I saw a rather interesting person the other day. I was walking around the Sponge Docks in Tarpon Springs and spied a gingerbread boy! Yes, that's right a gingerbread boy and I remembered what my cousin was telling me about what had happened in her granddaughter's class in school. It seems that Annabelle and her classmates made gingerbread boys and girls and one of the cookies sneaked out of the classroom when the lunch ladies left the door open!
Now, the little gingerbread boy I was watching looked just like the one who had sneaked out of Annabelle's classroom. So, I did exactly what Annabelle, her mom, and her grandma had said for me to do and write to the students in Mrs. Lamphier's class and tell them what I saw him doing. Well, the little guy was having a lot of fun at the Sponge Docks!
When I first saw him, he was getting onto a boat that was going to Anclote Key where the lighthouse is located. We rode the boat together with the gingerbread boy getting a little wet from the spray of the boat and I watched him giggle at the sight of dolphins playing in the boat's wake. We got to the island and the gingerbread boy ran to see the lighthouse. He loved looking up at it and had his picture taken with it. Then he ran off toward the beach. As soon as I caught up with him I had to laugh! He was covered in sand from head to foot making him look like a sugar gingerbread boy! I laid down nearby to enjoy the sun and beach and saw that he was digging a big hole. A little girl asked him what he was doing and he pointed at the hole and then to a book he had brought with him. The book was all about pirates and how they buried their treasures in the keys (islands) around Florida. As a matter of fact, there is another key close to Anclote called Dutchman's Key where even today people look for treasure!
Our boat tooted it's horn and the gingerbread boy ran back to it. He hadn't found a treasure but he had gotten a sunburn! When we reached the Sponge Docks, he ran to another boat and learned how the Greek divers, who had settled in Tarpon Springs, dove into the Gulf of Mexico to harvest sponges. He jumped up and down when he watched the diver go in and come back up with a sponge!
The next time I saw the gingerbread boy, he was eating a Greek lunch. He had a small gyro, lemon potatoes, and a Greek salad. For dessert he munched on Baklava. All in all he was pretty full and he walked down the streets past the little Greek stores to the Aquarium. In there he watched trainers feed sharks and alligators! Plus, he learned that Tarpon Lake was filled with alligators of all sizes, some of them over 25 feet long! I guess he won't go near that lake. Something really special happened when he looked over the railing into the river below. A manatee came up for air and blew water out of it's waterhole! The gingerbread boy laughed and giggled as he watched the manatee play in the river.
When I last saw him, he waved goodbye and was heading toward Dunedin and Clearwater. He pointed at a billboard which had a picture of Winter the dolphin! I bet he was going to see Winter and have fun in Clearwater, St. Petersburg, and Tampa! If I see him again, I'll be sure to write to the kids in Mrs. Lamphier's class and to Annabelle and her sister, Aida! Hey, and if you see them you should write to the kids too! They want to know where the gingerbread boy is and what he is doing!
Have fun and enjoy!
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
A Baker's Dozen
Folk tales have a way of showing us our own folly and greed. This tale from Albany, New York looks at greed in a different light and brings in the teachings of St. Nicholas. Much in the way that Pope Francis is teaching the world today. Have fun and enjoy..Remember a baker's dozen doesn't break you....it brings you happiness and more.
A Baker's Dozen
A New York Christmas Story
Retold by S.E. Schlosser
Back in the old days, I had a successful bake-shop in Albany. I had a good business, a plump wife, and a big family. I was a happy man. But trouble came to my shop one year in the guise of an ugly old woman. She entered my shop a few minutes before closing and said: “I wish to have a dozen cookies.” She pointed to my special Saint Nicholas cookies that were sitting out on a tray. So I counted out twelve cookies for her.
The old woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw the cookies. “Only twelve?” she asked. I knew at once what she wanted. There were some bakers in town who sometimes gave an extra cookie to their customers, but I was appalled by the custom. What man of sense would give away an extra cookie for free?
