Feeling pensive

Image by Freepik.com

It rained in Texas today! Not the downpours that residents feel in the Northwest or the storms that sometimes deluge the eastern coast, but it was wet, and in Texas we are grateful. But it was also dark and dreary, the kind of day that can encourage deep thoughts.

My church recently was rocked by the tragic deaths of a prominent member, active in church affairs and the city of Fort Worth, known and admired by many, and his two children. They were killed in a horrendous accident on Thanksgiving Eve. The mother, badly injured, survived. The funeral was today, and the church expected an overflow crowd. I zoomed from home. I did not know this family—I know the older generation by sight and reputation, had never heard of the branch of the family involved in the accident. But I went because I know they are good people—it makes you think of the now-old book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, by Harold Kushner. I went because even without knowing them I felt surrounded by grief, by the impact of this tragedy on our community. As a now-retired minister once said to me when I asked about a tsunami, “Shit happens.” Faith helps us sort out that shit, and that’s part of why I went today—call it curiosity. And finally, I went because at my age I need reassurance about life and death. Like many people, I am still trying to sort out my belief, even as I feel the time for doing that is shortening. Was it John Donne who wrote, “But at my back I always hear/Time’s winged chariot hurrying near”? At the polar opposite of that thought is the fact that two children died in this accident, and our minister acknowledged that there is something particularly heartbreaking when we lose children with so much of their life ahead of them.

The service brought tears, no doubt about it. I grieved for the brother who gave the eulogy and had an obviously difficult time getting through it, though he managed occasional bits of humor. And I grieved for the visiting minister, the father’s college roommate, who continually wiped his eyes as our minister spoke words of comfort. I grieved for our minister, who had been close friends with this family and had loving stories to tell about all three. I grieved for the surviving widow/mother, who sat in the front row, flanked by the two grandmothers and holding hands with them.

The message of hope that our minister delivered was that God is always with us, in good times and in tragedy—perhaps you must be of my Protestant faith to accept that. But what I came away with today is that we must live with vitality, with a positive attitude. Grief doesn’t go away. It is always there, waiting to overwhelm, to trip us up. I think the same is true of doubt. But it is up to us to live past it and through it. Both the brother who gave the eulogy and the minister talked about grief being with us every day, if we let it in. It’s up to us to shut that gate.

What I’m trying to talk about in these meandering thoughts is the importance of a positive attitude. And that’s what was reinforced for me today in the memorial service. I know it will be a long time before that extended family can move through and beyond grief, but it is up to us to surround them with love and encourage them as they move forward. And it is up to us to live beyond and through our doubts and temporary problems. I am a big believer in the power of positive thinking. Who wrote that book? Norman Vincent Peale, of course.

I had other deep thoughts today, probably about rain or maybe about list-making, but somehow now, after a glass of wine and an offbeat but good dinner—smoked salmon, cream cheese, and some frozen spanakopita—they don’t seem so dark to me. I have been making lists for a couple of weeks—I am not one to let Christmas sneak up on me, and this year I will have my whole family around me. So you can tell lists are needed—food, gifts, things to do. Perhaps attending today’s service, which had sort of loomed over me much of the week, reaffirmed my faith and freed me to move on to holiday planning. I hope it will help me too to remember the true nature of the holiday I celebrate as a Christian and not get lost in the lists and the gifts and the food.

How does the holiday season affect you? Have you made lists? Have you looked at your darkest thoughts? It’s a tough time of the year, despite it being the season of hope and joy.

Christmas isn’t what it was

The Alter grands with gingerbread houses,
Several years ago, apparently in Austin.

The other day I read a blog about memories of Christmas with four little ones and the logistics of figuring out equal presents and stocking gifts. I wanted to say, “Hold my wine!” When my four were little, their Jewish father was still part of our household, so we celebrated Hannukah and Christmas both. Do the math—that meant eight days of gifts for four children for Hanukkah, plus stocking stuffers for Christmas morning, plus “out” gifts (something big and showy that Santa left, unwrapped, under the tree—or beside it or at least in the same room), and then individual, wrapped gifts under the tree. In that day, before spread sheets, I made my own flow charts.

For some reason I remember particularly the year that the “out” gift was oversize (I mean huge) Tinker Toys out of which Joel built a life-size playhouse for the kids. And then, of course there was the year they discovered their unwrapped gifts in the guest room closet—it ruined Christmas, they confessed, but I guess every kid does that once. My memories of those Christmases are of hectic confusion, gleeful noise, lots of planning, a frantic Christmas morning, a huge turkey dinner—and sweet exhaustion at the end of the day. Nothing will ever be quite the same again, although when all sixteen Alters celebrated together when the grands were little, it was joyful, mass confusion.

Jean said to me tonight at supper, “Christmas just isn’t what it used to be,” and I replied, “Of course it isn’t. Things change. Life moves on.” This is the season when a lot of us, particularly those of us who are in our golden years, look back on the past with longing. I have several widowed friends who are lonely, missing their spouses. One wrote of the difficulty of filling time right now, and finally confessed, “I miss my soulmate.” Of course, she does, and it must be a bitter, deep down missing that I cannot fathom. I resisted the urge to say, “You have memories of a lifetime with your soulmate. I, long divorced, have no such treasure to call on at this season.” But I have a large family of children and grands—that is my joy. My point is that each of us comes at this Christmas memory business from our unique history. The memories I treasure are not the same as the days you may miss.

But my rather harsh message to Jean and others is, “Get over it!” Of course, Christmas isn’t the same. The world isn’t the same. Everything changes, grows, moves on. Life isn’t static. Part of growing old gracefully (and yes, Jean, you really do a beautiful job of it--sorry to use you as an example) is that things aren’t like they were twenty or thirty years ago. One of the compensations of aging, to me, is calling up memories and, yes, dwelling on them. Live in the past for a few moments. Treasure those times.

