continuity

This morning I'm thinking about Cape Cod. I know a lot of people are reflecting on Labor Day, and in particular the lack of labor opportunities available to many in our poor economy. But I am thinking about The Cape, and the continuity it has provided in my life.

I think continuity is important--a place that, no matter what other things change in life: homes, schools, work, people--having at least a singular place that holds fast and sure in the midst of change offers us grounding. Continuity of place provides a link to our past, to our memories, and to our formation. It connects us to sights and smells, creaky doors and familiar paintings that hang on walls.

For the first eighteen years of my life The Cape was Hyannisport, where a cousin had a summer home and where we were invited to come for our vacations. It is where I learned to row a boat, and eventually, by paying attention, to sail. It was during those visits with Mer (as we called her--her initials were MER) that I learned from her how to do needlepoint. It was there that my grandmother taught me to use my right foot on both the accelerator and brake when driving, in the event that I ever drove a car with a standard transmission and needed my left foot for the clutch. It was there that we stood at the edge of the yard overlooking the harbor and watched Marine One fly into the Kennedy Compound when JFK was president.

a favorite picture, not sure why!

When Mer sold the house visits to the Cape shifted to camping expeditions, and then rentals in other locations. Where we lay our heads may have changed, but The Cape was familiar, and any place on it felt like home. Maybe it was the smell of the sea, the sound of wind through the scrub brush, or the prickly stems of beach plums. Maybe it was the architecture, or the constant presence of sand on our feet, or the names of the towns that reflected its lineage to Indian habitations that made it feel like one huge neighborhood. No matter. It is a place that holds a piece of my soul, and where a part of me was set free.

For many years Mom was at The Cape over Labor Day weekend, and when I lived close enough to visit her there I took advantage of that opportunity. Now I revel in memories and fondness, and give thanks that my life held the opportunity to know and enjoy that special place.

What about you. Is there a place of continuity in your life that brings peace to your heart?

random meme: Thanksgiving theme

Meme stolen shamelessly from the Bug at Bug’s Eye View, who starts out by noting:

If it's Wednesday of a holiday week, it must be time for the Random Dozen Meme from "Lidna" at 2nd Cup of Coffee. If you want to participate just go to Linda's site to link up.

1. Are you sticking to traditional Thanksgiving foods this year, or are you being culinarily adventurous?
We’re not cooking this year! Thanks to an unladylike fall several weeks ago that landed me on my tookus (I have no clue how to spell that) and left me with significant pain in my butt, we are unable to follow through with our original plans to travel to Georgia to be with our good friends Jimmy and Barbara. Riding in the car is one of the most painful positions while recovering from this misfortune, and the trip is just too long to manage. We have been invited to friends’ here in town Thursday evening to join their family meal, so we will make a dish to take with us there. Some minor culinary adventure will be involved. (photo to the right: turkey day three years ago)

2. Tell me something concrete that you're thankful for. (Something you can literally touch, see, etc., not a concept like "hope.")
My Hoover Steam Vac. With three dogs and one still-needing-work-with-housebreaking-issues puppy, shampooing carpets is the most regular exercise I get. The Woolite Oxy Pet Cleaner is likewise my new best friend.

3. You knew the flip side was coming: Share about something intangible that you're thankful for.
I am very thankful for the new blogging connections I have made this last year. They have expanded my world, touched my heart, made me laugh, helped reignite dreams and affirmed aspects of my own being that sag from time to time. Hugs to you all!

4. Share one vivid Thanksgiving memory. It doesn't have to be deep or meaningful, just something that remains etched in your memory.
My favorite memory is of my Mom breaking out and doing the Charleston (or the Jitterbug, maybe?) in the kitchen while we were washing up after dinner.

5. What is one thing that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt is going to happen this Thanksgiving because it always does, year after year? I’ll forget to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

6. Do your pets get any left-overs?
Not if I can help it! I have a pretty strict rule about not giving human food to the dogs.

