The Wednesday After Christmas

It was snowing at the early service, this morning.  It did not last long, and only could be considered a dusting, but the chance to watch it fall, was not short on beauty.  Snow is so very rare here, in the south, that we must be content with even the most brief episodes of it.  The winter trees were especially pretty, with snow on their branches.  By, ten am, the snow had turned to sleet, which is a messy affair.  Cash and Christopher Robin did not linger when they went out.  Cash did run around the yard and seemed to enjoy it for a moment.  Christopher Robin was not the least impressed and seemed disgusted altogether.  

Christmas passed and left behind some beautiful memories.  One of my favorites, was playing music with Brant and Christian.  Lyla had a small trashcan, we converted to a drum – and she  almost stole the show. 

 We always go to my parents on Christmas night for a light meal and to exchange gifts.  I mixed up some name tags, and Mama opened a sketch pad and crayons, meant for Lyla.  Daddy  opened earrings.    Mama was as scared of the sketch pad, as Daddy was of the earrings, so we all got a laugh.  The weather changed from mild to a cold, known only to winter, as we dined on our familiar Christmas fare .  It was quite a shock to walk out from the warm house, full of chatter,  into a frigid, still,  “Silent Night”.

Everyone went home yesterday, and in their absence, the rabbit patch seemed especially quiet and almost somber.  I kept myself busy by taking down wreaths and removing the precious ornaments from the tree.  I did not put away the china, for true to its’ name, “Winter Greetings”-it is perfectly appropriate for use til February.  The pattern is full of ribbons and redbirds and this year, I was given two new pieces.   I wrapped the remnants of a pound cake and the last bit of gingerbread.  I put a new pot in the cupboard and took one out, as I adhered to my  own rule made, during the “cleansing” in July.  

 I took my sweet time restoring order.   Every year, I tend to mope about for a while, when everyone goes home.  For years, I out and out cried, the minute they pulled out of the drive.  I would wave cheerfully and blow kisses . . and then go in and cry aloud.   Now, though, I miss them awfully bad, I do not resort to such drastic measures.  It took me a long time to make peace with this part of my journey, but thankfully, and at last, I have. 

Mostly, the Christmas closet is once again the “keeper of all things Christmas”.  I did leave a snowman here and there, but the Christmas books are back on the shelf.  Tomorrow, I hope to finish painting the living room.

Thursday

A bright and cold morning has dawned.  It does not feel like a Thursday-it does not feel like any day in particular.  It just seems like some day, after Christmas. The sky is mostly clear and  is a gentle shade of blue.  There are a few streaks of thin stratus clouds.  The air is still as it has ever been .  It is also quiet.  . .so am I.  I can not feel hurried under such conditions. 

I have a few tasks to complete-and the living room is one of them.  Tomorrow, I leave for Elizabeth City, and so I must pack for that. (in my new luggage)  I ought to cook things to take with me, also, as Jennys’ kitchen is still being remodeled. 

Of course, the beginning of a new year is at hand.  I have never been one to celebrate the new year with great fanfare.  I celebrate it quietly, as the event puts me in a reflective mood.  I do not make specific, lofty resolutions, as some do, as I lack the fortitude to carry them out.   I will simply remind myself, of what really matters to me, what I truly value and set out to make those things priorities.  It is a long and thorough process -and does not require fancy clothes or a loud party.  It is mostly between me and God.  In some way, to me every day is the start of a new year.   I am not against parties to celebrate a new year or fireworks-but, instead, think we should all act as we are inspired to do so.  What a shame  it would be, if every one lit a candle, as I do,  and there were no displays of fireworks, to unite  the world, in celebration.

For now, I will be glad for this day and its’ details.  I love ordinary days, when the sun shines on the rabbit patch,- and Christopher Robin and Cash doze in the light of sunbeams, by the “morning table”.  This day is worth celebrating, too.

 

 

 

 

Christmas eve morning is here . . and with it rain.  I woke to the sound of rain and it was lovely.  I wished it were snow. ( Just a light friendly snow that would not hinder anyones’ progress)  None the less, it is the magical eve of Christmas, and rain will suit me fine.  I couldn’t complain today, if I wanted to, for I especially love Christmas eve.   Besides, the holiday lights still twinkle, and the kitchen smells like Christmas fare.  The table, will be adorned with the Christmas china, and most importantly-my loved ones will gather around it.  

When the rain breaks, I will gather pine-enough that you smell it when walking in.  Paired with the apples and oranges, the smell of Christmas will be prevalent.  My oldest sons, Brant and Tres will drive in from Wilmington today-and Mama and Daddy will join us for a Christmas eve supper.  I am already cooking and clean linens are on the beds.  I have a lot of floors to scrub, that will immediately be tracked with dirt and mud, when everyone comes in.  The dogs will be bathed at the last moment and candles will be lit-especially the one in the “welcome home” lantern at the back door.  The boys will not have wrapped a single present and so I am always on alert to begin that task in the late hours.  