But also look around you. Count the blessings you have now. This year, I will not spend Christmas surrounded by Alters—it is what we call in the family an “off year” and my four and their families will spend the holiday with their in-laws: Colin and his family will be in Tomball with Lisa’s mom, our beloved Torhild; Megan and group are flying to Belize with Brandon’s father for some scuba diving and who know what else; Jamie and Mel will welcome Mel’s parents and Eden, home from school, but will spend their first Christmas without Maddie, who is going home with her boyfriend, Trevor—they were with us last year in Austin. Maddie’s family will be sad and miss her (and I know she’ll miss them) but that’s another example of things change: Maddie is building her own life. And next year we’ll have another Alter Christmas. (Why does that make me hear in my mind, “Next year in Jerusalem!”)

Jordan and Christian will welcome his family on Christmas Day, and instead of going to Tomball as I usually do on “off” years I’ll stay here. Jordan is determined to go to midnight candlelight service at University Christian—I am still waffling, but to do that would be to recapture a bit of Christmases past. We haven’t been here at Christmas for ten years, so this is important. But with flu, covid, bitter cold weather, and late hours, I may opt to watch it on my computer. That’s okay. That’s one of the choices I can make about my own celebration of Christmas this year.

Christmas this year, any year, may not be what it was, but for each of us, it is what we make of it. I wish you all the blessings of the season, the joys of the Christmas message, and lots of sweet memories and warm dreams. Hey, maybe a bit of eggnog too.

Memories of an Austin Christmas

 

A Christmas photo of me with my four loves

Before we bid Christmas and 2021 goodbye, I want to share a few thoughts and pictures of a memorable trip to Austin. Jordan, Jacob and I traveled on December 21—Christian followed two days later. Both on the way there and the way back, I was pleased and surprised by how much land in Central Texas is still worked as small farms and ranches, so much open land. (Sure, I’d seen it before, as recently as July, but it really struck me this time.) A wreck outside Leander sent us on a detour and suddenly, we were smack in the city with ticky-tacky boxes all jammed together, each identical to the next. The contrast made me sad, but then I realized I was being judgmental—many people were happy to have those homes. Good lesson in taking another viewpoint. In an unfortunate coincidence, coming home we happened on a wreck between Hico and Glen Rose that had only happened minutes before. As Jordan said, if we hadn’t stopped for a potty break and to buy me some chocolate, we might have been there at just the wrong time. Makes you think—with gratitude.

In Austin we were at daughter Megan’s house—all eighteen of us during the days. The nights were cool, but the kids liked to sit on the patio, so one night I bundled up.

Colin helping me keep warm

On Wednesday, we had lunch with a writer I know from a small online group but had never met—a real treat and a highlight of the trip. Stephanie Raffelock writes about women coming into their own as they age—a message I find most encouraging. Her new book is Creatrix Rising. But we talked mostly about cooking—the turkey we planned and her duck confit. I didn’t even know how confit is pronounced—kän’fē]—but now I am determined to try roasting a duck—I’ll let the confit part wait. In the oven in the main house. I got a new toaster oven for Christmas that will give me much more flexibility and an air fryer, but I don’t think it’s up for a whole duck.

Lunch with author Stephanie Raffelock

One night we all piled into cars and drove the Trail of Lights, an Austin phenomenon once sponsored by the city but now presented by individual sponsors. It is fantastic, best I’ve ever seen. I was particularly impressed by the tunnels of light. This picture hardly does it justice.

Christmas morning was pandemonium, but what can you expect with eighteen people? The old controversy about when to open presents was neatly solved—on Christmas Eve, Jordan gave each of the girls matching pajamas. I posted a picture Christmas night. Christmas morning the gift opening vs. breakfast dilemma was equally well solved—the guests sleeping in an Airbnb and a hotel were so slow to get there, we were all starving. So we had breakfast and opened gifts afterward.

Me and Jordan in our Christmas pajamas

Our Christmas dinner was traditional and delicious. I keep hearing of people who have prime rib and duck confit and even enchiladas, but not my family. Megan, with Melanie’s expert stirring, made the best gravy I think I’ve ever had—a combination of my mom’s technique (shake flour and cold water in a jar really hard) and the addition of Central Market gravy. So flavorful—and plenty of it. I always worry about running out of gravy—probably selfish because I really want it all over everything.

I posted the other night about my grandsons but can’t resist sharing this picture of them. The youngest is the tallest, and the oldest is the shortest. Each so very different and individual, but when together they seem a bonded unit. I alluded to the Beatles before, but that really only applies to Sawyer, the oldest, who is a skilled guitar player. The other three are more into individual sports.

My grandsons--how did they get this big and old?

Hope each and every one of you enjoyed Christmas, whether you celebrate the day or eat Chinese. It’s a special time. And now, into the new year.

Christmas is blooming at the Burtons.

The Burton Christmas tree is done! Huzzah! Every year, Christian spends days and nights meticulously putting lights on each and every branch. No casual flinging of strands for him. Only when it is done to his satisfaction can Jordan and Jacob come in and decorate the tree. The bows, including the big one at the top, are saved from their wedding.

Those wedding bows are particularly fitting as they celebrate their sixteenth wedding anniversary tonight. A romantic evening, with filets done on the grill, twice-baked potatoes, lobster tail. Jacob and I ate hot dogs and beans in the cottage. But, the disparity in dinners aside, it made me teary—happy tears—to remember that wonderful evening sixteen years ago. A large wedding at our church with the full choir singing. For me, the shining moment was when both Jordan’s brothers walked her down the aisle and, just before handing her to their father who was mobility impaired, kissed her on each cheek. As one of my more cynical friends said, “Be still my heart.”

But then it was dancing and dining at the Fort Worth Club, with almost all the people we care about, including most of the New York Alters. Uncle Mark managed to lead a late-night version of havah niglia, and Maddie, then only six or seven, was the belle of the ball. Such good memories.