“I asked for a dozen cookies, and you only give me twelve,” the woman said.
“A dozen is twelve, my good woman, and that is what I have given you,” I replied.
“I ordered a dozen cookies, not twelve,” said the old woman.
I was upset by this demand. I always gave my customers exactly what they paid for. But I was a thrifty man, and it was against my nature to give away something for nothing.
“I have a family to support,” I said stiffly. “If I give away all my cookies, how can I feed my family? A dozen is twelve, not thirteen! Take it or leave it!”
“Very well,” said she, and left the shop without taking the cookies.
From that moment, my luck changed. The next day, my cakes were stolen out of my shop, and the thieves were never found. Then my bread refused to rise. For a week, every loaf of bread I made was so heavy that it fell right through the oven and into the fire. The next week, the bread rose so high that it actually floated up the chimney. I was frightened when I saw the loaves floating away across the rooftops. That was the first moment I realized I had been bewitched. It was then that I remembered the old woman who came to my shop, and I was afraid.
The next week, the old woman appeared again in my shop and demanded a baker’s dozen of the latest batch of my cookies. I was angry. How dare she show her face in my shop after all the bad luck she sent my way? I cursed her soundly and showed her the door.
Things became worse for me then. My bread soured, and my olykoeks (donuts) were a disgrace. Every cake I made collapsed as soon as it came out of the oven, and my gingerbread children and my cookies lost their flavor. Word was getting around that my bake-shop was no good, and one by one, my customers were falling away. I was angry now, and stubborn. No witch was going to defeat me. When she came to my bake-shop a third time to demand a baker’s dozen of cookies, I told her to go to the devil and I locked the door behind her.
After that day, everything I baked was either burnt or soggy, too light or too heavy. My customers began to avoid my cursed shop, even those who had come to me every day for years. Finally, my family and I were the only ones eating my baking, and my money was running out. I was desperate. I took myself to church and began to pray to Saint Nicholas, the patron Saint of merchants, to lift the witch’s curse from myself and my family.
“Come and advise me, Saint Nicholas, for my family is in dire straights and I need good counsel against this evil witch who stands against us,” I prayed. Then I trudged wearily back to my empty shop, wondering what to do.
I stirred up a batch of Saint Nicholas cookies and put them into the oven to bake, wondering how this lot would turn out. Too much cinnamon? Too little? Burnt? Under-done? To my surprise, they came out perfectly. I frosted them carefully, and put my first successful baking in weeks onto a tray where they could be seen through the window. When I looked up, Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) was standing in front of me.
I knew him at once, this patron Saint of merchants, sailors, and children. He was not carrying his gold staff or wearing the red bishop’s robes and mitered hat that appeared on the figure I had just frosted on my cookies. But the white beard and the kindly eyes were the same. I was trembling so much my legs would not hold me, so I sat down on a stool and looked up at the Saint standing so near I could have touched him. His eyes regarded me with such sadness it made me want to weep.
Saint Nicholas said softly: “I spent my whole life giving money to those in need, helping the sick and suffering, and caring for little children, just as our Lord taught us. God, in his mercy, has been generous to us, and we should be generous to those around us.”
I could not bear to look into his eyes, so I buried my face in my hands.
“Is an extra cookie such a terrible price to pay for the generosity God has shown to us?” he asked gently, touching my head with his hand.
Then he was gone. A moment later, I heard the shop door open, and footsteps approached the counter. I knew before I looked up that the ugly old woman had returned to asked me for a dozen Saint Nicholas cookies. I got up slowly, counted out thirteen cookies, and gave them to the old woman, free of charge.
She nodded her head briskly. “The spell is broken,” she said. “From this time onward, a dozen is thirteen.”
And from that day onward, I gave generously of my baking and of my money, and thirteen was always, for me, a baker’s dozen.
