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.

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

It’s warm outside, which is a nice change from our long winter, but I’m grateful for AC. There’s over-the-top hot and humid! We are in the doldrums time for flowers. Peonies and other spring flowers have bloomed, and late summer blossoms haven’t yet matured. I keep thinking I’ll add more biennials to the garden for this in-between time (canterbury bells, foxgloves, hollyhocks) --- but somehow, I have fragmented follow-through. The grasses along the roadsides are ripening; ranging in color from ivory to bronze. And standing tall above them are the wild parsnips with lacy golden flowers. Some find the sap of this plant painful to their skin. Our lives are opening back up now that more and more of us are vaccinated. We recently spent an afternoon with Kerm’s siblings, chatting and sharing stories; catching up from over a year of not seeing each other. We were grateful to be together; four had been ill with COVID, one very seriously. So being together in person and sharing laughter was a gift. Another bright spot is coming soon; some of my high school classmates will be gathering for a mini-class reunion this month. It will be good to see whoever is able to come. The 4th of July is a time for fireworks, parades and flag-waving. It is a celebratory time when we sing “This land is your land; this land is my land, from California to the New York Island…..” or “This is my country, land of my birth…” (but fail to learn the second verse, “This is my country, land of my choice…..”). I do feel love for country and am filled gratitude that I have been privileged to live here. But love for country does not mean approving always of what my country does, just as loving a child doesn’t mean approving of all that child’s behavior (though some doting parents as some patriots, haven’t learned this!). I have been appalled in the past few years, and even more so lately when I learn more about some of our hidden history. And I’ve been angry and unbelieving at some of the distasteful attitudes that not only linger but find excuses for doing so. It is always distressing when illusions are shattered and innocence lost. There is much that we just never learned in class, that now has come to light. And often the mistaken and bigoted actions we were allowed to hear about were diminished and made to seem like way-past history. It takes seeing the situation through another’s eyes ---- to realize truths that have been veiled by our own sheltered lives and to realize how wrong we’ve been. 245 years ago, when our country was created from a rebellion of settlers against tyranny from afar, there were high hopes for democracy and freedom. A new and wide country sparked new and brave thoughts and desires. We were an admired prodigy among European countries. France followed soon thereafter with its own revolution. But our elevated ideas didn’t include the native Americans who had lived here for centuries. Nor did they include those brought from Europe as indentured servants or from Africa as slaves. Oppressing and enslaving people was, is, and ever will be wrong. Equally wrong is a class structure that disregards some and values human worth by wealth, heredity or fame. As we learn about our past, we tend to be highly critical of these glaring commissions and omissions from back then. And we often let the bad overshadow the good things that happened. This shows a lack of critical thinking on our part! First of all, we have many of the same problems today including our own misguided attitudes. Then, to expect “normal” of 245 years ago, to be the human rights norms that we now know, is unrealistic. Think how much has changed in just our lifetimes. Discarding all that George Washington or Thomas Jefferson did that was good because they owned slaves, is trying to re-write history to please ourselves. The same applies to white-washing their lives and pretending they were perfect Most humans are a mixture of admirable and unbecoming behavior and are products of their time. We can’t change who people were, but we can sift out the good and discard the bad and make sure our “times” don’t produce the same bigotry and oppression. It is our responsibility to make sure that we have learned to know better and do better. Our country’s birthday is only three days away. While fireworks can be enchanting for humans (not so much for pets) perhaps a truer way to celebrate would be to give our citizenship some serious thought. We have more freedom here than most other places in the world. It is not the sort of freedom the undisciplined desire --- to always act as they are so inclined and never be held responsible for anyone else or told what to do ---- but we do have freedom to seek our own futures, to have good friends and to live much as we choose. Our artists are not imprisoned. We are not being bombed by our own government or any other. We have recourse if we are hungry. I do not have to fear the police, the FBI or the CIA. This has been true for me ---- but not everyone. And until it is true for any law-abiding citizen of this fine land, it cannot be totally true for me. Thus, my question on this July 4th would be, will what I say and do encourage good change? That question can be the symbolic candle on our nation’s symbolic cake. A problem child can become a prodigy once again! As we express our own love of country, we need to remember that other people love their birth countries too, while not necessarily liking their governing bodies. Many of what we call “third-world” countries have longer histories by far, than ours. Their governments may be unacceptable to us; often they are unacceptable to those living there, even while they love their countries. Several years ago, a friend shared with me a small hand-written book of poetry that he found while he was a soldier in Viet Nam. It was written by an “enemy” soldier. The poetry revealed that this North Vietnamese soldier had the same feelings that any soldier would have ---- he wanted to go home, he missed his girl, he loved his country, but……. It brought tears to our eyes as we read the very human feelings of someone who was an enemy only because of his country’s political choices. Love for country is an