Month: December 2023

Posted on

Goal Update for December 2023

At the end of each month, (or beginning), I review my yearly goals and spend some time reflecting on how I’m doing in living the life I want to live ~ a way of becoming my own accountability partner and having frequent check-ins to evaluate my progress. I’m still in the process of revising some of my goals as I encounter successes…..and setbacks. For the month of December, here’s my goal reflection:

CategoryGoalsMy Progress
LiteratureRead for Sarah Donovan’s Book Group








Blog Daily


Write a proposal for
writing group’s book
Sarah’s book club did not meet in December, so I started Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer and am hanging on every word. I don’t want it to end. I’ve completed I Hope This Finds You Well by Kate Baer for January’s book discussion, and I think Kate a genius for finding apt responses in her hate mail and flipping the script. 

I continue to blog daily, and the daily writing and reflecting is a wonderful habit for me. I don’t feel complete without some form of daily writing, and the blog is a way of continuing the habit.

My writing group is writing a series of new books, and I will spend time sending our proposal out to some publishing companies. We are slow going at this, but we refuse to give up. I did not send out any proposals in December, but we met by Zoom and each decided to send to a couple more, so I need to get on that on the Tuesday and Wednesday before returning to work on Thursday.
Creativity


This goal did not happen in December. There was no creativity except in the making of a hat or two on a knitting loom. 






SpiritualityTune in to church



Pray!



Keep OLW priority		We still watch a variety of churches on Sunday – in Georgia, Kentucky, and North Carolina. We attended a Christmas Eve Service of Lights in Kentucky when visiting family there.

My car is still my prayer chamber for daily prayer, and there’s so much to give thanks for. I continue my conversations with the good Lord each morning and afternoon.

I’m still keeping my OLW my priority: pray!
ReflectionWrite family stories

Spend time tracking goals each month		I have shared family stories through my blog this month. This will not be as much of a focus in 2024, but will continue sporadically.

I’m tracking goals, revising, and considering some new categories as I look at my goal table.
Self-Improvement*Reach top of weight rangeThis is a true failure goal for me in the last 6 months of the year. The first six months was amazing. Then, we drove down Route 66 and had the coconut cream pie at the MidPoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas, and I haven’t stopped eating anything all year.
GratitudeDevote blog days to counting blessingsI begin the days this way and end them giving thanks as well. Special occasion birthdays are often reserved as gratitude days on the blog.
ExperienceEmbrace Slow Travel








Focus on the Outdoors


In December, I’ve traveled within the state to two different conferences – one in Harris County, and one in Paulding County, both focused on Literacy. I have also traveled to see family in Kentucky and South Georgia, and our South Carolina family came to us. I’m about ready to hit the pause button on travel for a while, other than an occasional weekend of camping. 






I’m still focusing on the outdoors with birdwatching on the farm so that I know which birds are prevalent during which months right here on the Funny Farm. I’m planning to shift partially to focusing on the indoors, paring down possessions so that we can, perhaps, by the end of the year, have a viable plan to downsize our home to a barndominium for our coming retirement years. 

In the coming week, I will examine ways to keep monthly goals and the best ways to share progress quarterly. I’m also searching for the One Little Word I’d like to take with me through 2024. I will share that word in the coming week as well. 

Posted on

A Visit to St. Simons (written on 12/29/2023 at 8:30 p.m)

We are visiting my childhood home today – St. Simons Island, Georgia, on the 8-year anniversary of my mother’s death from Parkinson’s Disease. Although the family house where we grew up has long since been leveled and rebuilt, so much of the 1970s decade is still ever present here on the island. 

When I was young here, the Tastee-Freez was the place we’d go on our bicycles to get ice cream and hot dogs. It has since been a Dairy Queen and now a Frosty’s, but the original poster is still hanging by the door. 

I also love my brother’s dishes, which were our family dishes in the 1970s. This morning, I used a smaller coffee cup and a saucer than I would normally use, just to eat from these dishes. The retro vibe is strong on the olive green pattern. 