S.E. Schlosser
http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2008/11/a_bakers_dozen.html
The old woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw the cookies. “Only twelve?” she asked. I knew at once what she wanted. There were some bakers in town who sometimes gave an extra cookie to their customers, but I was appalled by the custom. What man of sense would give away an extra cookie for free?
“I asked for a dozen cookies, and you only give me twelve,” the woman said.
“A dozen is twelve, my good woman, and that is what I have given you,” I replied.
“I ordered a dozen cookies, not twelve,” said the old woman.
I was upset by this demand. I always gave my customers exactly what they paid for. But I was a thrifty man, and it was against my nature to give away something for nothing.
“I have a family to support,” I said stiffly. “If I give away all my cookies, how can I feed my family? A dozen is twelve, not thirteen! Take it or leave it!”
“Very well,” said she, and left the shop without taking the cookies.
From that moment, my luck changed. The next day, my cakes were stolen out of my shop, and the thieves were never found. Then my bread refused to rise. For a week, every loaf of bread I made was so heavy that it fell right through the oven and into the fire. The next week, the bread rose so high that it actually floated up the chimney. I was frightened when I saw the loaves floating away across the rooftops. That was the first moment I realized I had been bewitched. It was then that I remembered the old woman who came to my shop, and I was afraid.
The next week, the old woman appeared again in my shop and demanded a baker’s dozen of the latest batch of my cookies. I was angry. How dare she show her face in my shop after all the bad luck she sent my way? I cursed her soundly and showed her the door.
Things became worse for me then. My bread soured, and my olykoeks (donuts) were a disgrace. Every cake I made collapsed as soon as it came out of the oven, and my gingerbread children and my cookies lost their flavor. Word was getting around that my bake-shop was no good, and one by one, my customers were falling away. I was angry now, and stubborn. No witch was going to defeat me. When she came to my bake-shop a third time to demand a baker’s dozen of cookies, I told her to go to the devil and I locked the door behind her.
After that day, everything I baked was either burnt or soggy, too light or too heavy. My customers began to avoid my cursed shop, even those who had come to me every day for years. Finally, my family and I were the only ones eating my baking, and my money was running out. I was desperate. I took myself to church and began to pray to Saint Nicholas, the patron Saint of merchants, to lift the witch’s curse from myself and my family.
“Come and advise me, Saint Nicholas, for my family is in dire straights and I need good counsel against this evil witch who stands against us,” I prayed. Then I trudged wearily back to my empty shop, wondering what to do.
I stirred up a batch of Saint Nicholas cookies and put them into the oven to bake, wondering how this lot would turn out. Too much cinnamon? Too little? Burnt? Under-done? To my surprise, they came out perfectly. I frosted them carefully, and put my first successful baking in weeks onto a tray where they could be seen through the window. When I looked up, Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) was standing in front of me.
I knew him at once, this patron Saint of merchants, sailors, and children. He was not carrying his gold staff or wearing the red bishop’s robes and mitered hat that appeared on the figure I had just frosted on my cookies. But the white beard and the kindly eyes were the same. I was trembling so much my legs would not hold me, so I sat down on a stool and looked up at the Saint standing so near I could have touched him. His eyes regarded me with such sadness it made me want to weep.
Saint Nicholas said softly: “I spent my whole life giving money to those in need, helping the sick and suffering, and caring for little children, just as our Lord taught us. God, in his mercy, has been generous to us, and we should be generous to those around us.”
I could not bear to look into his eyes, so I buried my face in my hands.
“Is an extra cookie such a terrible price to pay for the generosity God has shown to us?” he asked gently, touching my head with his hand.
Then he was gone. A moment later, I heard the shop door open, and footsteps approached the counter. I knew before I looked up that the ugly old woman had returned to asked me for a dozen Saint Nicholas cookies. I got up slowly, counted out thirteen cookies, and gave them to the old woman, free of charge.
She nodded her head briskly. “The spell is broken,” she said. “From this time onward, a dozen is thirteen.”
And from that day onward, I gave generously of my baking and of my money, and thirteen was always, for me, a baker’s dozen.