honorable emotion but it should never blind us to the understanding and love of humanity. Viewing an entire country-full of people as enemies is both foolish and inhumane. When I was in high school, a 4-H exchange student from the Philippines lived with my family for six weeks. Justa broadened my cultural awareness immensely. Later I had a pen pal, also from The Philippines --- Rebecca. She later came to the United States, entered nursing school and we met in person. Our family hosted a young man from Mexico who sang with “Up With People”. We have family members who have lived in Kenya. It has been one lesson after another that though someone comes from a far-away land, has different customs and a different physical appearance --- we are all experiencing similar fears and hopes, and find fun in many of the same activities. We were, and are, humans together, trying to cope with a diverse world. Respect for what makes people feel comfortable and happy and what feeds their spirits even if it seems odd to us, is something we all need to achieve. Humans need community. Speaking of community, one of the July traditions I remember from growing up was the Victor Grange picnic. There were grilled hot dogs of several kinds on an open-pit fire, corn on the cob and all sorts of dishes to pass. People sat around on planks propped up on bales of straw and enjoyed being together. I miss that kind of community. Here in Spencer, the Grange existed for many good years, and came to an end only a short time ago. This organization still provides considerable legislative clout for rural areas, but I fear that will diminish, for when a grass-roots movement wanes, the influence for the cause grows less. There is an unfortunate trend nation-wide; more and more people are not joining anything. There is a frightening lack of volunteering and regard for community. Not only does this indicate less responsible citizenship, but those who do not belong to any organized service group like the Grange --- or Lions, Rotary, Kiwanis ---- or churches ---- will be unaware of the camaraderie that they miss as well as the satisfaction of contributing to something that blesses the whole. There is much room for thought when we consider our responsibilities as citizens as well as human beings. Meanwhile it is time for this summer’s picnics, sweet, juicy watermelon, and lemonade. We awake to warm, clear mornings, bask in days of brassy sunshine and are rejuvenated by occasional thunder storms. It is swimming weather, water-skiing weather, lazy afternoons weather. And it is a short-reprieve-from-the-garden time. Plants are growing but not ready to harvest. It’s a great time of the year for a little idleness at dusk. “Evening, and all the birds/In a chorus of shimmering sound are easing their hearts of joy/For miles around.” * Enjoy! Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *”This Land Is Your Land” ---- song by Woody Guthrie; American singer-song writer who epitomized the fold song era. 1912-1967. **”This Is My Country” --- written in 1940. Lyrics by Don Raye and Music by Al Jacobs. Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians were the first to play and record this song in 1942. *** poem “Dusk In June” by Sara Teasdale (also in July!) ---- Sara Teasdale was an American lyric poet. 1884-1933.

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.

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.

We are currently living amid the most ebullient, lush time of the year. Greenery grows inches every night. The cinnamon ferns in my shade garden are unrolling like so many bright green scrolls. Soon they will be high enough that I must peer through them to see the bird feeders. And baby raccoons and skunks will be out and about. We have an interesting variety of creatures in this region; opossums, raccoons, foxes, bobcats, black bears, skunks, fishers, coyotes, turkey vultures (four of which landed in our back yard some days ago; they are big birds!) and there have been sightings of a puma on and off over the years. Our school’s mascot is the black panther, so I guess having one in the area would make sense. There is little danger from any of these animals if good sense and caution are used. Of course, those two qualities seem to be in short supply with much of the world. But wild animals, unless they are starving, ill or injured, generally avoid humans if at all possible. May brings us frequent celebratory events as the academic year comes to a close, and possibly some pensive memories as Memorial Day approaches. Here we remember to avoid Ithaca this next weekend (Ithaca College graduation) and Memorial Day weekend (Cornell graduation). The month’s name comes from the Greek goddess, Maia, who oversaw the growth of plants. The Romans celebrated “Floralia” --- a five-day festival to honor the goddess Flora --- basically same goddess, different name. And May is the month of the Full Flower moon for many Native Americans. May could be considered the bridge month between spring and summer. On the Liturgical calendar, the Easter season ends next Sunday with Pentecost. My high school always held the Junior Prom in May. Thinking of those proms sends me to my Year Books or albums to check out memories there. Old programs, candid photos of prom nights, of decorating the gym and of after-prom parties at someone’s home all bring smiles. No renting the Holiday Inn for us --- actually, I’m not sure the Holiday Inn existed back then. What all this memorabilia offers besides bringing back some fun memories, is a reminder of how valuable friendships are. I’ve been so glad I could maintain/renew friendships with former classmates and wish I could see them more often. My class of 1960 put some very cool people out into the world. Old friends are good; we share a connective past. And the new friends made as we’ve moved from Maryland to Pennsylvania to the Catskills and to Spencer have also been wonderful. Memorial Day comes, and even as we regret the necessity for it, it has become something of a gala event with its BBQs, parades and fanfare. At home, when I was growing up, we celebrated quite simply. We took flowers to family graves; not florist-created bouquets but flowers straight from my mother’s gardens ----fragrant peonies, roses and sprays of