years ago.  And that was a difficult decision, for we very much enjoyed our annual galas.  But in lieu of those, we could invite just a few friends at a time for tea and goodies.  This year that might not be so wise; we’ll have to see how the virus goes.  These necessary changes in how we celebrate do not, however, appreciably change the reason for the Advent season or any of our December celebrations.  Once every year we are reminded by way of lights, music, Menorahs, banners and shining decorations, that God is very real and that we all have a spiritual center that begs to be nourished.
    Deer hunters are currently seeking quite another kind of nourishment in our local fields and woods.  Hunting season isn’t a time for non-hunters to be wandering afar, looking for Princess Pine and holly.  It might be safe enough on our hill for those who hunt there are responsible and careful people.  But there’s no point in adding to the traffic.  Squirrels are scolding, blue jays and crows are squawking, deer are attempting to hide and who knows what the bobcats are doing.  That’s enough to be going on up there.  I’m not fond of venison and we don’t hunt, but shortly after our marriage, Kerm was persuaded to go hunting with some of his friends and he brought home a deer the very first day.  We hadn’t a clue how to deal with this dead creature.  Fortunately, a neighbor did know, and came over to help us turn it into usable meat.  I spent the next few months disguising that meat with marinades, sauces and seasonings.   One of our sons, however, counts on venison for his freezer, and it is a lean and healthy choice.  Too, each one he takes home decreases the numbers of creatures who will wander down to chew my hostas and azaleas or get hit on the road.
    Our garden tasks are finished for this year.  We’ve protected the roses and lavender.  We’ve fenced in the shrubs that deer find most yummy.  I like crisp air, but I’m not a fan of cold for days and days, and do miss being able to sit outside and just absorb the sunshine, greenery and flowers.    Fortunately, various berries and evergreens provide a bit of color in the landscape.  Mostly now is a time to store up ideas --- and energy ---- for next year’s gardening.  My small seedlings of holly hocks, sweet William and Clary sage are looking good.  I did cut some herbs for potpourris and moth repellants.  So I can breathe in the lemon balm, the Sweet Annie, the dried marigolds and the rose petals when I’m pining for outside.   
    Marking the days before Christmas is very personal to each family or individual.  There are some churches that pay little attention to the liturgical calendar and don’t emphasize Advent at all. For those who do, there are all sorts of Advent markers available.  My sister-in-law creates gingerbread edifices; last year she did an African village to honor the family’s mission participation there.  When our boys were small, we had a brief time of reflection and a story every evening during Advent.  We turned a weathered chunk of fence post into a 28-day candle-holder.  And each night we’d light a candle.  That is when we were all home together.  We got out of the habit when the boys were older and none of us were at home every night.  But it was a good thing to do for the time and place.  Now my energies go into making the Advent wreath for church.  I try to make one that stays green and safe for lit candles.  There is usually a mix of pine, boxwood, holly, pachysandra, azalea and cedar inserted into florist’s foam.  And we try to keep it moist for five weeks of candle-lighting.
    Home decorating time is here too.  As our years accumulate, we seem to need less splash and glitz; some of our decorations just never make it out of the storage tubs.  The ornaments that we do use are the ones that have the most meaning for us; the Shiny Bright glass balls and teardrops that came from my childhood tree, the lovely brass Noah’s ark given by a good friend, and the hand-quilled paper snowflakes from another friend.  Freeing those items from their tissue paper storage brings delight every year.
    We did notice an amusing phenomenon this year.  On one of those mellow early November days, we put the outside lights up and set their timer to be turned on every night.  It was comfortable weather for working outside and also our small rebellion against the early darkness.  The very next day, our neighbors put their lights up, and just a few days later there were more to be seen down the road.  It was as though our lights set off more and more lights --- rather like passing the candles on Christmas Eve.  We are all needing light in the darkness right now.   Soon we will be cutting greens, bringing a fresh, woodsy aroma inside.  When we set up the crèche (manger scene) we usually surround it with unobtrusive vases holding evergreens to make it look as though it is outside.  After reading about the traditions in eastern European crèches and how they add figures each year, we have done the same.  In addition to the normal shepherds, wise men, sheep, Mary, Joseph and baby, we’ve found a little girl carrying a water jug, a llama, an elephant, several more angels and there is even a tiny skunk curled up with a kitten by the manger.   Simple pleasures!
    We might even hang mistletoe this year after learning about an ancient Scandinavian belief and perhaps you too will dash out for some.  They say that if enemies meet beneath a tree with mistletoe clinging to it, they will lay down their arms and not fight that day.  I think maybe we should decorate with mistletoe from sea to shining sea and around the world.  Of course we do need to be careful with it in the house if there are children or pets; I believe those berries are toxic.