S.E. Schlosser
http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2008/11/a_bakers_dozen.html
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
The Fun Of Christmas in Florida
Okay, this one is a stretch. When I have some time I might really work at it. After all, I wrote it in less than 15 minutes. But I think you will get my drift, Of the life I love best and the fun of Christmas in Florida.
The Fun of Christmas in Florida
The palm tree's lights are glowing.
The sandman smiles with a grin that's flowing.
Because the sea water is reaching him and chowing.
All the while the gulls are growing
Into a group that's annoying.
And that's the fun of Christmas in Florida.
The sun shines bright
And the moon takes flight
As the day breaks night
Into a tropical delight.
Of coconut oil and speedo fright!
And that's the fun of Christmas in Florida.
Snowbirds arrive with a heavenly sigh,
While the Crackers look at them resigned,
That the seniors are invading
And driving prices high!
But the legislatures don't care
And that's the fun of Christmas in Florida.
Truthfully, though,
Christmas is fun.
In the tropical paradise
of Florida.
With beaches and sun.
Harry Potter and Disney
And that's the fun of Christmas in Florida.
You can have your snow
and you can dream of cold
But here we applaud
the joy of the Son
in the tropics with sun
And that's the fun of Christmas in Florida.
Yvonne C Parizo
Monday, December 2, 2013
A Christmas Dream
The cameraman scanned the audience showing viewers the responses being made from the hauntingly beautiful song the group was harmonizing to. She slowed the movement as she zoomed in on one couple and then another. The singers were performing a concert of Christmas music to a full house. The auditorium was packed with holiday merrymakers enjoying a magical night of music and cheer.
The director spoke quietly to the cameraman, asking her to try to zoom into the crowd in the mezzazine. She tilted the camera and began a slow drift across the entranced faces of those she viewed. Suddenly, she slowed her progress and came to a stop on a young couple. They weren't watching the singers. Instead, they were absorbed with each other. She smiled as she held the camera on these two lovers and watched the tenderness and love flow between the two. They shared a whisper and a touch and then the one moved into the embrace of the other as they turned back to music and the world around them. She kept the camera on them and laughed with delight as they snuggled together enjoying the music.
The song ended and the couple clapped along with the rest of the audience, yet, even this was done in a manner filled with love. The director spoke to her again and she moved the camera to a new angle as the orchestra began another song. For some reason she kept coming back to the young couple for the rest of the performance. Each time she found herself filled with love as well as she watched them enjoying the show. Finally, the music ended. The magic floated through the crowds as they exited the venue and filtered into the streets beyond.
Holding hands the two lovers walked to their car, climbed in, and left. The one with brown wavy hair drove as her partner pushed back her own blond curls. The night's magic filled their hearts with love for one another and the joy they had shared together through music. The cameraman and the director stood together and watched this. "i'm glad you focused on them".
"So, am I". she answered back. "The love they have for one another should be seen by all. It's what Christmas is all about".
"Yes, it is", the director answered back. "See you tomorrow".
"See you, and have a great night". The cameraman walked to a waiting car and as she got in she smiled at her husband. "Love you"!
"Love you too!" he smiled back.
She reached over and stroked his black wiry hair and planted a kiss on his ebony cheek.
He laughed and pulled the car into traffic and they too were go into the magical mist of the night.
The director stood still for a moment, then he too, left the theater. Arriving at home, he slipped into the quietly not wanting to wake his household. It was to no avail for as he walked into the living room, two young torpedoes rushed at him. "Whoa!" He yelled, as they grabbed hold of him in a tremendous hug.
"They wanted to stay up and wait for you". His husband grinned.
"Oh, you did did you?" He asked the two.
"Yay, Daddy's home!"
"Yes, Daddy's home and now it's time for some popcorn and hot chocolate. Then off to bed!"
Ah, Papa! Can't we stay up for a little while longer?" the children begged.
"Hmmm. What do you think Daddy?'