It’s a welcome feeling to walk back through the decades. As we go through years of memorabilia with our dad, my brother and I are reliving memories and sharing the stories. Even though the annual “family meeting” is sometimes uncomfortable with the details of how families move forward after losing a loved one, it’s also filled with plenty of time around the table, enjoying great food and laughing. 

As we move into a new year, laughter is a word that I’ve considered as my One Little Word for 2024. It’s surely something that improves my whole outlook! 

We’re missing Mom today, but we know she is close. As my brother and I were driving this morning, a hawk flew directly over us – – a sure signal that all is well in Heaven. 

Posted on

Family Yule Log – Part 3 of 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

From the Yule Log recipe notes: A French Christmas tradition that dates back to the 19th century, the cake represents the yule log that families would burn starting on Christmas Eve, symbolizing the new year to come and good luck ahead. 

After baking the Yule Log cake and spreading and rolling it with heavy whipped cream in an inside whirl, my daughter went to work icing the cake to look like a tree log. 

When her masterpiece was complete, she thanked me. ”Without you, I probably would have given up.” 

Her comments stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t offered much of anything other than simply being there. I’d been the one to make the mistake of flipping the frosting onto the floor. Fortunately, it had landed like Mount Crumpit, allowing me to scoop off the top of the mountain and then clean up what was touching the floor, saving what was usable for the bark frosting and discarding the rest – – while she stood there laughing (shhhh…..don’t tell anybody this part).

But it sure got me thinking about the Yule Logs of our lives and the teamwork we need to conquer their challenges to reach their summits. I thought of the lessons I’d learned. 

  1. Even if the Yule Log had been a complete disaster, the experience making it was the blessing. Togetherness in the kitchen is sacred, and things happen there that can’t happen anywhere else. There is conversation, laughter, mistake making, and forgiveness.
  2. The one who reads the whole recipe and sees how overwhelming it will be may be less equipped than the one who has never read it and sees the whole journey as merely a series of small steps. Some of us work on long range plans, some on short range plans.
  3. Sometimes supporting someone is just a matter of presence and encouragement – nothing more.
  4. Just because she’d never made a Yule Log didn’t mean she couldn’t turn out a masterpiece. I’m pretty sure Michelangelo had never painted a Sistine Chapel ceiling before, either. He nailed it on the first attempt, and so did she. Not only was this Yule Log gorgeous, it was also delicious.
  5. I need to stop counting the obstacles and focus on the possibilities. Dollar General sells $15 mixers on Christmas Eve, and they do the same work as the top of the line Kitchen Aid mixers. The gas oven is the same 350 degrees that an electric oven is. There are bowls that will appear out of nowhere when you need another one – some plastic, some metal, some glass. You get a second wind somewhere at the beginning of a long task, and it will see you through. 
  6. Without each other, we can accomplish much more than we can accomplish alone.
  7. There is both starting power and staying power in support and encouragement from others to make it to the finish line.
  8. When I wonder why I’m standing in a kitchen on Christmas Eve never having guessed I’d be making a Yule Log, that’s the time to listen for the lessons that life is sending my way through the blessings of my children. It’s in the unfamiliar, uncertain places where we draw on faith and learn our greatest lessons.
  9. I need to do a better job of expressing to each of my children how very proud I am of each of them and how much I love them. They do things that terrify me and things that amaze me.
  10. It isn’t luck or magic that is needed for any of this. It’s prayer and divine intervention, and they are not the same things. 

In the years ahead, my hope is that the moments of making this Yule Log burn warmly, living on as embers that remind us that the living of life is in the journey, and it isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes each other, and it takes willingness and courage. It takes a lot of work, and there will be mishaps. It takes forgiveness and laughter. But most importantly, it takes faith, hope, and love. 

