The outside world was glistening this morning.
It didn't matter if it was the earth's surface or the wind shield on the Subaru. Millions of tiny diamonds added a pleasant dimension to my morning walks.
In addition, the overnight freeze, with a few degrees colder, solidified the ground's surface enough to allow me to walk on snow without sinking into a hole.
I'm hearing we may get some snow and then some rain, so I am appreciating these conditions while they last.
Today I decided to go all-out Thursday Throwbacks with both text and photos.
There's a lazy reason for that. I didn't take any pictures yesterday, and my day was pretty mundane.
I might have mentioned before that there are often topics I'd would really like to write about, but they are topics which inspire more than adequate disagreement.
So, in my old age, I work really really hard to "keep my mouth shut." That discipline does limit me some times because such topics often dominate my thinking.
Fortunately, I have enough friends still among the living, and what doesn't go in the blog dominates our conversation.
I talked to a friend yesterday who told me that she had only one woman in her geographic location with whom she could commiserate. Then, the lady up and died.
Fortunately, my like-minded friends are hanging in there.
Anyway, the rest of today's post includes thoughts gleaned from Christmas seasons past.
It's times like today that I feel so fortunate to have been posting on the this blog for so long. Lots of material and, happily, photos.
Enjoy, and Happy Thursday.
2008
A Forester's Perspective
When I came to the living room this morning, I saw that Bill had plugged in the lights. And, Bill usually doesn't plug in the Christmas lights. He's usually following me around, unplugging them.
I
commented on the half-lit tree, and, the ever-positive Bill launched
into a commentary on why the tree was pretty: that its absence from the
forest had opened the way for a healthier forest which means a healthier
treasury for the state's forest funding, which means more money for the
schools and with more money for the schools, Idaho should have smarter
kids---all because we removed skinny Hemlock from the grove.
That
made me feel better because, of course, I believe in schools and
smarter kids, and if our ugly tree leaving the forest contributes to the
coffers, we have done a good thing. And, my sister who knows not to say
anything bad about Marianne's tree is a teacher, so that's all the more
reason she'll keep her mouth shut.
from 2006
Christmas Surprise, Not
I already know what one of my
Christmas gifts is. This one comes from Bill. It actually arrived here
about a week ago from LL Bean.
I brought it in the house and stuck the
box under the Christmas tree, figuring Bill would see it. He did but
just left the shipping box under the tree for a couple of days.
Finally Thursday morning when he looked inside, he learned that LL Bean had sent him the wrong size and color. That disordered his mind, and that's when I learned that the gift was actually for me. He was concerned because he hadn't looked to find the mistake earlier, so he was sure that my real gift would arrive after Christmas. I told him that was okay.
Later, while coming into the house with the newspapers, I could hear Bill in the bedroom on the phone, talking about the goose down vest which had come in the wrong size and wrong color.
Finally Thursday morning when he looked inside, he learned that LL Bean had sent him the wrong size and color. That disordered his mind, and that's when I learned that the gift was actually for me. He was concerned because he hadn't looked to find the mistake earlier, so he was sure that my real gift would arrive after Christmas. I told him that was okay.
Later, while coming into the house with the newspapers, I could hear Bill in the bedroom on the phone, talking about the goose down vest which had come in the wrong size and wrong color.
I think he was aware that I
heard but we both pretended that I hadn't. He did tell me that LL Bean
would be shipping out the correct gift and that with any luck, it might
even arrive before Christmas after all.
While at work, he told his friends about the guaranteed arrival of the gift. They reminded him that Denver Airport was closed. His hopes sank but all for naught.
While at work, he told his friends about the guaranteed arrival of the gift. They reminded him that Denver Airport was closed. His hopes sank but all for naught.
Friday evening after we returned from Slate's, Bill
looked around for a possible Fed Ex deposit. No dice.
Two minutes
later, however, the Fed Ex lady drove into the driveway and handed him
the package from LL Bean. The gift from Freeport, Maine, came
through.
2018
"Sweet Moments
As
some new-fallen snow and the Vienna Boys Choir CD help me fully immerse
myself into the Christmas spirit during this blog posting, another
lovely thought comes to mind.