I did not get back to the rabbit patch, til well after dark. yesterday.  I drove back in muted light, which was a far cry better than the drive going, in the rain.  I had to stop by the grocery store, and there in lies the culprit of my late arrival, home.  To complicate matters, I was undecided about what dishes to bring to the gathering on Christmas night, at the home of my parents.  It must have shown, as a young man asked if he could help me.  I decided to make “Aunt Agnes’ apple salad” and the cheddar garlic biscuits, my niece, Hayley, loves.  The check out lines were full, more than I have ever seen them int the small town.  When I became the next to check out, the gentleman in front of me, promptly, dropped a gallon of milk which exploded upon impact.  Now, there really is no merit to “crying over spilt milk” and so I became last in the next line, without holding a grudge.  The man that dropped it was full of distress and there was no need to add to it.   

In the Afternoon

What a commotion, there was in the old farmhouse-and it lasted til just past one.  Finally, at long last, the floors were scrubbed and the scent of fresh pine lingered in the air.  Cash had a bath and candles were lit.  What lovely moments, when all is ready and the children due to arrive. 

I lit the “welcome home” lantern and thought, Christmas eve is a lovely time.

 

Dear Readers of the rabbit patch diary,  I can not thank you enough for the gifts of kind and encouraging words, you leave me.  So many times, I am moved to tears at the sight of them.  How generous you all are.  As big as this world is, you all have a way of making it a cozy and friendly place.  Thank you, with all my heart.  Merry, merry Christmas . . . love Michele

 

 

I arrived in Elizabeth City, early in the afternoon, on Wednesday.  It had rained the whole day.  When I crossed the three rivers, it was impossible to see where the rivers ended and the sky started, on the horizon. 

How good it felt to turn in to the familiar Riverside Village, by the laughing river.  It had been close to a fortnight, since  my last visit.  Trees have shed their leaves and now,  front doors are adorned with wreaths.  Windows donned twinkling lights, from the little cottages to the stately manors, making the drive a “merry and bright” occasion.

It was a sweet reunion for me.   Lyla ran to the door saying “Honeybee is back!” We hugged for a long time in silence.  She showed me her Christmas tree, not long after I got there.  Will and Jenny are having their kitchen remodeled and I was eager to see the progress, on that too.  The kitchen is absolutely beautiful, but not yet functional-of course, I brought several meals with me to help out.

 On Thursday, which was “the longest evening of the year”, Lyla and I were able to stroll through the village.  Lyla had some jingle bells and she would ring them at the sight of people, dogs and cats-and say “merry Christmas!”  She missed two people in a row, and so I stopped to ask her why . . .she was fast asleep, clutching her bells.

Will was stopping by his moms’,   Miss Claudia,  in the afternoon, and so I sent her some old fashioned Christmas candies and a holiday towel for the kitchen.  I have a few more small gifts for her, but they could wait, as I was hoping for a visit with her, myself, during my stay.   Jenny and I wrapped presents and how pretty they looked under the tree.  We stopped just before Will came home.  Will had a large gift with him, that he placed around the tree.   . . I found out later, it was for me!  

Miss Claudia sent me a luggage set-I had not had a new one in twenty years!  The one I use now is really, Kyles’.   The set is a lovely shade of turquoise and I am quite thrilled with it.  What a surprise for me and it touched me deeply that Miss Claudia was so generous.

Friday, was the day Jenny and I set aside, to shop.  Both of us had some “loose ends” to tie up.  Our lists were minimal and quite precise.  We got up early and were out and about by shortly after nine.  The expedition was quite successful and we made good time.  By mid afternoon, the gifts were under the tree and there was no sign of our grand production.  

With the kitchen out of commission, we have had to forego such things as baking cookies and constructing gingerbread houses.  I will practice baking cookies after Christmas  Maybe we will start those traditions next year.  (when Lyla is old enough to know not to eat the roof of a gingerbread house)

Christmas evokes memories of traditions and people, too.  Often, traditions are born without intent.  I know I always buy apples and oranges at Christmas-enough that you smell them when you walk in the door, at the rabbit patch.  I do so because, my parents did.  I remember waking to the delightful smell, and knowing Santa had been.  My parents did, because their parents did so.  Traditions, remind us that in an ever changing world, some things do remain the same.  This is of great comfort to me, as there are less and less familiar circumstances now.  

I remember my people at Christmas.  People like Aunt Agnes, who played the piano jauntily-no matter the song.  She played Christmas carols and flashed a smile throughout every one of them.  I remember Aunt Josie- and Pop and Grandma.  I remember the year, that Grandma “ordered” a Christmas tree, instead of finding one in the woods.  It was unheard of and we were quite curious to see it.  We all went over, the day it arrived to see “the aluminum tree”.  What a horrible shock it was for me, to see a silver stick with branches.   The “tree” looked as unreal, as anything I had ever seen-because it was. Grandma said people in Florida had these trees and I reckoned then, that Florida was not an ordinary land.

I remember “Mama Hodges”, my great grandmother.  She handed her great grandchildren an envelope every year,with five dollars inside.  She made pound cakes regularly-and the kitchen always smelled of them.  

I have especially thought about my dads’ mother, my grandmama- Ruth Arlean Warren.  Grandmama lived to almost ninety-three.  She has been gone just under ten years-and is still missed. 

Christmas is a time to remember, the gifts “of a lifetime” given by those before us-gifts, that helped form us, into who we are, right now.  . . unlike tea sets and trains, the gifts of loved ones, do not “break their main springs or clockworks” thus becoming useless or uninteresting.  Gifts of loved ones “happen” to us . . .bestowed naturally and habitually.  I wish now, I had thanked them, for teaching me to love a garden, songbirds and flowers.  Beyond those things, I learned how to be resourceful and to deplore wastefulness.  I was taught the value of work 

 I learned to be grateful and to pray.  These things still sustain me and have been  just the tools, I have needed, thus far.