8 O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him.

Psalm 34:8

Posted on

Family Yule Log – Part 2 of 3

Part 1

Part 2

At 8:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve, my daughter and I began our first-ever Yule Log baking adventure in our pajamas in a rural countryside VRBO kitchen that was unfamiliar to us. When our Kentucky family got together to plan the Christmas dinner, everyone decided to divide the menu and each prepare a dish. Ever so daringly and boldly, she volunteered us to bring a Yule Log. She’d found an ambitious recipe online and had shopped for all the ingredients. She measured them into bags and brought them to the rental house.

By the time we arrived back from the only open store, a Dollar General on the backside of nowhere, we were well into the Christmas Eve hours when children are tucked into bed and elves begin working their magic. And we needed more than magic. We needed divine intervention. Lots and lots of prayer – my One Little Word for 2023. 

The recipe looked intimidating. We watched the video of the woman making it to try to ease my apprehension. So much had to go right, and I was fearful of a flop.

The old whipped-cream-on-the-nose baking pose

To ante up the challenge, we were using dishes that weren’t ours, cooking in a gas oven we didn’t know. The cardinal rule in baking is to “know thine oven,” and this beast was a complete and total stranger from another realm. 

Somehow, though, after all the beating of the egg whites with sugar to form stiff peaks and folding in that mixture with the flour and egg yolk and cocoa, she pulled a perfectly baked chocolate sponge cake from the oven, ready to be inverted onto parchment paper and rolled in a thin white towel and placed in the coolest part of the room to set before spreading the heavy whipped cream on it and re-rolling it. My daughter was unflappable throughout the whole process, but my nerves were on edge the entire time. I was trying not to show it. 

The cake is ready when it springs back into form when pressed

We watched the recipe video again when it came time to unroll the cake and spread the layer of whipped cream on the inside. 

The entire process involved phases of blending, folding, baking, setting, cooling, spreading, rolling, unrolling, and waiting. It also involved a lot of laughing to keep the nerves under control. It felt a lot like walking across a landmine with someone who didn’t know we were on a battlefield with so many potential pitfalls. 

As every step turned out, my daughter smiled through the entire process. She was baking a miracle as I stood amazed. Turns out, she hadn’t read the entire recipe before she started. Each small step was not overwhelming to her. I, on the other hand, saw every mile of the long journey and knew how risky it could be.

It came time for the rolled log to be iced, and her artistic flair came out in full force. 

She evened out the chocolate buttercream frosting into consistent thickness and began her artistic presentation using a fork to make bark lines, even making an elliptical shape to make it look more knotty and authentic, like an owl might pop its head out at any moment and ask us whoooo we were. She softened a Hershey bar and began the tedious process of shaving thin chocolate curls with a sharpened knife. And she placed peppermints in a Ziploc bag and crushed them to look like shimmering snow to top the Yule Log. 

And when her masterpiece was finished, she stood back and admired it with pride. 

“Look what we did, Ma! Thanks for making it with me. Without you, I probably would have given up.” 

I hugged her close, thinking, No, dear daughter. This is all your creation, not mine. I never would have even attempted it. You are far more courageous than I will ever be.

She inverted a mixing bowl to cover it like a cake lid and placed it in the refrigerator to chill overnight. I admired her accomplishment and thought of that Yule Log as a metaphor for all the ways we need each other. 

And we hugged goodnight, looking forward to sharing it with family on Christmas Day.

Posted on

Family Yule Log – Part 1 of 3

One of my daughters volunteered us to make a Yule log for Christmas dinner. We were in Kentucky, checking in to a VRBO after our 6-hour drive and a Christmas Eve Service of Lights when I found out. Without a mixer anywhere in the cabinets, the bold yellow glow of a Dollar General open until 10 p.m. on Christmas Eve on the backside of nowhere offered a glimmer of hope for the first miracle we’d need to create this masterpiece of skilled baking and artistry I seriously doubted either one of us had – – except for her creativity. That was the only strong possibility we had going between the two of us.