mock orange. At that time, it was still possible to plant flowers and shrubs around the grave-stones ---- which we did. In the process, my mother would tell me about the people whose names were engraved on the granite markers, giving vivid personalities to family members I had never met. Recently I attended a funeral via YouTube. It is, perhaps, a sign of the times --- the pandemic times --- but I’m thinking that this particular practice might continue because of convenience. The service was quite lovely and because I couldn’t actually drive the two hours to get there, I was grateful for a way to “be there” for a farewell to someone who had been a part of my life as I was growing up. I hope though, that this new convenience never takes the place of being together in person. It is always better when family stories and community support can comfort us in our grief. That should never go out of style. A festive Memorial Day memory is the parade down Victor’s main street. Those of us in the high school band would wear our sapphire-blue wool uniforms and hats, our polished white sneakers stepping to the rhythms of John Philip Sousa. Why more kids didn’t pass out in late May heat, I don’t know; I guess we were a sturdy group. When marching, I’d generally play the piccolo instead of the flute, but one year, for some reason, I played the bell lyre. That hefty instrument fits into a leather sling around the neck and waist and weighs about a ton and a half. Finding the right notes to hit as we stepped along the uneven street was no easy matter either. But I remember those parades with affection. Memorial Day is different for us now. Our family graves are some distance from where we live and we don’t visit them often. Truly, I don’t need to visit graves to visualize all of the people I have loved who are no longer with us. Currently we celebrate Memorial Day by watching the special on PBS; not exciting, but usually satisfying. Even as we memorialize our men and women in uniform, I personally think that humans should have, by now, found some way to settle differences that doesn’t require killing each other via war. It indicates limited intelligence (or possibly a major and wide-spread mental health issue) that we use the same old methods and expect different results. But I do appreciate and am grateful for those who have fought for our so infrequently lived-out ideals. My father and uncle were in WWI, two of my brothers in WWII, a brother-in-law in the Korean conflict, friends in Viet Nam, the son of a friend in the Gulf War and a nephew in Iraq and Afghanistan. Thus, in addition to the BBQs and enthusiastic flag-waving occurring this special weekend, I will be taking a quiet moment to remember ---- and give thanks for those who have in the past answered the nation’s call and for those who continue to do so when necessary. Even more, I appreciate and pray for those who continue working to find better solutions to conflict than shooting and/or blowing each other up. Perhaps world-wide anger management classes from kindergarten on up? While we may sneak a few seeds into soil earlier than recommended, a firm May tradition for us is planting the garden around Memorial Day. (I must admit that this year Kerm couldn’t resist planting potatoes on one of those warm April days, so we’ll hope for the best.) We occasionally look back to our gardening years in central Pennsylvania a bit wistfully; we could plant nearly 3 or 4 weeks earlier, and there, our soil wasn’t stubborn clay dotted with rocks. By late-April, Pennsylvania’s gardens would have experienced the “onion snow”, the “peepers snow” and would have peas sending up little green leaves with tendrils. Ah well………the Finger Lakes is a beautiful region. And gardening here, or anywhere, surely has its rewards. And here we don’t take thriving plants at all for granted; considering our soil and weather patterns, they are a miracle! Our gardens evolve in much the same way that I write. There’s a basic plan which for us would be four raised beds. How I arrange the seeds/plants in those beds gets edited often, as do essays. We no longer grow sweet corn, which grieves me, but there are several farms in the area that sell sweet corn, so it is more practical to not use up our small garden space with it. And, we don’t have to worry about the omnipresent raccoons getting to the ears before we do. Several times I’ve tried to eliminate the vine crops --- pumpkins especially. But every year, the thought of no Cinderella pumpkins or Long Island Cheese pumpkins or Jack Be Little pumpkins just depresses me. They look so decorative from September through Thanksgiving, and then they provide food for deer and turkeys from Christmas on ---- so ---- they refuse to be edited out and continue to sprawl over a large area. Our best and most useful crops are probably lettuce, tomatoes and broccoli ---- plus herbs. And this year, I have a new mini-herb garden. We had a super-deluxe sandbox with stone walls and a cover, but no one has played in that delightful sand box for several years. So ----- this spring we removed the cover, removed the sand-covered toys, tilled in some good soil, and planted herbs. It is a very tiny space for a garden, but I’m looking forward to seeing it mature with all the fragrance and textures of basil, rue, Clary sage, lemon grass, parsley, etc. All those goodies will bask in the sun and dance in the breeze, spreading fragrance. Then too, there are all the side benefits of gardening: strengthening muscles, aerobic breathing as we go up and down our hilly yard, Vitamin D from the sunshine and mellowing of one’s mood from working in the soil. May offers so many reasons to celebrate and be grateful, from Mother’s Day to Memorial Day and all the delightful days in between. It is the time of year that inspires dancing whether around a May Pole, at the Prom or out on the back lawn. Even if our feet don’t dance so well anymore, surely our hearts can. “The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it yet within our reach is joy. Take joy!”* ************************************************ Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Fra Giovanni – Was in the Order of Friars Minor. He was an Italian friar, an architect, an archaeologist, and classical scholar. 1433-1515.