But on to Christmas. Jordan has done a mighty job on the front of the house. She doesn’t like this picture—says it’s not clear enough—but I think it shows how spectacular the lights are. She learned some unforgettable lessons about holly bushes in the process of lighting up the house.

I stay in the back in my cottage, where inside and out, it is festively lit, but it’s a joy for me to see these “front of the house” decorations. I will, of course, get into the main house several times between now and Christmas. Jordan has even suggested one night soon we sip eggnog (yep, the kind with nog in it) in front of the fire while enjoying the glow of the tree. And at least one night we’re going to go chasing Christmas lights in the city, something I did years ago with the children.

It goes without saying that this has been a hard year for everyone, between pandemic and the worst, drawn-out election battle that none of us ever imagined would happen. There is good news on the latter front tonight in that the Supreme Court has refused to hear Ken Paxton’s frivolous suit against the major states that went for Biden. But still, trump will keep appealing wherever he can, stirring up trouble among his most rabid followers, and the threat of violence lingers. And our friends, neighbors, relatives are dying at an alarming rate.

In the face of all that, it would be easy to give up, throw our hands up in the air, and cancel the holiday season. I can’t speak for Hanukkah and Kwanza and other seasonal holidays, but I can say that is strictly counter to the meaning of Christmas, which brings us hope in the darkest of winters. And this year there is hope—a vaccine, a new presidential administration.

I am proud of Jordan for her determination to keep the spirit of Christmas, to make it festive for all of us. And I am doing my darndest to keep up with her spirit. I hear people all around me say they just can’t quite get the spirit this year, and, even though I was known to say it myself, I think how wrong that is. We need Christmas this year more than most years. Rejoice!

 

Snippets of a happy holiday

The calendar is really getting down to the deadline—it’s the 22^nd already. Have you done all your Christmas shopping? I have been parceling out packages for days and think I have most distributed, except for my brother who lives an hour away—too close to mail, too fair to drive. We’ll have an extended Christmas after I get back from Tomball.

Tomorrow Colin, my oldest, will come from Tomball to pick me up and then we’ll go to Jamie’s office in North Dallas/Plano/somewhere along I-35 for a foosball table—I am beginning to wonder which is more important to Colin: me or the foosball table. That’s not really fair, because he has told me he likes being the kid who gets responsibility for me on the off years for Alter Christmases. And I’m looking forward to time in Tomball, especially time with the two grandchildren there—Morgan and Kegan. And some writing time—yeah, of course I’m taking my computer.

My days have been a happy mess of Christmas things—a grocery store trip on which I already felt the need to deal with the ham and black-eyed pea menu for New Year’s. Jordan responded that they are having friends in to watch whatever bowl game and she’s serving sausage balls which are a lot cheaper. I thought she missed the point. Then she said, “IF you want a ham, go ahead and get one.” Then I knew she’d really missed the point. Who gets a ham for one person?

Lunch yesterday with a friend I don’t see often enough. We had so much to talk about—the business of writing, whether or not you can write to someone’s textbook plan or just have to let it flow, grandsons. I mean we really chattered, and I loved it.

Then happy hour with an old and dear friend, talking about Christmas plans and gossiping about people we knew in our previous existence—like me, she is the ex-wife of an osteopathic physician and now, both our husbands are dead. But we have a lot of memories in common and a lot of old friends.

Tonight, I went to a cocktail party at the home of my Canadian daughter—her parents, dear friends, were there. Often, I miss them at Christmas because I travel just when they are here, so tonight it was a joy to visit with both of them. Lovely party, delicious food, plentiful wine—but so noisy I couldn’t really have a conversation with anyone, even with my new hearing aids.

Today I’ve been packing and organizing—Sophie will go with me to Tomball tomorrow, and you’d be amazed at what it takes to pack for a dog—food, probiotics, Benedryl, fake cheese slices, chew treats, her very own dog bowl. That done, I packed some things for me and have a really organized list of what needs to be packed tomorrow, plus another list of what needs to come out of the freezer and refrigerator at the last minute. Sometimes I scare myself because I’m so organized.

As we head into the holy season, I feel optimistic. I think our long national ordeal is coming to an end—the death throes may bring increased pain, fear, panic, and financial instability, but I believe as a country we’ll rise above it and restore our democracy. I am well aware that calling this the holy season leaves out Hanukah, Kwanza, and other religions which mark the winter solstice, and I don’t mean to be exclusionary. I simply approach the season—and the nation’s problems—from my own Christian perspective.

So holiday blessings on all of you, no matter what or how you celebrate. It’s the love in our hearts that matters much more than the shape of our faith. Be happy, my friends.

Am I in Chicago?

The wind whistled and whined around the cottage this afternoon, making sad, moaning sounds. Took me back to days in Chicago which comes by its moniker of “the Windy City” honestly. Some days you had to fight to stay upright, particularly in the canyons of downtown Chicago or on the lakefront on a day when Lake Michigan showed its wild and stormy side. Today, with the Texas wind howling off the prairies to our west, I was glad to stay inside.

Perfect day for soup, so I cleaned out the freezer. Turned out I didn’t have as many leftovers as I thought—a small icebox dish of the last batch of leftover soup, another small one of a spaghetti sauce that was only medium but would be fine in soup, and a larger container of something that I could not identify by sight, smell—or poking my finger into it. That went in the trash, but I got some frozen peas out of the freezer, and a small bit of multicolor rotini (so glad to get that box out of my tiny pantry drawer). The thing that made the soup so good, I think, was the can of pintos that I discovered and added. Jacob of course would not eat my soup, so I fixed him buttered noodles—no nutrition and probably too many carbs. He asked for a giant helping. After I fed him, I finished my own meal off with my gingerbread and ginger-brown sugar whipped cream, which is beginning to sag as I knew it would. Still, it tasted delicious.

