Sunlight Series (Before Christmas)

Three Christmas trees (real and man-made), and a Hanukkah bush.

(Pearl River, N.Y., December 2014)

The Harvest Pumpkin

 

This happy hardy little gourd made it all the way to Thanksgiving from the first few weeks of October. I bought it at the store from a cardboard box filled to the brim with them, carefully selecting it from among the other gourds by taking my time, looking for just the right size and shape to complement my little doorway. The big box itself was a cheerful visualization of the harvest season, and I found myself brightening up every time I came home to it, which is just the way I planned it: that is the essence behind seasonal decorations.

I finally picked it up this weekend to throw it away, because it had gone soft and mushy from the inside out. The stem popped off as I picked it up, and the round little pumpkin quickly rolled away from me and off the porch, bouncing down each of the four front steps to the old yellow house, landing on the sidewalk. I felt like it was running its' last, final steps to freedom, and I took it as a sign that it's beautiful but brief life had indeed come to an end. What an adventure! 

And it was right on time.

Happy Memorial Day

Raised flag, in the Hudson Valley.

Happy Christmas

"Merry Christmas, Marie! Shake hands?"

A row of tiny Charlie Brown trees. 

Merry Christmas, from the town of friendly people. 

From The Land of Ice and Snow

Red berries, green firs, and white snow.

A natural wreath tied with red string.

Decked out for the holidays.

Christmas scenes from 2013.

Thanks

I was 19 years old the first time I made an entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself. I came home from college to a note on the kitchen table from my mom. She left town quickly, going on vacation to Florida with her then-boyfriend, our widowed next door neighbor that we, her kids, loathed for many good reasons, and his wild teenage daughter. Great. Now what? My middle brother was distraught when he came home from his upstate New York school. He's someone who enjoys comforts, rituals, stability, and routines. What about Thanksgiving? 
He asked me, tears in his eyes from shock, growing more emotional. Are we not going to have a holiday now?! He's a lovely, sensitive boy, and he was struggling with being away at school, while I thrived under my own domain, because I'd already had an enormous amount of life experience and responsibilities for such a young girl. I felt terrible. Well, I said to him, let me call Grandma and Grandpa, and see what they think. My grandparents lived within ten minutes of us, and they often served as surrogate parents in the absences of my mother and father. My father had left the area years ago for points out west, establishing a business and another family, so he was almost completely out of reach of us, in that time before cell phones, computers, emails, and the Internet. 

When I reached my grandparents on the phone, they were taken aback. My mother had left town without telling them either, typical for someone with her issues. It was a cowardly thing to do, but not unlike her to leave such a huge parental burden on my shoulders. My grandparents weren't much help, either. At that point they stopped hosting big dinners with a lot of cooking because they were elderly (like they had warned us they would do for many years, as part of their retirement), and they no longer had the energy for such large family affairs. I took a deep breath. OK, I said to them over the phone, I'll do it. I'll make Thanksgiving dinner. After all, I reasoned to myself, I'd made gravy with my grandmother on Thanksgiving before as a little girl, and she'd be with me in my mother's kitchen to give me moral support. Vegetables were easy, they would bring dessert, so I just had to manage the bird and the side dishes on my own.

And so I did it. I went to the store and bought everything I knew I'd need. I smoothed the nice white linen table cloth over the dining room table, took out the good china from the wooden sideboard, polished the fine silver like I'd done countless times in my youth, and washed the crystal glasses that I took out of the glass case where the special occasion tableware was kept. I woke up early the next day, put on one of my mother's aprons, got the heavy stuffed turkey in the oven, sewing the bird shut just like I'd seen it done before, saving the giblets in the sink like my grandfather taught me to do for soup and gravy, and I then made an entire dinner by myself. My grandparents drove over to the house, and I was there to greet them at the front door to usher in the holiday with them. I took their coats and hung them up in the hall closet, just like my parents used to do with guests. I remember feeling grown up, helpful, competent, and very much in command of the day's events. We went into the kitchen. We opened some wine, and my brother and grandfather drank beer. I put all the food on the table as they sat down. When the last dish hit the table, I breathed a sigh of relief, pulling my chair up to the table, placing the linen napkin on my lap. My grandfather said "Grace" at the head of the table. Afterwards, I raised my glass in toast to my grandmother, grandfather, and brother, smiling widely at each of them as we clinked glasses. 

