Keeping Christmas

Keeping Christmas

No mistletoe  snowmen  tree
with twinkly lights  angel
guarding us from the top
instead poinsettias  a boxwood
wreath on the door  the aroma
of pierogis stuffed with sauerkraut
mushrooms and garlic
almond cookies dusted with sugar
hearts brimming with Christmas
present  past  glad tidings
for the new year

A slow rain pocks the river  drips
from the eaves  the roof slippery
for reindeer  our stockings lie
on the floor next to the jeans we wore
walking through the woods  watching
for woodpeckers  winter wrens
the chatter of tiny feathered creatures
filled the air like carols sung
by a multitude of  heavenly hosts

Yesterday we delivered gifts
of homemade cookies to aging cousins
friends in the city  thankful
for their presence  remembering
losses suffered by so many who
will keep Christmas alone this year

JZR
12/23/o1

To each and every one of you, I send wishes for a holiday season filled with cheer and a New Year overflowing with promise!

Treasure

“The truly rich person is the one who has a satisfied mind. The affluence of satisfaction comes from wisdom, not from external things.”

Lam Yeshe, When The Chocolate Runs Out

 It’s that season again. Rage seems to rule the roads and people are desperate to get where they were supposed to be three days ago. I’m laying low, trying to stay out of the frenzy. The gifts that will be passed out on Christmas day are wrapped and ready to go. Soon I’ll be on the road myself to North Carolina to be with my “kids.”

I wonder how much taller they will have grown.  Is eleven year old Zoe’s shoe size the same as mine yet?  It was getting close the last time I visited in August.  She has the coolest footwear and I can’t wait to be able to see how her pink high tops, studded with gems will look on me.  I think she’s afraid I’m going to run off with her shoes, but all I want to do is try them on and walk around the room once or twice pretending I’m her age.

That’s probably why when she was a tiny, little girl, just beginning to talk, she named me, Batty.  When she was born I claimed I was too young to be a grandmother and didn’t want to be called Grammy, Nana, Grandma or anything else that referred to me as “grand” and therefore “old.”  She apparently heard me and simply started calling me, Batty, when she decided I needed a name.  It has stuck. I’m also known to my little nieces as Aunt Batty.

I can relate.  There are claims that my Grandmother on my mother’s side was “crazy.”  I’ve always believed that all humans are a bit crazy, at least the ones I like to hang out with, so I think the name Batty is just perfect for me.   Zoe recognizes me for who I truly am!

I can’t wait to see Noah’s sunny smile and give him a great big hug. He always gives me a little gift when I arrive … maybe one of his tiny matchbox cars or a bracelet he made out of a pipe cleaner and the tabs from soda cans.  I wonder what it will be this time.  He has promised to perform his speech as he gave it one night at school when he took on the character of Edgar Allan Poe.  And maybe he’ll show me the ball room dance steps he’s been learning.  Maybe we’ll dance together.

Zoe and Noah are my treasure.  The ones I feel grateful for every morning when I wake up.  They are better than chocolate.  They are better than jewels, furs, fancy boats and all the stuff that people buy to keep up with the Joneses.  I could live without my computer and my Ipad.  But I could not live without my two grandchildren.

Giving Thanks

Today is Thanksgiving Eve.  There is so much to celebrate and to be grateful for, I don’t know where to begin. But needing to begin somewhere, I am grateful for this lovely Iris that I planted last spring.

It is one that blooms twice a year, in spring and in the fall.  I’ve been admiring them in a garden that I’m familiar with for several seasons. Even entertained the idea of slipping in one moonless night with a shovel.  But of course that is stealing.  This bit of loveliness that I carefully set in my garden in May did not bloom at that time, but weeks ago I began to see signs that she was getting ready to present me with a glorious Thanksgiving gift.  It has been a fairly warm fall here, but we’ve had hard freezes and still she stayed the course.  I am grateful for this bit of color, as the rest of garden goes brown for the winter.

Peppermint

I am grateful for my veterinarian, Richard,  who is working with two of my pets who have been strangely ill these last weeks.  He’s promised to not charge me for rent because I’m in his office so often and kindly puts up with my panic when Peppermint, the cat, can’t walk without falling over or when sweet Molly, my little Maltese-mix , throws up all over the place and is in serious pain.  Both are doing better, but seem to have life long issues that they will need medication for.

Molly

I am grateful for all of my family.  My supportive husband who edits and helps me clean up most of these posts. He seems to know where I’m coming from and where I’m going before I do.  My children and grandchildren continue to be my teachers and sparkling rays of sunshine on dark, rainy days. For my brother, Zed, who has helped me through much loss.

I am grateful for all my helpers along the way.  Kevin, for recently agreeing to be my writing coach as I begin to cross treacherous seas and entertain the idea of a book.  He will be going off on a Semester At Sea, Around the World Cruise in the New Year. With his other coaching and writing jobs he may not be with me for long, but he is giving me phenomenal direction, not by telling me what to do, but by asking pertinent questions.

I am grateful to my dear friend, Sharon, who through her own pain, steadily holds the torch for me while I dig through layers of the past.  I can’t do it without the light she sheds on my life.