"I think tonight would be a great night to stay up a little bit longer". The director answered.
The alarm is playing it's tune and I have to rise. Only a dream. I look into my daughter's room and wish it hadn't been a dream. I wish this was a dream come true for her and her girlfriend. A wish, that people would smile and be filled with love when they see the two together. I wish they could see them the way I do... It's my Christmas dream for my girl and her Andi.
The director spoke quietly to the cameraman, asking her to try to zoom into the crowd in the mezzazine. She tilted the camera and began a slow drift across the entranced faces of those she viewed. Suddenly, she slowed her progress and came to a stop on a young couple. They weren't watching the singers. Instead, they were absorbed with each other. She smiled as she held the camera on these two lovers and watched the tenderness and love flow between the two. They shared a whisper and a touch and then the one moved into the embrace of the other as they turned back to music and the world around them. She kept the camera on them and laughed with delight as they snuggled together enjoying the music.
The song ended and the couple clapped along with the rest of the audience, yet, even this was done in a manner filled with love. The director spoke to her again and she moved the camera to a new angle as the orchestra began another song. For some reason she kept coming back to the young couple for the rest of the performance. Each time she found herself filled with love as well as she watched them enjoying the show. Finally, the music ended. The magic floated through the crowds as they exited the venue and filtered into the streets beyond.
Holding hands the two lovers walked to their car, climbed in, and left. The one with brown wavy hair drove as her partner pushed back her own blond curls. The night's magic filled their hearts with love for one another and the joy they had shared together through music. The cameraman and the director stood together and watched this. "i'm glad you focused on them".
"So, am I". she answered back. "The love they have for one another should be seen by all. It's what Christmas is all about".
"Yes, it is", the director answered back. "See you tomorrow".
"See you, and have a great night". The cameraman walked to a waiting car and as she got in she smiled at her husband. "Love you"!
"Love you too!" he smiled back.
She reached over and stroked his black wiry hair and planted a kiss on his ebony cheek.
He laughed and pulled the car into traffic and they too were go into the magical mist of the night.
The director stood still for a moment, then he too, left the theater. Arriving at home, he slipped into the quietly not wanting to wake his household. It was to no avail for as he walked into the living room, two young torpedoes rushed at him. "Whoa!" He yelled, as they grabbed hold of him in a tremendous hug.
"They wanted to stay up and wait for you". His husband grinned.
"Oh, you did did you?" He asked the two.
"Yay, Daddy's home!"
"Yes, Daddy's home and now it's time for some popcorn and hot chocolate. Then off to bed!"
Ah, Papa! Can't we stay up for a little while longer?" the children begged.
"Hmmm. What do you think Daddy?'
"I think tonight would be a great night to stay up a little bit longer". The director answered.
The alarm is playing it's tune and I have to rise. Only a dream. I look into my daughter's room and wish it hadn't been a dream. I wish this was a dream come true for her and her girlfriend. A wish, that people would smile and be filled with love when they see the two together. I wish they could see them the way I do... It's my Christmas dream for my girl and her Andi.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Toward the Winter Solstice
December is upon us and with it comes the rushing and stress of the holidays! Yet, does it have to be so? Or do we create the rushing and stress ourselves by believing we must do so? I'm doing something a bit different this year. Not thinking of gifts to buy or running here and there to find the right one. Actually, I've been reducing that nemesis for several years now. This year, I'm doing something different. I'm actually going to relax. Take one day at a time. Treasure the moments with friends and family. Stay away from stores and bring a bit of a different thought toward Christmas. Today is a new day. A new month and I'm going to enjoy the holidays. I'm going to share stories, poems, and ideas of holiday of spirit and joys. I hope you like the collection I'm starting. Maybe read them to your family and share them.
Have fun and Peace to all.