Christmas is a time to remember.

 

 

Today is the first day of the holiday break.   The morning was too lovely not to notice, as I drove to work.  There was a mist hanging over the fields and pastures.  When the sun rose over the tree line, the mist became tinted  and what a difference, it made to the countryside.  The sun looked like a bright clementine for a while.  Moments later it turned the color that only the sun can claim. . . though maybe the daffodils would disagree, as they come as close as anything I know of. 

The air was  only slightly chilled.  So far, a warm Christmas day is predicted.  I took a chance and put a live poinsettia out by the lamp post.  The temperature  even at night, is supposed to be mild. . . time will tell, as it always does. 

 School dismissed early today and I took full advantage of that.  I bought a gift for my sister, filled the car with gas, and  then came home.  I commenced to wrapping presents, determined to finish that project.  Tomorrow, at long last, I am going to Elizabeth City, and I so want to leave the house in good order.  

It took the best part of the afternoon, but it is with great pleasure I can say that the presents are wrapped  and nestled beneath the tree.  Most of the ornaments have been hung and how beautifully familiar they are.     The kitchen is a kitchen again-and oh, the Christmas china is on the table.  I also started packing.  How good it feels to prepare for a visit with my only daughter and grandchild.   I will stay a few days and then come back to the rabbit patch, for my older sons, Brant and Tres are coming home on Christmas eve.  To say,  I am “happy as a lark”  is an understatement.  If all goes well, I hope to have a special supper for Christmas eve.  Lyla will be waiting for Santa,  for the first time this year, so they will not come til Christmas day.  I have no idea what time my sons will arrive,  either.  It matters little to me, what details work out, as long as they all get here safely.  I always say, that I am my happiest, when my children are all gathered and sleeping under my roof again.  Of course, they find this amusing and have no comprehension of this notion.  The boys tease me, that we are sleeping-and  so they wonder how this could evoke such joy for me.  The truth is, all I know is that for a little while, we are “the way we were”.  

When the children were young, they received three gifts from Santa-in keeping with the gifts of the “Wise men”.  Jenny plans to do so with Lyla.  One of the gifts, was always a book-and I still have them, of course.  Mama would ask the children what they wanted for Christmas, and they would say things like Lucky Charms or White bread.  When Jenny was two, she asked Santa for”fried chicken and diamond earrings”.  These stories still tickle me.  Tres asked for a snowman one year, as we have never had a white Christmas, in this “neck of the woods”.  Lyla has already visited with Santa and she asked for “presents”.  When I was young, I saw the “real Santa” and did not know it at the time.

Mama used to sew and make all of our “Sunday ” dresses.  Sometimes they matched, but not always.  I used to hate the “fittings” for I was bound to get stuck by pins no matter how still I stood.  The fittings also seemed to come at the most undesirable times, too. They seemed to come, when my sister I were creating the most exciting dramas with our dolls.  Mama sewed a lot and we took little notice of what she was doing at the sewing machine.  In fact, we tried to steer clear of Mama altogether, when she was sewing.  

Most every year, we got a doll for Christmas-real dolls that looked like babies and shut their eyes to go to sleep.  I probably loved dolls more than any other toy.  I still remember their names, for the dolls were our companions and  were never far from us. One year, the dolls came with a lot of little dresses.  I thought “Santa” had performed some miracle, as the dolls had dresses made from the same materials as our own.  I remember knowing one dress was going to  be itchy, and so did not make the doll wear that one often.

It was years later when I pieced things together.  I was no longer playing with dolls and  so I asked Mama  about that particular Christmas.  Mama said money was especially tight that year, and so she made all of those little dresses.  She said it was tedious work, as the dresses were so little and it took her a long while to make them.  That is when it “dawned on me”, that I had seen the real Santa, after all.  

One year Kyle asked for a bike for Christmas.  We bought one ,  not assembled, as money was tight that year for us.  I wanted that bike put together and begged my husband to do so weeks before Christmas.  Jamie said it would take him twenty minutes tops and not to worry.  Jamie worked on that bike for hours, Christmas Eve night-finally a neighbor and friend joined the effort.  Nuts and bolts were missing, and some were not the right size.  It was a harrowing night and I declare Kyle got up within an hour of  the completion.   . .the real Santa forgot to eat the cookies, that year.

Wednesday

It is raining at the early service.  It is a softly falling rain, and begs one to linger under a soft blanket.  I have a lot of “loose ends”  to tie up, before I leave, so I can not heed the beckoning of a morning rain.  I must use extra caution on my drive to Elizabeth City.  I must pack the rain coat- and the “Christmas books”  that tell the stories of the many reasons, I love Christmas.  I will sing “Joy to the World” with Lyla and “Away in a Manger”-Lyla will sing her “Twinkle Bells” and I will laugh-and I  am bound to cry too, as I am so sentimental (and Irish).   

Dear Diary-I am glad for Christmas, when hearts are  especially tender to one another.  I am glad for memories of  being loved, for I always have been. . . and  I am  especially  glad  that “All hearts come home for Christmas”.  

Morning broke again with a holy silence. It is hard to be anything but reverent when all around you is still.  The peace washes over you like rain and acts like a comforting tonic.  . . when the day is born gently.  I am always humbled at the majesty of nature, and at the same time empowered, knowing I am part of it, for our Source is the same.

