Let It Go

Another January--another year.  A breath of fresh air arrives with each new year.  It is, for me, a cleansing.  The rubble from the past year needs to be tossed and elbow room and a sense of freedom takes its place.  I am finding that I have less attachment to things and can see them in the context of just things.  What value do they hold long term?  Most are of little worth except for the sentimental value we create for them. 

Objects, possessions, things, collections often end up in a box somewhere on a shelf.  Once in the box they are no longer a treasured possession.  The only things of value are those that we enjoy looking at on a daily basis or use regularly.  Our boxes of collections will never hold the same interest for someone else.  My goal  is to turn toward disposeable items.  My travel purchases are candy for the grand kids, an  inexspensive piece of jewerly that I will wear and a cataologe of memories.  If something new comes home with me, then something old must leave.

Now as I preach the art of organizing and uncluttering I am guilty of bringing home three new books on card making, two books of bound colored paper, rubber stamps, stamp pads, glitter, ribbon and a new kind of glue and paint brushes to spread the clue.  I also have three boxes of blank cards--let's see how many hundred cards would that be?

I will justify these purchases because they fall in the area of creativity, personal expression, art.  My box of clay and books on jewelry design are in that same catagory and sleep peacefully under my work table.  At this point in time I am consumed with creating cards.  It entertains me on the long winter nights and I pretend that I am in the midst of a creative awakening.  Whatever--I am happy and my bubble is still flying high. 

 

Christmas

        I decided to approach Christmas with a new attitude and direction.  Mrs. Grinch, a regular holiday visitor, for the past several years was given the boot.  She never was issued an invitation, but for some unexplainable reason she  showed up every December.  Mrs. Grinch is the kind of person who would serve hot dogs and beans for Christmas dinner and think it was a French dish.  Her sour attitude, finally became a bone of contention.  I asked her to leave and make sure she took everything that belonged to her.   We had a little problem when she thought the fiber optic tree was hers.  Even though it will not be the center of attention this Christmas, I still have a sentimental attachment.  I am not usually a physical person, but when the car board suitcase flew out the door she quickly followed saving both of us our dignity.

      As I planned the decorations for the new tree (the fiber optic tree has been retired)  I thought long and hard about what I wanted to acheive.  I had a grand vision of opulence.  Perhaps a tree with a theme where everything is color coordinated.  The kind of tree Country Living and Martha Stewart magazine editors would pick  for next year's photo opt. 

     As I started accumulating ornaments, I realized there was a line I could not cross.  What I kept going back to was simplicity--a tree that quietly said look at me and did not shout here I am.  I wanted a tree with heart that repesented what Christimas was intended to be. Initially, this was not my goal when I began this decoration journey.  My idea of the perfect tree was a show piece : bows, ribbon gracefully draped around it, with elegant ornaments and vivid colors.

    

 The tree of my imagination was not a true Christmas tree, but a symbol of the commercialization of Christmas.  There is beauty in simple things, a certain enduring classic elegance.  In the end my tree-- is my tree and it represents to me a softer side of Christmas.  I hope it is a tree that puts Christ in Christmas.

                                                                                                

Those who wander often find surprises and opportunities in the most unexpected places.  The small town of Ashton has more than meets the eye.  Nolan and I went to their Christmas festival quit by accident.  Driving through we saw a notice about the Christmas bazar and the arrival of Santa.  We were there so why not go.  Somtimes good things come in small packages.  Only in Ashton would Santa arrive on a flat bed sleigh pulled by a team of black horses and a pack of dogs as chaperones then leave after the festivities in a Cadillac SUV.

This post card perfect Lutheran church in Ashton was begging to be sketched.  We sat in the car while Nolan stetched and listened to the church chimes play Christmas songs.  It doesn't get much better!

The Perfect Storm

To soon!  Thanksgiving is not even history yet

Today was wild...a real winter storm.  40 mph with winds 40mph and gusts to 50.  Actually it was rather fun to watch the blowing snow.  The windows were coated and you could see only a few feet.  It has calmed down now so we are venturing out.  Most roads in the county area are closed.  Just curious to see how things are.

As much as I complain (as do others) about the winter, would I like to miss winter entirely?  No, I think not.  There is something about a wicked snow storm  that is exciting and appealing.  I experience a sense of comfort and security which comes with the knowledge, that  am I protected from its rage.  It provides an oportunity to slow down and observe my surroundings.  The snow covered world looks brighter and refreshed.  The first storm is always the best.  Winter is welcomed in the beginning, but its appeal fades much quicker that the other three seasons.  How sad to be the season many love to hate.  For the moment I will take what it offers and try to be patient with it.          

Winter Survival

  I love winter in Souteastern Idaho.  The end of daylight savings always signals the beginning of glorious days to come.  I wait with fervent anticipation for the first gray day.

  
        No more blue skies with white whispy clouds feathered across the horizon, no warm sun coming through the windows, and no more obligatory time spent reading on the patio.  It is such a relief to free ones self from such unsullied delights.  As 4:30 rolls around I know that shortly it will be dark and time to retreat to the closed up house.  Fatigue will soon follow as my body is in tune with the shortened hours of light.  The soft flannel sheets will start a subduded and distant call gradually escilating in volume until I finally surrender.

     I have accepted this winter life for many years and have endured with only a little complaining because I am an Idaho Woman.  I am from hardy stock and pride myself on being  steadfast.  My ancestors immigrated from the harsh climates of Scandinavia, therefore endowing me with cold genes.  I have always been proud of the fact that I can survive the long bleak winters without large doses of vitiman D from the sun.