Toward the Winter Solstice
by Timothy SteeleAlthough the roof is just a story high, It dizzies me a little to look down. I lariat-twirl the cord of Christmas lights And cast it to the weeping birch’s crown; A dowel into which I’ve screwed a hook Enables me to reach, lift, drape, and twine The cord among the boughs so that the bulbs Will accent the tree’s elegant design. Friends, passing home from work or shopping, pause And call up commendations or critiques. I make adjustments. Though a potpourri Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs, We all are conscious of the time of year; We all enjoy its colorful displays And keep some festival that mitigates The dwindling warmth and compass of the days. Some say that L.A. doesn’t suit the Yule, But UPS vans now like magi make Their present-laden rounds, while fallen leaves Are gaily resurrected in their wake; The desert lifts a full moon from the east And issues a dry Santa Ana breeze, And valets at chic restaurants will soon Be tending flocks of cars and SUVs. And as the neighborhoods sink into dusk The fan palms scattered all across town stand More calmly prominent, and this place seems A vast oasis in the Holy Land. This house might be a caravansary, The tree a kind of cordial fountainhead Of welcome, looped and decked with necklaces And ceintures of green, yellow, blue, and red. Some wonder if the star of Bethlehem Occurred when Jupiter and Saturn crossed; It’s comforting to look up from this roof And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost, To recollect that in antiquity The winter solstice fell in Capricorn And that, in the Orion Nebula, From swirling gas, new stars are being born.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19293#sthash.m2cDAsJa.dpuf
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Haunted Christmas
A tale of Christmas from Wisconsin. It is quite reminiscent of another tale I have read as well. I wonder really if it is actually a haunting or a time of joy. ...
Haunted Christmas
A spooky Wisconsin ghost story
retold by S.E. Schlosser
The soft thud of following footsteps echoed behind him as he hurried through the snowflakes toward home. They kept pace with him, quickening when he quickened and slowing when he slowed. It was creepy. His flesh crawled at the sound and he sped up, cursing himself for walking home alone from the midnight Christmas Mass.
Normally not a pious man, the middle-aged bachelor had suddenly been struck by a wish to hear the old Christmas songs sung once again by a church choir, and had walked across town to attend the service. Now he regretted his choice, as he passed dark house after dark house in the snowy night, and the footsteps ever followed.
He sped up until he was nearly running, and skidded into his street. A few more paces brought him to the bottom of his front steps, and as he dashed up them, he realized suddenly that the following footsteps had ceased abruptly. He glanced behind him at the cross-street from which he had just turned and saw only one pair of footprints in the snow-covered street when there should have been two. He frowned in puzzlement, and then shuddered as a cold breeze struck him, driving snow against his collar, and slammed against the door. Almost, it seemed to pass through the door, but that was superstitious nonsense. His hand was shaking as he unlocked the front door and hurried inside.
He expected darkness, but was delighted to see the yellow glow of firelight coming from his study doorway upstairs. His old housekeeper, whom he thought firmly asleep in her attic bedroom, must have lit the fire pending his return. He shrugged out of his coat and paused for a moment, amazed to find it still warm and dry, though he had walked for more than a mile through a snow-storm. It was almost as if he’d been walking in a bubble of calm air, though he remembered the soft snowflakes hitting his face when he first stepped out of church. Before the mysterious footsteps began…
His shudder was interrupted by a shout of greeting as his old friend Andy came hurrying out of the study. His whole face lit up in a grin at the unexpected surprise. The two men shook hands heartily and retreated back to the warmth of the firelight, talking so fast they stumbled over each other’s words. Andy had left town years ago to take a government job in D.C., and they hadn’t seen each other since.
Nearly an hour passed before it occurred to him that his guest might be hungry. His offer of a meal was instantly accepted, but Andy was unwilling to leave the comfort of the fire to eat in the kitchen, so he jogged downstairs alone to fetch some food. He didn’t wonder at his friend’s reluctance to join him in the kitchen. Andy had looked very pale and had kept shivering with cold while they talked. He hoped his friend wasn’t ailing for anything.