The recipe said it would take 3 hours. It was 7:30. The second miracle we’d need would be wakefulness. A working oven (in this one, we’d be cooking with gas) and all the right pans and an assortment of mixing bowls would need a divine nod, too. 

The irony is that just a day before, I’d seen a perfect Yule Log as I’d scrolled on Facebook. I admired the swirl, the spongy-looking cake, and the icing that looked like tree bark. Oh, to be able to make a thing like that, I thought to myself.

“Someday, when I’m retired and have more time and patience, I’d like to try making a Yule Log,” I shared with my husband, showing him the picture. He studied it for a moment, noticing its intricate design, and then studied me, handing the phone back. I think he halfway expected me to laugh, as if this were a joke. I didn’t.

“But what about all these different ingredients?” I asked my baking partner daughter. ”We may have a Dollar General, but we’ll never find a grocery store open after 6 on Christmas Eve.”

“No worries,” she assured me, holding up a bag filled with an assortment of Ziploc bags. ”I already have all that, already measured out. It’s in this bag, and everything is labeled, right down to the eggs.” 

Sure enough, she came ready with the ingredient part. We added a jelly roll sheet pan and a roll of parchment paper to our buggy, along with the mixer. Then we thought of a can of Pam, a Hershey Bar to make chocolate curls, and some peppermints to smash for a top-garnish. We were ready to check out and go get busy on our baking adventure of a lifetime. On Christmas Eve.

At 8:00 p.m., we began the 3-hour baking quest. 

“I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d find yourself making a Yule Log on Christmas Eve, did you?” she asked.

“This is not the first time I’ve found myself doing something I didn’t expect to be doing,” I reassured her with a smile of readiness for anything.

I heard my husband chuckling from the den, where he sat reading. ”Nope, it sure isn’t, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, either,” he added.

Posted on

Christmas at Stillmeadow by Gladys Taber

I enjoy reading Gladys Taber’s accounts of Christmases past, and today I am sharing some of her excerpts. As I reflect on the stillness of the Christmas season, here are a few of my favorites by Taber: 

We always think of Christmas as a time of snow and icicles hanging from the old well and snow over the valley. But I had a friend who was newly married and went to live in the tropics. She felt sorry for herself as Christmas drew near. She wept. And then her husband brought in some tropical flowers, to decorate the house, he said. And it came to her suddenly that Christmas was not a place, nor was it weather, it was a state of mind. After all, she thought, Christ was not born in the North, he was born in a stable in Bethlehem. And so she got a small palm tree and put flowers on the flat leaves, and was gay and merry. It was, she said, one of the best Christmases ever, although they afterward moved back to New England where the snow fell and the pine trees were silvered.

…

It is certainly true that Christmas is only seasonal in the heart. The snow may be clean and deep outside, or you may be in a dingy city apartment, or you may be in a steaming tropical country. But it is still Christmas. Whether you serve the plump crispy turkey, or something exotic wrapped in pandanus leaves, the feeling of Christmas is there. It is in the mind and in the heart. The faith we have in the good rises like a tide and wherever we are, we feel it. Christmas graces any board and gives a new lift to our life, and as we hear on ce more the familiar carols, we thank God for the birth of His son. “O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie – Above thy deep and dreamless streets the silent stars go by.”

…

As always when the old house creaks into quietly, I snuff the Christmas candles and check to be sure nobody has left a turkey bone where the Irish could get it. The colored ribbons and tissues are swept up, the fire has died down, and I let the cockers and Irish out for a last run in the new-fallen snow. They take nips of it, roll in it.

>>>

And now, as always, I have a special reunion with my Honey, a golden cocker who died a time ago. I hear her paws softly padding beside me as I put the house to bed. I can see her golden feather of tail wagging happily. Some might say this is foolish for she was, after all, only a dog, and she is dead. But the fourteen years of love and loyalty she gave me are very much alive as I say, “Good night, Honey.”

