Writers' Workshop

. . with Mama Kat.

Prompt of choice:  2.) Describe a favorite Winter memory.

There is something idyllic about Christmas in the country, with snow.  I grew up in a small town on a twenty acre farm.  Roaming our land and that bordering ours was common place.  Even in the winter.  What snow we had tended to be accompanied by wind, so rather than a soft blanket of snow, the result was high drifts in some areas, and windswept ground in others.  We rarely experience a soft white winter wonderland effect, but the one thing you could count on was freezing temperatures.  And that meant ice.  

I have fond memories of running the hose in an attempt to get a good sheet of ice for sliding on.  But my parents, as to be expected, but a stop to that in a hurry.  My brothers and I were undaunted and we found a better way to enjoy the ice before long.  

Alongside our property ran a canal that cut through our land with the purpose of providing water for farmers.  Just beyond the far reaches of our fields, the canal came to a wide pond-like area.  Even though the water mostly drained in winter, that pond retained maybe a foot or so of water in the majority of its bottom, and in winter that meant ice.

The ritual watching of Christmas movies idealized ice skating on ponds, and us kids thought it was pretty cool to have our own private little pond.  It wasn’t big, but it kept us entertained for hours.  Apparently youth numbs one to the cold.  These days I wouldn’t last an hour out in the bitter cold, but as a young girl I could spend an entire afternoon sliding around on that little patch of ice with my brothers.

We never had anything as fancy as ice skates, but we occasionally towed a sled with us.  The sides of the pond were banked, which gave one a bit of momentum that would propel the sled across the ice to crash into the other side.  Or, if one headed lengthwise, to coast the entire length of ice with the wind blowing your hair out of your face. 

When our toes finally became numb and our speech impeded by the immobility of our lips, we headed home, following the drift of woodsmoke in the crisp air.   Our living room sported one of those fireplaces that stood away from the wall a couple feet and was placed on stone.  We would shed our wet things near the fire to dry and lay on the hot stones behind the fireplace to thaw out.  Occasionally the steam would rise from our moist clothing, and our cheeks would go from pink with cold to pink with heat.  

Now, as a mother with small children, I still get a tingle of excitement on days like today when the snow swirls and the schools close.  Even though I stay inside and turn the heat up, I still look out the door at my two little girls, bundled up in snow gear, jumping on the ice, and a wistful smile spreads across my face.  Oh to be young again. . . and immune to things like cold weather.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

You know that phrase, "You never appreciate what you have until it's gone."?  Well, I get it.  You see, Christmas time means SNOW.  Hence the songs "Its Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas," and "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas, "or even "Jingle Bells"--"Dashing through the snow. . . "  You see where I am going with this?As a child, growing up in Idaho (Not eastern Idaho, and not northern Idaho where you get a lot of snow--but near Boise)  we didn't get a lot of snow.  Sure it was bloody cold, but the little snow we got was always quickly mucky and crunchy.  Not my idea of a white Christmas.  So I should have loved it when I moved to Utah upon getting married.  Utah gets boat loads of snow.  But then I was obligated to drive my scared little self to work and school in the feet--not inches--of snow.  Not my idea of fun.

So when we decided to move to Washington last year I was thrilled by the idea of milder seasons.  No scorching sun in the summer and no waist high drifts of snow in the well-below-freezing frigid winter.  And no smog from January to March.  I was happy to give up trick-or-treating in the sleet, bundled in so many coats and scarfs and mittens that costumes were a moot point.  

Last year, our first winter in the North West, the accumulation of fallen snow in my yard was likely less than two inches--not that we ever saw two inches at once mind you.  But we still got loads of rain, and it was cold, and it still felt like Christmas, and it was obliging enough to actually spit some flakes on Christmas day, which helped.   

This year we had the absolute loveliest fall ever with months of color and mild weather.  I was in heaven.  But it is one week from Christmas already!  I need it to feel like Christmas!  So when I was told on Saturday we were in for a storm, I was thrilled.  I knew the local idea of a storm was not the same as any storm I might conjure up, but white was white and I wanted some.

So imagine my disappointment when I awoke on Sunday and realized we hadn't received a single flake--a drive in two miles any direction from my house found dustings here and there, however.

The thing is, I don't have anywhere to go.  I could get snowed in 'til Christmas and be just peachy.  (I also get that going to Disneyland in 70+ degree weather might be part of what is spurring this sudden need for snow.)  Another storm is scheduled for tomorrow.  In this strange new world I am living in that is largely devoid of snow, I am crossing my fingers and hoping it means it this time.  

