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.

More chutney, some awesome Christmas lights, and a sense of caution

My Christmas orchid towering over Serenity with her poinsettia headdress.
I feel as though I live in a greenhouse.
So wonderful!

My project of the day was a second batch of chutney—this the cranberry/apricot. I think I perfected my technique, because it didn’t take me nearly as long, and I think the chutney is better. Yesterday, I let it thicken too much—good flavor but not so great on the consistency.

Tonight, I went to Pacific Table with three longtime friends. We try to have dinner together fairly frequently, but tonight was in celebration of Subie’s early December birthday. Okay, we were a bit late. We also had a small Christmas gift exchange, and I was thrilled with the book Carol gave me on dairy restaurants. She purchased it at New York’s Tenement Museum, Author Ben Katchor traces the history of these establishments, originally begun to cater to kosher laws which required the separation of meat and milk products. Eventually, some critics claim, the dairy restaurants morphed into Dairy Queen and similar chains. The book has wonderful, humorous illustrations, and I look forward to digging into it.

Subie brought me a beautiful orchid, of a color I’ve not seen—sort of off-white, but with pale striations that almost make it look like the blossoms are of thin wood. And Kathie contributed a jigsaw puzzle which should be great fun at our family get-together.

Lovely evening. I ordered my usual—Caesar salad with fried oysters. Pacific Table has hands down the best Caesar salad in town, and the fried oysters are so well seasoned you shouldn’t even think of cocktail sauce. The restaurant was, however, a bit noisy.

On the way home, I mentioned that I’d been told that the light display at Cook Children’s Hospital was spectacular, so we detoured—and were delighted that we did. It is an absolute fairyland, wonderful to see. Cars slowly drove by—and a parked limo blocked traffic, making a minor jam, but I guess if you can afford a stretch limo you don’t care.

I came home to the realization that I need to get my neighborhood newsletter out the door first thing in the morning, so I spent much of the evening proofreading and following up on odds and ends.

These are the days of anticipation. For many, they are frantic days, worrying how you’ll ever get everything done. For some of us, like me, everything seems done, so you worry about what maybe you haven’t done. And you don’t want to start anything new because…well, Christmas is just around the corner.

A sense of—how to say it? Caution? Dread? —hung over us at the dinner table tonight, because we all feel we are headed into another severe Covid season. Of course, there’s a good reason we feel that way—it’s predicted all over the media. So, we talked about maybe having to go back to patio parties and small—what was the word? Hives? Coveys? That small group you felt comfortable socializing with. We all seemed to feel we were headed to mandates (which doesn’t bother any of us), masks (doesn’t bother us either, though I don’t hear as well when people speak through a mask), and perhaps school closures. I am the only one closely affected by that, because I am the only one lucky enough to live with a grandchild. For his sake, I hope schools don’t close—he hated his year at home but bore it with good grace; on the other hand, I want to keep him safe. And my six other grandchildren, scattered as they are. Always a dilemma.

At any rate, when people toast, as we did tonight, to making 2022 a better year than 2020 or 2021, I have some hesitation. For my own part, I survived quarantine nicely, pretty much with spirits intact, and I would expect and hope to do so again. And you should see all the toilet paper Jordan has secreted away on a high shelf in my closet. What was that phrase a while back? “Buckle up, Buttercup. It may be a rough ride.”

What a downer way to end a Christmas blog! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all, and for just this brief time, put Covid and abortion and politics and warfare out of your mind, and enjoy the season.

A memorable weekend

 

My four loves

I have been silent and out of pocket because we went to Austin for a long weekend and a long-delayed get-together with most of the Alter clan—all four of my kids, five of the seven grandchildren, one wife, and one husband. We were missing two grandchildren, one wife, and one husband—and they were sorely missed.

The minute we arrived Thursday night, Jacob was swept up into who knows what with his two Austin cousins, and the same happened the next day when Kegan arrived from Tomball. The four reminded me of classic pictures of the Beatles as they trooped in and out of the house. Sawyer, now 17, drove them everywhere, and I know they loved being on their own. Two of my three granddaughters could not come because of other commitments, but when Eden, the only girl among them, arrived, the boys happily included her in their activities.

The grands--four boys and a girl

We ate extraordinarily well—no surprise there. A fish dinner at a neat restaurant called Monger’s, another supper of grilled pork sandwiches with aioli, and a Mexican night with Bob Armstrong dip from Matt Martinez. And cake—chocolate with chocolate icing, yellow with chocolate icing, and some kind of coconut (obviously I stick to double chocolate).