I came in and started on the “Christmas projects”  .  I started right off sorting the presents, by family.  When all was said and done,  one present was missing.  I took everything out of the Christmas closet, something that has not  happened in years.  Well, now the Christmas closet is in good order.  This was the only closet, not cleaned out in July.  Besides gifts, the closet holds wrapping accessories and my beloved Christmas china.  I had not planned on this task and besides that, I did not find the gift.  The hall was a disaster and I explained to Christian  I was looking for a gift,  He made tracks, remembering the  search for the ornaments.  As I was putting things back in the closet, I found the gift.  It was in a bag, hanging on the door of the closet.  

By noon, Kyle had the tree up and shining through the double windows  in the living room.  I was wrapping presents and humming as I did so.  For the first time in years, I ran out of boxes, then tape, and then wrapping paper!  I always buy a surplus of supplies after the holiday. so it is a mystery to me how that happened.  I had to go to town, in the midst of things.  The nearest town is about fifteen minutes, so I combed my hair and went.  I had about fifty gift bags, but Christmas is but once a year, and I really love wrapped presents.  I found some candy cane paper, snowmen and Santa (for Lyla) – all red and white, so I was pleased, but this was the second hour of interruption for me, if you count the Christmas closet ordeal . . .and I did.  

I slipped a chicken and broccoli casserole in the oven  and put on a pot of rice- and continued wrapping presents.  Kyle and I worked on the porch.  Kyle loves Christmas.  He did not complain once as we worked, but ran to find extension cords and light bulbs, eagerly.  This made the work go quickly.  Thankfully, all of the lights worked.  I had tested them yesterday, but that doesn’t always ensure success.

Tonight, I am going to work til I can’t.  I have not given up on making cookies either . . .  of course,  tomorrow is Monday-and you know that changes everything.

 

The early service, in the rabbit patch territory, was a cold and still one, today.  I went out to collect pine cones and thought the sound of the door shutting, would shatter the world.  Heavy frost was just beginning to sparkle in the first light.  Cash and Christopher Robin, had been so eager to accompany me, and had darted out in an unmannerly fashion. They seemed quite shocked at the stark landscape, covered with icy crystals. . . and stopped dead in their tracks, for a moments to survey just where they had landed.  I had a bit of luck and found plenty of pine cones quickly.  Pine cones are wonderful for starting fires.  When I came in, that dog and cat did too, like a flash, as if they were escaping from something horrid.  I started a fire in the wood stove and then a small one in the den, with the “morning table”.  How good it felt to be at home and what “great expectations”  I was harboring.  

I was hopeful that the bedroom would be be put back together-and maybe we would finally get our Christmas decorations put up.  Dare I try to make cookies . . again ?-(the kind you want to eat).  The morning  is full of hope, for me.

By mid morning the bed was set up and most of the shoes were in the closet. Of course, the door to the closet needs some adjustments as it no longer shuts properly, but drags on the carpet, instead.    The dresser  sits against the wall, waiting patiently for the mirror to be hung above it.  The only job, I do not take pleasure in,  that looms before me , is hanging a stack of clean clothes .  Cash and Christopher Robin are not allowed in the only carpeted room in the house and this caused a great deal of distress for them. The circumstances are new to them as they are nearly always wherever I am.  Still, I was unmoved by their pleading as I am well aware of what their reaction may be to a new, soft floor-and was not willing to risk it.  When the linens  were on the bed, and the faint scent of lavender wafted in the air, I felt  like the tragedy of the discovered hole in the floor was distant and far behind me.  I had been right-it was just a hole in the floor, after all.

At last, in the moments just after the noon hour, the bedroom was mostly complete.  Even the little mirror was hung.  Not everything that came out, went back in.  Once again, I had a small box for donation.  At least, there wasn’t a bit of trash.  It has really surprised me to find how few possessions I typically use.  I have not yet missed a thing I disposed of in July.  I thought, to myself , that I have “been moving out”,  in a way,  for a long time-and I laughed at that.

I can never stay on just one task, it seems.  Ever so often, I would venture to the storage barn, and bring some “Christmas” in the house.  The wreaths came in one by one,  some needed new ribbons.  Lights came in and were checked strand by strand.  As I searched. I was so very grateful, that the storage barn had been cleaned out this past summer.  Of course now, we will not eat at the kitchen table  this weekend.  As , I rambled in the barn, I noticed I had not come across the ornaments.  Each time, I went out, I looked without any luck.  When it was almost dark, I was sure, that somehow I had accidentlly “donated” the precious ornaments.  I almost cried remembering Jenny as a little girl, picking out a snowflake each year.  I have five ornaments alike, of each kind, to represent my children.  Most were bought at Christmas shops and were especially pretty.  Through the years, the collection has grown until it is quite an impressive assortment.  I gave up and felt awful about it.  These were some possessions, I was very sorry to lose.  As is my habit, I repeated they were just ornaments.  I struggled not to cry over “things” in front of Christian.  . .but, it was difficult as the ornaments represented some fond memories.  One day, I intended to give each child a “set” of them.   Just as dusk set in, I decided to take one last look. . .and-  I found them!  I will not be so prideful about my noble ability to  care so little about possessions, in the future.  