Indeed,
the hustle bustle makes us crazy, but much of this self-induced stress
evolves into treasured moments of visiting with friends and just plain
thinking about friends.
A
neighbor rolled up her sleeves yesterday morning, baked some cranberry
cakes and then came for a visit. She left with a couple of jars from
this fall's jelly project.
The in-between-gifts part, though, turned out to be most delightful, as it often does.
As
she sat in the Amish rocker, which we purchased from her store,
sampling one of my fresh butterflake rolls AND approving, Bill came in
from the woods, and we all enjoyed some catching up on what's happened
in our mutual lives over the past year.
This
morning, after feeding horses and cleaning stalls, I set off for a walk
up our road through the darkness with a cookie plate carefully stuffed
inside my vest.
Snow was falling on a calm, quiet landscape, and, of course, on me.
Eventually, I reached Gary's mailbox and placed the cookie plate inside.
I
don't know if Gary eats all the goodies or if he shares them with his
grandkids, but I do know that the cookie plate serves as a token of
neighborly friendship and acknowledgement that we do appreciate all
those times that my longtime friend and classmate honks whenever he
drives past our house.
from 2019
Cookies to Die For, Probably
Speaking
of fruitcakes, that brings another scary thought. How about that
family with the 141-year-old fruitcake baked by Great-Grandma Fidelia
Ford.
What
if one of these centuries a juvenile descendant gets into the food like
we Brown kids used to do, finds that fruitcake, like we Brown kids used
to do, tries to skim off a bite very carefully so nobody will notice
and then dies.
Could be bad and sad and nobody might ever know the cause of death.
When I read about Fidelia's fruitcake, I couldn't help but think of "the Christmas cookies."
If my friends Pam and Marian are reading, they need no explanation.
The
rest of you, however, would need to know that somewhere---at least I
think this is true---somewhere in this house, I have a canister of
Christmas cookies baked sometime back in the late '70s-early '80s.
They
had been in the freezer for only six months when Pam came to visit one
summer over at our former home on Great Northern Road.
I had nothing else to serve as the hostess with the "mostess," so I pulled out the Christmas cookies from the freezer.
I had nothing else to serve as the hostess with the "mostess," so I pulled out the Christmas cookies from the freezer.
They seemed to like them, maybe even so much that Pam took the rest with the canister.
This
part of the story is foggy. What I do remember, however, is several
years of cookie exchanges between the Love house and Pam wherever she
happened to live at the time.
One time we even made the exchange at San
Francisco airport.
I do believe I received them last. If I ever find them again before I die, I'll give 'em back to Pam.
If not, I'll include her in my will. I think she'll be pleased that I remembered her with those priceless cookies.
If not, I'll include her in my will. I think she'll be pleased that I remembered her with those priceless cookies.
2012
More Cookie Nostalgia
Yesterday
I enjoyed a moment of nostalgia while standing in line at Yoke's with
my $50 worth of caloric delights for upcoming batches of Christmas
cookies.
Yes, there's some sentimental flavor in every batch of Christmas cookies baked here at the Lovestead.
My mother started me out on the Christmas baking sprees through her example of feeding friends and neighbors with her delicious cookie plates.
So, yesterday I was buying the goods for those wonderful praline pecan bars, introduced to me by my friend Cherry. I also bought marshmallows and evaporated milk for chocolate fudge, always a staple among my mother's offerings.
The pile also included several bags of various-flavored chips and two or three cake mixes, which will work well in some cookie recipes.
After I dropped my load onto Millie's check stand counter, Millie looked at the lady behind me and commented on her bag of nuts in the shell.
"Yes, my mother always had nuts in the shell for Christmas," the lady said, adding that she just had to scoop some up when she discovered them in the bin.
I joined the conversation, adding that, in addition to unshelled nuts, my mother always had little dishes of brightly colored hard candy around the house at Christmas.
That inspired a story about her Italian grandmother who made miniature cookies and then dabbed them with honey.
"So good," she said, "I made a pig out of myself on those."
Later, when I was visiting my mother, Jeannie, the nurse, asked about our family baking traditions.
I told her how Mother had served as my example and that one of the more meaningful memories involved my folks trips on Thanksgiving and Christmas to Dusty's cabin.
Dusty was the neighborhood hermit who may end up being the central figure in one of my "roundtoit" stories. He lived in a shack just up the road from us.