The house talks, as old houses do. A beam settles. A chair rocks. A floor creaks with unseen footsteps. I like this, for it reminds me of all the lives that have been lived under this roof, and I feel their friendly presence as I poke the embers. Christmas is over. It is time to burn the wrappings, write the thank you notes, return the calls, set the house in ourder for the New Year. It is also time to consider where our lives are bound, what purpose steadies our course. How much have we helped our fellow men this year, and what good have we accomplished? Has the world been better because we were in it? If Christmas means anything, it means good will to all. I doubt manuy of us truly live up to that, but we can try again.

As I let the dogs back in, I smell the snow. The walk is silver, the picket fence wears pointed caps. Night herself is luminous with the falling snow. A flurry comes in with the dogs and melts on the wide floorboards. No two snowflakes, I am told, are exactly alike and this is a mystery. Now the intricate shapes are gone, and only a spot of water remains. It is not very practical to stand in the open door at midnight to let the snow blow in. But is has been my habit for years to close Christmas day just so, sending my blessing out to all the people in the world, those I know well and love greatly, and those I shall never see. And as I close the door, I repeat again my Christmas blessing. “God rest you merry, gentlemen.”

Posted on

A Christmas Gift of Action Verbs

I shared in my post yesterday a way I’d discovered to incorporate positive action verbs into daily reflection and journaling. I’m giving a box filled with Jenga block words to a relative across the miles and making a twin set for myself. These will be the basis of texts and phone conversations to share what our words do for us, how they inspire us and keep us focused on all that is good. Today, I’m sharing the list I created. Each word should be read as an infinitive with intention, as a way of taking action and creating positive energy. 

Merry Christmas!

Aask
awaken
act
allow
appreciate
affirm
amaze
accomplish
align
attend
accept
anticipate
Bbelieve
balance
become
be
begin
belong
budget
better
braid
bloom
breathe
build
beautify
bake
belong
bless
befriend
brainstorm
Ccompose
create
care
choose
celebrate
center
challenge
clean
clear
cleanse
color
carry
cheer
cherish
comfort
commit
complete
connect
conquer
contemplate
cultivate
consider
contribute
Ddraw
dance
decorate
dedicate
deliver
declutter
deliberate
design
determine
devote
direct
dream
drive
discover
delight
donate
dwell
Eempower
embrace
encourage
ease
elevate
emerge
enlighten
educate
evolve
excite
exhale
expand
explore
enjoy
experience
empathize
engage
embark
Ffind
finish
flourish
focus
flow
forgive
free
feel
fulfill
forge
feed
fill
fellowship
Ggive
grow
glow
go
glorify
gather
guide
greet
Hheal
hope
harmonize
help
honor
hug
hold
Iinspire
ignite
imagine
improve
increase
innovate
influence
invest
illustrate
illuminate
invite
include
initiate
Jjourney
join
Kknow
knit
kindle
keep
Llisten
love
laud
laugh
lead
learn
lighten
live
leap
light
look
launch
laud
Mmeditate
make
maximize
minimize
manage
maintain
mend
mold
magnify
Nnurture
nourish
notice
Oopen
organize
overcome
observe
offer
Ppaint
prioritize
praise
pray
pause
persevere
persist
practice
prosper
progress
participate
plan
play
prepare
partake
plant
preserve
present
protect
prune
pace
provide
Qquestion
quench
Rredesign
reach
reap
read
receive
reclaim
reflect
relax
rest
release
rely
renew
reset
restore
respond
resolve
rise
respect
repair
replenish
Ssketch
sense
sow
seek
sing
stand
smile
shine
savor
see
share
sacrifice
serve
simplify
soar
solve
spark
sparkle
steady
strengthen
strive
support
surrender
soften
sustain
soothe
sweeten
steep
save
still
Ttouch
tend
thirst
trust
thrive
think
thank
taste
testify
teach
transform
transcend
try
treasure
tithe
thank
Uunleash
understand
unite
Vvolunteer
venture
value
voice
Wwalk
weave
witness
wonder
wish
win
work
welcome
worship
warm
write
XYZ
eXtend
eXpress
eXplain
Xenialize

yield

zestify
zoom
Posted on

Word Box

I’m a sucker for wooden blocks that will fit words on them, so when I found miniature Jenga blocks in the Dollar Tree for $1.25 per set, I bought 3 boxes of them. Each game set has 72 blocks. I also purchased a sturdy Christmas giftbox I’d planned to use for recipe cards, but I got a better idea once I saw the blocks.