A milestone today: I finished going through the last of the boxes of research materials on the second battle of the Alamo. Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll plug in my notes from today, and then it’s time to start at the beginning and read through it. Because I kept adding bits and pieces as I found them, I know there will be repetitions and duplicates and probably some bad transitions. I still have lots of work to do.

Rosa came to cut my hair today, and I had my toenails done the other day—obviously I’m gearing up to be out of town. I’ve even made a list of things to take—one list for Sophie, one list from the refrigerator and freezer, a list of outfits (including the super new one I got last night), and a list of incidentals—like a legal pad for notes, honey for my tea (they probably have some but just in case), and shampoo. Looking forward to a few days away.

Christmas anticipation is high. For those who celebrate, I hope your anticipation is focused as much on the gift we all receive from on high as on those packages under the tree. I quoted our minister today when I told one of my children I would rather have his presence than his presents.

Scotland, Christmas, and me

            Those who know me recognize that I’m a bit fanatical about my Scottish blood (even though 23andMe says I have none—they’re wrong, wrong, wrong). This year is my Scottish Christmas. I ordered the new Jacqui Lawson Advent Calendar because it’s set in Edinburgh. When my grandkids were little, I got each family a wall-hanging advent calendar, with little pockets for each day and a collection of trinkets to match to the pockets. On the last day you put the Baby Jesus in his cradle or something like that. I doubt any of the families even still have those hangings—kids have grown beyond them.

But I told Jacob I’d ordered the computer calendar and asked if we could do it together. He agreed. The calendar arrived electronically and sat on my computer because it would be a sin to look at it before Dec. 1. About Thanksgiving, he said, “It’s almost time to do the calendar, Juju” which meant, to me, a bit of anticipation on his part. I was delighted. So far (three evenings) he’s come out to the cottage, so we could open it together.

The Dec. 1 scene was in a marvelous restaurant with a Tiffany-like dome where I have actually eaten—my favorite place in Edinburgh, probably my favorite restaurant in Scotland aside from some village pubs. I was thrilled, and Jacob seemed impressed.

Today a present from longtime friends arrived. They had told me to open it before Christmas, and I did—three wonderful Scottish ornaments for my tiny tree: a bagpipe, a thistle, and a shaggy Highland cow wearing plaid. I’ll ask Jacob to hang them on my table-top tree tonight.

The same friend acknowledged my thanks with some advice about Christmas food from Scotland—single malt Scotch is okay but avoid the haggis. I’ve actually voluntarily eaten haggis more than once—with neeps and tatties. But he got me thinking about Scottish food. I expected lots of trout, venison, lamb, and maybe kidneys on a grand British-style breakfast board. Never saw any of that, though I did try blood sausage. My favorite food, I think, was the Cumberland sausage, but it, like haggis, needed brown gravy.

And then there’s that three-ingredient fruitcake recipe that I got from a Scottish-themed website. But I’m saving that for a post on the Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog.

Sláinte, everyone! 

A tornado rush and the beginning of the Christmas rush

The last day of November already! Tomorrow Jacob and I can start the Advent Calendar. He reminded me of it the other day. This year the one I bought is set in Edinburgh so I’m hoping for lots of bagpipe music, which always thrills my Scottish bones. It’s installed on my computer and ready for that first click. I know Jacob’s at that in-between age—too old and yet not old enough, but he seems willing to do the calendar with me, and I’m delighted.

Just stole a quick after-supper nap. Delightful to lie in bed and listen to the thunder rumble. We are under a tornado watch until midnight, but Jordan said the rain would miss us which set me to wondering if you can have a tornado without rain, Now I notice the deck and the sidewalks are wet—rain apparently but not much of it. Sophie jumped up on the bed for a snuggle—she senses when I’m getting up and waits until that moment to come for a bit of doggy love.

I can already tell Christmas is coming. The traffic is horrible. Jordan and I went to the grocery this morning, and the congestion on Hulen was enough to make you turn around and go home. We took longer than usual at the store, because I had a longer list—the price one pays (literally) for cooking more. And then we were running late and were in a rush at the liquor store and the take-out place for lunch. I came away with chicken salad and a beet-and-orange salad for my lunch and a shepherd’s pie for supper. All delicious. Hats off to Local Foods Kitchen.

Tonight, without rushing, we went for a glass of wine with a friend of many years—the kind of friend where we each remember when the other’s children were toddlers. And now those children are in their forties, pushing fifty. It’s fun to see Jordan develop a relationship with her as an adult. Nancy has more Christmas decorations than anyone I ever met—nutcrackers and angels and ceramic Santas, pillows and an iron Christmas tree with ornaments hung on it. Her cozy apartment was warm with holiday atmosphere, and we laughed and talked, shared good news and worries. And then we hurried home again.

Tomorrow Jacob takes the SAT in a program to see how randomly selected seventh graders do taking the test that all high schoolers fear. What a shock to think he’s anywhere near ready for that. And here I was going to ask him to do mundane things like empty the garbage. I think it’s fun though that he doesn’t worry beforehand, doesn’t have to study—can just walk in and take it. I haven’t had a chance to ask him if he thinks it’s fun or not. Probably not.

Armistice Day and family moments

Flags are flying. In France they held a commemorative ceremony marking the centennial of the end of World War I. Having flown to France for the occasion, the occupant of the White House didn’t attend because of rain—I suppose he was worried about his hair, but Germany’s Angela Merkel and France’s  Emmanuel Macron stood bare-headed in the rain, while Justin Trudeau talked of the day at Dieppe when it rained not rain but bullets. President Obama walked in the rain through a military cemetery with the graves of those lost in Afghanistan and Iraq. And I am confused.

