Thinking about summer...again

Back in fall 2009 I posted these photos, which I was intending to print and frame for a "winter garden" on one of our walls. Since almost nobody saw them and since we are enjoying a week of plus-30 degree weather instead of minus-30, this seems a perfect time to post them again.

Phlox

Bellflowers and roses

Red Admiral butterfly

'Thirty Below' is just an expression...

View from our window 1/6/14

I grew up in Hibbing, Minnesota, where we expected subzero weather all winter long (and I do mean long). My mother would wake us, go down to the kitchen to start breakfast, and call back up the stairs, "Get up, and dress warm. It's thirty below!" Often, it was. Other days it might only be ten or twenty below, but you still needed to dress for it.

So "thirty below" became an expression that meant, "It's so cold your eyes will hurt." It's so cold your glasses will freeze to your face." And, "It's so cold you better hope your mittens dried out overnight."

Minus 12 at 4 p.m.

It never meant "You can stay home from school." My mother did keep me home one day, when I was in kindergarten and, I swear, the temperature was 54 below. This number is burned into my brain, and I suppose it could be the product of a misunderstanding, but who's going to argue? It was so cold that my mother, who sent me out to walk four blocks to school when it was thirty below, kept me home.

When I was in third grade it was super-cold again. By then I was walking three blocks and waiting for a school bus to take me to the Catholic school. My mom hated to have me standing out in the cold, and my dad was working out of town, so she asked the neighbor across the street if he would drive me to school. He said okay. But his car wasn't up to the weather. We chugged and lurched our way down the street with all the car's heat (which wasn't much) aimed at the heavily frosted windshield. Three or four blocks from my school the car broke down. He was so apologetic telling me I'd have to walk. But I couldn't quite believe it, and it was a while before I could move to climb out into the wind and the swirling snow. I was late getting to school, and I was so frozen I couldn't even speak to tell my teacher what had happened.

"Feels like" minus 40

I'm glad Minnesota schools are closed today, and glad most or all will be closed tomorrow. By Wednesday the high temperature here will be around zero, but it will still be well below that up north. I think about cold children, and homeless people, and folks who have to work outdoors in this weather. And I remember what a burden it was for me just to get dressed and drive three miles to work in this kind of weather, and to hike on icy sidewalks through blustering wind to get from the parking lot to my office. And I am SO GLAD I am retired and blessed with a warm, cozy house.

On Thursday morning, we get back to driving the grandkids to school. It's supposed to be 16 degrees above zero all day. That will be easy!

Hanging on to Christmas

The way I see the world, Christmas lasts right through New Year's Day. I suppose one reason I can't let it go is that I'm never quite ready for it, so I spend most of the time before Christmas in a state of denial that lasts right up until December 24.

I'm usually still in bed at 9 a.m. that day when I tune in public radio's Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from King's College in Cambridge, England. The announcer solemnly intones a description of the service, the music, and the scene (it's 4 p.m. and the shadows are lengthening), and then comes the sound of one young boy soprano filling the chapel with the opening of "Once in Royal David's City." I always imagine the chosen boy, nervous beyond anything in his life to this point, in the moments before he sings. And he always sings like an angel. The hymn builds in strength and volume through five verses until the whole choir and the congregation have joined in and the organ has added both bass and treble, and when it all comes to an end you can hear people shifting position, probably from standing to sitting, and someone reads a Bible passage. I often continue listening, but none of the rest has the same impact on me. Christmas has begun.

When I think back to my childhood Christmases, I do remember gathering with the family to open presents, both on Christmas Eve (presents from the family) and Christmas morning (from Santa). It was nice, but I don't recall the glow or thrill that some people report. I never spent time paging through the Sears catalog to pick out a specific doll or dress or toy. My younger brothers were always eager to get on with the opening of gifts. They probably asked for toys they saw advertised on television. One year they snooped around and found their gifts--and thereby spoiled their own fun.