I did hang wreaths today and the contents of the Christmas closet are out in the broad daylight.  The bedroom is in good  order and Cash nor Christopher Robin seem to care one iota about it.  Tomorrow, I am hoping again, the tree will be decorated and presents will be under it.  . . and the ornaments will adorn the tree as they have done faithfully,  for more than two decades.  

Dear Diary, I am glad for warm fires on cold mornings.  I am glad for beds with clean linens and wreaths on doors and barns too.  I am glad to have gently taught lessons . . .  and am especially glad to have  found the ornaments, gathered over the years ,  after all.

 

 

 

Wednesday

Winter came in last night with a cold and mighty wind.  It matters little to me that the calendar does not yet declare it is winter at the rabbit patch.   All of a sudden, the wind blew with a force, that  sent branches flying against the farmhouse and there were even snow flurries of  wild, fine flakes .  This morning,  a substantial amount of autumn leaves had been mercifully swept away to places like the patch of young woods, in the far corner of the territory.  What was left of them, lies in heaps, hither and yonder, as if I had raked them, myself.  

This morning, the ground was frozen and the  faint smell of wood smoke hung in the air.  The temperature was in the twenties-and sure  chilled  my southern blood.  The school children donned mittens and cheerful hats with fringe and tassels.  We were all disappointed that the snow did not stick and  that we had to carry on as usual.  In the south a snow day is like a holiday.  My friends from up north, that have relocated here, all tease us about this.  In Farm Life, and most all of the rural communities, it is the farmers that clear the roads.  We are likely to lose power, too.  I have no clue how to put chains on tires, and it doesn’t matter, for none of us are going anywhere. 

I came home today and made a small fire in the den.  Christian has been sick, but he kept the fire in the wood stove tended.  Sitting by the fire, I came to a decision.  I have decided to take the rabbit patch off the market, until late January.  We are in such a state of disarray with the floor repair and the painting,- and until recently the untidy condition of the yard, it just makes sense , to me, to consider an “interlude”. Of course, I have cleared this with my sister, Delores, who is a realtor, in Raleigh-and with Will and Tres, (pronounced Trace) who are business minded and dependably advise me, in such matters.  It is Christmas, after all and I am not likely to enjoy any aspect of selling a house, during the holidays.  My realtor is in agreement and so we made it official today.  

When things are in good order, and Christmas has passed, I will once again post a “for sale” sign under the old oak tree and hope for the best.  Until then, I will continue readying the rabbit patch for  the new lives that will call it their own, and dream of my next rabbit patch with a cozy cottage, where I will plant roses-and maybe tomatoes.  Winter is a good occasion  to dream.

Kyle is determined to get the Christmas tree up.  The living room is about finished and I see no reason, not to go along with him.  Once the tree is up, I will wrap the secrets in the Christmas closet, in pretty paper.  I love to wrap presents and take measures to  make sure they are attractive.  The papers all match in an odd sort of way and ribbons are hand tied .  Name tags are hand made and so it is quite an affair altogether.  People either  love to wrap gifts, or detest it.  There seems to be no in between.

Thursday

How happy I am to announce that the carpet is being installed as I am writing this.  I did not get  anxious about such a small inconvenience, really-but I am quite relieved and happy that order is being restored.  I had gotten used to gathering my clothes and shoes from the hall way and my dresser, which was in the middle of Christians’ room.   I learned to adapt to the conditions while I waited for the new floor.  Living on the remnants of an old farm has been of great profit to me.  I have learned what to do with “interludes” (or how to wait).   I suppose “practice makes perfect” rings true in facing minor adversity.  . .still, I am so very glad the ordeal is almost over. 

 I am hopeful that in a short while, Kyle will have his beloved Christmas tree . . .and I will have my shoes, back in the closet . . .and maybe, when order is restored and at last, the Christmas tree twinkles,  I will muster the courage and try again, to make cookies.

Dear Diary, I am glad for shelter when a cold wind blows. I am glad for the chance to hope and dream.  . . I am glad for Christmas trees and” interludes”.   . .and I am very glad for for lessons learned from living on a rabbit patch.

  

I was up long before dawn, this day.  I was at the early service in the  back yard of the rabbit patch, standing under a sycamore, not bearing a single leaf, when morning broke.  After a few dimly lit days, the bright light of dawn was a welcomed sight.  It is still cold, but I have quite a fondness for a friendly, cold  morning-the kind that does not burst pies , but simply demands a good, heavy coat. 

I like the winter landscape.  There is something so pure about it.  I like trees under any conditions. At the rabbit patch, there are always branches scattered about, on any given day.  They drop leaves without mercy- and the sycamores shed their bark and litter shards of it, on the territory.   The oaks drop acorns, yet I love them all in spite of everything.  The rabbit patch is a sanctuary for songbirds, because of the trees.  In the summer, the shade of an old tree, has made a difference for me on many occasions, in months like July.  Now, they all stand bare and look so very noble.  At night, when the sky is laden with stars  that shine through the bare branches, they look like Christmas trees, using only a little imagination.

At long last, the kitchen table is again a place to eat.  Laundry has been put away-so has “Christmas” .  The Avon glass is back on the shelves and so are the “white books”.  Even the piano, has been put back against the wall, and the “Home Sweet Home” picture hangs above it, again.  All of this happened before ten am.  