In my mind, November 11 is Armistice Day. The eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day. We all stand for one minute facing east. But that’s tomorrow. Has someone passed a law that we cannot mark Armistice Day on Sunday? Will the Rotary flag at my curb still be there tomorrow? I wish they’d quite messing with the dates of national days of celebration and memorial all for the sake of commercialism.

Nonetheless, our pretender-president has shown us again how fragile he is. Between dodging a few raindrops and attacking Jim Acosta, he’s not coming off as a man of self-confidence. General Bone Spurs rides again.

On a personal level, today held some of those family moments you take for granted at the time and later realize are to be treasured. Last night I asked Jacob if he would run some errands with me this morning. In return, I promised him a sausage and biscuit sandwich for breakfast. He dutifully appeared this morning, ate his breakfast, and we went on our way. I can do the pharmacy drive-in and the cleaners, where I would request curb service to turn in my metal hangers for recycling. But the post office to mail a package and the grocery are difficult me with the walker.

Slowly Jacob warmed to the task. By the grocery, he was whipping out my walker for me, and he carried it while I drove the motorized shopping cart. As he remarked, “You only hit one thing, Juju, and that wasn’t a hard hit.” I do wish stores would quit crowding their aisles with dumps. Somewhere in our travels, he said, “Last night when you asked me, I thought I didn’t want to do this. But it hasn’t been bad.” Be still my heart—from a twelve-year-old that’s as close as we can come to praise, but I told him it was called a left-handed compliment. He also said my car didn’t smell bad—he has for a long time said it smells of old leather, maybe because it’s an old car—and he did not say one word about my driving frightening him. I considered the whole outing a success.

This afternoon, the Burton family went to have their pictures taken for a Christmas card. For the first time I was asked to come along—they wanted me in some pictures. Flattering. As I told Christian, I even washed my hair. We took pictures at the shelter at the old site of Shakespeare in the Park—endless shots it seemed, and a long walk for me to and from the car. Then Christian walked me back to the car, where I sat and read while they did family pictures on the levee, with the downtown skyline as a backdrop. Then on to the duck pond where they did more pictures, and I read some more but watched with one eye.

All this photography involved lots of standing, often propping me against a wall or a post so the walker wouldn’t be in the picture—I did clutch Jordan a bit. And one wooden post had nails which caught at my sweater as I moved away. It was by then dusk and growing chilly. Jordan froze on the levee and at the deck pond, and even sitting in the car I was chilled. But it all had a nice family feel to it. I’m waiting for the pictures—hope I wasn’t squinting.

And so tonight I’m going to wrap a few Christmas presents. Don’t judge. I will see some of my family at Thanksgiving—only a week and a half away—and not again before Christmas, so I will have to deliver two families worth of modest gifts then.

Nope, it’s not too early to think about Christmas. As we walked through the super hardware store in our neighborhood shopping center, headed for the post office at the back, we passed all kinds of Christmas things, and Jacob said, “I can’t wait for Christmas.” If a twelve-year-old can admit that, so can I at eighty. Bring it!

Togethery and Remembery

Santa was here

A friend sent me an e-card in which Pooh describes Christmas a s a ”togethery and remembery” kind of a day. It certainly was for my family—Santa was generous, the turkey and fixings delicious, the warmth and love abundant.

If you celebrated the day, I hope your celebration was a s bountiful as ours. And may 2018 bring ou health, happiness, and at least a smidgen of wealth.  I for one will be glad to see 2017 in the rearview mirror.

Laughter at a memorial service and great plans gone awry

At our cozy happy hour tonight

Oh, there were tears, but laughter also rang out at Trinity Episcopal Church this afternoon at the memorial service for Father Mart Gayland Pool, one of the kindest, most natural men I’ve ever met, a true gentleman. His good friend, Father Bruce Coggin, preached about Gayland’s generosity, curiosity, his sense of humor and his idiosyncrasies, and about the nature of life and death. A moving service, a fitting tribute, and a joyous send-off for a friend and much-respect member of the community.

Amye, the dog whisperer

with a mesmerized cricket

Tonight, I had great plans, a scene in mind that I intended to write. But two of Jordan’s close friends came for happy hour and I was easily distracted. We talked dogs and holiday traditions and memorial services—on my mind since I’ve been to two in the last six days. All this in front of the fire and Christmas tree. Lovely setting, good friends, pleasant evening.

And a pleasant day, including lunch with Carol and Lon. Memorial services are not exactly day-brighteners, but this was a true celebration of a life well lived. And once again tonight I am reminded how lucky I am that the “young” people—omigosh, they’re in their forties! —are so affectionate and open with me. Life is good, and for one day I don’t want to think about tax bills and sexual predators and fake news and what is happening to America.

Back to normal tomorrow, and I’ll write that scene. It will probably keep me awake all night. Sometimes when I have a scene in mind, I write it a hundred times in my head at night, as though I’m trying to remember it. But then when I go to actually write it, I often can’t remember the wonderful details of my nighttime version. Go figure.

Sweet dreams, everyone.

Some days don’t go as you planned

Another day at home all day in the cottage, but my mood was much improved over yesterday. Maybe it was because the sun was shining. I spent too much of the morning dealing with the busy-ness of life—a prescription bill from the mail-in pharmacy, a call to inquire about scheduling the eye surgery (no, in spite of a promise to call back before the end of the day, I have not heard from them), a call to my doctor’s office to renew prescriptions which they said were called in to the pharmacy (they weren’t, and it makes me nervous to go without cardiac drugs), a call to check on auto insurance (thanks to Colin, that one seems straightened out). All in all, a morning of frustration.

I did spend some time on my Christmas gift list—more frustration. I give several magazine subscriptions, and untangling which ones automatically renew and which don’t is a mammoth project. I made a little headway.