But my strongest Christmas memories begin when I was a bit older. At 12 or so, I began to play the organ for the elementary school girls' choir, and we worked a few Christmas carols into our repertoire. I played throughout high school, and we always sang the 11 a.m. high mass on Christmas Day. I came to love the music, and the performing of it. But the parish men's choir was my favorite; I would stay awake with my radio on to hear them sing at midnight mass. Finally, when I attended my first two years of college in my home town, I got to play for them as well. The music was beautiful, and participating in it was a glorious experience. I'm no longer a church-going person, but that music--a combination of Gregorian chant and lovely classic carols--is at the heart of my Christmas memories. It's why I love the annual Lessons and Carols broadcast and it's why the Christmas playlist on our iPod includes not only Willy Nelson and Barbra Streisand and Manhattan Transfer (and oh so many others) but also classical groups like the King's College Choir.

On Christmas Eve this year, I happened to leave the television running after the 10 p.m. news. NBC began to broadcast a tape of midnight mass from St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. I went to turn it off, but something caught my ear. The choir was singing part of the mass, which I recognized as the Gloria. I didn't think I recognized the version. But suddenly I was singing along. Words and melody came out of my mouth though I swear they weren't in my head. I sat down and watched for a while. The service did not move me. But the music left me thinking about, or more accurately feeling, Christmases past and experiences that were an important part of who I was/am.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this memoir, I try to stay in Christmas mode well after The Day. And so I continue to revel in my Christmas memories and in the warmth of this year's particularly wonderful celebrations. I was planning to tell you about those celebrations today, in this post, but now that I've lingered so long in the past, that story will have to wait.

I hope you, too, have some special memories to warm your heart at what happens, at least here in Minnesota, to be a VERY cold time! 

-- Nancy

P.S. The heart ornament at top is one of a dozen hand-embroidered ornaments made for me by my mother shortly before she died. The tree with green ribbon was made by Jeanie at The Marmelade Gypsy, and the round "Froliche Weinachten" came from Connie at Far Side of Fifty. There's a story behind it. 

Writing a book...and celebrating

Just two of our 68 horses

Twenty-five years ago this month, my husband Peter and I flew to a New York auction and bought the former Minnesota State Fair carousel. We carried a letter of credit from US Bank for more than a million dollars; it was a loan to our nonprofit organization backed by the City of St. Paul. If we hadn't pulled off that purchase (and a lot of fundraising to repay the loan), the 75-year-old carousel would have been broken up and its 68 horses sold to private collectors. Instead, our volunteers have restored the carousel and operate it for the public under the name Cafesjian's Carousel. We'll celebrate its 100th birthday in 2014.

By many measures, we should not have been able to succeed.But we did, and now, all these years later, I'm writing a book about the history of the carousel including our campaign to save it. I put off this project for years, but we want the book published before the carousel opens for its centennial season on May 1. So I won't be writing a lot of inspired blog posts in the near future, but I'm trying not to disappear entirely.

for Thanksgiving.

Making pumpkin pie...

So I'm indulging myself with one sweet grandchild story. We picked up the kids after school yesterday (Friday) and brought them to our house, where their parents would pick them up an hour or two later. Both kids do lots of real cooking, but they still enjoy their toy food and make-believe cookware. Augie had decided Wednesday that we would have a tea party Friday afternoon.

Having holiday tea...

In preparation Augie laid out a scarf and a doll blanket near the Christmas tree, and on them he placed our tiny plastic tea party settings. He hauled in the big ceramic pot that he uses as a soup kettle and tossed in toy vegetables, which "cooked" for two days. We cut a real tea cake and brought out some grapes, and we used holiday mugs for individual beverage choices. Augie was so excited to stir the soup and serve the cake and make sure everyone was having a good time.

and dancing The Nutcracker

ViMae decided that her contribution would be to act out part of The Nutcracker, using the big nutcracker from our mantle. She danced with grace and joy, and then Augie joined in as the Toy Soldier and Daddy became the Mouse King. The Toy Soldier lost his sword, "Clara" threw her shoe, and the Mouse King was vanquished. Hurrah!


I relished all of this, knowing that the light was too dim to get good action shots but that the memories will live forever in the hearts of the lucky "audience." Whatever your holiday circumstances, I hope that you will rediscover some sweet memories from the past and make a few new ones to carry you forward.