An epiphany

My sweet Sophie

Several years ago I had a friend who had an epiphany every other day. No, not the religious meaning associated with Christianity, but the simpler definition of a sudden realization of momentous importance to your life. Such realizations often come in a very ordinary moment, like doing the dishes or mopping the floor. I’m not sure what I was doing—maybe napping because I seem to do a lot of that lately. But I suddenly realized that I have been in a funk without knowing it. I need, as they say, to get my groove back.

It began with my inability to settle down and read any book through to the end. Nothing grabbed me, spoke to me. For the last two weeks, I’ve started and abandoned maybe ten books, everything from mysteries to food-oriented nonfiction, some well-reviewed, others by authors I usually enjoy. I really did begin to worry that I was becoming a dilettante.

Then I realized I have not settled down to one writing project since the publication two months ago of Irene Deep in Texas Danger. I’ve dabbled with a memoir, though now I do have 6,000 words, but it is slow going, bouncing from my blog to remind myself what happened and back to the memoir to fit events and feelings into the story. I also started a new Irene story, Missing Irene, and wrote 4700 words before I put it aside. I’ve even been a bit lackadaisical about blogging. Perhaps the only thing I follow through on is cooking meals for family and friends.

So I started thinking about why. That’s how my mind works—I want to know why, what’s behind something. I’m not depressed so why am I not settling down to what I consider my work. Well, these are, as we all know, troubled times, and I feel obliged to keep up with what’s happening and, more than keeping informed, often comment on it. I think that’s the conscience of my father speaking through me. But if Greg Abbott signs a bill wiping out the water break requirement for construction workers, I think the voting public needs to know about it. And if Justice Sam Alito jets off to luxurious resorts with a rich businessman who has business before the Supreme Court and then denies knowing the man, I think we need to know about it. Right now I’m in suspenseful agony worrying about those people in that lost submersible (I once went in one, though it hovered just below the surface—my children thought at the time I was extraordinarily brave but in retrospect I think it was those Carribbean rum drinks). Never again. But I am appalled at the heartless attitude some people are taking. My prayers are with those five souls.

And emails—I get 150-200 emails a day. Last night my friend Mary told me she was cleaning out her emails. She had a backlog of something like 250,000. I was absolutely appalled. I never go to bed with an unread email, and once I read it, I either answer, discard, or file. I deal with it. Back in the day when business was transacted on paper, the mantra was if you pick up a piece of paper, never just put it back down: deal with it. The same applies to emails, to me, though I realize not everyone is as compulsive as I am. My emails keep me in touch with friends, other writers, blogs, and miscellaneous pieces of news. I enjoy them.

But my point here is that it takes me most of every morning to deal with what’s come in on my computer overnight, and by the time I do I am often distressed, tired, angry, whatever. And then I turn to my writing. I need to reverse things: write first, social media later, but old habits are hard to break. Maybe I turn first to emails because I’m expecting something wonderful, like a letter from “The Millionaire.” (His money wouldn’t go very far today).

And then, it’s been a rough year for my family. We’ve lost Christian’s mother and for a while I was afraid of losing my brother. His recovery, if it is that, is slow, and I am still worried about him. I spent a difficult two months thinking every day with my beloved Sophie might be the last. She is doing so much better now, but there are ongoing medical concerns. And the Burtons had to say goodbye to one of their dogs. Maybe I’m just reeling from family trauma. And now it’s summer in Texas, hot and uninspiring.

I don’t think, however, pinning a label on anything fixes it. It’s up to me to dig myself out of this hole. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. So watch for me, I hope, to be more dedicated about my work, to take fewer really long naps, to get my act in gear.

Oops, it’s time to cook dinner for the family. But I think I feel better already. Thanks for listening.

 

Twelfth Night, neighbors, and an ongoing tradition

My family has along tradition of celebrating Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, with a roaring fire in the fireplace. Each person, in turn, throws a small sprig of evergreen into the fire and makes a wish for the coming year. If you tell your wish, it will not come true. A Chicago neighbor, who was like an aunt, started that when I was very young. I have no idea if she made it up or where she got the idea. I’ve heard of other Epiphany traditions—King’s Cake, for instance—but never heard of anyone else burning branches.  What it could have to do with the arrival of the three kings at the stable in Bethlehem is beyond me, but I like traditions.