7. Does your family pray before the big meal? If so, do you join hands while seated, stand, repeat a formal prayer or offer a spontaneous prayer? Who does the praying?
When I was growing up we always had Thanksgiving in New York (City) with my grandparents. If my memory is right and I’m not mixing up holidays, my grandfather always wrote out a prayer that recalled the events and people that he wanted especially to acknowledge. They were wonderful prayers (Mom, were any of those kept?). We also sang the Doxology as our grace, seated, holding hands. After my grandfather died (I was 17) I couldn’t sing the Doxology for the longest time without choking back tears.

8. Will you be watching football in the afternoon? If not, what will you be doing?
We may very well watch football, but not with any particular interest. I’m going to try to make some more tissue cozies if I can. I’ll also be preparing the dish that we’ll be taking with us to dinner that evening.

9. There are two distinct camps of people on this issue: How do you feel about oysters in the dressing/stuffing?
Blech!

10. Do you consider yourself informed about the first Thanksgiving?
I do, some of my ancestors were there and they took really good notes (just kidding about the notes).

This print, "The return of the Mayflower," hung over my grandmother's mantel when my mother was growing up, and it has hung over mine (or a wall in my home) since my grandmother had it reframed for me when I graduated from college. (The Mayflower was returning to England. Somehow we never heard about that in our history classes.)

11. Which variety of pie will you be enjoying?
I rarely eat pie until the next day! Apple is my pie of choice.

12. Do you feel for the turkey?? (This is a humorous throw back question related to the 12th question in another Random Dozen!)
I’d never really thought about it before, but probably not since I am predisposed to being a carnivore.

Blessings, one and all, for a joy-filled Thanksgiving weekend!

photographs and memories

Years ago my grandmother and I went through some boxes stored at Melrose where family pictures, albums, and letters had accumulated. We made attempts to identify everything and everyone in the pictures, and if she couldn't remember who they were, she was of a mind to toss them. I understood her thinking--I toss pictures, too, when the event or person in a picture can no longer be recalled or ceases to be meaningful. But I live in an era when photographs are abundant. The pictures in her collection, well, not so much.

Among the photographs was this one. Meet Miss Sue. My grandmother didn't know when the picture was taken, or where, but she remembered Miss Sue, a friend of the family. And that is all I know. But I adore this picture. Miss Sue is standing so gracefully and regally, even if posed, that I feel a desire to honor her memory if only to admire her in this moment. And that is, in fact, all I can do, since I know nothing about any other moments of her life. I don't know how she knew my grandmother's family. Neighbor? Church? Distant kin (my grandmother would have known that, so probably not)? Whatever her connection, having a photograph of her among the family's other prizes was warranted, so she must have been important to someone at some time.

I am awash in photographs. Since going digital most of them haven't been printed, and as I get older I wonder which of the segments of my life I want to spend the time organizing, printing, journaling and presenting in some form that looking at them one day will matter to someone else. Without children of my own there are few people that I can imagine will be interested in my life and times. I don't take pictures, or scrap them, for posterity, but this whole aging business does make me mindful of how I spend the time I have.

One thing I do know. I need to record what matters to me in more than pictures. Because the day WILL come when I won't remember, or can't place the who, what, or where of some of the pictures I've taken. If I want my life to matter, then something tangible will need to reflect that, at least as I see it now, today. Lovely as she is, I don't really want to end up like Miss Sue.

a taste of yesterday

My friend Yolande was heading to a family reunion Sunday afternoon and had whipped up four batches of scrummy Mississippi Mud Brownies. She brought a batch to church for coffee hour that morning, and I just couldn't resist! When it was time to head home she handed me a plate full of the yummy morsels so that I could indulge in a little guilty pleasure once I was home.

This adulteration of the brownie is about the best choice there is when it comes to improving on perfection (I consider the brownie to be one of God's perfect foods). It also takes me down memory lane.

Back in the day when my grandmother was still alive and we were at Melrose, we would work in a visit to her cousin Alden, who lived about an hour away on an old family homestead (I'm talking old, here. A land grant from George III old). Alden was a wonderful cook, and she frequently made a batch of Mississippi Mud brownies for us to take home. They weren't called that at the time, we simply knew them as Alden's Brownies. But it didn't matter what they were called, because they were fabulous. Always.