There was no dancing around May poles this May Day. With COVID restrictions as they are, intertwined children and ribbons are not a good thing. But spring flowers are dancing in the breezes. Lilies of the valley look as though they could ring those little bells as they shake in the wind. Tulips are a bit stiffer, but they too move, in a stately way --- rather more like a minuet than the free-form bobbing of the little lilies. Lilacs will soon be scenting the atmosphere everywhere around along with dogwood and apple blossoms. A little celebratory pirouette on the lawn would not be amiss. Even with necessary cautions still in place, and the awareness of those ill due to variants of the original virus, I think we all feel that we can see light at the end of this unusual tunnel. We are simply trusting it isn’t an on-coming train! Spring seems to bring with it this up-beat positivity; the world doesn’t look quite so bleak when grass greens and trees begin leafing out. Roethke* says: “Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.” Perhaps that profound thought is why, with the first little snow drops and later the daffodils, a sense of newness and refreshment comes flooding in, regardless of the stray snowstorm or continuing pandemic. The early daffodils have faded but are being replaced by later narcissus, and more and more garden plants are growing and thriving. It is hard to be anything but optimistic in May. If a person can criticize creation amid all this lushness, they need to remove their blinders or go on retreat! Some weeks ago, the group of women with whom I meet on Fridays, discussed the very human habit of harboring a critical spirit---- the tendency to blithely see past the log in our own eye, zeroing in on the annoying little speck in another’s eye. It is so very easy to be critical that surely it must be one of those innate human traits that, as we mature, we should curb; sort of like getting over sucking one’s thumb. I am remembering a day when I was too tired to bake, so I purchased a package of molasses cookies in the grocery store. As I ate one along with my cup of tea, the baker in me said to myself: “These are really thin and don’t have quite the flavor of my cookies.” Catching myself, I thought ---- “This is a COOKIE! It is a goodie to eat with my cup of tea. I spent no time baking it. WHY am I criticizing it????” We are so quick to judge/criticize/wish something could be different. And I think we do this with ourselves as well as those around us. From people we do not know at all to the people we see daily; maybe especially those for whom we really care, we tend to be swiftly critical. And we metaphorically beat ourselves up as well. I’m thinking maybe May would be a good month for affirming people ----- those at a distance, in our community, in our homes and ourselves. Complimenting people on doing a good job, on being responsible and faithful to task, on being good people, is probably one of the kindest things we can do and yet we seldom think to do it. Many parents (and I include myself here) as we teach our children, too often concentrate on their faults instead of affirming all the good things that they are and do. Married couples frequently find fault with each other, forgetting the qualities that drew them together in the first place. Frequent criticism tends to strip away self-confidence and self-esteem, no matter what a person’s maturity level, and may take years (if ever) to repair the damage. At one conference I attended, we were asked to make a list of our good points and another list of our negative qualities. Guess which list was almost always the longest. So even if your family and friends all seem confident, capable, kind, generous and good to their dog, they may not see their own fineness, and it is a kindness to let them know what you see. Warming hearts is a joyous thing to do, for our own hearts are often warmed at the same time. May is “Older Americans’ Month”. Having worked for an Area Agency on Aging for over 20 years, I’m quite aware of achieving and celebrating the Older Americans’ Act of 1965. Older people, in our culture, are too often disregarded, and ignoring people has the same effect as constant criticism; ignored people fade into the woodwork. They feel that no one really wants to hear what they have to say; that their experiences are worthless. Ageism is alive and well all over this country. What a waste! There is vast wisdom in people who have lived for seventy plus years; I learned so much while working with them. People who came to my office not only came with questions or problems, but they had lived out amazing experiences; they danced, told jokes, were compassionate, didn’t suffer fools gladly and found life worth living even in pain, poverty or the nightly news. I learned about integrity --- and the lack thereof. I learned about wonderful families ---- and those who were bad to the point of being abusive. I learned about living well ---- and dying well. I am now the age that many of my clients were, and what I understood intellectually back when I was working with older Americans, I now understand in my heart (and creaky body and unreliable mind). And I’m grateful for what I took away from my years there --- from the lady who refused to do PT because it hurt too much (and spent her remaining days in a wheelchair) to the woman who had a pizza party for family in her hospital room a few hours before she died; fear versus courage. If you are a young person, take the time to really listen to an older person this month. Look into their eyes and absorb what they are saying. If you are an elderly person, be glad for your collection of life experiences and stories and find a way to share them. Mother’s Day is Sunday. I am, in recent years, just a little sad on this holiday because neither my mother nor Kerm’s mother are still with us, nor are some of the other people who I considered “mother figures”. I miss having tea with them, laughing with them and talking things over. My grandmothers died when I was quite young, so in my elementary school years, I kept “adopting” grandmothers; an elderly neighbor up the road, my older sister-in-law’s mother, a kindly older woman at church. These delightful women all influenced me when I needed to fill that empty “Grandma” space. When Kerm and I moved to the community in Pennsylvania where our children were born, there were many women who “took me under their wings” and helped me get over homesickness, feel more confident as a new parent and just made life better. Some were considerably older than I; some were closer in age, but all were aware that I needed some TLC. and extended helping hands. I will be forever grateful to Nancy, Freda, Ella, Connie, Joy, Mabel, Hertha, Marge, Betty Jane, Barbara and others. One does not have to physically bear children to provide motherly or grandmotherly influence nor does one even have to be of the female gender. So Happy Mother’s Day to every individual out there who has ever nurtured, affirmed and blessed any person (child or adult) who, for a time, needed tender, loving care. “ ‘Tis merry in the greenwood --- thus runs the old lay ---In the gladsome months of lively May……..” ** May always seems to me to be a happy month ---- even though as much sadness can happen in May as in any other time of the year. In the countryside, things are bursting with life. It is true that the bears have already been back to harass us (so far a mama with a trio of year-old cubs) and the raccoon babies will be out and about, eating the cats’ food and creating a loud hoo-hah during the night with their quarreling. People are still getting sick and dying. Wars still go on. But ----- grass is growing, the violets are in bloom and the birds are singing. “….Though a thousand branches join their screen, yet the broken sunbeams glance between, and tip the leaves with lighter green, with brighter tints the flowers….”** The seasons go on regardless of human intervention or problems. And it is a healing and a balm to take full enjoyment of what May brings. Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *-Theodore Roethke --- American poet. He was the son of a German immigrant and he was born in Saginaw, Michigan. He was a university professor, teaching poetry, and was considered by many to be one of the greatest American poets of his time. He won a Pulitzer Prize in 1959. 1908-1965 **-“’Tis Merry In the Greenwood” by Sir Walter Scott--- Scottish novelist, poet, playwright and historian. 1771-1832.