Because suddenly I miss the pristine glow of snow as it blankets the world--including my ugly winter yard. . .

I miss the kids sledding in the park behind my house. . .

I miss snowmen. . .

I miss the snowball fights. . .

. . . and the monster snow forts that Rob built in our back yard with all the neighborhood kids. . . 

And drinking hot chocolate in said forts. . . (not that I drank in there--but I ran out quick enough to take a picture.)

I miss Signe pointing out the covered cars and calling them carshmallows.  And I miss the hush that falls on the world when everything is softened by fresh falling snow.   

Who knew I would miss the snow.  I HATE being cold.  But when it's cold I get to wear cute sweaters and coats and sip hot chocolate and sit by the fire and . . . dream of a white Christmas.  

So come on, dream with me.  Maybe we can will the snow to fall in time for Christmas.

***update***

It is SNOWING!  School got cancelled.  The girls are thrilled to be outside in snowsuits.  It may not be much, but its WHITE.  And it's early.  We may yet cover the grass.

The Happiest Time of the Year. . .at the Happiest Place on Earth

Coming from a large family with little extra income, my seven siblings and I were lucky to be taken to dinner on our birthday or occasionally out for ice cream.  So we certainly never visited Disneyland.  When we were dating, Rob decided to remedy that little void in my existence by taking me.  I was 18 and had known him a matter of months and for some unfathomable reason my parents agreed to let us go.  He was rather  charming.  

At any rate, he ran me hither and yon like an excited little boy showing off a new toy, despite the fact that he had visited practically yearly while growing up.  Sometime around four o'clock I ran out of steam and was accused of not fully appreciating the happiest place on earth.  To this day Rob still tells people I hate Disneyland, merely because I was too tired to jump with glee after a mere seven hours of "happiness".  Apparently this kind of fun takes some working up to.

So it is really no wonder that my girls took to Disneyland like fish to water.  Clearly they are used to action packed days. . .or they take after their father--who I affectionately call the Disneyland Nazi.  Fun. will. be. had. . .or else.

And believe me, if fun was not had it was definitely not from lack of trying.  

It was an ideal time of year.  No big crowds, and no long lines.  Plus the park was awash with Christmas cheer in the form of garlands, ornaments, lights and holiday music--even snow, that looked suspiciously like bubbles (shot from overhead to drift down on crowds of winter deprived locals and bewitched visitors alike). . .not that we really took time to stop and take in the seasonal wonders of Disney--at least not for long.  There were far more important things to attend to.

We visited the Princess Faire and the Princess dinner at Ariel's Grotto, as well as the ever popular Fairy Hollow, so we could fill out autograph books with pictures and signatures. . .

We rose early to meet Mickey, the mayor of Toon Town, (and became honorary citizens) and we ate dinner in Goofy's Kitchen, to make sure we didn't miss out on any key characters.

And we rode every ride Rob had boyhood memories of. . .ate at all his favorite lunch spots. . .lost children on Tom Sawyer's Island. . .consoled, bribed, lied, and distracted a scared five year old into staying up 'til ten to see the renowned firework show (which was so worth it) and even found time to let the girls choose a few activities themselves. . .which resulted in riding It's a Small World four times, visiting the Tiki Room two times, and attending  a Royal coronation where we learned to curtsy, bow and do the royal dance.  Beyond that we consumed ice cream, popcorn, cotton candy and gallons of Diet Coke--Signe's favorite!  

We managed to avoid the face painting the girls were dying to experience, but we did arrive home sporting a lovely Mermaid ensemble in a size 6--magic wand included, and the proud owners of a very large, rather expensive Lego city (either for the 9 year old or the the 35 year old. . .I am not sure which).  

And if that little run down on our five day whirl wind tour did not wear you out or fulfill  you adequately feel free to sit a while and watch our exploits filter across your screen.  

If you need me I will be in bed. . .for not nearly as long as I would like.

Writers' Workshop

. . .with Mama Kat.  

Prompt of Choice: Are you still friends with your high school friends?  Describe them.

I collect friends where ever I go.  And while I still consider them all my friends, I am terrible about keeping in touch on a regular basis.  But a really good friend is the kind you can call after a year of silence and still feel connected to.  There are only a few friends from high school I stay in touch with.  

Angel, lives in Tennessee and I read  her blog on a regular basis.

Doug, my good friend/first "real" boyfriend, is a seminary teacher in Idaho.

And Sara, my other half since birth, lives in California with her surfing, filming husband and three adorable kids.