I kept it going with my children when they were young, and we’ve done it with Jacob every year, I think. In recent years, Jordan, Christian, and I have included a few neighbors, as we did last night. Jordan had a lengthy list of friends, but several declined for various reasons, so there we were ten of us. The evening was pleasant, only a little chilly, and the Burtons have a new (to them) outdoor firepit, so we burned our branches on the front porch.

Every Christmas Jordan longs for the chocolate chip bars I always made for my annual tree trimming party. It’s been at least four years since I’ve given that party, so it’s been four years she’s been talking about it. So for last night, nothing would do but I had to make those bars. It was always a project, but more so in my tiny kitchen. The dough is like chocolate chip cookie dough only much stiffer—to make bars instead of cookies. I took it as far as I could but had to call Jordan for the final stirring.  My arms have lost strength, and I mostly cook from my Rollator which makes an awkward  angle for heavy-duty stirring. By the time Jordan came to help me, I was covered with flour and had a good smear of chocolate across my chest. Not only that but I had dropped a whole egg on the floor—it literally jumped out of my hand.

            The chocolate chip bars were a hit, the firm warm and cheering, the wishes silent – I’ll never tell! Even Sophie got to be part of the festivities though neighbor Greg, who ended up with her, said it was apparent she doesn’t spend much time on a leash. After the ceremonial burning, we sat in the living room and caught up with each other’s news.

Chalk the evening up as another nice memory.

Twelfth Night…an evening of near misses and goodbye to Christmas lights

I’m sure I’ve told this story before, but my family marks Epiphany in a way I’ve never heard of anywhere else. We each take a small branch of the Christmas tree and throw it on the fire, making a wish for the coming year. The youngest person starts, and the rotation goes by age (I’m always last). When I was a child, we had neighbors that I considered my aunt and uncle. They spoiled me outrageously, bought at least half the clothes I wore, and generally made me the daughter they’d never have. She, Auntie E., introduced my family to this custom. Auntie E. was a devout Catholic, so I doubt this came from her religious background. Who knows? It’s just a nice custom, one that I hope someday Jacob will carry on with his family. The other grandchildren are never around on Twelfth Night.

Tonight, as always, we had our burning ceremony, but it was a little abbreviated. Jordan and Christian had a big “event” to go to, so we gathered at five. The hostess declared it was a one-drink party, and indeed, I was back in my cottage by 5:45. In recent years, neighbors Jay and Susan, Phil and Subie have joined us, and that was the plan this year, But Susan was riding the horse she’s training—or the horse that’s training her. As we gathered, Subie and Phil texted that they were on their way to the emergency vet with Phil’s retired seeing-eye dog, Santiago, who had eaten some arthritis medicine. Jordan said it looked like they wouldn’t join us at all, so we proceeded with our twig burning. I tried twice, hit behind the fire once, to the side the other time (I’m getting self-conscious about this) so Jacob picked up my branch and threw it in the flames Does that count? Will my wish come true? Shhh I’ll never tell what it was.

Subie and Phil had planned to join me in the cottage for supper. In fact, they were bringing the supper. I had meant to fix shakshuka, a Tunisian dish of eggs in a tomato sauce. I think Subie feared that would leave Phil hungry, so she was going to bring left-over chicken divan. In their absence I made myself a big salad and buttered some baguette slices. Jacob still hasn’t checked in for supper, but I’ve told him I have a cereal he likes. He’s happily watching a movie.

Supper was therefore a near-miss. The cheese spread I tried was a total miss. Sounded so good—grated cheddar, sour cream, a bit of wine, horseradish. I bought potato chips to dip it. First of all, it was too runny; second, it just wasn’t good. Overnight in the fridge didn’t help it at all. Not even a recipe I could fiddle with to improve. It goes in the trash.

My next near miss was my computer. With a solitary evening, I planned to blog, finish the book I’m reading online, check Facebook. The computer wouldn’t turn on. In retrospect, I think the problem was my impatience—I turned it on; not sure I turned it on, I repeated and got to the point I wasn’t sure if I was turning it on or off. Finally, after a frantic call to Brandon, computer genius/son-in-law, I walked away from it. It turned on, and all is well. Another near miss.