I am grateful to all of you who come to visit here and let me know what you think, whether by leaving a comment or sending an email.  I am grateful for all of you who don’t leave comments but come back again and again.  I know you are out there.

I am grateful for the richness of my life … my friends, those I find difficult, and the day-to-day comings and goings of people and creatures who cross my path.

May Peace Be With You All!

Cider Season

© Joan Z. Rough

Once upon a time when I was younger and my kids were very small, we’d spend sunny afternoons picking apples in our own ancient orchard.   I’d cut the good ones into big chunks and place them in the barrel of our cider press.  The result was a sweet and tangy quaff meant for the Gods.  I’d bottle it up in quart containers and with a sign in our driveway, invite those who were interested in buying this seasonal treat to our door.  It sold well.

Those were simpler days.  In today’s world, I long for those quieter times when I took great comfort in everyday gifts, like the making of cider.

Cider Season

The last of the crop dislodged                                                                                                            I gather windfalls firm and rimy                                                                                                       Rake the bruised into piles                                                                                                                 Where pincered earwigs crowd                                                                                                       Droning yellow jackets sample the brew

My children pretend not to hear                                                                                                When I ask for their help  prefer                                                                                                    The rustle of leaves  tumbling                                                                                                          And diving  scattering yesterday’s work

With sharpened knife I quarter                                                                                              Blushing rounds  pack the barrel                                                                                                      To overflowing  lower the plate                                                                                                        ‘Til it resists  pressing sweet amber liquid                                                                            Buckets of gold

I’m drunk on October apples                                                                                                      Swishing mare’s tails                                                                                                                      Against a blue field of sky                                                                                                                Wood smoke greeting the cold                                                                                                      A threat of snow by morning

jzr

My New Year …

Most people celebrate the New Year on January 1st.  I do celebrate then too, but it is September 1st, that is the true New Year’s Day for me.  I think it has something to do with loving school and learning. When I was kid, I adored getting a new dress for the first day of school, and shoes of course.  I would have preferred shiny, black patent-leather Mary Janes, but mostly I got brown and white saddle shoes.

Then there were the new pencils with a special box to keep them in, along with erasers in tiny animal shapes.  A notebook, very sturdy, and whatever else I could talk my mother into, made it an exciting time of year.  Almost as good as Christmas!  There were no ipads, ipods, or computers back then.  But what I did have, I loved and treasured.

For me, September and fall, means it’s time to get serious.  Gone are the frilly salad days of summer.  Now I tend toward more substantial things, like hearty soups and stews.  A pot roast simmering away in the slow cooker is cause to celebrate, along with pumpkin or apple pie, and at breakfast, bowls of steaming oatmeal, with plain yogurt, walnuts, raisins and honey … sometimes I throw in an over-ripe banana.

It’s time for sweaters. Turtlenecks and over-sized bulky cardigans that I can wrap myself in on a cold autumn day, as I rustle my way through the dense carpet of leaves gathering on the ground.  Socks are cozy and my footwear of choice inside the house.  No slippers, just socks, thick, colorful, and the crazier the design the better.

It’s still warm here, but the nights are cooling down as the days shorten.  My sleep is deeper, and throughout the fall and winter, I love sleeping with a window slightly ajar, snuggled up in wool blankets, only my nose showing, to breathe in crisp air, lightly scented with wood smoke.  That’s heaven in my book.

And speaking of books, it’s the time of year when I do the most reading.  The stack of reading material next to my chair tends to grow and I often find myself reading 3 books at once, going from one to another, as my mood changes.  That is getting a bit frustrating though, as I try to unlearn my multitasking habits.  So I’ll narrow it down to two books.   One to read during the day, usually something I’m interested in learning about and don’t want to doze off while I’m reading. For the evenings, I like something a bit lighter that I can easily find my way back to, after it’s fallen out of my hands to the floor as sleep overtakes me.

This year, I’ve enrolled in three classes that will start later in the month. I’ve chosen two through the UVA Ollie program (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute),  Writing your Life and The Examined Life, as a way to keep me writing and getting feedback on what I’ve been pouring out on to paper.  They each meet once a week for 6 weeks.

My herbalist, is offering an 8 week class in Ayurveda, an ancient way of taking care of oneself, from India.  We will learn about its history, and how to apply it to live a healthy life style.  Part yoga, food prep, and discussion, it will help me as I continue to try to keep myself from becoming what I call, a rocking chair granny.  I want to leave this planet moving, not sitting on my front porch watching the world go by.

I am risking my sanity a bit, I suppose.  My time is pretty much spoken for through the fall and I worry some about having time for making art.  But I’m very excited about the learning I will be doing. I intend to keep up a regular exercise routine and putter about the garden as well.   If I can keep the overwhelm and I have to do everything parts of myself under control it should be a great time.  I do expect a visit from one or both of these companions from time to time, but it seems to get easier as I continue to set my limits, listen to my body, and understanding that I am not going for a PhD.

So, once again, Happy New Year.  I hope your fall will be as exciting as mine is looking.