Christmas/Solstice Part II

 MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

Christmas as a child was wonderful. 

It was never connected with Christ's birth in our family. We never had a creche or lit four advent candles. It was always secular, despite the Christmas Carols.

We told Santa five things we might want with the idea he would select one or two. Our stockings would be stuffed with small gifts and an orange in the bottom.

When I was in kindergarten, I found reindeer hoof prints visible on the sloping roof outside my bedroom. As an adult, I suspected my father put them there. He always denied it.

 My first Christmas as a bride in Stuttgart with my Army PFC husband meant no money for decorations. Fortunately I had red plastic hair curlers that I fashioned into a tree on the glass door of an armoire and several hundred safety pins created a silver garland.

My first husband wanted to give me an iron. I was using a heated coffee pot as an iron, but I told him I didn't want anything for my function. I don't remember what we gave each other, but they were never for our functions. 

When my daughter was born, her first Christmas was a nightmare trying to get in both sets of divorced parents, my daughter's father and his family. It was open presents, shovel food in and move to the next house. At that stage the only thing that interested Llara was the wrapping paper. She had enough presents including many duplicates to open our own toy store. I laid down anti-excess rules for Christmas and birthdays after that.

When she was three, we painted wooden ornaments. They will be on our tree this year as they have for every year I celebrated in my own home. Each one has a memory.

There were the years with my housemate's family with a tree decorating the Sunday before and a take away Chinese meal.

There was the year we made a gingerbread house but money was tight and we had to limit the decorations. In following years we added decorations. The house came out every year until our German Shepherd consumed a good part of it.

My daughter as a teenager embroidered wonderful Christmas stocking for me and herself. She did one for my husband Rick2, when we married. 

I dated a man for a while, and he thought gifts had to be expensive and didn't understand my being thrilled with a Larry Bird T-shirt and a bottle of hair conditioner that I couldn't get in Switzerland from my daughter.

There was the Christmas when everyone in the family I was living with gave each other Crest original formula toothpaste, something impossible to get in Switzerland at the time, a treasure.

One Christmas when it was just Rick2 and I, we went to the safari park near Argelès. Other Christmases were with large groups of friends and family, making sure no one was ever alone.

There were a couple of Christmases at my folks place in Florida, although despite the mid Eastern origins of the holiday, the warm weather always seemed wrong even when carolers came by. Maybe I'm more aligned with the pagan connections from colder climes.

There were the Christmases in Garmish in Germany with my cousins, the hikes through the snow to eat apfelstudel and drink hot chocolate in the beauty of the Alps.

There was the Christmas when Llara met us in Ireland and we flew to Barcelona on our way to Christmas in Argelès across the border in France where she was arrested. We hadn't realized that although we had paid a 500 CHF fine for her over staying her 90 days in Switzerland, she had been banned from any Schengen country for two years. 

She was deported and saved her holiday by driving to D.C. to spend the holiday with a friend. We had friends who provided us with a traditional family gathering.

I'm not sure what this Christmas will be. There is nothing I really want and Rick is not forthcoming with any ideas for him. Most years he's mentioned enough things over the year for me to get it for him.

We'll decorate for the solstice more than the Christmas day. I imagine I'll make us a traditional meal. I do have cranberry sauce and pumpkin in the closet. Or maybe we'll get a buche de noël. 

My daughter won't be with us. This year she's opting for the Northern Lights in Norway. She apologized for it, and I told her it that she will be doing what she's doing is a gift. As always we'll be together in spirit.

And being with the man I love, in a place I love and having friends and loved ones in my life even those far away is a gift. I can't ask for anything more.

 

Christmas/Solstice Part 1

  

Each day is shorter, each night is longer. The last few days have been gray and cold. We are in Geneva as we close out November and get ready for December.

We are also getting ready to go to Argelès, where Rick and I have celebrated Christmas/Solstice for the past ten years, with the exception of the year with my daughter in Boston.

I have the Auer black chocolates for the calendar with its little boxes, selected one by one from the rows of squares at their chocolaterie. I have the book that I will give to Rick to read Christmas Eve in the Icelandic tradition. He just told me the Icelandic people often drink hot chocolate. We can borrow that tradition too.