The only sign of Christmas at the rabbit patch is a poinsettia atop the refrigerator and a full “Christmas closet.”  I did manage to tie a red ribbon on the simple wreath on the backdoor-and put a new candle in the “welcome home” lantern that hangs outside the back door.  For many years, the Christmas tree is  always trimmed on December seventh, Kyles’ birthday.  It feels odd not to have done so this year.  Hopefully, the painting in the living room will be finished this week,  then we too, can declare our “Christmas Spirit”  is alive and well.

This is the first year that Lyla has at least some inkling about Christmas.  She is just two and a half, after all.   She had her Christmas with her paternal grandmother, Miss Claudia, this weekend.  Will comes from a close-knit family, and so there was a big family gathering at Miss Claudias’ home  with lots of  happy relatives and good food.  I take great comfort that Lyla lives close to her big and happy family.  

Jenny put her tree up, about a week ago.  When the lights were lit, Lyla exclaimed  “I love Christmas!” over and over.  When Lyla was taken to the Christmas parade, in Elizabeth City, she said ” Well, I love parades!”  Jenny, decided today, to make a gingerbread house with Lyla.  She bought a small kit, and all was going well, til Lyla ate part of the roof-I guess Lyla loves gingerbread houses too.

I can hardly wait to see Lyla.  I have been missing everybody lately.  The last few weekends have been spent working on the farmhouse-and I have a bit over a week of school left, as well.  There are still more than a few tasks to be completed, here at the rabbit patch, so I must bide my time and remember  all there is to do while I wait.

  It seems to me, while children wait for Santa, mothers wait for children. 

 

 

 

 

The bone chilling rain is about to wind down, it seems.  But for just a few measly degrees, it would have been snow.  Southern folks either love the rare event of snow or hate it-I love it.  The early service, at the rabbit patch was quite uneventful, on account of the rain. . .unless you consider, that light came to the world- and with it a host of opportunities.  I thought about this in the silver silence, for the mockingbird did not sing today.

Two birthdays happened this week.  My son Kyle had a birthday on December seventh.  Kyle is my fourth child.  I adopted Kyle from Colombia South America.  He was just two years old. Kyle is a hard worker and handsome too.  Kyle has to be outside despite the conditions.  My Kyle was a rascal as a young boy.  He “sold” the neighbors all sorts of things I had sent him to deliver.  Things like cake and hand me down childrens’ clothes.   Once, he put Christian in a wagon and collected donations for some operation that was bound to come up.  He tied a tricycle behind a neighbors’ truck, and convinced him he needed a new transmission, for a short while.  Thankfully, I had kind neighbors, who were amused with his antics and did not hold grudges. 

One Christmas, many years ago I did not have any money for Santa.  My husband had died, and I was barely keeping the lights on.  I called my children together and told them I could not help Santa this year.  The pain of that moment, is still remembered.  How, I thought could such wonderful children, not have a Christmas with at least a gift.  Brant was around twelve, and was the oldest.  Brant said “Mama, could you just help Santa for the little boys?”  Tres and Jenny loved the idea and agreed with all their little hearts.  I was overcome and fighting outright bawling.  I was so deeply touched and thought how pure my children were-and right as I thought “my children are perfect” . . .Kyle piped up and said “That could work!”  Oh, my Kyle -lest I became haughty, saved me!  Rest assured we had a merry Christmas, after all-and Kyle saved his money, and bought me a bar of soap!

My sister, Delores had a birthday on December eighth.  I was an almost red haired child with freckles and then Delores was born who was a pretty child, with blue eyes and the cutest little face.  We were friends, and partners .  In the summer, we spent hours under the grapevines with our dolls.  In the winter, we played in the woods.  In the rain we played in the barn.  Delores was the perfect companion for childhood. We were known to pull hair and  would scrap like naughty boys, on occasion, however.  Once, Delores was riding a pony in a parade, she and I  were having  just outside the backdoor. I was playing a dime store flute that made an unnatural sound.  The pony took to jumping about.  Delores was pleading with me to stop-but instead I played louder.  The pony, finally started  bucking and threw Delores  off.  Delores got up and marched over to me in a rage. She literally knocked the breath out of me.  We had those moments and many more like them, but Delores believed in me and made feel important – that  does a lot for a child.  The same can be said today.  Delores remains a devoted and loyal sister.  

Today, is a far cry from  a birthday celebration at the rabbit patch.  Clean laundry is on the kitchen table, folded to be put away.  The laundry must share the kitchen table with the presents bought on Wednesday.  The counter is full of the clean Avon decanters  and somewhere are the “white” books.  I am painting the built in shelves so that order will be restored, shortly and the glass and books can “go back to where they live”.  The hall remains the only “walk in” closet, I have ever had, due to the roll of carpet in the bedroom floor.   . .and we have “company coming”.  For months, the house and yard were in pristine condition.  Now that I have torn up the floor in the bedroom, several prospected buyers want tours.  I turned down the first few thinking it was an awful time-now I have decided to let them all come. We are making improvements, after all .  It is a bit ironic that every leaf is off of every tree and lying all over the territory as well.  Selling a house, is not for the faint of heart.  What a nuisance it is, to have kept order for so long , only to be caught “between a rock  and a hard place”.  . .however, I  am throwing caution to the wind, as I do not pray in vain, and am convinced  the future right owners will present themselves at the right time. . .and under any circumstances will fall in love with the rabbit patch,  just as I did a long while ago. .

