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. 

 

The spirea has tiny little blossoms, at the rabbit patch.  A few of the azaleas do too.  The roses are still blooming-and why not?  It does feel like April, after all.  For the last three days it has been seventy agrees or close to it.  Only the trees declare it is autumn. 

Every day , I come home to the rabbit patch and work on the yard til dark.  I have already had to clean sections of the territory twice, and I am predicting I will do the same next week.  It is an odd affair to clean deep layers of  leaves from the Quiet Garden,  while pink roses are blooming and the uninvited  black-eyed susans,  seem to have caught a “second wind”.   Even the air feels like the time when birds are nesting.  

The unseasonable temperature is quite easy on the “shoe-string” budget  at the rabbit patch . . .and I am grateful for that.  Still, it does not inspire me to put the Christmas lights on the porch . . .just yet.

This week is an especially busy time.  This is the week of rehearsal for the “Holiday Concert” at our school.  There are over three hundred students involved and a million details that come with it.  The carpet has not been installed  in the farmhouse, where the hole used to be.  This means, what used to be in my bedroom, is now in the hall.  The leaves are still falling . . .meanwhile, someone else called to tour the house and property.  For months, all was well.  The house and yard were tidy, but “first one thing happened, and then another” and so  the current state of affairs, is that the rabbit patch house is in shambles and the territory is strewn.  It will be most difficult to see the charm of the place under such conditions.  Still, I do not grow faint of heart, for the rabbit patch still beckons with a most friendly persuasion. 

The moon rises over one field, and the sun sets over another.  Nights are quiet and the peace of them wash over you like a tonic.  Old trees give shade and younger trees bear fruit and pecans . . Things like roses , jasmine and honeysuckle  bloom on the land-like ” a love that does cover a multitude of sins”.    For a country dweller,  the rabbit patch is a haven, of sorts.  While it is “in the world , it does not seem of it”.  

December is upon us, no matter the mild climate.  The  Farmers Almanac forecast, declares  December, a mild and rainy time.  I will take Christmas however I can get it.  Gingerbread is good, no matter the weather.  I will watch old movies such as ” Holiday Affair”  and “It Happened on Fifth Avenue” . . and I will read “Redbird Christmas”  again.  I will listen to songs, my grandmother sang  and remember how well, my Aunt Agnes played the piano.

Christmas used to take so very long to arrive.  This no longer rings true for me.  Now, a season comes along and passes by and I notice none of them are slow.  To me,  Lyla and I were watching young rabbits not so awfully long ago.  . .and October was just yesterday.  Maybe it is this way, because of all the details, we inherit as adults.  Whatever the case, December is suddenly here and this changes everything.  

Friday, after the Holiday

Now, as I watch the night giving way to morning, and  that familiar sense of peace abides, I am flooded with things like hope, inspiration and gratitude.  I find it impossible to harbor resentment or have selfish ambitions, when light comes to life, before me.  Light, changes everything.    Dawn is a time of communion , worship and repentance for me-and I need all of it, on any given day.   This is why, I call this time, the “early service” . 

There has been quite a commotion at the rabbit patch, since Thanksgiving.  For a good while, there has been “a weak spot” in the floor, in my bedroom.  This is never good.  On Thanksgiving morning, as I was singing in the kitchen, the weak spot became an outright hole.  A hole is worse than a weak spot.  I was determined not to let this dampen my spirit on the holiday.  In that spirit, I kept repeating,” it is just a hole in a floor , it just a hole in the floor . . .”  Christian was quite amused that I consoled myself in this way.  I had been horror struck, when I first sighted the thing and on the day of “gratitude”, after all.  Somehow, my chanting helped me keep a proper perspective and remain grateful, that  a  hole in the floor . .  is just that.

I had no idea, that Tres had brought his tools along, with intentions of replacing the floor this very weekend.  He was quite unfazed when I told him about the calamity . . . after the  Thanksgiving dinner.  Yesterday, Tres went to work on that floor and while you could see the dirt under the rabbit patch, the realtor called.  She had someone interested in a tour.  That will surely need to be rescheduled.  A missing floor is not the same as a messy kitchen, or a yard covered in oak leaves.