Megan found sleeping space for most of us--the teenage boys bunked together, I got a bed in the office, and Jordan and her brothers stayed in the cabana. (Jamie's wife and daughter only stayed one night and the three of them were in a motel, but Jamie stayed in the cabana after they left.) Jordan reports many hijinks--the boys had a drum contest with snares and bass, seeing how much noise they could make, and Jamie threw on a sheet and tried to scare Jordan as a ghost. It didn't worked, but she laughed a lot. This was all at one a.m. So much fun that my grown kids can still hang out and fool around--and no, nobody else heard the drums.

We were celebrating all the birthdays and graduations we missed during pandemic, but because my birthday was the most recent, I got extra gifts—what every girl wants for her kitchen: a new garbage can. But its one of those where you wave a hand and it opens like magic, and I think it has a charcoal filter. I am so tired of smelly garbage. But I am doubly proud to announce that I am now a Scottish landholder—I own one square foot in Dumfermline Parish in the Scottish Highlands—yep, I have a fancy certificate to prove it! You may now call me Lady Judy.

A highlight of the trip for me was seeing Megan and Brandon’s new house. They tore down their 1940s cottage which had been randomly (and inefficiently) added to and built a new and very modern house on the same footprint. Stucco outside and white walls inside with lots of large windows, it has clean, smooth lines, no clutter, lots of art, separate bedrooms for the boys and a common room for them to watch TV or hang out with friends. The kitchen, much like the one they had installed ten years ago or so, has a long marble slab which seats at least six—perfect for gathering and talking while Megan cooks, which she does often and well. 

Most remarkable to me though were small architectural touches for efficiency—light switches that are at the height of fingertips and not up on the wall where they interfere with artwork (and there is new, stunningly modern art work throughout the house, including a skateboard painted silver and bearing one word: Impeach), window shades that automatically go down at a certain time in the evening, desks that can be raised to a standing position or lowered to the traditional seated height with the touch of a button, a guest bath with a shelf under the sink for towels, etc., and a neat bar for hanging towels—perfect also for hanging my travel kit. Hidden storage spaces are everywhere, and a laundry chute lets the boys drop their clothes right on top of the washing machine. Everything is designed for efficiency—perfect for a busy family with two high schoolers and two working parents. And yet it is as attractive as any layout from Architectural Digest. I'm strictly an old-house person, but I loved this--as did Jacob who is drawn to modern.

Megan's house, from my favorite perch
with Megan at her computer
That's my computer in the foreground--I set up an office

Home today. We came the back way—183 to 281 to Cleburne and up the Chisholm Trail—to avoid the construction traffic jam in Waco. And unheard of for Texas in August—we ran into rain. Brief but intense cloudbursts, with threatening skies all around us. We could see rain in the distance when we weren’t right in it. Jordan did a masterful job of not only driving but figuring out which way the storms were headed and pretty much skirting them.

And so we are home, hungry and happy, after a truly great weekend. I know I’ve said it before, but I am so blessed with family.

Christian took great care of the dogs, and Sophie got to be in the main house.
The first day he sent this picture with this explanation: Reporting for duty, Sir. 8:30 a.m.
The house is secure, but I will continue to monitor the situation.

The Day after Christmas

 

The best-laid plans of mice and man

Gang oft agley

                             --Robert Burns

That was me last night, with the best intentions of posting that I hoped everyone had as marvelous a Christmas as we did. Here at the Alter/Burton compound, Jordan worked tirelessly for days to make sure we had a great holiday—she baked, she decorated, she wrapped, she set a fine table. We truly owe her a shower of blessings for helping us keep the meaning of Christmas in this odd and strange year.

Our festivities truly began with Christmas Eve supper—a table set with red chargers, the gold-and-white china, and bright red wine goblets. We had my splurge—lobster pot pies. They were tinier than I expected but rich and good with chunks of claw meat, not the shredded you might have expected. After dinner, we took a break—I took a nap!—and we converged again at the cottage a little before eleven to be part of the candlelight service from University Christian Church.

"Attending" the candlelight service
in the cottage

Jordan lined the walk from the house to the cottage with luminaries, turned out the outdoor lights, and gave us our very own touch of Santa Fe. For several years, we used to walk Canyon Road in Santa Fe, admiring the luminaries, partaking of cider and chocolate offered by some residents, and singing heartily. I remember getting really cross with my almost-grown children once because they made a buffoonery of the carols which, to me, are so special. When I was a child, we sang traditional carols at every service during December. Not so much anymore, and I missed some—until UCC sent a 15-minute video with wonderful renditions of “The First Noel,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and even the Wassail song.