 

The last few days have seemed like a winter prelude.  A cold chilling rain has fallen for the last few days-today, all the day long.  Lamps burn in odd day time hours and “winter clothes”  have been retrieved from closets.  It is the time to build a fire-and tend it for long periods of time.  The trees are all but bare and look  black in the dim light of day.  The landscape has changed and no longer bids  us to spend the afternoon outside, but for a winter walk.   Now, more than ever home and hearth seem to mean more, than they do in months like June.

Wednesday,  was the annual,  grand shopping spree for us.  Mama. my sisters, my niece and I spent a day together , for Christmas.  This was our seventeenth venture.  It is the only day of the year, that I shop all day.  I do not have the heart of a shopper.  In fact, I am more inclined to make do with what I have and live as simply as I can. . . but it is Christmas, after all, and that changes everything.   I do shop a bit all year long for the holiday and therefore avoid many worrisome details.  My own children and I, also have always kept Christmas small and personal.  Our gifts are things like  bars of fancy soaps, fine coffees, books, art and writing supplies-and always guitar strings for Christian.    When I go to Wilmington, I am always noting what is NOT in the kitchens, and ought to be.  I take stock of linens and towels too, for my children will never ask for anything.  They are a grateful lot and that for me means more than anything under the tree.  We do indulge ourselves with lavish meals that take all day to cook and all sorts of holiday fare.  In that way, we are extravagant.

Connie always drives Mama and I to the destination, that day.  Connie is a much more capable driver, than me and she has the vehicles to support our purchases.  We left not long after eight and met Delores, who drives from Raleigh, at a midway city.  At the first store, I found exactly what I had wanted to get Tres .  At another store, I found exactly what I had wanted for Will.  Since, my family is loyal to the “Rabbit Patch Diary”,  I can not go in to further detail, but “suffice it  to say”  I was quite satisfied at the end of the day.

Just before noon, that day ,we had been to several stores.  My niece, Hayley and I had been hungry a good while, as we neither had the good sense to eat breakfast.   When Connie called it “lunch time”, we did not complain.  Lunch provided us all the fortitude we needed for the “second shift”.  I must applaud Mama for her gallant effort.  I knew her knees had to be bothering her, but she did not complain one iota.   Delores, who could be a professional shopper, and I am quite serious -had discount cards for every store  we went to, and allowed all of us to take advantage of that.  Mama and Delores like to look at clothes, and did so wherever we landed.  Connie and I like dishes, though I remained stalwart and did not bring another pretty  dish back to the rabbit patch. (I have not yet forgotten the weeks of decluttering in July.)  Hayley and I like books and art supplies.  Hayley loves make up, too-I can barely apply  cold cream.  I bought chocolate as I always do, around mid afternoon.  We pass it around and find the will to finish.

It had been dark a while, when we got home.  Everybody has to call Mama when they walk in their back door, to let her know, we all arrived safely.  I thought it must have been time to go to bed, but come to find out, it was just past six pm!  

The “Christmas closet” in the farmhouse, holds more secrets now, than it did, before Wednesday.   . .and I have another memory to add to my collection of things I want to remember .  . .and it happened on Wednesday. 

 

I all but missed the early service this morning. I slipped in late-but in time for communion.  Thankfully, the rabbit patch does not keep an account of such things.  The mockingbird did not sing, either.  Cash, my dog and his best friend, the gray cat, Christopher Robin, slept through the whole thing.  Night became day, without a big production.  The territory simply became lighted.  Yesterdays’ rain made the leaves drop until the land looked “untouched by human hand”.  My grandmama used to say “that idle hands were the devils’ workshop” .  As a child, this scared me senseless and I would find something to do that very moment.  Now, I can honestly say, that “idle hands” are at least one sin, I do not have to worry about.

On top of being late for “the early service at the rabbit patch”, I cut it short.  I had laundry washing and a paintbrush in my hand, within thirty minutes.  I think it is safe to say, I will not bake cookies today.  

By early afternoon, I knew that the ladder would spend another night in the farmhouse. As I painted the wall, where a roller couldn’t go, I noticed the crown molding looked mighty dingy-as did the ceiling.  Both needed painting.   I did my best to convince myself,  otherwise,  but the verdict was “written on the wall”  so to speak.  I consoled myself, that it was kind of like doing something for the future owners.  I hoped they had children-and that the children had a pony-and little goats.  Just before giving them names, I stopped carrying on-but it did help lift my spirits.  It felt different to improve conditions for others, instead of for the sake of selling it.  I felt the same way, when I planted the rose bush in the spring.

The sun was shining by late afternoon.  I made a mental note to wash the windows.  I worked steadily.  When Kyle needed the ladder, I was almost glad of it.  I went to the kitchen and started to try and restore order there.  I had taken everything off of the built in shelves as I painted.  One shelf has a collection of white covered books.  Those I dusted.  Another shelf, has Grandmamas’ old Avon decanters-all white of course.  I took to washing them.  I have written before, about the relaxation that comes with hand washing pretty glass.  This was just the remedy I needed.  I caught faint whiffs of the old fashioned perfumes and remembered  those familiar fragrances that adorned all of the country women, in my childhood.  