Tres worked well past supper.  Christian worked late and then joined Tres in the effort, when he got home.  I told them to stop and rest-to leave it for tomorrow, but both boys were convinced that wasn’t a good idea, as varmints or a small army could invade, in the night.  So the new wood was installed and  hence, we could all sleep soundly.

Saturday

After a cold start, the day faired off .  By noon it was pleasant outside.  I thought of all the tasks I wanted  to complete and was spurred on by the mild climate- and the prospects of “a tour” in the near future.  It was “raining leaves”, as Lyla says.  Today, was not the day to clean the yard.  Supper may be late, a few nights this week, because of that.  The sycamores are almost bare, but an oak is still fully adorned  in scarlet .  When the last of the autumn colors have faded, then will I decorate for the beloved Christmas time. 

I moved the geraniums from the porch.  This will be their third winter inside the farmhouse.  They are like old friends to me now.  Likewise, the fall wreath came off the front door .  I straightened the storage unit, which didn’t take too long.  I straighten the pantry too.   I had put on a pot of dried beans, as Tres loves them.  The beans simmered as-Tres kept working on the floor. 

Christian got off work by suppertime.  Both boys went back to work on the floor, after we ate.   They worked several  more hours, by the light of a dainty chandelier.

Sunday

Christian, left at daybreak, to go to work.  I was hoping he had the day off.  Tres has to make the almost three hour drive back to Wilmington, today-after he finishes the floor.  As Tres improves the farmhouse,  I am glad for whoever, lives here next.  It is like preparing a gift, of sorts.  I felt the same way, as I was adding a new rose bush in the spring.  I knew my intentions, to move, then.  I felt like I was planting a rose for someone else-and I was glad, when I considered that.  I thought of these things as the first faint light came to the sky.  By the time the light had become shine,  I had collected my thoughts and made sense of most of them. 

I decided to make a pot of chicken and pastry-enough for Tres to take some home with him.  I want to try to make Mamas’ baked cornbread, but I need to get my nerve up first.  Twice before, I have tried without one iota of success.  There is a trick to baking crispy cornbread.  I have never been fond of cornbread that comes out like a cake.  I had never even had it, til I started school.  The cafeteria served it at least once a week.  My second grade teacher was a firm believer, that children should “clean their plates”.  She would inspect our trays, to ensure this.  I stuffed that awful cornbread in my milk carton and passed inspection.  I did the same with “spanish rice”  and the green peas, they never bothered to season.  In this way, I survived the second grade lunch program . . .as well as “modern math”.

Tres was up not long after  Christian left.  At breakfast, he told me  he was concerned that he would not finish today.  He was in a good deal of distress over this and it showed.  This really touched me deeply.  I assured me him, it was fine, if he wasn’t able to do another thing.  Still, he ate quickly and made a mad dash to pick up more supplies. 

When Tres came back, we devised a plan so he could leave at a decent hour.  Thankfully, Kyle came home and Tres could leave with out needing to rush so.  There will be a “trail” through the hall to navigate for a while.  

Kyle and I worked outside and gathered another load of things to be carried to the trash, as we cleaned the garage.  We made sure all of the barns were orderly, this past summer, but truthfully, more things could go.  I inherited a lot of  it, when I moved here.  We made good progress and so, supper was late.

What a wonderful holiday, it has been for the rabbit patch-in spite of  that dreadful hole in the  floor.   I have eaten well in the best of company for several days.  I have sat in the presence of friendly fires.  I lingered at the “early services” for as long as I pleased.   . .I stood beneath an oak tree that rained rubies around me- and I spent a  fair amount of time, singing in the kitchen.

Dearest Diary,  I loved Thanksgiving !

 

 

 

 

Thanksgiving Day has dawned  with low peach colored light.  The woodland trees behind the old barn look like black lace, in the absence of their leaves.   The house was chilly enough for a small fire. The flames flicker and flash light in a cheerful fashion.  A fire improves any room and makes an occasion out of ordinary moments.  I am glad for a time that calls for a fire.

Yesterday was a half day, at the school where I work .  For seventeen years, a group of  young violinists  that have advanced in the repertoire, carol and deliver pies to a housing complex just a few miles away from the campus.  It is one of my favorite events of the whole year.  We delivered more than 50 pies and the children were well mannered.  Service is the best way I know of to develop a noble character.