A few moments later he was back with warmed up meat and potatoes and a couple of glasses of beer, apologizing profusely as he handed Andy a plate, for the mismatched dinnerware. Andy just laughed and hunkered down to eat. When they were both finished, he showed his friend to a guest room and then tumbled into his own bed to sleep, all his apprehension caused by mysterious footsteps forgotten in the visit of his friend.
He jumped out of bed Christmas morning and dashed immediately downstairs to the guest room to rouse his friend. Andy wasn’t there, and the bed had not been slept in. That was odd. He ran down to look in the study, but Andy wasn’t there either, and one plate full of food was sitting on the end-table beside his old friend’s chair. It was completely untouched, though he’d seen Andy eating from it the night before! Skin creeping at the thought, he ran to the kitchen and asked his housekeeper if she’d seen Andy. But the housekeeper had seen no one either the previous night or this morning. He flopped down on the bottom step of the staircase, completely baffled. Where had Andy gone? It was a mystery that plagued him all Christmas Day, and he did not enjoy his holiday dinner at all, a fact that annoyed his housekeeper.
He was awakened the next morning from a restless sleep by the sound of the front door bell. He stumbled out of bed and was splashing water from the bedside pitcher onto his sleepy eyes when a knock came at his bedroom door. When he answered, his housekeeper handed him a telegram that had just arrived. As she hurried back downstairs to prepare his breakfast, he opened it curiously, not knowing who would be telegraphing him so urgently.
As he read the telegram, he started to tremble. The message was short and to the point: Andy’s family regretted to inform him that his old friend Andy had passed away on Christmas Eve in his home in Washington D.C. He sat down hard on the bed, the telegram fluttering away from his hand. It must have been Andy who had followed him home on Christmas Eve. That would explain the eerie footsteps and the dry coat in the middle of the snow storm. He’d spent Christmas Eve with a ghost!
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Thanksgiving With Family
Memories race through my mind as I celebrate the Thanksgiving Day. So many memories of family gatherings and changes within the family causing Thanksgiving to be a holiday both enjoyable and bitter sweet. Images of family members who are no longer with me tumble through my reminisces and congregate as stories I share with those who are new to the family. The past, present, and future all together on this one day. A time of joy and a time of reflection.
Take for instance, one Thanksgiving when I was a child. I grew up celebrating Christmas on Thanksgiving. We would have a big family dinner with Gramp and Gram, Aunt Lois and Uncle Ted and my older cousins. Yeah, I was the baby of the family and enjoyed it to the max! I admit it! I also loved to be with Jimmy and Dar. We were the three youngest and always had to sit together at the children's table. That meant we got to have the food first as well! Yummy! Turkey, potatoes, dressing, gravy, corn, and Aunt Lois' homemade rolls. I loved her rolls and homemade bread! They were delicious and warm with butter dripping down the sides. Mmmmmm. I can taste them now. How I miss her, I was her, Vonnie, the only person to call me that and get away with it.
Anyway, there we would be, sitting at the children's table, chowing done the food, getting up and getting more. We goofed off a lot and normally got into some kind of trouble, but it was minor. The older cousins and my brother and sister were with the adults, always thinking they were so superior to us, but we were the ones who got away with doing things since we were in a different room normally. Ah, yes, Jimmy and Dar. When we finished our meal, we would be sitting in front of the Christmas tree. Yep, Christmas tree, for Gramp and Gram would be leaving for Florida and we were going to fit both holidays into one. One of the reasons why I decorate my own home before Thanksgiving; I'm use to it!
There were the presents. Sitting under the tree. Bright packages, so mysterious. It wouldn't hurt to touch them. No, never! "Here's one, Dar! There's one, Yvonne! Hey Jimmy, here's one for you!" It's kind of weird. We never had very many presents. Maybe one or two, but nothing like today where some clamor for a bunch. No, only a couple at most for this day and we would be happy. I don't remember what we received. I just know we loved it. The funny thing is, it isn't the presents which made the day, it was the people and I know this sounds weird, the food which made it memorable.