This year I have no idea what to give my husband. Some years it was easy, an antique wooden statue of William Tell, a painting he admired that I told him was too expensive and bought immediately after he left the gallery.

Our tree is waiting at our favorite florist, a tiny one for a table. We don't want Sherlock to think we've given him an indoor toilet with a floor tree.

The village will turn into fairy land with white lights already strung across all the streets. The Christmas market will have the ducks, rabbits and ponies. Children will visit Père Noël.

As the days grow shorter, I've celebrated each day in the warmth and coziness of my home. The celebration is just an inner feeling of pure happiness and peace.

For me, the most important part of the season is the solstice. I must have a bit of a real tree in my home. If I was with people who have an artificial tree, a branch, no matter how small, will do.

That bit of a tree represents the return of the light, moving toward the hope of the new year and all it will hold. 

The solstice has existed from the beginning of the planet. Humans, new comers to the planet, have marked it as evidenced by archeological finds, arrangement of stones which reflect the light. There are variations of celebrations all over the modern world too, of which Christmas is just one. I can do no less.

M3 Monday Morning Memories

 

Rick brings me tea and a biscuit in bed and crawls in beside me. Outside is gray, not unusual for Geneva in November. About 1/3 of the leaves are hanging on. We are both reading, Rick on his phone, me with a book.

"Marlo Thomas," he says referring to something he just saw. It conjures up memories of "That Girl," "Free to be You and Me," and her father Danny Thomas and his work developing St. Jude hospital.

That led to discussions on people who work for the good of others and I thought of Sheila James, the actress my age who played Danny Thomas's daughter. I loved her pigtails.

As an adult I ran into Sheila James at different women's events in Boston. She was a law student at Harvard.

Once thinking of Boston, the Citgo sign led to other memories about being at Boston University, rats in the parking garage, walking over from where I lived for mixed-in ice cream cones on a summer evening.

We were making more memories just sitting in bed sharing photos on the internet, information. Great start to the week.

 

FlashNano 27 The Pilgrimage

 Day 27 of writing a flash fiction piece to a prompt.

When Ellen was 11, her aunt gave her a book about Eleanor of Aquitaine. She was fascinated by the 12^th century woman who was married to two kings and mother of three others. But what intrigued her the most was how powerful Eleanor was in her own right. But then she was one of the wealthiest people of her time and the greatest landowner.

When Ellen was 15, a friend's mother knowing her interest in Eleanor, invited her to dinner and watch a DVD of Lion in Winter. They gave her the DVD and she watched Katherine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine over and over. When King Henry threw her on the floor and said he was going to Rome to divorce Eleanor, Hepburn looked at the camera and said, “Every family has its ups and downs,” Ellen played that part over and over. From then on, she thought of Hepburn as Eleanor.

When Ellen studied for her masters in history, she did her thesis on Eleanor.

The year after graduation she taught history in a private school and saved enough money to go to France. She didn’t want to go to Paris, but to follow in Eleanor’s footsteps starting at her birthplace in Poitiers and ending at the Abbey of Fontevraud where Eleanor  spent her later years and was buried.

It took her two days to drive between the two cities, but when she approached the abbey, she imagined Eleanor entering the white building. Eleanor had made the abbey her home in her later years. She was buried

It was too late to enter the abbey when Ellen arrived. She found a tiny room in a hotel, had time to eat in a restaurant that could have been a set for a French movie.

The next morning Ellen put on a sun dress. She felt it would be disrespectful to wear jeans.

When she entered the chapel dust motes danced in the sunlight from the windows. Four coffins were placed at the opposite end.

Slowly she approached the tombs. The effigy of Eleanor did not look like Hepburn. Eleanor was holding a book and was covered in a blue plaster blanket. Next to her was the tomb of King Henry, her second husband, her lover and her enemy.

There were no other tourists. Ellen felt as if she had met Eleanor personally. She wondered how she felt being next to the man she’d tried to overthrow.