But I also edited two chapters on my WIP and did some thinking. It may sound pretentious or silly or something, but thinking is part of an author’s job. And I have figured out how to make two characters really fit in while eliminating one who just didn’t fit in. I threw him in one day in a spirit of making my thousand words a day, but he didn’t belong. Just didn’t have the oomph to deal with it in a fresh way tonight, and may not tomorrow because, gasp!, my social calendar is sort of full.

I confess I spent way too much time on Facebook these days. I enjoy the social camaraderie, like an exchange today with the daughter of a late and very treasured friend—can’t believe she’d just have turned 92. To me she is always in her seventies and forever young. But there is more to my focus and, as you can guess, it’s the ever-increasing tangle of the presidency, the investigations, and now the idiocy of Roy Moore’s candidacy for the Senate. Something new unfolds every few minutes, and I can’t bear to miss it.

Tonight, I thought I’d have the whole family for soup, but it turned out to be Jacob’s Bible study night and he had to rush. Then his parents both disappeared, and I fixed myself soup and salad, put dishes, soup and everything away. They appeared about nine for dinner, and we had a good visit. Life is, if nothing else, unpredictable.

CHRISTMAS DAY

It’s over. That fast. The gifts are neatly stacked in a corner, waiting for various recipients to take theirs. The living room is swept and vacuumed, and all the trash picked up. Dinner is done, dishes washed and put up—oops, it didn’t quite go that way around here. Years from now we may refer to it as the “Wipes Christmas” but the joke is still too raw, not funny.

The sewer is still backed up, or there’s a problem with the septic system. We used disposable bakeware as serving dishes and ate off paper plates Still delicious. And the grace was the same (thanks to TCU Pre-School some 45 years ago). And even though we didn’t have turkey, lethargy settled in. Lisa’s parents left to go home, and the rest of the family began to work on gingerbread houses which they are submitting to some contest.  I somehow got side-tracked worrying about taxes and began some explorations I should have begun a month ago. And made lists of things Colin and I should discuss tomorrow.

It had been a warm, sunny day so Colin took a break from sewer troubles to take the first dip in the pool—Morgan and Kegan followed but all three retreated to the hot tub pretty quickly.

Colin wanted to show me I’m all ready for a dip once my hip is fixed so he got out my bathing suit. I refused to model it, however.

I am actually making progress on the giant project I’m reading for aa university press—but no closer to a conclusion. And tonight I’m too sleepy. I’ve often felt that Christmas night households are full of people letting a giant “Whoosh” as all the piss and vinegar rushes out of them. And they go to sleep, as I’m going to do.

Which one would you vote for? A, B, C, or D?

Signing off

I didn’t sleep well last night—holiday anticipation?—and was awake in the early morning hours with weird thoughts. Woke about 7:30 in a funky mood but resolved to get rid of it and enjoy the day. And it worked remarkably well—the power of positive thinking.

Lovely lunch at Nonna Tata with dear friend Melinda, happy hour with good friends and a cheerful present exchange, followed by dinner at the Grill—our usual Tuesday night. Tonight everyone was in a jolly holiday mood, and it was fun. Plus I got quite a bit done today, including my back stretches, some Christmas emails, and the like. Still trying to get the January Poohbah together.

But tomorrow my family will gather—all sixteen of us—and I’m signing off blogging for the duration. Will be back Sunday or Monday night. Meantime I wish all you of you blessed holidays, no matter how and what you celebrate. I personally feel 2016 will be a good year, but I hope it is also a year in which the world makes some progress toward peace. For those of us who celebrate Christmas, let us remember the message is all about love, not war.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow—your God, my God. It doesn’t matter. Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, a Muslim holy day—we all embrace the same basic beliefs. Let us also embrace each other and live in peace.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Christmas Potluck

 

The Burtons and I co-hosted a small potluck Christmas supper tonight foe neighbors—that means Jordan did most of the work. The house looked festive and pretty, and she arranged a lovely antipasto tray with slider buns, cold cuts, cheese, pickles, olives and all that. Somebody brought a big tossed salad and someone else, a blood orange and red onion platter. Another friend had found a sweet potato recipe in the NYT she wanted to try—spiced with a bit of chile. My contribution was a vegetable ring made with Crescent Rolls and stuffed with broccoli, mushrooms, cream cheese, and cheese (okay I forgot the cherry tomatoes but it was too much filling anyway). It didn’t look as pretty as the recipe picture, but I had a fight with one tube of rolls. Could not get the blasted thing to open and in getting desperate, I messed up some of the rectangles. Still everyone ate almost all of it, so I judged it a success and will keep the recipe—with less broccoli and more tomatoes. We were a small group—still noisy, but I could hear and participate more in the conversation than I sometimes can. Sophie considers all these people her best friends and went from one to the other for tummy rubs and love. A thoroughly pleasant evening.

After everyone left, we cleaned up but I’m not very efficient at it. I can carry an item in one hand with my cane in the other, and after a while my back begins to hurt, so I have to sit down. I did sit in the dining room and remember that it hasn’t been too long since I would shoo everyone out and have the kitchen cleaned in fifteen minutes. My goal is to get back to that. Good as she is, Jordan shouldn’t have to do it all.

It’s amazing what a small comment can do for your attitude. Greg, the neighbor who does my lawn and thus visits with me almost every week, said, “You’re feeling better, aren’t you? You look like it.” My spirits were lifted, because in truth I woke from my nap today feeling better and more optimistic than I have in some time. And Sophie chose that time to jump up on the bed and cuddle next to me—and she’s not really a cuddly kind of dog. We lay there happily for twenty minutes or so.

Strange night-time prayer but I’m praying the electricity doesn’t go out tonight. It went out twice yesterday, and then last night was out from 1:30, when the clock stopped, until five or so in the morning. It doesn’t bother me, but it’s strange to wake in the night to total silence and blackness, and when I do wake I Iike to roll over and see what time it is, mostly so I know how much longer I can stay in bed. And it’s a nuisance to keep re-setting clocks and TVs.