I thought about that time again last weekend at the grocery store, having dragged myself there from my sick bed because I didn't have any food to eat. The cashier was deep in conversation with the lady in line before me about typical holiday family drama stuff, of a kind so common to this area and particular to this culture, that when she was done with her groceries, I stepped seamlessly into the conversation, picking right up where my neighbor left off. The clerk couldn't understand why her sister wouldn't host, but OK, why not have it at her house? What about her mother's house? She has plenty of room! We laughed exasperatedly over our predicaments, as I told her my teenage tale of woe. She chuckled ruefully about it, saying tiredly to me, as we bagged my groceries: "All I want to do is put up my feet, have a beer, and order pizza." Oh, yeah, that sounds good. I sighed as I shouldered the heavy bag for my walk back. "Me, too", I said, and then I hoped we would both get our holiday wishes this year. It looks like I will, because this little mommy desperately needs her rest, if only for one day. Thanks.

Faith: The Assumption of Mary

Birds in flight, on Assumption Thursday 2013.

Mary is THE Mother figure in our Catholic faith, because she represents all women, the one woman who, above all others, understands the most a woman's particular pains: they begin at labor and continue as she suffers and cares for her family until the end of her life. Women don't get a lot of help in the Old Testament (the book that is the Torah in Judaism), but the New Testament casts us in a slightly better light. We still have to be sacrificial virgins, but the good news is it's an angel who gives the news to Mary that the Almighty Force of the Universe is the baby daddy, and that instead of a bloody sacrifice, Mary is risen body and soul into His Arms in Heaven. Oh. 

Plane in flight, on Assumption Thursday.

It kinda makes our every day pains seems trivial, right? But that's what the really big myths do. They cast our woes into perspective by showing us that throughout human time, women have always had big burdens to bear, because we bear the entire human race. That's a big deal, and we have the holidays to honor this essential truth: the most important thing we have in this world (and the next) is love, because love is the answer, and the power of a mother's love is the love that drives this whole ship called Earth. Honor her well.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assumption_of_Mary

A Walk in the Park: Kennedy Dells

Mushroom Tree

One of the nicer aspects of any homecoming is revisiting those areas we have fond memories of. 

I discovered Kennedy Dells Park years after I moved away out of sheer necessity. My very large and energetic Malamute anxiously needed lots of space for his urgent morning walk, and like any harried parent, I rushed to the computer for an online search of just such nearby places in Rockland County.

Out of the woods

Growing up in New City, I mostly hiked the Harriman State Park system because of its' close proximity and enormous intersection of trails; infamous, historic ones at that, like The Appalachian Trail and The Long Path, overlooking nearer spots, or maybe this park just wasn't around at the time. Whatever the case, I come back to this place time and again throughout the seasons, and I'm always struck by the beauty of New York's wooded paths, with its' variety of nature so close at hand.

Field of green

Path through the thicket

I honestly had my heart set on hiking High Tor State Park yesterday, but it was closed. More on that trip later in the summer. In the meantime, here's some of the wild lush beauty I saw on Memorial Day, so alive and teeming with growth, that the very vines seemed to grow before me, like magical apparitions out of a child's fable.

Nothing but blue sky and fields to roam

The happy hiker

It was the perfect Spring day: warm and sunny but not hot, cool in the shade without a chill, and a bright, crisp, cloudless blue sky overhead. Add in the burger and fries I had, followed by a hot fudge Sunday, and you've got one healthy slice of the American pie. That’s the kind of day it was.

Treeline and sky

Toys: The Easter Edition

The biggest Catholic holiday we have also ushered in a host of good things for us as children: warmer weather, flowers, and Easter candy. Just like with Christmas, we eventually figured out that our Easter Bunny was our Mom, who, over the years, became less adept at hiding, in direct proportion to our prowess as hunters. Easter egg hunts became fierce.

I remember the day when Mom asked me for something in dad's closet, and I found the big tell-tale straw basket instead, stuffed with goodies like chocolate eggs and bunny rabbit toys. Instead of being angry, upset, or disappointed, I actually felt relieved that the bringer of happy things was my own Mom. Well, of course it was.

I found this gorgeous selection of more naturally made animal toys at my kick butt local store in the Slope, Little Things. As much as I love stylised cartoons, I couldn't help but think I would have vastly preferred a real looking rabbit like this one as a little girl, over standard drugstore fare.

Happy Easter, and shield this one from the kids ;)