Thursday, December 31, 2009

What a Year!

You’re probably reflecting on 2009 and wondering where all the time went.  So am I.  For me, 2009 brought a lot of changes and challenges.  For most of those reasons, I’m glad to put 2009 to bed. I am actually looking forward to 2010. 

Remember all the worry over Y2K?  It seems like yesterday.  How can a decade move so fast?  One minute we’re worried over computers figuring out the year 2000 and in the next, September 11th.  I remember thinking that day that our world would never be the same.  In truth, it changed long before September 11th.  We just didn’t know it. 

Now, when we are reminiscing about the ‘turn of the century’, we have to specify which century.  Isn’t that wild?  Back then, I was just learning ‘instant messaging’ and ‘chat rooms’.  I had heard of blogging, but wondered who would want to do that.  Ummm,  well, me!  And, apparently, a lot of you!

I’m sure there will be more changes in the future.  I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog thinking about the past and remembering good times.  I do believe the best is yet to come for all of us.  So, it’s a good time to thank you for visiting my blog this year and taking the time to comment.  I appreciate all of you!  I wish you a New Year filled with health, love, and happiness.  Have a blessed day!

Thursday, December 24, 2009

'Twas the night before Christmas


Twas the night before Christmas,when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap—

When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter,
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blitzen—
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;

His droll little month was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

The Gift of the Magi

The true gifts this Christmas are the time spent with friends and family. I think this story from O. Henry reminds us of what is really important. Treasure each moment.

by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral eflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and
sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair
hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and
value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying a little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she
whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of
all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Another Sunset



Are you tired of seeing my sunsets yet?  I just can’t help snapping a picture; each one is so unique.  I’ve been fortunate to see sunsets on the beach and those are beautiful also.  But, you just can’t beat a Tennessee sunset.  Have a blessed day!

Sunday, December 13, 2009

A Tale of Two Trees


Tales from the hollow sunset

This time of year I look at trees a little differently.  I’m always on the lookout for the perfect Christmas tree.  In the Hollow, we always had a live tree.  We’d all go out a week or so before Christmas and cut down a live tree.  Trees look smaller out in the wild, so you have to be careful in choosing the right size.  We always used Daddy as a measurement.  He was the perfect height leaving just enough room for the star.  It always took a little time to find the perfect tree.  Often times one would look great from a distance, but up close we’d find it had a twin trunk or some other fault.

I remember one year we found the perfect tree quickly.  We had it decorated with lights and ornaments before the tree ‘warmed’ up and got used to being inside.  There’s something about the aroma of fresh cedar.  This particular year, later referred to as the ‘year of the skunk’, we detected an unusual scent coming from the tree.  Yes, it had been sprayed by a skunk.  Since it was pretty cold that winter, we didn’t notice until it had been inside for a few hours.

Well, it didn’t take long to remove all the decorations.  But, it did take a while to get the scent out of the house.  And, we took even longer to find another tree being careful to sniff it for anything unusual!  I don’t remember the presents I got that year, but I do remember us all laughing over that tree.  Special memories are priceless.  What will your memory be this year?

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Christmas Balls

Some of my favorite Christmas memories revolve around spending time with Mom in the kitchen. Even as a small child, I was allowed to help out whenever she made cookies. In the days before food processors, we would use a rolling pin to crush vanilla wafers and nuts. We would place the nuts in a clean kitchen towel, fold it over and roll the pin over it until they were just perfect. It took a little longer than these days, but somehow we had more time. Time for memories and time for a little Christmas magic.
This recipe is from my Grandmother's collection. She lived 'up North' and would keep these Christmas Balls in a tin on the screened in back porch. When we would make them, we'd just leave them in one of the unheated rooms of the house. In the days of central heat and air, you might want to refrigerate them. That is, if they last that long!
Christmas Balls
1 pound vanilla wafers, rolled
1 pound powdered sugar
1 stick oleo
One six-ounce can orange juice frozen concentrate
Mix and make into small balls. Roll in coconut.

Check out more great recipes at The Grocery Cart Challenge Recipe Swap.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Christmas Dishes

Several years ago a friend gave me a set of Christmas tableware at a gift exchange. She said that everyone needed a set of Christmas dishes. The good dishes were used sparingly in the hollow and only on special occasions. I didn't know anyone that had Christmas tableware. My friend was right and it was the perfect gift. Every year since then, I've used those dishes in December.
Back in the hollow, our tradition was always a Christmas breakfast rather than a dinner. But, the table was always set with our best silver flatware. We would fry up country ham and make red-eye gravy. Eggs, homemade buttermilk biscuits, and sometimes grits found their way to the table. Years later I would add a hash brown potato dish to the mix served up in a sculpted casserole.
I can smell the ham frying already! This time of year, is it any wonder we're always checking out the latest in Food News? Our memories and traditions tend to revolve around kitchen tables at Christmas. Not just for the food, but for the fellowship. Traditions are passed down to little ones as those recipes are being cooked up. But, they are learning more from our actions than from the recipe. Spending time with friends and family is one of the treasures found at Christmas.
Red-Eye Gravy
After frying country ham, add one cup of strong black coffee to the drippings left in the skillet. Scrape the bottom of the pan for any bits of ham and stir. Pour into bowl. As the drippings settle, the red-eye forms at the bottom of the bowl. Serve over biscuits.