If she’d been religious, she would have said a prayer. Before leaving, she lit a candle completing her pilgrimage.

3 Writing Projects

 I am a writing addict. Right now I'm in the middle of three projects.

 

365 Days of Exceptional Women

I want one or more women who were born or died on each day of the year. I want lesser known or forgotten women who did things most women didn't do. I'm still missing some dates. Anyone with a woman they think might fit, please let me know. I originally thought one woman per date, but there were some dates with two or more worthy of featuring, that I increased the number.

Anthology of my short stories and poems

A collection of my published short stories and poems and a few that weren't. I say I'm a po more than a poet, but what I've written were mostly published much to my amazement.

The Twins

A novel about two sets of twins from the same family as adults leading very different lives and dealing with aging parents from near and far. The novel is set in Switzerland and New England.

The Day After

 

Nov 25 We are getting close to the end of writing a Flash Fiction piece to a prompt each day during the month of November.

 

The Day After

Abby wasn’t sure what to do. There was no electricity after yesterday’s blizzard.

Looking outside, she saw four pine trees lay in the worse possible places with the exception that none had hit the house or car, although the driveway was blocked by snow and a tree.

Eight. year old Seth came into the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Cereal,” Abby said. “The stove isn’t working.”

“It’s cold,” 14-old Megan came into the kitchen in her PJs and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “And there’s no hot water.”

What a time for Bill to be away on business. Especially since he was in Florida and the family was in a Boston suburb. Abby looked out her kitchen window. Unlike yesterday when there was a solid white curtain, she could see down the street. The sun caused the snow to look as if it were coated with diamonds.

The day was unusual to say the least. The laptops, telephones, games all ran out of power.

“We’ve nothing to do,” the kids complained.

“Empty the fridge and the freezer and put the food in the snow in the backyard. You could build a snowman while you are there to guard it.”

Megan’s eyes rolled.

“That’s not a choice. I don’t won’t all that food to spoil.” Abby threw Megan’s winter coat at her.

Megan didn’t participate in the snowman which turned out to be a snow dragon, Seth’s idea. He covered a fallen branch with snow for the dragon’s tail.

Although the family never had a fire in the living room fireplace because they were almost never in the living room together, Megan despite her complaints, brought wood from the cellar and soon the temperature in the room was bearable.

Getting out the bbq equipment, Abby was able to cook hamburgers for lunch although they had to share the two buns, which was all she had left.

“I’m bored,” Megan sat on the couch, her arms folded across her chest.

Abby had an idea. In the back of her bedroom closet, she found a jigsaw puzzle that her grandmother had given her. She remembered doing the puzzles on no-school snow days when she was young.

She put the pieces out on a card table that she used when she and her husband played bridge with the Matthews.

As she laid the pieces out, Seth came over to watch. Megan decided to go to her room, but was back within 20 minutes claiming it was too cold.

By five it was dark. The puzzle was half done. Abby found every candle she owned and set them ablaze on the mantle. “We should all sleep down here,” she said. “It’s the only warm place in the house.

Sleeping bags, and duvets were lugged downstairs.

“Did they have electricity when you were a little girl?” Seth asked.

“Barely,” Abby said as she put another log on the fire.

“There’s nothing to do in the dark.” Megan’s voice broadcast the boredom that only a teenager could muster.

“We’ll tell stories.” Abby tried hard to remember the joy she felt when Megan was placed in her arms minutes after being born. “I’ll start. When I stop, Seth you continue. When Seth stops, Megan picks it up.

“Out west in cowboy country…” Abby started. Seth named a cowboy Donkey Don. Amid sighs Megan added a beautiful young girl called Abigail who wanted to wear a dress rather than jeans. The story evolved into what could have qualified as a TV series.

Seth fell asleep first.

“What will we do if we don’t have any electricity tomorrow?” Megan asked.

“Shovel. Walk to town. Bring back food.” Abby said.

Another sigh from Megan, but soon Abby heard her breathing.

What a memory this will be when they are grown and home for a holiday meal, Abby thought. Sometime the memories are better than the original event.