Whenever I see these brownies I think of Alden, who died a few years ago. I remember meals in her kitchen, tea on her porch, and the day I married her granddaughter in the backyard (I do so enjoy family weddings). I think of her devotion to family, to God (she taught Sunday school until she was 95 at the local Presbyterian church), and to her heritage. She had a quick wit and wry smile, and I loved the sound of her laughter. She is missed, but through her brownies, as with so much more, she lives on.

Thanks, Yolande, for the memories.

happiness is...

This morning happiness is a clean microwave oven. Ah, the simple pleasures of the day.

Whenever I hear the opening "happiness is..." however, I think of You're a good man, Charlie Brown, the musical that debuted off-broadway more than 40 years ago. In that production, to which a cousin of mine had some connection that I can no longer recall (help me out here, Mom), Gary Burgoff played Charlied Brown. This was before he became famous as "Radar" on M*A*S*H, and I was lucky enough to see the performance twice. The words to the song, moving as they are out of context, are even more so in the context of the play, because the blanks filled in within the song refer to parts of the storyline. In any event it's a wonderful song, a wonderful story, and a helpful reminder that happiness can be found in the small things within our day.



What makes you happy today?

happy 5th day!

Since we are still in the season of Christmas I hope you'll indulge some continued postings on the subject! There are a couple of posts yet to come that are awaiting pictures from the camera and some thoughtful composition. In the meantime, just a wee reflection today.

For whatever reason Christmas memories from childhood have been in abundance this year, and they are beginning to inspire thoughts about Christmases of the future. For instance, Christmas decorating had a theme each year, inspired by holiday traditions of all kinds. One year it would be the magi, with the three wise men adorning the top of the piano, decorating the mantel, and showing themselves in displays of cards collected from previous years and mounted on backings of ribbon or fabric tacked to the hallway closet door. Another year it would be the "12 days," and a partridge in a pear tree would find its way into the decor. There was also a banner hung above the fireplace, a felt backing with lines of thin, gold ribbon forming a musical staff, and small tree ornament balls in gold placed to form the notes of the repeating line, (sing with me now) "and a partridge in a pear tree." Other years it would be music, and the decorations would again reflect the theme, and cards would be displayed...

It is really genius, I think, to do this. For one thing it keeps Christmas decorations from suffering the fate of familiarity, and it allows the creative spirit to be engaged each year with fresh vitality. The themed decorations didn't banish the items that came out every year by any means, they simply added a focus. There was comfort with the old and inspiration with the new--the best of both worlds. So Mom, thanks for all the hours and love you put into making Christmas last through a lifetime!

There are a host of other memories too: making and decorating cookies that were individually wrapped and taped to a conically shaped tree made of green foil wrapping paper. Each of us kids had our own tree that we then took to school to share with our class; making toffee and spiced tea mix to take as gifts to neighbors and friends; the family Advent calendar that hung on the back of the front door...

I also remember finding time to myself to plug a set of headphones into the stereo, put on the music from "The Nutcracker," turn on the Christmas tree lights and sit tucked into a space beside the end table near the Christmas tree to be warmed by the lights and music. Snug, cozy spaces were favorite places for me to relish solitude.

There are more memories, but this is a blog, not a book. And you get the idea.

Seven days left!

simple joys

This one is for you, Gail!

Last weekend Mom accompanied my brother and sister-in-law to Middlebury, VT for parents' weekend at Middlebury College, where my nephew is a freshman. In addition to visits with Jesse they took advantage of being in Vermont, making a stop at the Vermont Country Store (where are there are a host of wonderful (and sometimes hard to find) things. Among them was some apple cider that Mom brought with her to Melrose when she arrived earlier this week.

Some things are quintessentially New England to me, and apple cider is one of them. It evokes memories of crisp fall days, a certain kind of light, the sound of fallen leaves kicked up as you walk through them, and the replacement of summer clothing with winter warmth.

Every place has its own markers of seasonal changes, subtle or substantial, but I maintain that New England (and upstate New York) has a distsinct edge over other parts of God's creation when it comes to the sensory sensations of fall.

Here's to the season in all its glory, however it presents itself where you are.