    For some this is a difficult season.  It can trigger depression, grief and a sense of despair from past trauma or current troubles.  Seeing the sparkle and glitz of the world around only emphasizes one’s own sadness.  In these circumstances it may be most useful to pull a bit apart from what the world is doing.  Choose books and music that speak to the heart and remind us of why we have Christmas at all.  And find time to be outside in the fresh air; a good walk does wonders from the feet to inside the head.  Breathe in and breathe out and be assured that better times will come.
    We have three weeks to enjoy preparation before the 25th and hopefully those weeks will be a good time for us all.   Perhaps this old poem by Edgar Allen Poe* will be a good intro for the season:  “Hear the sledges with the bells ---- Silver Bells!  What a world of merriment their melody foretells!  How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, in the icy air of night!  While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens, seem to twinkle with crystalline delight; keeping time, time, time in a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells from the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells --- from the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.”  I think Edgar Poe had a very good time putting this poem together!  It must have been a welcome relief from the creepy stories he was publishing.   Happy times in December!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Edgar Allen Poe ---The adopted son (when his parents died) of a wealthy Richmond merchant, John Allen.  Edgar Allen Poe was an American author, poet, literary critic best known for his slightly eerie genre.  1809-1849.
  25. Carol Bossard
    by Carol Bossard 
    June, the month of weddings, Father’s Day, Flag Day, making hay and weeding gardens.  Days are generally warm and nights are still fairly cool.  Grass grows overnight.  But of course, one never knows what will happen with our yoyo weather patterns.  The news that both poles have moved thirteen feet is a bit disconcerting; that’s the width of my kitchen.  I suppose, considering the size of the earth and the vastness of space that 13 feet isn’t all that much.  But it is well-known that even the most minute changes can sometimes have amazing effects.  A gentle touch on one strand of a spider’s web will shake the entire web.  I guess we will see!

    On June 14th, we celebrate Flag Day which has been observed less and less as the years go by.  These sentiments were written post- Civil War after Rebel troops came marching into Frederick (Md.?), tearing down the stars and stripes wherever they saw them.  These are a few lines lifted from the poem, “Barbara Frietchie” by John Greenleaf Whittier**:
    “……Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, bowed with her four score years and ten; Bravest in all of Frederick town, she took up the flag the men hauled down.  In her attic window the staff she set, to show that one heart was loyal yet.  Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.  Under his slouched hat left and right he glanced, the old flag met his sight.  ‘Halt!’ – the dust-brown ranks stood fast.  ‘Fire!’ – out blazed the rifle blast.  It shivered the window, pane and sash; it rent the banner with seam and gash.  Quick as it fell from the broken staff, Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.  She leaned far out on her window sill and shook it forth with a regal will.  ‘Shoot if you must this old gray head but spare your country’s flag’ she said.  A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, over the face of the leader came; the nobler nature within him stirred to life at that woman’s deed and word.  ‘Who touches a hair of yon gray head dies like a dog!  March on!’ he said…….”  Read the whole poem; it is a story worth reading.  And remember, on June 14th, how many people have died for that flag and that even though there is much that needs changing in this country, it is still a good place to live and deserves both our loyalty and our willingness to make those necessary changes.  A bone-headed refusal to admit to problems keeps us from thriving and perpetuates injustice and misery.
    Speaking of poetry, it is an art form that seems to be experienced less and less in these frenzied times.  I grew up on Mother Goose verses and I remember my mother reading “Hiawatha” to me.  But my first real introduction to poetry came in fourth grade.   Mrs. Powers would ask each student in her class to recite a verse at roll call.  My exposure to poetry broadened considerably that year.  In high school, we did a section on English poetry including William Shakespeare, but we never were encouraged to create verses out of our teenage heads.   I’ve always liked poetry of many kinds and I’ve tried to pass on appreciation for it by reading poems to our granddaughters when they were little and giving them their own books of poems. One of my personal treasures is a thick book of poems received on my 16th birthday.
    I think many people are afraid they won’t understand poetry ---- or think whatever is said in verse could be said as well in prose ---- or feel it is too high-brow (whatever that means) for them.  But good poetry exudes emotion; it is music, lacking only the notes to be singable, though some, I must admit, would be atonal!  Some poems tell a story that captures the imagination, as in “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes, or laughter at the vivid description, “When Daddy Fell Into The Pond”, also by Alfred Noyes.  Walt Whitman’s verses sing of very practical things as do those by Robert Frost.  Then there is Paul Laurence Dunbar, Langston Hughes and Billy Collins, all of whom wrote wonderfully readable poetry.  “The Lanyard” by Billy Collins is one of my favorites.  And we mustn’t forget the very young poet who captured the attention of the nation at the inaugural ceremonies.  Writing poems, as a meditative exercise, is good therapy and is a great way to express angst!  I did write a few poems in high school, but after that, I didn’t really do much writing until mid-life.  A friend once challenged me to write a poem/day.  I couldn’t keep that up for long, but I would like to send out a challenge for everyone to read a poem/week.  Think what wonderful things you could discover in a year!