I had to make a mad dash to the grocery afterwards.  Of course, it was a full house.  Everyone was so friendly and happy.  The atmosphere was lively and happy.  I felt sorry I had dreaded it so.

Now, I love the eve of every holiday.  I love the cooking for as I go along in the kitchen making dishes,  I remember that Connie loves collards and Jenny loves cheesecake.  I wonder what Lyla will fancy this year . . and will my niece Hayley bring her boyfriend?  I make the biscuit dressing that everybody loves and remember Grandmama telling me how to make it. 

I often say, that cooking in anticipation of a family gathering, is one of my favorite pursuits.  I love washing the linens and brewing special blends of fine coffee. . .Mostly, I love waiting for the oldest children to come home.  Cash, my dog gets caught up in the merriment and is quite alert.  He goes from one window to another peering out, waiting, for he knows somehow, as I do  that something wonderful awaits.

By the time, the peach like light, had faded.  I was cooking a very large pot of collards.  Tres and Kyle slept by the warmth of the wood heater and all seemed right, at that moment.  This year, Thanksgiving is at Mama and Daddys’ house just after the noon hour.

Thanksgiving Afternoon

We all arrived in shifts, and with ours arms full of dishes.  The kitchen was noisy and busy with all sorts of activities going on.  There was not one complaint about anything on the table.  Hayley did not bring her boyfriend.   Christian brought his guitar and my nephew Brandon said he would bring his at Christmas.  Of course Lyla, being the youngest by far, got a fair share of attention.  We all agreed that she is a special child, as we have done with every child born to us, before her.  I think families ought to let the children know how precious  they are.  I do not think a child gains confidence with “false praise”  or  responding to their every desire with elaborate indulgences.   . .nor with excuses for poor behavior.    These things do not serve anyone-  But a sense of belonging to a family that is just  glad you were born, does wonders and can sustain you all of your life.   At least, it has for me.

We all left as we came, in shifts.  This time  our arms were full with the last of the green bean casserole, pecan pie and turkey.  Mama and Daddy are well stocked for a few meals.  The extra chairs were returned to the garage, trash was taken out and the kitchen was restored to good order.  Christmas decorations were retrieved from the attic so that when the “spirit moves in Mama”, she can act on it. 

Friday Morning, Very Early

I have not yet made a fire, but I ought to. It is a cold and bright morning.  None of us have ever gone shopping as millions do, the day after Thanksgiving.  My heart is too full to want for anything.  Instead, I will make a fire, and remember  all that unfolded yesterday . . .while I was in the company of those that are glad I was born and whose love . . . does wonders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As usual, I woke early, this morning. It  was dark and rain was falling.  I had the window up, as it has been so mild.  How good it felt to lie there, without a bit of hurry, and just listen to wind and rain sweeping  across the territory.  Cash, my boxer and my cat, Christopher Robin were snuggled together .  What a cozy effect it   made and it felt wonderful to be part of it.  The wind was steady blowing and I imagined the leaves were coming unfastened in great numbers.  I had to smile at the irony, as I had just cleaned the yard yesterday. 

While the room was still dimly lit, I got up .   I am ready for coffee as soon as I wake and besides that, am just not prone to stay in bed for long.  When it was light enough to survey the conditions, I saw leaves being flung wildly, in the wind.  Many had met their destiny and were scattered all over the rabbit patch.   

The wind blew all day, though the rain stopped before noon.  I did some light housekeeping and eventually went on a short shopping spree.  It was a spur of the moment idea, but as it turns out,  I found a special gift for Lyla.  Jenny is a very sensible mother and does not want Lyla over indulged in possessions, therefore I take the utmost care to adhere to this.   I am in full agreement  with Jenny  and so glad she takes this stance.    Having said this, I am still so very excited to share Christmas with Lyla this year. 

Monday

Monday comes, and that changes everything. I always say . . for it really does.   It was cold this morning.  There was a heavy frost and I regretted not warming the car, almost immediately.  The sun came up announcing  the morning boldly with brilliant rays.  For a short while, the woodlands looked aflame while the frost sparkled.  It was a lovely affair.  It looks and feels like Thanksgiving, I thought.