My folks would take him plates of Christmas cookies as well as holiday meals. Dusty never had much to say as they entered his humble abode, but they knew he appreciated their visit AND the food.
The nurse also asked me if I used my mother's recipes for my Christmas cookies.
"No," I said, then thinking of her standard yearly batches of Christmas fruit cookies. Mother bought all kinds of dried fruits and nuts and then ran them through the meat grinder.
I used to love watching the gooey mixture shoot out of the opening and cascade into the bowl on her bread board.
One fact I did not share with the nurse was the year that Mother cut off part the tip of a finger while grinding away at that fruit.
We never did know for sure if that year's batch had a little extra protein. We hope not.
The other nostalgia that always went along with Christmas cookies at the North Boyer farm involved all the methods Mother used to hide them from her "three little pigs," otherwise known as Mike, Kevin and Marianne.
It was a yearly struggle for her to come up with new places to hide the fudge or the cannisters full of cookies.
I think we outsmarted her almost every year, and I'm thinking that knowing that Christmas cookie supplies could possibly dwindle keeps me ever alert and sneaky also.
So far, my holiday cookie losses have never come close to those of my mother's.
Of course, a lot of that has to do with the fact that my kids are grown and out of the house. Plus, even when they were little, they never seemed quite as hungry as we were ALL THE TIME.
Yes, there's some sentimental flavor in every batch of Christmas cookies baked here at the Lovestead.
My mother started me out on the Christmas baking sprees through her example of feeding friends and neighbors with her delicious cookie plates.
So, yesterday I was buying the goods for those wonderful praline pecan bars, introduced to me by my friend Cherry. I also bought marshmallows and evaporated milk for chocolate fudge, always a staple among my mother's offerings.
The pile also included several bags of various-flavored chips and two or three cake mixes, which will work well in some cookie recipes.
After I dropped my load onto Millie's check stand counter, Millie looked at the lady behind me and commented on her bag of nuts in the shell.
"Yes, my mother always had nuts in the shell for Christmas," the lady said, adding that she just had to scoop some up when she discovered them in the bin.
I joined the conversation, adding that, in addition to unshelled nuts, my mother always had little dishes of brightly colored hard candy around the house at Christmas.
That inspired a story about her Italian grandmother who made miniature cookies and then dabbed them with honey.
"So good," she said, "I made a pig out of myself on those."
Later, when I was visiting my mother, Jeannie, the nurse, asked about our family baking traditions.
I told her how Mother had served as my example and that one of the more meaningful memories involved my folks trips on Thanksgiving and Christmas to Dusty's cabin.
Dusty was the neighborhood hermit who may end up being the central figure in one of my "roundtoit" stories. He lived in a shack just up the road from us.
My folks would take him plates of Christmas cookies as well as holiday meals. Dusty never had much to say as they entered his humble abode, but they knew he appreciated their visit AND the food.
The nurse also asked me if I used my mother's recipes for my Christmas cookies.
"No," I said, then thinking of her standard yearly batches of Christmas fruit cookies. Mother bought all kinds of dried fruits and nuts and then ran them through the meat grinder.
I used to love watching the gooey mixture shoot out of the opening and cascade into the bowl on her bread board.
One fact I did not share with the nurse was the year that Mother cut off part the tip of a finger while grinding away at that fruit.
We never did know for sure if that year's batch had a little extra protein. We hope not.
The other nostalgia that always went along with Christmas cookies at the North Boyer farm involved all the methods Mother used to hide them from her "three little pigs," otherwise known as Mike, Kevin and Marianne.
It was a yearly struggle for her to come up with new places to hide the fudge or the cannisters full of cookies.
I think we outsmarted her almost every year, and I'm thinking that knowing that Christmas cookie supplies could possibly dwindle keeps me ever alert and sneaky also.
So far, my holiday cookie losses have never come close to those of my mother's.
Of course, a lot of that has to do with the fact that my kids are grown and out of the house. Plus, even when they were little, they never seemed quite as hungry as we were ALL THE TIME.
If anyone can get their cookies to outdo these in uniformity and presentation, I'd like like to see a sample and maybe taste it too.
The
famous Margarete Raiha brand.
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