As I write I still have no word on Santiago. He’s a twelve-year-old lab, a sweet, loveable, goofy guy who is an incurable food thief. I can’t imagine that the arthritis medicine tasted very good, but Santiago’s palate is apparently all-forgiving. Fingers crossed, payers said that this too is a near miss.

Theoretically, tonight is the last night for Christmas lights. I’m as scornful as anyone of people who leave their lights on in February. Jordan and Christian will have to take their tree down sooner rather than later because it is very dry. I am strangely reluctant to give up the small artificial tree in the cottage and the lighted glass brick, but I will. Still, I’m going to keep the scattered green lights that sparkle like a screen outside my French doors. I may just keep them all year.

Snow, an outdoor fire, and wishes for the new year

January 6, 2017

Few things excite a North Texas child more than snow—any kind of snow. Today it began to sleet lightly at noon, quit for a while, and then began to snow. Soft white flakes drifted down off and on. The caretaker who was here was fascinated. But Jacob had the most fun. He hung his hammock in the back yard, right across the sidewalk between the house and the cottage. Then he lay in it and watched the snow come down. He even looked happy as he swept snow off the deck.

I’m back to work on my own writing, and it’s a good feeling. I had “starts” on four manuscripts so my first chore was to settle on one t work on. I tried that a month or so ago and couldn’t concentrate. But I apparently have renewed energy because I settled on one that had the most words—but that wasn’t the deciding factor. This is a sequel and involves Susan of The Perfect Coed in the controversy over open carry—oh, yes, of course there’s a murder early in the book. At this point I’m just re-reading what I wrote months ago, but my mind is whirling with ideas, and I’m making lists—something I don’t normally do. Other writers use elaborate outlines, post-it notes, and all kinds of aids to keep them on track. I’m making a list of characters—sometimes I get way into it and think, “Now what was the sheriff’s name?” The other list I’m keeping is of threads—red herrings are one thing, but you can’t leave them hanging so I’m going to keep track.

This sounds egotistical and I certainly don’t mean it that way but as I read I’m thinking, “Wow! This isn’t half bad!” and I’m pleased with how complicated it is, the number of threads. As my mentor/friend Fred would say, “Onward and upward.”

Tonight is 12^th Night, Epiphany, the night the wise men brought their gifts to the manger. It is a big celebration in many other countries but in the US we tend to pass it by. My family, however, has always celebrated with our own tradition. It is our custom that each person throw a small pine twig in the fire and make a wish. You can tell no one your wish, and woe betide you if your branch misses the fire--that happens more often than you think.                                                                          

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        your .

We invited five couples to light branches with us—two were going to Dallas, illness kept another away, and the last one went home and crawled into bed by six o’clock.  But some of Jordan’s girl friends came by for happy hour and stayed to burn branches so there were nine of us. Usually we do this in the fireplace but it was disconnected during construction so the burning was in the brazier on the patio. Very cold tonight, so I commissioned Jacob to throw my branch on the fire—getting me bundled up is a chore for Jordan and hardly seemed worth it for ten minutes. I saw inside and watched the jolly scene—and there was lots of laughter.

May your secret wish for 2017 come true, whatever it may be. And may your days be as pleasant as my last two have been.

An Epiphany family tradition

Jacob, having just successfully burned his branch
Photo by Subie Green, with Phil green in the background

It’s almost eerie to me the number of people I see on Facebook and in emails who are eager to bid 2015 goodbye and anxious to welcome 2016, with the belief that it will be a whole new year, a whole new chance at health and happiness. I count myself among those, for 2015, as I’ve said before, was not a particularly happy year for me. So I join the ranks, but it makes me wonder just what so bad was going on in 2015.

Tonight is Epiphany, marking the arrival of the Wise Men with gifts for the baby Jesus. We have a strange family custom which doesn't seem to share much with the Bibical story. When I was a child, we had a neighbor who was an adopted aunt to me. She would invite us to their house on Twelfth Night to burn a branch of evergreen. Auntie E. was always elegantly dressed, usually in a hostess gown, and served luscious treats, though now I can’t remember what they were. I just remember it as a formal occasion, and one I treasured. The tradition she fostered was that each of us threw a small piece of greens on to the fire and made a secret wish for the new year. Of course, you couldn’t tell anyone what your wish was.