 Holidays evoke feelings for me, more than anything else.  Each holiday seems to have a particular nature .   At Thanksgiving, of course we are grateful.  We tend to reflect on all we are glad for.  Traditions are born by way of things like Thanksgiving- and become rituals with years of practice.  My sister, Delores, brought a broccoli  casserole to Thanksgiving dinner, decades ago.  Daddy was not fond of it, though the rest of us were.  She brought it for several years and then without warning skipped a year.  Daddy, along with the rest of us, asked as we surveyed the table, where it was. He seemed disappointed.  She has not skipped a year since.   I am not fond of cranberry sauce, but I do expect it  to be on the table. Tres, my second son, loved to break the wishbone with Mama when he was very young.  Though Tres, towers over the most of us now, he still breaks the wishbone with Mama, every year, at Thanksgiving.  

With all  the steady and dramatic changes in the world to endure,  I have come to take great comfort in familiar things.  This may be one of the reasons, I love fields and woods . . .and laughing rivers.  These things are constant and do not yield to whims.  

Today, as I drove past the woodlands, I couldn’t help but notice the striking colors of the maples and dogwoods.  It was like seeing an autumn rainbow.  Then I noticed the pines.  They were the only green in the forest and seemed quite insignificant- yet the pine is an evergreen, and will remain as it is now, even in January.  There is something beautiful about that, I think.  Birds that stay through the winter, can depend on the pine . . .and so can I.

In spite of my affection for things that remain reliable, I am glad for the progress of mankind.  The many conveniences of modern times, certainly lend ease to life-and then  too, there are the discoveries that save  lives or improve our health.  Last but not least, the wealth of knowledge, we can accumulate is a most valued asset.  

Truly, there is much to be thankful for and  certainly, not only on Thanksgiving.  I will count the blessings of a table of gathered loved ones-and laden with food.  We will eat in a fine shelter, in good health.  Yet, I will not forget to be glad for things like pines and fields . .  and wishbones . . .and  also the time when leaves cover the rabbit patch.

While November, has a fair share of “silver days”, there are golden ones too.  Yesterday,as I was driving to work, the sun came up and turned the territory to gold.  Barren fields were the color of honey, in the first hours  and the woodlands, gilded in gold, were nothing short of spectacular.  Now today, I see the rabbit patch, through the window by the “morning table”, lit up with light the color of marigolds, and I declare it a picture-and name it “Morning Glory”.  

The sycamore and oak leaves have carpeted the yard , without mercy.  I must tend to this today.  Thankfully, I can mulch the leaves with the mower, but it is slow tedious work.  Kyle started yesterday, but he can not bear riding along in the low gear, the task requires.  

I am especially looking forward to another task today.  Tonight, Will, Jenny and Lyla are going to have supper with us, at my parents house.  Mama is cooking string beans  and we will fry chicken.  There is also turnips and potatoes to be creamed and macaroni & cheese to be made.  At some point Mama and I have to make the decision about whether to have biscuits or cornbread.  Mama can bake cornbread, crispy and thin.  I must learn how to perform the same miracle with the simple cornmeal.

Circumstances have prevented me from seeing Lyla, for several weeks.  I have missed her “like rain”.  So much happens in a matter of weeks, when children are so young.  Just this week, she used the word “impossible”.  Jenny had walked in the nursery and found it littered with blocks and books.  She told Lyla, that it had to be cleaned.  Lyla surveyed the chaos, and said “it was impossible” !  Mind you Lyla is  just two .  She ordered “broccoli please” at a restaurant, this week-and Lyla does not like broccoli, but apparently was not going to pass up a moment to use her new skill.  Jenny said when they left, Lyla said “bye people!”   oh, what will she tell me tonight!

I decided to make a dish with grapes as I had so many-and Lyla loves them.  Some people call it “grape salad”, but that sounds awful to me.   It really is just a concoction of grapes in a light, creamy sauce made with cream, brown sugar and cream cheese and it  is just sweet enough  to be  considered a light dessert.  I looked out the kitchen window, as I cut the grapes.  I felt so content to be in the kitchen preparing food for a family gathering .  I watched leaves fly by the window in the steady breeze, like autumn confetti.

I dreaded the mowing and put it off until I couldn’t, in good conscience, find another excuse.  It was quite mild outside after all.  I began mulching the leaves and as I did,  I saw tender, green grass  beneath the leaves, that reminded me of April.  Later on, I came across some wild hyacinths, with maple leaves scattered around them.