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

Easter is past and a lovely time it was. Now Spring lies before us with so many things to do it makes the head spin. Because of the mild weather and all the melting snow, things have greened-up nicely. Our daylilies are up several inches, daffodils on a south-facing bank are blooming and the deer have stopped coming down Apparently, their food sources on the hill are sufficient for their needs. Turkeys have separated into flocks and are less frequent visitors. I expect the hens may be sitting on eggs. It is good that there are so many wonderful signs of Spring, because my life this week has been made much harder than usual by the purchase of a new computer. Not only are the procedures for finding things quite different, but I have lost my correct Facebook persona; I’m told that what comes on my screen, currently, is a ghost persona from one of my hackers. Getting my correct one back has, so far, been impossible. In my panic, I asked people to re-friend me, which probably wasn’t the right thing to do. This will take someone who is much more savvy about technology than I ---- which would be almost anyone. Thus the down-side of today’s conveniences!! Leaving technology aside, along with outside spring tasks, there is the traditional huge job of spring-cleaning. I’ve read about people who do this with thoroughness and gusto; beating rugs, scrubbing walls and washing windows. I’m not one of those, as most of you know. There are days, though, when a brief spurt of energy will urge me to start tossing out and stashing away. While our granddaughters were here for Easter week, they went through the “dress-up” hamper that has been part of our toy room for about 15 years. I had mentioned that it was probably time to get rid of that. And in their sorting, the dress-up clothes for little ones suddenly became vintage clothing that they could use. I love recycling. We have a church yard sale coming up in June, so that is an open possibility for all sorts of possessions we no longer need. Sorting out, recycling and cleaning, force one to determine what is beautiful and necessary enough to remain. And that determination is quite different for each person. What is, to any stranger, a clutter of photographs on the walls is to me, being surrounded by family. A friend makes collages of objects on her tables; stream-washed stones, antique gold spectacles and a charming little bowl. They would mean absolutely nothing to others ---- they might even be called clutter by some. But to her, they speak of good days and serendipitous finds. In my home, and in the homes of my extended family, you would see many items of painted tin and wood ---- “Early American Decoration”, termed toleware by some. This is because my mother was deeply into this art form, painted beautifully and gifted her children and grandchildren with many trays, document boxes, chairs and tables ---- all painted by her skillful fingers. For many this would be just too much --- but for us, it brings into our homes the beloved personality of a mother and grandmother. In cleaning, I have occasionally tossed something that I later regret tossing. But I’m more inclined to keep too many somethings in case I or someone else might need it later. This is the sort of thinking that also needs an occasional cleansing; I do not have to be prepared to fill every need that comes along. In whatever way you visualize spring cleaning, may it be a good and exhilarating experience for you this year. There is refreshment that comes with moving some possessions on out and re-purposing others ----- just as moving furniture gives one a whole new perspective in a room. A person’s home should be a reflection of who they are. And it should be full of spaces and items that make one happy. Home is where we go to be re-fueled after spending ourselves out in the world. Even though there is much turmoil in our world (a normal state for this earth) and uncomfortable uncertainty regarding the on-going pandemic, there is also much beauty and goodness in existence at the same time. Just in my small community, there are many people who are helpers --- who make the world a better place. All the volunteers for the local food cupboard put in hours of their own time to make food available for those who experience food insecurity. When the vaccines came along, one young woman I k now spent time on her computer for weeks, locating places for people to get the COVID shots. Our pastor did a daily Lenten reflection available to anyone on Facebook ---- a time to listen to a story and to hear a blessing that somehow made the day better. Another person works as a volunteer, year-‘round, helping people make their way through murky health insurance claims. The trend for several years now, has been fewer people volunteering for their communities. Fire companies, emergency squads, churches, civic groups all have trouble finding people to help. I would hope that this trend reverses itself. But even those who don’t necessarily become members of a group, still manage to show personal consideration for others with many little acts of kindness --- sometimes recognized and sometimes not. I think the goodness adds up to a far greater total than the ills of the world. Of course the spring weather this past week has given all of us better attitudes. When we get early warm weather, as this week’s weather has been, it is SO tempting to plant garden. If history repeats itself, however, and it often does, my Bibb lettuce will emerge just in time to be bitten by frost if I plant it now. I know that in Zone 5b one should not plant annuals until late May. So --- to soothe my longings, I have planted my five varieties of pumpkin seeds in peat pots and will try a row of peas in the garden. I would guess that Kerm will also have trouble waiting and will be out planting potatoes too soon. Gardening is a wonderful way to adjust one’s perspective on life in a good way. Nothing in the world seems quite so bad when one is planting seedlings in the dirt and hearing bird song