You know how you get emails that say “sent from my iPad” or “sent from my phone”? This morning I found one asking about the power outage that said, “sent from my bathroom.” Gave me a good chuckle.

Thoughts of a worried Christian

We have to work harder this year to keep Christmas in our hearts and spirits, with all the hate surrounding us, here at home and abroad. I am appalled at news clips and photos of a mob protesting in front of a mosque, a pig’s head thrown at a mosque, a Muslim shopkeeper beaten for his religion.

The love, care and concern being expressed apparently aren’t as good news copy—you don’t see much about the $100,000 raised by American Muslims for the San Bernadino victims and their families. Nor do you see the outreach to the Muslim community by most of the diverse groups that make up America—the Jewish community, Hispanic organizations, and some Christian groups. To our shame, many of those angrily protesting at the mosque probably call themselves Christian.

I have always been frightened by Donald Trump and Ted Cruz, but now I am truly terrified—how can so many Americans support Trump’s blatant racism, his echoes of Hitler, Senator Joe McCarthy, and George Wallace. And why does he himself not realize he’s playing into the hands of ISIS, creating the division by which they will conquer? Ted Cruz is not far behind him (except in the polls) with his calls for carpet bombing. Yes, let’s kill thousands more innocent people to wipe out the small number of radicals.

Really, which is more frightening—a radicalized Muslim or a radicalized Christian?

A friend wrote in a post today that he feels that our country is so fraught with tension that it’s about to explode—and he obliquely predicted that explosion would come as civil war. It seems a possibility to me, and I think we cannot set back and let things unfold. We have to be proactive.

Meantime, we wrap gifts (I made good progress today), plan for holiday parties, and go about our lives as if the world was as peaceful as it was during Jimmy Carter’s administration—the only president who has not presided over a war.

I think we have to do more. I read a post with the headline, “What to do if a Muslim moves into your neighborhood.” The advice? Take them food, clothes, personal items, blankets—all the things they will need. Reach out and welcome them into the community. Sure, we all have to be watchful for suspicious behavior and not just from brown-skinned people who dress differently from us but everyone. But if we let suspicion and fear replace love and joy, we have lost the battle. We have to keep Christmas in our hearts.

Things that never happened—and one wonderful one that did

Today I got dressed twice in “go out into the world” clothes only to pull them off and get back into my T-shirt and flannel pants. My oldest daughter, Megan, and her family were here and made a point of wanting lunch at the deli. But by the time they had picked up her new car (the reason they came to Fort Worth) and picked up the son who had gone home with Jacob, they were running out of time and had to cancel lunch. Megan was as apologetic as she could be, and I wasn’t heartbroken. I just put that T-shirt back on and fixed the sauce for tonight’s dinner sandwiches.

I was making Italian tuna sandwiches on ciabatta rolls with a sauce of parsley, olive oil, capers, anchovy, and garlic. The sandwiches would have that wonderful Totino’s tuna in olive oil with hard-boiled eggs and watercress. So I got it all ready, put on my company clothes—and my guest never showed up. I had a half a tuna sandwich, store-bought, with cherry tomatoes and hearts of palm. I may see if Jordan will eat the sandwiches tomorrow. I had planned to make her baked eggs on a bed of artichoke hearts and topped with Parmesan, but she is leery of anything but scrambled or hard-boiled eggs. We’re to have brunch after early church when Jacob is an acolyte. I fear she won’t like either of my offerings.

Other than that, it’s been a wonderful twenty-four hours. Megan and her husband, Brandon, came in last night with their two boys, Sawyer and Ford. Ford and Jacob are best buddies and were ecstatic to be together. We went downtown to Del Frisco’s Grille on Sundance Square for dinner. I don’t go downtown often, so I had forgotten how magical and electric with energy it is, especially at Christmas time. I felt more alive and optimistic than I have in months. Just thoroughly enjoyed the evening, the company, the restaurant, everything. Probably had an extra glass of wine. We were all so tired we went to bed shortly after we got home.

So now, I’m home, reading a book for a competition I’ve agreed to be part of, and perfectly content. But I may want to go downtown again sometime soon. Fort Worth is a wonderful place to live. Much as I love Texas and its history, I just sometimes wish we weren’t in the most conservative, redneck state in the Uniion.

The geese are getting fat--and it's not even Thanksgiving yet!

I see all those cautions about not putting up Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving, and this year I can only laugh apologetically. I have felt so rushed, ever since I found out that most but not all of my family will be here the weekend of Dec. 6. We may do Alter Alternative Christmas--at the least I'll send their presents home with them. So I've been in a frenzy of baking, wrapping and decorating--far earlier than I normally would have, though I'm pretty compulsive about getting things done ahead of time.
One morning last week I wrapped a lot of presents, and Friday night I baked a Bundt cake to freeze. Saturday I went to the grocery, came home and made two pans of Toll House bars--it wore me out. The batter is stiff and hard to work with and though I softened the butter, blending four sticks of butter into three cups of sugar (brown and white) with a hand mixer is a challenge at best--I had dough bits all over the kitchen. I told Jordan next time she orders those she'll have to do the mixing. After I got them made and baked--with one pan not done in the middle, no matter that I left it almost twice as long and the edges were getting crisp--I was exhausted.
I spent the rest of yesterday being lazy. Cool, grey day, comfortably warm house, good book to read--Maya Corrigan's By Cook or By Crook, which I thoroughly enjoyed--and a long nap. It ended up a self-indulgent day and did wonders for my soul.
But of course I woke at four in the morning with thoughts of all I had to do. So today I almost finished decorating the house, separated out things that didn't need to be done by Dec. 6 (principally gifts wrapped) and made cookie dough, though I just didn't have the oomph to roll out the cookies--the dough is in the fridge for tomorrow. I realized I needed to pay attention to the writing end of my life. So I sorted through chili pictures and worked on the neighborhood newsletter. Once again ready for a nap, though Sophie decided to bark frantically at the rats in the attic during my nap--not restful.
Jordan is in Italy on a business trip (poor girl) so Christian and Jacob came for supper. I made hamburger Stroganoff, which wasn't as good as it sounded, and a good salad plus broccoli for Jacob because he loves it and won't eat salad. Christian worked on the greens and lights for over the door, and we sat and visited by the fire. Pleasant evening.
I've about given up on the novel I'm working on until I get this Christmas thing--and all those fat geese--in hand. But tonight I will go back and correct one scene. Where was my brain when I had a man, two days post-op from being shot in the belly, demand chicken fried steak? Rethink that one!
Have a good week everyone.
 