I mowed a good while, but didn’t finish.  I came in as there was a lot of chicken to fry.  I got to Mama and Daddys’ right on time.  Mama had her string beans cooking and was making the cornbread.  I paid special attention to that.  I was almost finished frying the chicken, when Will, Jenny and Lyla, drove up.  Lyla and I hugged for a long while.  

Mama gave Lyla a fancy little lantern, and since it was so warm out, Lyla and I took a walk around the yard.  We both enjoyed that.  In the absence of stars and moon, the countryside was dark and quiet. . .but Lyla “let her little light shine”.  What a difference just that bit of light  made.   I thought to teach her the song, over the holidays.

When we came in, Will and Daddy were in the den , watching the “news”  and Mama and Jenny were in the living room, talking about Christmas.  I couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted, (other than a small cottage )  for it seems I am totally satisfied with things like, cooking for family gatherings, taking evening walks and watching Mama make cornbread.

Dear Diary,  I am glad for the glory of bright mornings and the darkness of autumn evenings.  I am glad for having a loving family to gather round a table.  I am glad for Lyla. . .  my own child’s daughter, that reminded me how beautiful it is to “shine your light”.

It was “pitch dark” when I got up this morning.  The house was chilly, but not nearly as cold as Saturday morning.  I was up early enough to get a lot of reading done and drink coffee as if I were a “lady of leisure”.  I went out and the morning air was so fresh, I could have “drank that too.”  I wanted to just stand there and breath it in deeply.  I really love the morning time, when so many things seem possible.  It is my favorite time to write.  I do not like too much conversation, right off.  Instead, I like to collect my thoughts and imagine for a while.  My late husband would wake and want to discuss things like “car insurance”, within minutes.  He dropped that habit, early in the game, as I was most uncooperative.

There was good news at the rabbit patch today.  I came home to a functioning stove with two working ovens.  I got a good deal as I traded  enough scrap metal, to off set the cost dramatically.  I wanted the scrap metal gone, so as to tidy up  and so I was pleased all the way around.  I am going to make that gingerbread, not long after supper.  

I am especially busy at school these days.  The classes are preparing for the holiday concert on December first.  Each class will present an international song in the native tongue of the country, studied.  One class is playing hand bells, some are playing glockenspiel and then there are the violinists, which are close to two hundred, in number.  The children are a pleasant and loving lot.  Today in the midst of a very busy time, a little boy said he had a gift for me.  He pulled a smooth, bluish rock from his pocket and presented it shyly.  How many rocks have I been given, in my life-from my own children to the many students.  I have come to love rocks.  After I expressed my appreciation, the child said he had another surprise-and he pulled out a sixpence!  It was a lovely little coin and he assured me it was ok with his mom, for me to keep it.  I told him we would put in my “treasures” chest, just in case, he needed it back.  I tucked it among seashells. a paper airplane, colorful bits of string and other rocks.  I thought of my friend, Cobbs  from the UK and made a wish for her as the six pence nestled among some autumn leaves.   What a sweet parcel I saw as I peered into the box of “treasures”-oh, we really ought to strive to “become as children”.   . . to give with such freedom, things they find lovely and want to share.

My son, Tres has a dog that gives a gift of a pine cone, or a stick whenever he sees you.  At the first sight, of a loved one, he takes off and returns with some trinket.  Cash, my own dog,  has seen this and follows suit, as well now.  Giving, is a beautiful habit, and what an appropriate time for me to be reminded of that.

By the time the gingerbread was ready, I was deep in reading some works by Thoreau.  I read another of his quotes, that I have taken  to heart.  I like Thoreau.  He makes me think- and reflect.  He also causes me to search my heart  for impurities, which I vow to cast out.  I am also reading the “Ladies of Covington”,  which does not make me think or entertain “lofty notions”.  Instead, it is more like a friendly visit with old friends, unfolding in the chapters.  Ovens stop working at their house and flowers bloom, too-just like at the rabbit patch.

A heavy frost fell at last.  It is about a month late, in comparison to former years.  How the tender shoots of winter wheat thrive in such conditions, are beyond me-but they do.  The earliest morning light on a frost covered field, creates quite a spectacle and when I saw it this morning, I thought how even the day begins with a gift.