I’ve carried that tradition over to my family. My kids looked forward to it as children, and now I carry it on with Jordan and her family and a couple of neighbors. Tonight we did it as happy hour with snacks. I can’t remember from year to year what order we do it in, but tonight it was oldest to youngest. So I threw the first small branch in—it didn’t light but Jordan pushed it in until it blazed, so I guess my wish will come true. There were six of us, and each followed by age—with great cheers when a branch blazed immediately. The last of course was Jacob, who enjoys this immensely. When I look at the photo of him above, I think what a rich tradition he is growing up with--not just Epiphany but almost ass aspects of his life.

Me, with Phil's seeing eye dogs, one retired--gentle giants
Sophie, meanwhile, was a pill, peed on the floor right in front of me
I think it was called "Notice me"
Photo by Subie Green

I guess whether or not you believe in this small ceremony—I have no idea of its origins or even if they go beyond my aunt—but maybe wishes do come true. Anyway, I hope for all who look toward 2016 as a better year, that that wish indeed does come true.

Epiphany--the Christmas season is done

We celebrated Epiphany tonight, the night that legend tells us the Wise Men arrived at the manger, having followed the Star. It's a wonderful tale--you can see them in your mind, bowing down before the babe, awestruck by his holiness. My church does an annual Boar's Head Festival celebrating both the birth of Christ and the medieval banishment of evil. The arrival of the Wise Men is always one of the most dramatic moments.
In my family, we have a tradition that began who knows where? Probably in the imagination of a neighbor/aunt when I was a child. But I've carried it on with my own children and now with at least one grandchild. Each individual throws a small evergreen branch into the fire and makes a wish. It's done by age, though we couldn't remember if the eldest went first or the youngest. Clearly, there's no question about which is which--I am the eldest, and Jacob is the youngest. I went first, threw my branch too far back, and it didn't light. I was given another twig and it burned, but I really think that's cheating. Of course, you can't tell anyone what your wish was. But I think mine will come true anyway. Of course I'm very curious what Jacob wished but I'll never ask.
We had vegetable soup--easiest group dinner I've ever fixed--but still by the time I set the table, cleaned up from last night, did a laundry, emptied the garbage, made a delicious smoked salmon spread, made the soup, etc., I was exhausted. I woke up tired today and never got over it. Looking forward to an early bedtime tonight. Since this is the tail end of the holiday season, I got out my plaid china (it's red and green) and used green place mats. All festive looking. I'll get my groove back on tomorrow.
Once again, my wish for you is everything you want 2015 to be. I feel in my bones it's going to be a good year--but then I wonder how much damage the Republican Congress can do!

Just what Sunday should be

My marinated veggies, ready to give as gifts

 

Today was everything a Sunday should be. Went to 11:00 church--wore my high tops, after a moment's pause, but as I left an older woman (probably my age) commented how much she liked them. I said I'd worried about wearing them to church, and she said good for you! The text and sermon were about the Wise Men and their gifts. Since Epiphany is Tuesday night, I hoped Jacob heard at least part of the message, so he'd understand why we celebrate...and what we celebrate: the gift of our dedication to God.
Home for lunch, kitchen work--bottled my marinated veggies, emptied the dishwasher, set the table--and then a good long, deep nap. I thought the Burtons would be here about six--they didn't arrive until almost seven because they'd been watching the Cowboys game in a local hangout. Not a good excuse in my book, but we all made nice, had happy hour--I pulled some blue cheese ball out of the freezer. And then dinner--the spaghetti I'd labored over last night and simmered all day today. Good, if I do say so myself. Jacob, the little pill, refused to eat green noodles with butter. I used a recipe I've used many times before--just never noticed it called for green noodles.
Now, at ten o'clock, the dishes are done, the dog is fed, and I'm sleepy. Reading a book I don't like at all, so don't know how long I'll last tonight.
School starts tomorrow, I have lunch plans every day but Monday, dinner plans three days--we're back into the whirl of usual activities. Almost seems the holidays were more calm. Cold weather all this week.