Three sets fit perfectly into the recipe box. 

What if I wrote positive action verbs on them and gave them as a gift to someone who needs positive words every day? Instead of having One Little Word, what if I came up with 72 x 3 = 216 words and wrote them on the box, encouraging this person to pull one daily and meditate on it or use it as a journaling challenge to not only meditate, but to write a quip about how the word played into the day?

Wait, what if I used both sides, like 216 x 2 = 432 and said, “take your choice, front or back, and start all over when you get to 217 so you can have one for every day of the year?” 

So that is what I worked on all day yesterday. 

My Christmas Day post will be my word list you might choose to print and write on your own Dollar Tree miniature Jenga blocks, and place in your own container for journaling throughout the year. Perhaps one of these words will be your One Little Word for 2024, or perhaps…..just perhaps……you might even use these words as the diopter lens on the choice word, to give it an added focus and perspective. 

Christmas Eve – – a time for reflecting, for renewing, for thinking back and looking ahead. A time for silent introspection, for all the wonder of lights and magic. A time for the sacredness of the Nativity, and the blessings of peace and everlasting life for all who believe. 

Posted on

They Came Three to a Mule

I was in the local grocery store yesterday to buy four cans of pumpkin puree to make our holiday pumpkin bread. A purchase in this particular store is rare, since prices are tremendously inflated in our small rural town. We often go to the next city over to buy a full week’s worth of groceries, but if I only need an item or two, I’ll justify the cost of the items using the cost of gas and time. 

The gas is a sure’nuff savings, but the time is questionable when you don’t know the layout of the store. With an item like pumpkin, it might be on the holiday baking display, the canned fruit, or the baking aisle. In this tiny store where two carts barely fit side by side on any aisle, I’d scoured the shelves, finally stopping for a breath on the pasta aisle, where I remembered we needed macaroni and cheese for Christmas Eve to go with our ham. 

As I reached for the dark blue Kraft Deluxe box I usually buy, I saw the price and it might as well have been a snake striking. There was no way I was paying $5.89 for a box of macaroni and cheese. No way my mama’s memory would let me even think about it. I studied every other brand, including the store brand, and it was the same. Too much. We’d do without. 

About that time, a man wearing denim overalls, work boots, and a flannel shirt ambled up with his hand basket up to his elbow, about to purchase the same box I’d wanted. He retracted his hand like that box was a hot potato when he saw the price. He did a double-take.

“It’s a sad day when a man can’t afford no macaroni and cheese, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, sir,” I confirmed. ”I’m going to be mac-and-cheeseless, too,” I assured him, nodding toward my empty cart that I didn’t really need – – a hand basket like his would have sufficed.  

He sucked his teeth and pursed his lips. ”Well, I ain’t buyin’ none,” he muttered, walking on.

I finally had to ask directions to the pumpkin aisle. The first worker, a young teenager stocking bread, had no idea what I needed. ”Wait, it’s pumpkin in a can??”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s pureed pumpkin. Any brand will do. I usually buy Libby’s.” I could tell he was hung on both the word pureed and the idea of pumpkin in a can. It seemed to be blowing his mind, this pureed pumpkin in a can. My mind trailed back to my deep discussions with our Curriculum Coordinator about the need for more emphasis on vocabulary instruction in our schools earlier in the week. 

He said he’d have to ask, and off he went – never to return.