“To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.”  ~Thoreau

It is early Saturday morning at the rabbit patch.  Coffee is brewing and I have made a small fire in the little fireplace by the morning table.  This is the first cold morning of the season.  It takes a lot of gumption to be the first one up in a cold house, especially if the fire went out in the night-and I am convinced that the bed feels the best it ever will, at that particular time.  Most people have central heat and have no idea of the plight, I mention.  I promised myself again  this morning, that one day I would too.

I remembered cold mornings many moons ago, when I was a child.  There was no central heat in my grandparents house either.  They used a “Warm Morning” space heater .  I slept in the “little bedroom” just off the kitchen, Heavy quilts were piled without mercy, to ensure I wouldn’t “catch cold”.  I  always woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. . .and the rattling of  the china dishes, with bright yellow roses, on them. Grandmama allowed me one cup of coffee, which was really milk with a tablespoon of sugar and a splash of coffee.   I never fail to remember sitting at the yellow and chrome table, on cold mornings- and  to this day, I think coffee tastes better  served in a china teacup.

I knew right off this morning, that unless the weather changed drastically, I would not work outside today.  The wind made me abandon my idea to burn the garden .  I did hope that the wind blew some of the fallen leaves in desirable places, such as the garden or the patch of young woods, at the far corner of the territory.  Sunlight falls now, where shade used to, but the battle with the leaves, is still far from over.  . . .Just for today, the leaves win. 

I decided to make gingerbread.  I gathered the ingredients and hummed as I did so.  The house would soon smell of that wonderful and familiar fragrance, -and then I would make coffee.  Thankfully, before I mixed the concoction, I remembered the broken oven.  I have been wanting  gingerbread for a while.  Then and there,  I decided that as soon as I got the  new stove, I would make gingerbread.  I did make coffee, with a generous amount of cinnamon, at least.

By mid afternoon, I took a walk around the property.  It was just the right kind of weather for a brisk walk.  The wind was light and the sun was shining and bright enough to light the young dogwood up.  The wild southern vines , that I fuss about, were golden and red.  It looked like the woods were celebrating.  Christopher Robin, loves to sneak up on me, but this day he could not, as the leaves crackled beneath us, with every step.

I came in and cooked a “stove top” supper, for Christian and I .  Christopher Robin was naughty and did not come in with Cash and I and so when darkness fell and the cold “set in”  I was worried. Cash, my boxer, never wants to disappoint me and would never do such a thing.  Christopher Robin, however, does not succumb to pleading nor ranting.  He finally came in much later on-and he was hungry.

Sunday

The sky was blue right off, this morning-and streaked with clouds, in long neat rows.  I have a small fire in the den which fascinates Christopher Robin.  The fire is just big enough to take the chill out of the air .  The sounds of a small fire are about as delightful  as the cheerful flames -and are probably good for “whatever ails” you.   It is hard to be anxious about things in the presence of a fire.

It seems the more I consider what  I truly enjoy most in life, it is often the simple, primitive things that spring to mind.  In some way, this makes me  quite wealthy, as one does not need “a kings’ ransom”  to watch the moon rise  or stand beneath a sweet gum, adorned in the jewel hues of autumn.  Such collections are reliable and do not break or get lost.  They do not lose their value over time, and are apt to make the heart grateful.   I have seen the time an old pine made a difference, for me.

I started another “stove top” supper and hoped as I peeled potatoes that the new stove would be here soon.  I went out, as the soup simmered.  The afternoon was fair and not nearly as cold as yesterday.  I saw a bright red spot in  one of the rose bushes, in the “Quiet Garden” on a rose bush.  I went closer  and thought to “rescue”  the  pretty rose from the approaching cold weather.  .   . .but suddenly it flew away!  It was a cardinal,  and as he was as red as  any I had  ever seen.  What a sweet surprise it was. . .and it tickled me too.

The soup was ready, when dusk had set in.  The rabbit patch was silent except for an occasional oak leaf falling.  For three days, I have not left the property.  I have not solved a mystery, but I have dreamed “like a big-shot ”  by a friendly fire.  I have listened to music, surely inspired by God and seen a ” a ruby rose ” take flight’ . . .in just three days.