Luminaries

Christmas morning began early—Jacob may be a sophisticated fourteen-year-old, but he’s still anxious for presents. We opened stockings and some gifts while a breakfast casserole cooked, took a break for breakfast (with eggnog with real nog in it) and then returned to the tree, all in front of a nice, comforting fire. For Jacob, it was a golf and clothing Christmas—as he said, he now has a more-than-adequate supply of golf balls. Santa was good to me bringing me many of the things I wanted—comfortable clothes and warm pajamas, footlets that stray on my feet. My brother, who announced I had enough ponchos, gave me a dental WaterPik because he swears by them. Jordan’s big surprise for Christian was a sushi maker (which hasn’t arrived) and all the “fixings”—sticky rice, soy wrappers, etc.

We had Christmas happy hour on the patio with Jean—a beautiful day. And then Christmas dinner brought another of Jordan’s lovely place settings—this time green chargers and the Christmas Spode china. She cooked much of the day, fixing twice baked potatoes, corn casserole, mac and cheese. We had a smoked turkey, and more of the eggnog—and I

found I was really tired. Don’t you feel that way after a big holiday? A post-Christmas letdown.

As I write this, I am acutely aware of the people in our country and the world who are not as blessed as we are—those whose jobless benefits run out today, those who cannot make both the grocery bill and the rent, those living in refugee camps and war-torn areas throughout the world. Now, as the poem by Howard Thurman says, begins the work of Christmas: To find the lost, To heal the broken, To feed the hungry, To release the prisoner, To rebuild the nations, To bring peace among others, To make music in the heart.

I am also aware I’ve been on vacation for a bit. I’m used to “losing” most of November and December as far as any meaningful writing goes. Somehow the anticipation of Christmas and the work involved—the cooking, the wrapping, and so forth—messes with my work ethic. This year, since we were having a pared-down Christmas should have lessened the pre-holiday tension, but somehow it didn’t. It was different but still distracting. So now, for me, a couple of days to straighten the cottage, hang up the new clothes, and write the thank-you notes, and then it’s back to work.

Today, I’m counting my blessings—family, faith, the comfort of my home, the company of my dog, the blessing of meaningful work. I pray for all of us that the promise of a new administration and the hope of a vaccine bring a new year that will enable us to move beyond the trials of 2020.

God bless us, everyone!

 

A December day in Texas

‘Twas  a dark and stormy night—oops, no. I got carried away. It was a cold morning, slightly damp, and most discouraging. Another good day to stay in. Makes me think how fortunate I am to have that choice to make and to have enough “busyness” at home to keep me happy.

Though I confess I’m not that busy. A neighbor posted a picture of herself making a face on Facebook—not a happy face—and wrote that was what she thought of folks who have their Christmas shopping done, presents wrapped. Shhh! Don’t tell her, but I am one of those. There are still a couple of presents that have me biting my nails to see if they’ll arrive in time—one for a gathering tomorrow night, and I’m losing hope on that one even though the tracking says between the 16^th and 20^th. Another gift I thought perfect for old and dear friends in Omaha has apparently disappeared into a black hole. It may brighten their days in the dark of February.

Jordan and I are compulsive list makers—it’s a gene that Megan happily confesses she missed. But we have lists of groceries to be bought tomorrow, groceries at the end of the week, who’s cooking what when we all get together, what we’re having for dinner each night that all seventeen of us will be under one roof—yikes! Melanie even did a spread sheet, and to my alarm it read, “Breakfast on your own.” I asked Jordan to put cottage cheese on the shopping list.

Meanwhile, today I did odds and ends—some author-like chores, including looking for a picture I’ve had trouble locating and getting what head start I could on my neighborhood newsletter—but mostly Christmas. I’ve wrapped the last three presents (excluding those not yet arrived), written a few Christmas cards, figured out what to do about the last person on my list. My wrapped Christmas presents are pitiful—if you’ve seen that ad where a youngster about five holds forth in a hardware store and in one climactic moment hands a customer a clumsily wrapped gift with paper going every which way, you know what my packages look like. I strive for tight, neat corners, but somehow, I never get there. My daughters’ packages are always neat and square with fantastic bows, while I confine myself to red yarn. And, really, I like gift bags the best.

A lovely letter from an elementary school friend—we also went to church together for years—cheered me today. She and I share a love of Lake Michigan, and we’ve reunited on Facebook—one of the great pleasures of social media—but we’ve never directly communicated before. Now we share hip troubles—she is scheduled for January surgery—and I have been encouraging her about the benefits, not negative aspects, of a walker. She wrote of her appreciation, and I was grateful. It’s the season for spontaneous and unexpected communication, whatever we can do to bring a little joy into someone else’s life—not just those who need joy, but those who don’t expect to hear from us. The unexpected always brings special pleasure.