all around. This is one of the lasting things I learned from my mother. She used her garden when she was happy, when she was bowed by grief and when she needed to get away from life for a bit. As a result, her gardens were landscape paintings in soil instead of on canvas. Mine are not nearly as artistic, but they fill the same needs for me. This little verse by John Tyler Petee* is excellent sense. Pray for peace and grace and spiritual food; for wisdom and guidance, for all these are good, but don’t forget the potatoes. Of course, since my preference is flowers, I’d say “Don’t forget the violets!” As I listen to the red-winged black birds (gorging themselves on sunflower seeds) I am taken back to spring where I grew up. Our farm tended to have what are called vernal pools or streams of water; areas that would dry up during the summer and fall but support life every spring. A small stream was the birthing place for clouds of tadpoles who would later be the booming frogs in our pond. I spent hours building little stone dams in that creek and catching the tadpoles for a brief sojourn in a jar with holes poked in the lid. I usually was persuaded to return them to their own environment after a day or two. And further on down the lane were several acres of woods where the golden marsh marigolds grew. The leaves of these are edible --- they are quite peppery. But the butter-cup yellow of the face-up flowers against the dark green leaves and moss of the stream bed spoke “SPRING” like nothing else. And just above that pool was a hill-side of white trilliums ---- incredibly beautiful. I can’t keep the marsh marigolds alive here, but I do have a small patch of trilliums back in a shady corner of the garden ---- to keep the picture of that hillside clear in my mind. Spring always brings back the poem by Robert Browning**, “Pippa’s Song”, that our fourth-grade class, with Mrs. Powers, learned: “The year’s at the spring; the day’s at the morn; morning’s at seven, the hillside’s dew-pearled. The larks on the wing; the snail’s on the thorn; God’s in His Heaven ---- all’s right with the world!” All of us, in our own little ways, can do what we can do to make this true. Happy April! Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *********************************************** *John Tyler Petee ----American pastor, astronomer, school superintendent, teacher and poet. This quotation is from “Making Fun” 1822-1843 **Robert Browning ----English poet and playwrite; one of the foremost Victorian poets. 1812-1889

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Hasn’t our January weather been interesting?? Do crunchy snows underfoot, brisk breezes and wood fires make your heart sing? Snow-lovers can’t complain here; we’ve had snow since Christmas. TV weather people are much more animated when the weather is “bad”; life probably is a bit boring if no blizzards are in view and their radar shows that little is happening. I just personally wish that those fronts were less befuddled about their paths. Do we draw pails of water in case of power outage --- or not? Should we stock up on essentials like popcorn and hot chocolate? Our feral cats would agree. They have become quite comfortable with humans and being scratched behind the ears, to the point where they are now sitting expectantly on window sills and hanging on door handles when they see us coming. In nasty weather they also excel at looking pathetic. However, they aren’t domesticated enough to be inside, though they may think they are! I can just see them peering down from the high display shelves in the kitchen or peeking out of the bookcases. Along with most people, I probably recall childhood winters with a slightly skewed memory. I do think it is accurate to say that there was more constant snow-cover where I grew up near Rochester, although our snow right now is staying long enough. There were definitely times when we could dig out snow forts in the drifts piled up along the east side of the house and we made snowmen that lasted for weeks. Then there was the severe winter when milk trucks couldn’t get through for two or three days though that was a bit unusual! I wasn’t an enthusiastic outdoors child in the winter; I reluctantly suffered through the obligatory “would you please get outside for a while?” afternoons. During my teen years I did enjoy ice skating, coasting and occasional tobogganing. Those usually involved friends, which made the chilly out of doors much more endurable. Especially if there were moonlight parties with campfires! Even this winter, with no gatherings, there are good times to celebrate. Winter commemorations begin next Monday with Martin Luther King Day when we celebrate a person of determination and courage who spear-headed change. Then one granddaughter has a January birthday; she turns fourteen! In February there’s Presidents’ Day, Valentine’s Day, four family birthdays (another granddaughter turns 17!!) and Lent begins on Ash Wednesday, February 17th. The Tuesday before Lent is “Doughnut Day”, “Pancake Day” or “Fat Tuesday” depending on where you grew up; on the church calendar it is “Shrove Tuesday”. These celebratory times lighten the winter gloom a bit; they are happy spots on the calendar. In winter I am always reminded that I really should buy stock in moisturizer companies. I have a bottle of lotion or hand cream at each sink. Too much sun and working in the garden has made the skin on my hands and arms dry-dry-dry ---- especially in winter. So every time I use soap and water, (which these days, is often!) my skin requires a shot of something so that it won’t crinkle like paper mache. My mother used to mix her own hand lotion; glycerin and rose water. I haven’t been that ambitious but I do remember that it smelled wonderful. SIGH!! There are so many things to “treat” as we age; skin, stiff joints, sore muscles, organs that refuse to work properly and minds that stubbornly clutch at the comfortable rut of sameness. The functional medicine people insist that we don’t have to fall apart this way if we will only sleep