I ventured back to the main aisle, looking for a different worker down each aisle the same way wives look for lost husbands, finally finding an older teenage female sitting on the floor stocking cans. She paused. ”Aisle 2,” she said. ”I had to think about that one for a minute,” she confessed. “Look right past the fruit cups on the left at the top.”

Sure enough, on a top shelf, there was the Libby’s I’d missed the first time I’d looked, sitting back at an angle. I reached up, pulled 4 cans forward, and headed to the register to check out.

Two checkers were slammed, so a third opened Register 5. An older gentleman wearing jeans with a huge belt buckle, a pair of shiny cowboy boots, a button down shirt, and a thin jacket stepped over to place my bag in the cart. I wasn’t sure whether he even worked there or not, but as I was wondering, he read my pumpkin label and removed all doubt.

“Ah, Libby’s,” he read, prompting a knowing smile. ”Back in the early days, we had the best price on Libby’s vegetables. 59 cents for a 16-ounce can. Folks came three to a mule for Libby’s vegetables.” His eyes had that reflective sparkle that the older generation gets whenever the memories of simpler times come rushing back. 

And then I made a mistake I regretted when I got to the car. I nodded, smiled, took my bag, and said, “Thank you, sir,” and exited the store. I should have asked about those days. I should have asked about those vegetables. I should have asked for a story that now I’ll never hear.

I learned some things yesterday, because I missed at least two opportunities with the macaroni and cheese man and the Libby’s man to learn some history. 1) Next time, I’ll find the oldest person to ask about where to find things. 2) I’ll take time to talk a little more to those who initiate conversation. 3) I’ll initiate more conversations myself – – because there are so many stories that folks need to tell, and that I need to write.

And I feel their empty space.

Posted on

Family Christmas

We celebrated Christmas with the Johnson side of the family last night and played a couple of games of Left Center Right on the heels of dessert. The dinner menu was kept simple – Stouffer’s Lasagna, Cole’s garlic bread, and salad, with peach cobbler a la mode for dessert. Christmas and Thanksgiving are the only occasions on which I get out the good dishes and set the table with a tablecloth, chargers, placemats, fabric napkins, and a centerpiece – in our case three, to honor our departed mothers. We still don’t have much to drink from besides Mason jars, so we use clear Solo cups for our sweet tea. These dishes, I should mention, were given across the years (like my beloved Nativity set) as Christmas gifts from my mother and my former mother-in-law to build a set a few rungs higher than our basic white lead-free, chip-proof Corelle which came on the scene when I felt the first signs of arthritis.

Dishes that have been family gifts over the years

The ancestral kitchen spirits are always welcome, but on holidays we go a step further in summoning them; we light candles for Briar and Kyle’s mom (Pat), Bethany’s mom (Barbara), and my mom (Miriam), as we do on other holidays to remember them and keep them close.

Ollie with Briar bringing game luck

I do not believe in fancy seating place cards, though, not when there is theater box candy screaming in the dollar store to be used for this purpose. Everyone had a favorite at the top of their plate: Reese’s Pieces (Jack). Milk Duds (Briar), Raisinets (Kyle), Sugar Babies (Jax), Junior Mints (Andrew), Hot Tamales (Bethany), SweeTarts (Cece), and Boston Baked Beans (me). 

Fitz sits with Bethany

Even the dogs wanted in on the fun. We think the one reason Briar won both games when he was the only one who had to be coaxed into playing was that Ollie sat in his lap bringing good vibes. Fitz stayed with Bethany, and Boo Radley stayed under the table and with Kyle.

We exchanged gifts and sampled a libation or two, and our gift with strings attached were lottery tickets for the 620 million Powerball drawing on Saturday night. If any of us wins on those tickets, we have to give the other 7 folks in the picture 5 million dollars each. What’s 35 million on 620? We each placed our ticket on the coffee table and put a finger at the top of our ticket so we can check all the numbers via that photo. Nothing like a little family accountability in case someone tries to plan a surprise move to Switzerland suddenly.

Folks usually hope and pray for a white Christmas. We are hoping and praying for a green one!