Tonight I ate the last of the coffee beef stew—even better tonight. The recipe called for three bay leaves, and by golly, I got all three in my modest portion tonight. And then Scottish shortbread from the gift basket the neighborhood association brought me in appreciation for my work on the newsletter. It’s also a bountiful season.

As we move into Christmas week, I am continually struck by how timely the theme of the message from our church is: “Be not afraid.” The words of the Angel to Mary, and the words to Joseph as he considered marriage to a young woman already pregnant. Those word have great meaning in our day and age, when fear is all around us, and we must fight to prevent it from shaping our lives. Be not afraid—the Lord is with us.

Keeping Christmas

Today is St. Nicholas Day, but it still was a surprise to me to find a beautiful poinsettia, a bottle of wine, and various goodies on the front porch. We have a delightful new neighbor who had told me to be sure to put my shoes on the front porch last night for St. Nicholas to fill with treats. I laughed and assured her I was too old for his treats, but she replied, “You never know.” And sure enough, St. Nicholas apparently doesn’t discriminate by age.

My new neighbor is a busy, stay-at-home mom to four children, two of whom she home schools. She’s a terrific and inventive cook, and she’s undertaken a lot of the renovation of their new-old home herself. I’m not sure she never sleeps.

Last night, the entire family—mom, dad, and four children—went through the neighborhood, leaving Christmas bags at homes of friends. Other treats went in the mail. According to my neighbor, her kids think this is the best part of Christmas.

With  the children’s help, she filled 88 bags with treats. Each student at the small parochial school one child attends was told to put their shoes outside their classroom—sure enough, Saint Nicholas visited the school.

At home, this family keeps Christmas without the commercial aspct. The children get their gifts today, not on Christmas Day when the focus is more on the Holy Infant. This morning, stockings were all full, but she reported that the at-home kids walked by without noticing. Tonight, they’ll pull goodies out of those stockings. Each child will get pajamas, socks, books, candy, and an age-appropriate analog watch. In her words, “No flashy gifts here. That’s a no way for my kids.”

Her whole approach to Christmas gave me pause as I considered the rapidly growing pile of gifts in my bedroom and the time and money I’ve spent figuring out what each of the sixteen might want. Or when I think back to my children’s early years when plenitude was the code of the day. My children’s father was Jewish, so we celebrated Hanukah and Christmas both. The religious celebration got lost in the logistics. I actually had charts—not smart enough for a database—for what each child got on each of the eight days of Hanukah and on Christmas Day. And Christmas morning was liable to be something elaborate, like the set of over-size Tinker Toys that Santa had made into a house big enough for all four of my angels.

And then there was the memorable year they found my stash in the guest room closet Ruined Christmas for them, they admitted.

My anticipation for this Christmas is high—we will all sixteen be together, and Christmas morning we’ll rip through a mountain of gifts with lightning speed. Gone is the lovely, drawn-out tradition of my childhood where we had a big breakfast before opening gifts and then opened one at a time, each person respectfully watching to see what someone else got. Of course, there were only four of us—not sixteen. I barely succeed in keeping them from opening everything on Christmas Eve. If you did that, what would you do Christmas morning?

But as we race through the present opening, I will be thinking of the way my new neighbors keep Christmas. May your Christmas be blessed with love that outweighs the commercialism.

Gearing up for the holidys—and a sour note

“I heard a bird sing in the dark of December/A magical thing. And sweet to remember/We are nearer to Spring than we were in September/I heard a bird sing in the dark of December.”

― Oliver Herford

One of my favorite lines of poetry. Thanks to “Texas Booklover” on Facebook for bringing it to attention this holiday season.

I have a friend who spent Thanksgiving in Santa Fe. When someone asked what they did there, the reply was, “Well, we pretty much eat a meal and then sit around and talk about where we’re going to the eat the next meal.” To me, that’s pretty much what happens in the holiday season as well as in Santa Fe.

I’ve been dragging one foot reluctantly out of Thanksgiving, still eating turkey-and-blue cheese sandwiches, reheated potato casserole and green bean casserole. Even served a raggedy chunk of cheeseball for happy hour last night. Today, I think I’ll pretty much clean up the leftovers, except maybe for the cranberry cake that turned out to be a delightful surprise. Thanks to a neighbor for the recipe—you can watch for the recipe tomorrow in my “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” column. And yes, I baked it in my toaster oven.

