Thanksgiving Ties

Later on this week everyone will gather around the table and feast on turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie.

And the significance of that table, at least for me, is the memory connection.

Who doesn't have memories of Thanksgiving Past?  I can't imagine anyone who would admit to not holding a mental picture or two of how it was when they were young.

My memories of Thanksgiving always involved a trip to my grandmother's house.  She lived with my aunt and uncle and cousins.  All of us would travel to Aunt Taty's for the day...some of us from a distance, and some from close by.

The first thing I remember is my grandmother standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.  She would use a common paring knife but the skins came off in almost paper thin strips...you could see through them.  When I peeled potatoes she monitored my every move...making sure that I didn't cut too deep and waste good food.  That was her motto. 

Aunt Taty would make the turkey and dressing.  She always baked a ham too because my Uncle Bill had been raised by a Kentucky mother...and he had ham at Thanksgiving. Period. The end.

Aunt Nettie brought the pumpkin pie and salad.  Cousin Ruth brought the fresh made rolls.  My mom always made her famous cranberry relish.

All in all we had plenty of  food and more than we needed.

But the one constant that comes back to me every Thanksgiving is the tie that binds us all together.  It is a gossamer thread as light as silk, floating through the air, catching light as it passes.  It is the sound of my aunts and uncles and cousins and my mom and dad, laughing, telling stories, sharing news.  It is the smell of food, spicy,savory odors, filling the house with a flavor you can almost taste.  It is the warmth of the stove heating the rooms until you have to open the windows to let in some fresh air.  It is love on all the faces gathered around that table.  It is grace said by my Uncle Henry as he bows his head and folds his work-worn hands in prayer.  It is that scene that will never leave me, no matter how many Thanksgivings I celebrate.

It is the tie that binds us together, past to present, with a firmness that will never let go.

May your Thanksgiving be filled with all sorts of memories...good food, good company, and good times.

East, West, Home is Best

It seems as if the weeks between September 24th, when we left Ozark County and headed east, and October 31st when we finally crossed the county line, after many miles of driving and many happy days of visiting and being shown the sights of Cape Cod and beyond....it seems as if those weeks were a dream.

But home we are.  And hopefully, we will stay here on the hill for a few more weeks before we venture out on a trip again.

Don't get me wrong.  I had a wonderful time.  Fried clams, clam chowder, donuts every morning with good coffee and better company.  Long walks on the ocean beach.  Reading in my lawn chair looking out over the azure blue of  Great Pond reflecting the October sky.  Whale watch.  Ferry ride to Nantucket and spending the night in a garret room overlooking a cobblestone street.  

Cold mornings, warm afternoons, nights when the stars and the moon shone so brightly you could have sworn they were moving down so you could touch them.  Lovely sunsets, spectacular sunrises.

And yet.....when we set out from Paducah that Halloween morning all my heart could say was...I  am going home.  I am  just a few hours away.  And I am going home.

It is good to travel.  It is good to touch base with family and friends.  I always regret that we live so far apart and our time together seems all the more precious because of that distance.

But precious too is seeing those familiar hills rising up to meet me.  Each familiar house.  Each lovely curve in the road.

Calling.  Calling me home. 

Blessed beyond measure...

A little nameless, wordless tune has been singing in my mind today.

This is the season for thanksgiving, as if we needed a special time for that.

I am blessed beyond measure.

Blessed beyond what I deserve.

Blessed to be alive and breathing.  Blessed to see and hear the world around me.

Blessed to see the sun rise in the morning and the stars crowding over my head at night.

Blessed that I have a home to come to when I am tired and hungry.

Blessed with friends and family who love me for who I am, not what they expect from me.

Blessed.  I am blessed beyond measure.

Time....

If I had more time.....if time would just stand still.....if...if...if.

Can you make time stand still?  I wish I could.  Can you go back in time?  Sometimes I wish I could...go back and say I love you....go back and not say those words that hurt....just go back and relive some wonderful day.

But I can't.  In a few days we will return to standard time.  A mixed blessing to me.  We have lived many months enjoying cool sunrise and extended twilight.  When I was small I loved being able to go out and play after supper....night was long in coming and I had so much to do.

But now I have come to appreciate the shortness of the late fall and winter days.  There is something comforting about waking up and getting ready for the day while the sun comes up in the east..knowing that I don't have to race the heat.  The coolness of fall mornings and the pleasure of crisp days makes work easier for me.  Even as I bundle up in my warmer coat, I smile to think how the wind will feel when I face it blowing in on me.  So fresh...not like the humid hot wind of late summer and early fall.

Snow.  Snow will be here before long.  Perhaps it will wait until the new year.  That will be fine.  Heavy frost takes its place.  I love to see the white crystals on brown leaves and twigs as the sun touches them with fire...sparkling like a million diamonds.

As I turn my clock back I will say good-bye to those warm summer memories....and greet the days ahead...shorter they might be....but with memories in the making.