     But recently I had an epiphany and it was life changing.  Some friends took me on an eight hour drive to the sun.  HALLELUJAH!  My eyes have been opened.   There is another life out there where winter is not a bleak gray, and  blue skies still exist.  What a revelation to find out that the sun does not leave the universe for seven months out of the year.  It simply moves south.  In this land of sun I found happy, smiling people.  I felt happy too.  My life will never be the same after this discovery.  It will be much, much better. 

    

Friends who took me to the happy place.  See how happy they are.

       

    

Now I know why the relatives from the old country were so grumpy and stoic all winter----they were still looking for blue skies and sunshine.

  I can actually escape the gray,  renew myself periodically and endure the Idaho winter with a fresh outlook.

A November Day

Today was one of those rare late fall days.  You know that there are not many left.  We took advantage of the warm weather and sunshine to take a long leisurely bike ride.  The river was at its best.  It was smooth and reflected the trees and buildings along its banks.  We stopped at Great Harvest for lunch and people watching.  It was a perfect day for me to do some photography and for Nolan to sketch. 

400 sturgeon were released near the Johns Hole Bridge on Thursday.  These men are below the Broadway Bridge.  The water is deep at this point so just maybe they might catch the BIG one.

 What a shame you can't bottle days like this and bring them out one at a time as winter surrounds you and steals the sun away.

beautiful gifts

We took a trip to a part of Utah called The Mormon Corridor.  You past through Fairview, Ephraim, Mt. Pleaseant, Moroni and Manti.  The settlers who developed these small towns built beautiful homes which are testimonies to their hard work, resourcefulness and appreciation of guality craftmenship; cabled roofs, porches and ginger bread trim following the lines of the eves.  Many were built from brick to stand against weather and time.  Chimneys rise above roofs and cast long shadows in the fall sun.  How many families have lived in these homes?  Some are blessed with 21st century families, while others are abandoned and left to slowly die.  All were built with such care and pride.  Their souls must weep as they sit empty while the harsh Utah weather gradually takes it toll.  I wish I could save them all.

Halloween From the Past

I ventured into the forbidden zone called Walmart.  The need for a candle drove me to take the Walmart walk.  As I tried to navigate the isles and avoid the masses I cut through the Halloween section.  Two full isles displayed a wide range of costumes.  I am always amazed at the variety of choices and styles.  .

As I quickly scanned the pictures on the packages I remembered some of my past costumes; those of my childhood and ones my children wore.  When I was part of the great trick or treat parade there were no store bought costumes.  Moms were the creators and manufacturers.  Sewing machines burned midnight oil as the motors chugged through fabric.  Moms who couldn't sew pinned and taped costumes together.  Needles to say, there were no duplicates.

I was a Gypsy more than once.  I doubt any child would want to be one today.  They have no clue what a Gypsy is.  We had travelers pass through Pocatello several times throughout the year.  They rented empty stores  downtown and set up shop.  If your were willing to part with some spare change you could have your fortune told and have your life line read.  I was an obvious voyer when I walked past the open door.  Heavy draperies hung across the doorway and in the windows which made it very difficult for prying eyes to see inside.  I had few opportunities to check out the facilities because my mother usually hauled me across the street to avoid contact.  It was much easier than trying to talk them down.  They either had poor hearing or could not understand the word NO.  My mother was also under the illlusion that she had a gifted and beautiful child and the Gypsies might follow us home and kidnap me.  I don't know why--they seemed to have plenty of children of their own.

In my child's eyes the Gypsy women were striking and fascinating.  They wore their hair long and tied up with a ribbon or colorful silk scarf.  Around their necks hung long chains and beads which accented the blouse and full skirt.  Large hoop earrings dangled from their ears.  What a sight!  I saw mystery and beauty staring back at me.  What little girl with a vivid imagination would not want to be a Halloween Gypsy?

There was nothing to sew.  From odds and ends found arund the house I became a true Gypsy girl right down to the hoop earrings (mason jar rings on a string and hung over my ears.)  As happens with children, I passed on to another phase--Snow White.  A little more complicated to reproduce.  This required a pattern and fabric.  Nevertheless,  my mother came through with a dress just like the one in the Disney movie.

My mom was good, but even she could only carry magic so far.  I was the raven haired beauty with peaches and cream complexion.  Alas no, I was Snow White with brown hair and freckles across my nose and check and I could not sing.  No matter--I was living a dream and for 30 minutes I paraded through the school and around the block as Snow White.

The next trip my imagination sent me on was the beauty queen circuit--Miss Idaho of 1957.  Again Mom went along with it.  Halloween Miss Idaho of 1957 wore an eveing gown of royal blue taffeta with an overskirt of lighter blue net.  I marched in the school parade along side ghosts, pirates, mummies and witches.  Yes, I was the only beauty queen.

As an adult I refuse to dress for Halloween.   I have however subjected my children to some uncomfortable Halloweens.  What I thought, at the time, were clever and unique costumes caused them deep scars.  The watermellon, the clown and the garbage bag Ninja creations probably still haunt their dreams.  My daughter was forced to be a Gypsy only once.

I still see the magic in this holiday.  It is a time to allow the imagination to run wild.  We too soon move away from magic and innocence. If even for only a short period of time, it is refreshing to forget reality and move to a world of our own making.  The best gift of childhood is imagination.