The holidays are upon us

November 6, and the holiday rush has begun. I feel it--shopping, wrapping, cooking to do. I have lists of lists and hope to start loading the freezer this weekend. And I have too long a list of people for whom I need creative gifts.
Tonight our local Ace Hardware had a "Girls Night Out"--wine (the young man wasn't exaggerating when he asked if we'd like a "little bit"), and minimal refreshments. Plus I think everything was discounted. One of the food stands was a demonstration area for some kitchen tools--including a really neat ceramic knife. Cut through tomato quickly and easily. Lifetime warranty. I was tempted, but in my kitchen it would get nicked and dinged, and it's fragile The store has developed quite a nice gift corner--everything from jewelry to toys--and I did pick up some gifts. Trouble is I got gifts for the four daughters in the family. And I already had their gifts. Got to work on the boys, big and little. Lines were long and slow, but it was a fun event and I saw a lot of women I know, many of whom I haven't seen in a while. So much standing though--my back was ready to sit when we got back into the car.
From there we went to Central Market for a "walkabout." There was an admission price with this one, and you got tickets for wine and seafood. The rest of the food was free--and sumptuous. There were sixteen food and drink stands and a map of them, along with a wine glass and a holiday entertaining guide that really urged you to use their products. It was crowded but not as hectic as the hardware, and we walked instead of having to stand in long lines. Saved me a trip to the market tomorrow--I needed few things and bought some I didn't need. Thanks to Mary Dulle for sharing an enjoyable evening--and driving the Boxter top down.
Now to tackle that pile of unwrapped present on the guest bed. Sunday I hope Jordan and Christian will come bring Christmas down from the attic. Busy time of the year. And just when I'm fired up about a writing project. But yes, I do plan ahead--a bit of OCD perhaps? So does Jordan. Megan says she missed that gene.

Post-Christmas retrospect

The Alters, minus two, on the Plaza--sunny day

Back to blogging. My blog vacation was actually a Christmas vacation in Santa Fe with all of my family--16 of us in one large contemporary house within walking distance of the Plaza. It made for wild and noisy good times, a boisterous Christmas morning, and a generally wonderful experience. Years ago, when my children were in high school and college, we spent every Christmas vacation in Santa Fe, and it was a city where I felt completely at home, as though I'd lived there in another existence. It's now been ten years since I've been there and even longer for the children, but there was a lot of "Remember when..." as they reacquainted themselves.
Skiing was a major attraction for all but three of us, though it didn't happen until Dec. 26th. We arrived late Sunday, fiddled on Monday, and went to brunch and walked the Plaza on Tuesday. I found some trinkets for this one and that and a lovely wall cross for Lisa. Fun, but after one walk around the Plaza in my awkward boot, I'd had enough. Besides it was cold.
I also chickened out of caroling on Canyon Road, but everyone else had a great time.

Caroling on Canyon Road

For folks like me, who travel to Santa Fe on their stomachs, we ate at Gabriele's, new to me but delicious--can't beat crab enchiladas. One morning all sixteen of us had brunch at LaFonda--the kids and adults both loved it. They split us into tables of eight--so much more manageable. Another night, we thought we had reservations at Guadalupe Café, long a favorite of ours, but when Megan called to say we were running late, whoever answered said, "We're not open for dinner." Big problem, but it wasn't. The Pink Adobe has bought Guadalupe--the latter serves breakfast and lunch, and the Pink Adobe had a private room waiting for us. Expensive, but oh so good. Melanie, Jordan and I went to Chimayo one day--they had never been to the Sanctuario and brought back more than their share of holy dirt. I found a few quiet moments to sit in that wonderful chapel and talk go the Lord about 2014 and pray for the people on my prayer list. Lunch at Rancho Chimayo was as good as always. I get tired of spicy food and was happy with an avocado filled with chicken salad. And, finally, the three of us found ourselves on the next ski day with Maddie (14) and Jacob (7) for company, so we had lunch at Harry's Roadhouse, where I love the meatloaf. Very carefully saved and protected half my large sandwich for the drive back--sad story. Jordan though I packed it, and she thought I did. No meatloaf. I ate a cold cuts sandwich--good but inferior!

Lot of cooking went on; here, Mel and Eden make banana pudding

 

Full time life for a week with one teen and six children is interesting. We have a ten, nine, eight, two sevens and a six. The have incredible energy, even after a day on the slopes, and are incredibly noisy. I think we had never before been in as spacious a house where they could run and play. I learned to take my hearing aids out. For me, much of the week was quiet--reading and doing miscellaneous at my computer--but I liked that. And I liked knowing I was in Santa Fe and looking out over the lights of the city at night. I was glad to be back home, and I'm grateful for the privileges and opportunities and loving family that I have.

Some of the noisemakers

 

There were down moments of course--it's hard to be the matriarch, and it's hard to be in a house where no one is in charge and everyone has their own idea of how and what to do. And the trip ended badly with an emergency hospitalization of my oldest son. But more about those things later. Now I prefer to dwell on the pleasant memories--and they are many.

Goodbye until the next time

(photo courtesy Lisa Alter)