The Avon Lady was a regular visitor to the farm, when I was growing up.  I never knew her name, but I remember she was a sweet lady with silver hair-and she was always wearing “church clothes”.  She would give Delores and I little lipstick samples which thrilled us.  We put them in our pocketbooks with our Sunday gloves, and things like acorns and bottle caps.  The Avon Lady was well received-if it was winter, but sometimes she had the misfortune of coming when Grandmama was cleaning out the freezer or canning tomatoes.  I remember Delores and I running in the backdoor joyfully announcing “The Avon lady is here!”-  And grandma saying “durn!”  on more than one occasion.  That was strong language, in those days.  Children were not allowed to even say it. 

By the time Kyle was finished with the ladder, the kitchen was in proper order, excepting the white glass on the counter and the white  covered books stacked on the kitchen table.  I told Kyle to put the ladder back in the living room, for I had lost all of my gumption, while washing the glass.

We did not finish every chore on the list, but had made a gallant effort.  I have been working on the rabbit patch for a long while.  The house is older than it has ever been-I am too.   I think now,  I needed the rabbit patch as much as it needed me.  Surely the barns look better with roses painted on them and a yard full of flowers and apples, couldn’t   be anything but appealing.  The rabbit patch taught me how to be resourceful.  I learned to live carefully because I had to-now I do so because I want to.  When the moon rose over the field, behind the old barn,  I found it difficult to hold  anything against the territory that  fed us-or the house that sheltered us.  . .even though there is a ladder in the living room-and my dresser is in the hall way. .  along with my shoes.

 

 

Last night, was the night of the  “Holiday Concert”, at our school.  This is a huge event and requires months of preparation.  I am happy to report, that all went well-and many shed tears.  When two hundred children play violins together, those not prone to, will cry.  

I drove home under a full moon with a full heart.  I no longer drive at night, unless a real need arises.  It is a common occurrence for country folks to encounter deer on dark nights.  The deer act like squirrels and will dart right in your way.  There is rarely one of them, so if you miss one, you better stop and wait for next ones.  In light of this, I drove slowly and prayed.  I pulled into the rabbit patch, which was bathed in a milky wash of moonlight.  I stood outside of the old farmhouse for awhile, surveying the beauty of  the luster on the territory.  Even the leaves, that have been perpetually falling, wore a sheen  and added to the scene.  I felt  so  tenderly loved, to have been shown such a sight.

I almost missed the “early service” this morning. Thankfully, I saw the day break with a gentle, golden light.  A mockingbird sang as soon as the light had dispelled all darkness and convinced  me to write about it.  I was reminded of a poem, I love by Oliver Herford.  I always recite it, in early December. . “I heard a  bird sing, in the dark of December-a magical thing and sweet to remember” …

A lot of tasks will be tackled this weekend.  We started a list on Monday, and added to it, until, it was a lengthy and barely possible mission, for mere humans.  I have started the touch up painting in the room, where that awful hole used to be.  A pot of chili is simmering  and inspires me for the  noon break.

After the Noon Hour

I had not made nearly the progress I had hoped for, by mid day.  At least, the chili was just right and lived up to its’ reputation, as a  “comfort food”.  I decided I would simply go from one task to another and hope for the best.  On a whim I decided to make cookies.   I was taking a chance on that, as though cookies may be my favorite indulgence, I am just not a good cookie maker.  Christian bakes them perfectly every time.   

A light rain was falling so there would be no yard work today.   By mid afternoon, I had finished two of the chores and then did paperwork, which is my least favorite duty.  The cookies, though not burned, were hard and such a disappointment.  I am going to practice when things settle down-of course, that is seldom, as of lately.  

I turned the lamp on before four pm.-it was that kind of day.  I finished the dreadful job of paying bills and ate a hard cookie.  I thought about Christmas . 

This Wednesday, is our annual shopping trip.  My Mom, sisters and I will meet in a neighboring town, as we have done for close to twenty years-and shop.  This is never a frantic venture, but more like a visit, though we do get a lot accomplished.  It is an ALL day event.  Mama starts out, caring about every detail of her shopping.  We all help her find the right gifts for the grandchildren.  Mama wonders, is that the right color, does he really want this . . etc.  By mid afternoon, she says “Just put it in the cart.”  It is tiring.   I do not shop much and I am quite amazed at all I have not seen, before.  I try to avoid dishes altogether. likewise,  candle shops, coffee shops and places that sell french milled soaps.  I  do spend a fair amount of time in bookstores.  Mama will too, if they have a couch.  If I see Delores, rummaging through bins of small items, I will head in another direction, as she is not satisfied until she has seen every item, often looking  for four just alike.  When she does find them, she may or may not buy them.  Connie is no nonsense and sticks to her list in a militant manner.  She tells us what time it is often.  I must get my thoughts organized before Wednesday.

With my bed and shoes in the hallway, it is a bit overwhelming to think of bringing more stuff in the house.  There is also not a sign of Christmas anywhere at the rabbit patch, yet . . .other than a poinsettia  from the concert on Friday.-and the hard cookies.  Hopefully, the ladder will be out of the way, shortly.

Tomorrow, I will go back to my list of tasks, with the fortitude, of Connie.  We will do what we can and I will do my best not to complain, as I go along . . for it seems so very ungrateful.  If I am tempted to act poorly, I must remind myself that truly, I have been given to, all of my life and I ought to take stock in that – and I ought to consider what do I give back?   How generous is my heart?     It is  the Christmas season, after all, and a good time to think on such things.