well, eat properly, keep moving, take a few supplements, meditate and have a good attitude. Marvelous goals, and while I’ve done some of those things, so far good sleep eludes me, nor am I able to totally stifle the desire for the foods they insist are driving this aging process; cookies, artisan bread, and chocolate. Well actually, sugar! And I must admit too, that occasionally my attitude needs adjusting. There are so many food plans; the Paleo Diet, the Keto Diet, the Mediterranean Diet, the Dr. Atkins Diet, the Vegan Diet, etc. And there are contrary opinions about each. “Take a pro-biotic; it will help your digestion!” / “Pro-biotics are terrible for your stomach!” “Tomatoes are wonderful; full of lycopene!” / “If you have arthritis, avoid tomatoes!” Having worked in food and nutrition for many years, I know the various recommendations and the rebuttals although some have changed as more research is done. After perusing these studies my personal philosophy, which, I’ve already admitted needs adjusting around carbs, is to eat a variety of many foods in small amounts. I have begun eating more salads, so I am really looking forward to home-grown lettuce and more of that fresh broccoli. The thought of broccoli takes me to another injection of happiness in January that comes by way of the seed catalogs. There has been no time to seriously look at them until now. So I am in process, as is usual, making lists of “necessary” seeds and plants. This list will undoubtedly have to be pared, separating wants from needs, not only to cut costs, but also --- as my husband reminds me annually ---- because he is not digging any more garden beds; there is only so much room and we have only so much energy!! The Christmas season is over ---- actually was over as of Epiphany, January 6th. But we all recognize the need for the spirit of the season to linger. In truth, just lingering isn’t enough considering all that is going on today. The spirit that is Christmas needs to flourish and flood all of us; it is the only antidote to the off-the-wall hatred and violence. Howard Thurman* penned these verses. Kerm and I liked them so much when we saw them that we used them in our Christmas card one year. “When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone, when the kings and princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flocks, then the work of Christmas begins ---- to find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among brothers, to make music in the heart.” Now is when we move from six weeks of celebration to a little more industry ---- getting busy with what needs doing. It is often difficult to know where to start. In the face of so much need it is easy to feel overwhelmed. Some people seem destined to do large, extraordinary things --- who make the Six O’clock News, at the very end, to give us something good to remember; the knights in shining armor who lead groups, give huge donations and administer big programs. They are the wealthy businessman who pays people’s bills, the small elementary school entrepreneur who designs bow ties and organizes large toy drives for other kids. They are the Mother Teresas, the Bill and Melinda Gates, the Billy Grahams of the world. And all communities have stellar people who fit this description on a slightly smaller scale. But for most of us, our good deeds seem small and not at all notable, leading us to feel that we aren’t doing all that much. Perhaps we should remember the elementary-school couplet: “Little drops of water; little grains of sand make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land.”** Often making a difference takes not so much skill or money on our parts as awareness. It is noticing that a friend is sad --- and listening. It is calling someone you know who is alone and probably lonely. It is a kid, noticing that another child is isolated on the playground and needs a friend. It is inviting the new neighbor in for pancakes (our neighbor does this). It is expressing appreciation to people who are out there doing. Maybe we need to forego dragon-slaying and just be ready to do what we can to make music in one or two hearts, whereever we can, with no expectation of fame. Perhaps Mr. Thurman’s verses could be, for all of us, a kind of a mantra for 2021. We humans have often, in expressive slang, “done a number” on this earth. From ignorance or selfishness, we have messed up relationships with our fellowmen; those we know and those we may generalize as alien. We have used our lakes, rivers and oceans as dumping stations, casually flung cartons and bags out of car windows, made the air dangerous to breathe for profit’s sake and filled our minds with the garbage of coarse entertainment and even worse ideologies. If we simply try to live out those things as mentioned by Mr. Thurman, maybe we’ll shed some of our dubious behaviors and become unobtrusive angels on earth ---- quietly being there for those who need friends; spreading kindness and wisdom. Little things add up. If enough nearly weightless snowflakes get together, they can break the limb of a tree, clog a very large snowplow and create fine material for snowmen and fort-making. And then there’s the sand --- and water ---- all tiny particles but all formidable in large quantities. We can become formidable in a good way. It is mid-January but spring is not that far away. Owls on our hill are nesting right now. In all this snow and cold they are keeping eggs warm. Bulbs six inches down are stirring inside, contemplating putting out little green shoots. COVID shots will be coming along for more and more people. So in this year ahead of us -----may we be courageous and determined to live in a way that builds rather than tearing down. And may all be well with you in a way that makes your heart sing. Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Howard Thurman----- American theologian, educator and civil rights leader. 1899-1981. **”Little Things” by Julia Abigail Fletcher Carney. 1823-1908. See rest of poem for more.

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.