I have known Sara so long that she came to the hospital when I was born.  She was two weeks old.  Our mothers were friends and we were practically like cousins.  Sara even calls my mother aunt Jane.  We lived at each others houses until we got married and both moved out of state.

Over the years we had plenty of adventures.

My mother was a seamstress, so as small children we were dressed in matching originals as often as not.  As teenagers our sense of fashion diverged, but our friendship did not.

We put a lot of miles on her little yellow Toyota truck, that we fondly called the yellow submarine-- once getting stranded at the Big Bun.  She assured me she knew what to do , and after banging on the engine with a wrench the problem was solved!  She taught me how to drive stick shift in that truck and introduced me to great 80's music--which she made mix tapes of and played in the truck stereo.  Bands like Depeche Mode, the Cure, The Smiths, U2, Belly, Yaz, and the Petshop Boys--and so many more.

 

And when we weren't laughing at ourselves we were laughing at others.  We had a running joke that her mother was having an affair with the Schwan's man, due to his frequent visits.  Which I was grateful for--we didn't get push pops and the like at our house.  But on one memorable occasion while we joked, loudly, about the truck out front, we failed to realize he was standing within hearing--much to her mother's chagrin.  She had to out and face the man after all!

But aside from all the fun we had quoting Drop Dead Fred, Princess Bride, and Monty Python, she taught me some important things about friendship and loyalty.  I always admired her ability to think before she spoke and I grew to appreciate her love of organization.  

She was a big city girl in a small town and I admired her independence and her fashion sense. She was lucky enough to go to Salt Lake City for school shopping at the Gap and she owned a pair of burgundy Doc Martins, that I envied.  

Over the years we often had separate friends, and I think the only class we ever shared (apart from first grade) was German, but we always had each other outside of school.

We were and still are very different, but I think that is why it all works so well.  In the past twelve years we have only lived in the same state two of those years, and we speak sporadically, but I know if I pick up the phone and call her today we will find things to laugh about still. Because some things never change, and our friendship is one of them.

And Sara, as soon as you are ready to move to Washington, I will gladly go house hunting with you.  Just say the word.

Merry Sitsmas

Christmas, children, is not a date.  It is a state of mind. 

- Mary Ellen Chase

The SITS girls are having a Christmas party over at The Secret is in the Sauce.  Prizes are involved.  Joy is being spread.  Feel free to join in the fun!

Manna's Tradition

For more years than I have known her, Rob's mom has collected Precious Moments.  It started with a simple nativity set and grew over the years to an overwhelming collection with largely retired pieces.  When I married into the family eleven years ago, I received my own nativity set from her.  When my girls were born they each received an ornament.  Each year at Thanksgiving we get our new ornaments and nativity piece.  The girls have accumulated so many ornaments that this year I am considering letting them get their own little tree to decorate.

Manna (she's called that, by the way, because when Hannah was a tiny tot she couldn't say Grandma, and so Manna was born) always has a way of getting all six of her grandgirls ornaments that look like them or represent them somehow.  This year Hannah got cute girl with long blond hair and Sig's is hugging Mickey, Goofy, and Donald, because next week will be her first trip to Disneyland.  

Of course they were thrilled, just at they are every year to add to their own little collection.

25 Days of Christmas

It has officially begun.  From December first through Christmas it is one big crazy party around here.  We try to do something festive everyday, consume way too much sugar, and watch as many holiday movies as possible--all with a backdrop of holiday music playing incessantly.  And to remind the kids what great fun it all was, I document it. . . in great detail.  This year I thought it would be fun to share with all of you what we do.  But rather than have it take over this blog entirely, I am posting what we do each day on my home and garden blog, Quixotic Aesthetic.  For fun ideas, or to just see what we are up to, visit each day and let's hope I can keep up. 

Plus, on my photography blog, Through the Lens Darkly, I am posting fun up close pictures from our various activities to see if you can guess what it is.  Feel free to stop by and make a guess.

And finally--in case that weren't enough--I will be posting any recipes I make on my recipe blog, A Taste of Jenn's Kitchen.  

But don't think this blog will be neglected for the remainder of the month.  I still have a gazillion other things to do and write about, including our long awaited trip to the happiest place on earth.  That's right.  Next week we are going to Disneyland.  Our pixie dust and letters from Mickey have already arrived to get the girls all excited.  (Like that was necessary!)  And our Princess lunch has been scheduled.  

The real test will be seeing if I can keep up with all the festivities and still manage to blog about it all.  Wish me luck!