Goofing off with my cousins, having fun at our table, spending time together. We didn't go running off to go shopping. We didn't leave in a hurry to get home and watch a football game or something else. No, we spent time together. We talked, we played games, if there was snow we went sledding, threw snowballs and made a snowman. The adults talked and played card games which we would join in with at times. We loved to be together and spend that day with each other, creating the memories I now cherish. At least I did.
Today, I did this with my husband, daughter, and mom. We watched the Macy's parade together, laughing and talking, enjoying each other. We feasted on homemade blueberry bread, turkey, potatoes, dressing, gravy, and squash. We had fun together. New memories were made and joy filled the house. Yeah, it's the people and the food. It's the togetherness and family. It's the love and the sharing. Miss you Dar and Jimmy, we could have had a blast today. Miss the ones who have gone, Gramp, Gram, Aunt Lois, Uncle Ted, Ivan, and Teddy. Love the memories and the jokes. I think I'll go make a turkey sandwich. Wish I had some of Aunt Lois' homemade rolls for it. Happy Thanksgiving!
Take for instance, one Thanksgiving when I was a child. I grew up celebrating Christmas on Thanksgiving. We would have a big family dinner with Gramp and Gram, Aunt Lois and Uncle Ted and my older cousins. Yeah, I was the baby of the family and enjoyed it to the max! I admit it! I also loved to be with Jimmy and Dar. We were the three youngest and always had to sit together at the children's table. That meant we got to have the food first as well! Yummy! Turkey, potatoes, dressing, gravy, corn, and Aunt Lois' homemade rolls. I loved her rolls and homemade bread! They were delicious and warm with butter dripping down the sides. Mmmmmm. I can taste them now. How I miss her, I was her, Vonnie, the only person to call me that and get away with it.
Anyway, there we would be, sitting at the children's table, chowing done the food, getting up and getting more. We goofed off a lot and normally got into some kind of trouble, but it was minor. The older cousins and my brother and sister were with the adults, always thinking they were so superior to us, but we were the ones who got away with doing things since we were in a different room normally. Ah, yes, Jimmy and Dar. When we finished our meal, we would be sitting in front of the Christmas tree. Yep, Christmas tree, for Gramp and Gram would be leaving for Florida and we were going to fit both holidays into one. One of the reasons why I decorate my own home before Thanksgiving; I'm use to it!
There were the presents. Sitting under the tree. Bright packages, so mysterious. It wouldn't hurt to touch them. No, never! "Here's one, Dar! There's one, Yvonne! Hey Jimmy, here's one for you!" It's kind of weird. We never had very many presents. Maybe one or two, but nothing like today where some clamor for a bunch. No, only a couple at most for this day and we would be happy. I don't remember what we received. I just know we loved it. The funny thing is, it isn't the presents which made the day, it was the people and I know this sounds weird, the food which made it memorable.
Goofing off with my cousins, having fun at our table, spending time together. We didn't go running off to go shopping. We didn't leave in a hurry to get home and watch a football game or something else. No, we spent time together. We talked, we played games, if there was snow we went sledding, threw snowballs and made a snowman. The adults talked and played card games which we would join in with at times. We loved to be together and spend that day with each other, creating the memories I now cherish. At least I did.
Today, I did this with my husband, daughter, and mom. We watched the Macy's parade together, laughing and talking, enjoying each other. We feasted on homemade blueberry bread, turkey, potatoes, dressing, gravy, and squash. We had fun together. New memories were made and joy filled the house. Yeah, it's the people and the food. It's the togetherness and family. It's the love and the sharing. Miss you Dar and Jimmy, we could have had a blast today. Miss the ones who have gone, Gramp, Gram, Aunt Lois, Uncle Ted, Ivan, and Teddy. Love the memories and the jokes. I think I'll go make a turkey sandwich. Wish I had some of Aunt Lois' homemade rolls for it. Happy Thanksgiving!
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