I cut enough broccoli heads in the garden last Saturday for dinner. December 12th !!! It was so good! An odd blessing in December! The remnants of our ash trees are slowly becoming firewood. The weather in the past two weeks has allowed outdoor work, and Kerm is splitting the big chunks that remain into useful pieces for our wood stove. As the old adage says, wood warms twice --- once while getting it ready to burn and then again when it sends its heat throughout the living room. My doctor suggested ---- many years ago when I was dealing with chronic bronchitis----- that we get rid of that air-drying monster. However, there is nothing quite as comforting on a chilly morning as the flickering flames and warmth of burning wood. So we just put a pot of water on the stove to help the air quality and enjoy. Flu shots seem to keep the bronchitis at bay, and it is no longer chronic. In spite of the annually-touted “Christmas spirit”, many people are experiencing considerable angst and even depression this month. Ordinarily, one would expect wide-spread happiness enhanced by shiny ornaments, caroling and shopping. Even in a normal year, this is probably an inaccurate and thoughtless expectation for many people. This year, the encroaching virus and shutting down our usual activities plus the spreading discord and dissension are dimming everyone’s light. And for some, the lack of a job, no money for food, rent or gifts and the specter of gloom all around nearly puts the light out. King Solomon of Biblical fame wrote some pertinent, if annoying, words for times like these in Ecclesiastes: “To everything there is a season*” …and basically “there is nothing new under the sun”. So we try not to despair; good times and bad times will just keep on circling around through the eons. It is called “life” and in dealing with life’s challenges, we grow ----- or not. The process isn’t always just what we’d choose! Another reason for our being disgruntled in this 2020 season may be the wide-spread need to break traditions. Traditions can be wonderful. I love getting out the vintage ornaments every year, and hanging them on the tree. I enjoy writing our notorious and far-too-long Christmas letter that usually arrives sometime after Christmas. I would feel bereft without the Christmas Eve candle-light service and then a Swedish Tea Ring for breakfast on Christmas morning. Recently, in our Women’s study group, we talked about traditions and how often they get so institutionalized that people are aghast when anything changes ---- especially in churches --- even to the color of the carpet or placing of furniture. One of the more memorable scenes in “Fiddler On The Roof” is where Tevye sings, “Tradition”. Even though unhappy about it, he is able to bend his cultural mores a bit for two of his daughters, but the third daughter asks too much when she rips tradition to shreds by marrying out of the faith. Traditions are what make us feel safe in a world that sometimes feels like “Where the Wild Things Are”. But sometimes traditions become a barrier to growth and so we must learn, as Tevye did, to bend a bit. Each of us must determine when bending is a good and useful thing, or when bending would hurt too much. (The same with our backs I would point out to some members of my family!! ☺ ) I think we all might find it necessary to forego a few of our traditions this year; no large family gatherings, no gala friend parties, no singing of the Hallelujah Chorus for our Christmas Eve service, and actually, a virtual Christmas Eve service, and maybe not even the usual gift exchanges with family. In place of these good times, maybe we can give closer attention to why we are celebrating and how these wonderful-sounding Christmas sentiments impact how we live our daily lives year-round. Social inactivity may also give us time to really notice the world close around us ---- the birds (they do sing – even in December), the patterns in the snow, people’s faces (even covered by masks) and there will be time to realize and express gratitude for each small, wonderful blessing in each day. Dealing with challenges may produce two quite different effects. Some people grow stronger and blossom with what they learn from difficult times while others become self-centered and violently protest the changes to their lives, taking out their displeasure on the world around them. We need to not only remember why Christmas exists, but to also be aware that if we have open hearts, the core of Christmas can be a balm of healing all year ‘round. Agnes M. Pharo** expresses it this way: “What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future.” I do remember Christmases past with tenderness. My eldest brother’s family held their Christmas Eve service at home and I was often with them for that time of candle-light, music and reading. Our local church service was a late one --- 11:00 PM --- and since my brother had to rise early for milking the omnipresent cows, having a service at home was sensible. Later, when I was deemed old enough to attend the late service at church, I found that equally as special. Going out into the starry darkness in what seemed the middle of the night, was exciting, as was the candle-lit service. I’m sure that the collective effect of those services and observing the adults in my life, helped me to develop at least some inner strength for tough times. My parents survived WWI, the Flu pandemic of 1918, typhoid fever, not a lot of money with which to begin married life and sending two sons off to WWII. Christmas still came every single year regardless of a troubled world. So it has with us in spite of blizzards, tonsillitis, fevers and even death. And because I believe what I believe, I’m not really afraid of the future even while admitting to some angst regarding the process of how those future challenges roll out. I truly believe with Julian of Norwich that “All will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well!”***---maybe not tomorrow, but------eventually. The more I --- and we ---- learn to be less self-centered and more loving and caring toward others, the sooner all manner of things will be well. It is now only eight days until December 25th. The fourth Advent candle (Love) will be lighted this coming Sunday and the tall white candle (Christ candle) on Christmas Eve. If, at this point, cookies in sufficient numbers aren’t baked, or the decorations totally perfect or our families can’t join us, we need to appreciate what is done and relax into the wonder and simple delight of Christmas. I would wish a deep comfort to be with you not only for this Christmas season, but also a hope that it becomes the fountain out of which flows a life of clarity and confidence in 2021. May you be blessed with some of your traditions but also find openness in your heart for new experiences. If you are feeling despair or a sense of futility about the world, now is the time to remember the famous Christmas hymn by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow****: “…..And in despair I bowed my head, ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said. For hate is strong and mocks the song of ‘peace on earth; good will to men’. Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, ‘God is not dead nor doth He sleep; The wrong shall fail; the right prevail for peace on earth, good will to men.’” A blessed Christmas to you. And rejoice--- soon we will have a bit more light each day! YES!! Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net ********************************************************************************** *Ecclesiastes --- Old Testament of the Bible, Chapter 3 **Agnes M. Phara ---American writer and painter; there seem to be a few caustic remarks about her writing and very little information. She is best-known for this quote. 1937-2019. ***Julian of Norwich ---English anchorite of the Middle Ages. ****Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ---American poet and educator. Well-known for his poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride”. This quotation comes from “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day”, 3d stanza. 1817- 1882

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.