But I’m also looking ahead to all food that speaks of Christmas. Spent a long, happy time last night paging through the December issue of Southern Living and cut out lots of recipes, half of which I will never make. I mean, really, who around here do I think will eat roasted oysters  with bacon-saltine topping? And do I really think I’m extravagant enough to serve beef tenderloin crostini or an eight-pound standing rib roast? Jamie, whose birthday is in January, loves prime rib but he rarely comes home for a birthday dinner. No, beer-cheese fondue is probably more my speed. Or maybe the family would like a good, old-fashioned trifle.

Meantime we have to eat until the big day—or week. Some restaurants are on my calendar—I had a lovely lunch yesterday at Nonna Tata, though my friends chided me for ordering potato salad at an Italian restaurant. “Where,” they demanded, “is the pasta?” Tonight I’ll have a low-key, early dinner with a good friend, and tomorrow night it’s a happy hour birthday celebration at a Clearfork restaurant. I’ll be ready to stay home and wrap packages this weekend. Sunday dinner? I’m thinking a Mexican casserole.

The other all-consuming December occupation of course involves gifts—buying and wrapping. It rarely makes me friends when I announce that my shopping is done, but it mostly is. I think only one grandson is a hold-out. And I have wrapped three gifts—a start. Being as compulsive as I am, I plan to spend this weekend wrapping. Trouble is that in the cottage, there’s precious little room for all those packages. I’d put them on the couch, but Sophie would bat them onto the floor when she wants to sleep there. She barely tolerates the Christmas pillow and bunny, although this morning when I got up, she was wrapped around that bunny. I wasn’t fast enough to get a picture.

A decidedly un-holiday-like sour note this morning. We had a leak in our water meter box, on our side of the meter (of course! it’s never on the city side!). The plumber has “patched” it—his word—but warns that the next leak will probably mean replacing pipe (and digging up the lawn) all the way to the house. He speculates the pipe is original to the house, which makes it almost a hundred years old. As I count my blessings, I’m grateful that we can fix this without cancelling Christmas. I know that would be the choice in many households.

Christmas seems like a dream

A lazy group--look at the logs in those walls!

 

Here I am, sitting at my computer in my office at home, and the last five days seem like a delicious dream. I spent them with all fifteen of my family in a log cabin (oxymoron) mansion in a resort on either Lake LBJ or Lake Buchanan or in between the two lakes. No water visible from our cabin except a swimming pool and hot tub. There were five bedrooms, plus a dorm-style room which accommodated all the grandkids. Lots of common space for hanging out, a well-equipped kitchen, and I had my own little desk at a small table adjacent to the kitchen. When someone came to talk, I invited them into my office.



Pair of aces take it

We were blessed with mountains of gifts—enough to make any family blush at our largesse. Books, clothes, books, family pictures, a poker set, you name it and it was in that pile. Some of us did a huge and difficult jigsaw puzzle (and finished it except for one missing piece); others played monopoly; at night they were rowdy poker games.



And we ate—and ate and ate. I was the laziest one there. My meals were served to me, and I wasn’t expected to help with cleanup. We had chili, tacos, a family favorite casserole, the traditional turkey dinner for Christmas with three or four desserts. I discovered Christmas Crack, which is a toffee/chocolate thing easily made with saltines. Can you imagine? So good. Hats off here to my two daughters and two DILs—they labored long and hard in the kitchen, and it was always spotless before they went to bed.

Grandkids at Christmas dinner

I don’t help anymore because they have their act together and I feel like Adam’s off ox. My one duty was to remove the giblets and put butter under the skin of the turkey—Colin did it with Megan’s help. First time she ever touched a raw turkey (and she’s slightly over 40). I enjoy the pampering I get but sometimes—okay, a lot—I want to be part of the action in the kitchen. Next year, when I’m walking better, watch my smoke!

A special moment: my mom had a wonderful roll dough recipe which the children remember to this day. Megan not only made the dough and served rolls for Christmas dinner, she made one of her grandmother’s Christmas tree cakes and the pecan sticky buns Grandmother used to make. A sentimental walk back in time for me.

I had moments with the grandchildren and with my adult children—a couple of evenings around a fire pit on the patio, while the children splashed in the hot tub and dared each other to jump into the cold pool—which most of them did.

What can I say, except that I am blessed with a wonderful family and so grateful? I hope in the midst of it all we didn’t forget the gifts of hope and peace that come with this holiday. I think my grandchildren are young enough still that “What did I get?” overwhelms them, but I hope the rest of us realize the importance of what the celebration stands for. I read a wonderful piece lately by Jewish author Sara Paretsky who said she loves the story of the babe and the hope for peace that the story brings to the world. She ended it with the Jewish prayer that, loosely tanslated says, “May the One who establishes peace in the high places bring peace to us all.” Amen.

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.