The Pleasures of October

This tenth month of the year is one of my favorites.  Cooler air.  Crisp bright days.  Nights that are clear and full of starlight.  The full moon seems fuller.  The sun shines beams that act as golden strands, knitting morning to noon to twilight in a continuous fabric of changing colors and hues.  Our Ozark hills are sometimes radiant with scarlet and yellow and orange.  It just depends on how nature chooses to clothe the trees in the valleys and atop the hills.

The air.  The air is so fresh and clean.  I like to chug up my hill and then cling to the nearest post and draw my breath deep down into my lungs.  Sweatshirt off.....stocking cap off.....the cool breeze that blows across my face feels like heaven.

Apples.  October apples.  In my Illinois hometown we would travel for miles to pick and buy apples that were grown along the river.  Bringing them home we would tuck them away for future apple pies and apple crisp and save a few for eating right then.  Precious apples, meant to be savored and not wasted.

Walnuts.  My mother always went hunting for black walnuts in the fall.  As they were gathered she would spread them out to dry and then hull them, cracking them open and picking out the nuts inside.  Black walnuts appeared in the fudge and cakes she made.  And they were precious commodities too.  Just like apples.

October.  A month to relish.  A month to savor.  A month to gather in the bounty of nature.  October, a month to prepare and look ahead.  But most of all, rest and enjoy to its fullest.  

  

I Heard Autumn Call My Name

I heard Autumn call my name.  She walked down the hill with measured stride, her robe of scarlet and gold brocade flowing around her, morning mist like smoke trailing behind, her feet in sparkling slippers of sapphire and deep,deep green.  She came along with the western wind blowing her hair around her in a billowing cloud.

She called my name.  And I could hear the echoes of bluebird and robin in her voice, as they made their plans for winter rendezvous.  Crickets cadence changing with the cooler air added their tune to the song.  She called my name and I saw her standing there.

Autumn called my name and beckoned me with slender hands.  She showed me how she touched the apple and grape with cooling air and caused them to blush in vibrant hue.  Her artist's brush touched tree and bush and leaves became orange and red and glowing yellow.

She called my name and bid me follow her from west to east and back again.  Laughing in the breeze, she spoke of vagabond journey's end from sea to sea, azure sky reflected in still pond and river, blazing trees mirrored in lake and stream.  "Come and see my handiwork," she teased.  "Come and smell the fragrant lift of smoke from fires and smoldering chimneys.  No other season bears this mark of mine.  Come, come and follow me.  Shake off your indolence and sleep and see the miracle of turning earth and sky and sea."

Autumn called my name and I replied, "No,no.  I have enough here on my hilltop home to see.  I do not need to follow you down into the valley and to other places and times to see what you have done.  No indeed, I ask you Autumn, stay here with me and gaze upon your handiwork that reveals itself to me in precious days that fly too swiftly by."

Stay, Autumn, stay a little longer.  Let me linger here and fill my soul with all you have to give.

Happy birthday

On September 19th, 1910 Florence Alberta Stimpert came into this world.  Timing was perfect for her birth.  Halley's Comet was soaring through the sky.  And if ever a life was lived at comet speed, it was hers.

She was the third child of my grandfather's third marriage.  His previous wives had died and left him with seven children to raise.  He married my grandmother who quickly took over the family and then added two more sons, followed by my mom.  

She was a very special person.  Of course, I have a slight bias since I am her daughter.  But now on the occasion of her 105th birthday I am thinking of all the things she experienced in her life.

When she was born, women did not have the right to vote.  When she was born, the world was teetering on the edge of the war to end all wars.  She lost a brother to the flu of 1918.  She lost another brother after the Allied Invasion of France in 1944.  She was a young woman during the Great Depression.  And all of her life she fought for what she felt was best for her family.

She never backed down.  When she decided she wanted to teach physical education in the early '30s, she was met with all sorts of resistance.  But she found a way.  Her first job was in what was to become my hometown.  I'm sure several people wondered just what this young woman was doing teaching their daughters to run and jump and play games that were denied them before.

When we were young she went back to work.  Not many wives and mothers did this.  But she knew that she and my dad could never afford to send us to college if she didn't work.  Again, she swam against the current of popular opinion.  She opened a toy and children's clothing store and made it a successful business.  And then she went back to teaching.

Tragedy struck when she was widowed at age 47.  But she forged ahead.  Always, always in her mind was the fact that she needed to give her children the best start that she could provide them.

And most of her dreams came true.  

Shortly after her 95th birthday my niece brought her daughter to visit us from New Jersey.  Holding her first great-grandchild I could almost see the wheels turning in my mother's brain.  This little one is very special.  She will make her mark on the world.  

Always looking forward.  Never letting the past drag her down.  That was my mom.

And the older I get, the more I realize the legacy she left for me.

Happy birthday Mom.  I love you.  And I always will.