    One of those discoveries that no one wants to experience is the realization of waning strength and energy; when tasks that were formerly easy become nearly impossible to manage.  I now spend more time resting between tasks than I do in working at them.  This is a common problem with gardeners or so I’ve heard.  When they achieve the wonderful collections of plants on which they have built dreams, they suddenly find it’s time to down-size.  And down-sizing is not so easy as it might sound.  How does one explain to the irises that you can no longer pamper their knobbly rhizomes, to the roses that their perfect petals are too labor-intensive and worst of all ---- to the weeds, admitting they’ve won!  I’m grateful that Kerm’s efforts to weed and mulch have been making up for my negligence.  The flowers have been just beautiful this spring.  But, of course, downsizing still looms for the future.
    I always think of June as the month of haying but now-a-days, many farmers have done much of their first cutting in May.  Currently the hay is often chopped and made into silage instead of bales.  When grass is drying in the field before baling, it sends out an aroma nearly good enough to be made into a perfume.  Chopped crops not so much!   But whichever method is used, I like knowing that food is being laid away for the winter meals of hungry cows.  One of our sons has Angus cows enjoying his green fields, and the bales he stores for the winter are immense, dwarfing the bales I used to help lift onto a hay elevator for a trip to the hay mow.  No one puts bales of the current size into a mow/loft.  They are stored at ground level in a shed perhaps or tightly wrapped in plastic to withstand weather, and then dragged to where the cows await their dinner.  A fork-lift is now useful equipment for farming.  Farming methods may change, but cows everywhere await the succulent juices stored in that preserved alfalfa/clover.

    There aren’t so many farms in our region as there were when we moved here forty years ago.  I miss seeing fields full of cows or sheep.   When I was a child, once the grass began growing, our cows were released from their winter quarters in the barn to the meadows.  There isn’t a prettier sight than a green hill dotted with fawn and white Guernsey cows.  (I’m sure those with Holsteins, Jerseys or Brown Swiss would argue that point ----- but in this time of fewer farms, I’d like to see any breed of cows grazing the fields.)  I’m sad when we drive by barns that are standing empty, some even falling in on themselves and see fields sprouting housing developments.
    At home, I was accustomed to fresh milk, so my first experience with skim milk in college was something of a shock.  Very early in my life, I can remember round milk pans about 4 inches deep and 14 inches across, sliding into the refrigerator.  By morning, rich golden cream would have formed on top, which was then skimmed off, leaving just the milk, which then was funneled into glass jugs.  And I would report here that the “skimmed” milk remaining was probably as rich as today’s homogenized whole milk.  When we had sweetened whipped Guernsey cream on strawberry shortcake, that cream was, I’m sure, the ambrosia one hears about in Greek mythology.
    All things change; that’s just part of life.  I have visited barns where the milking and feeding are directed from a computer, sending robots to fill mangers with just the right amount of grain for that particular cow, robots that sweep up after milking the 2000 or so cows.  I’ve seen hydroponic facilities able to grow far more greens than one could in the fields.  And just a few days ago, I drove by a drag so large it could have stirred up a breadth of soil wide as an interstate, or so it looked.  With so many people, world-wide, to feed, perhaps these huge operations are necessary.  But I hope that there will always be some few inspired individuals who choose family farming; who name their cows, who inhale the fresh air with gratitude and who care about nurturing the soil and the planet with safe and good food.
    Meanwhile, we need to look with discerning eyes at change --- being careful when we shake the spider’s web ----whether it is for good or ill.  Of course, often it could be both.
    “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.”  John Muir***
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *James Russell Lowell---American romantic poet, editor, critic and diplomat.  He is associated with the “Fireside Poets”.  1819 - 1891
    **John Greenleaf Whittier ---American Quaker, poet, advocate for abolition of slavery.  One of the “Fireside Poets”.  1807-1892
    ***John Muir -----Scottish-American naturalist, author and advocate for conservation.  He is often called the “Father of National Parks” because he worked to persistently to have the lands so designated.  He began the Sierra Club and the National Audubon Society.  1838-1914.
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