Today is a day to watch the snow falling in big lacy flakes, softly falling, no raging wind, no dark clouds, only snow continually swirling and gently covering everything. It is just cold enough to snow–2 degrees warmer and this would be rain instead of sparkling snow.

Today reminds me of a day in 1975 when I was nearly ready to give birth to my son. I could say that I was more than ready, but he was not. I so wanted a new dress for Easter, which would fall on March 30, but I did not want to buy a new maternity dress. One of my friends offered me a dress she had. It was bright pink, of the new “miracle” fabric polyester, and it had a white collar. Because it was sleeveless and the weather was still chilly, I bought a white crocheted shawl to cover my arms. On Easter morning, it was a day much like today, snowing big puffy flakes. I wore that dress anyway, and I was grateful for the shawl. My baby was born the following week, April 8. Perhaps I still have that shawl, a reminder of that day.

Today is Palm Sunday, a day to commemorate the day that Jesus of Nazareth rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, not the steed of a king, but the beast of burden used by common people. Still, the crowds of people hailed him as a king that day. He knew what was coming, they did not. This week, we will commemorate those events–his celebration of Passover with his closest friends, his trial, his suffering, and his painful death on that instrument of torture, the cross. Next Sunday, we will celebrate his miraculous resurrection from the dead. Does it sound fantastic? But, I know it to be true.

Today is a day to rest, to contemplate, to ponder life, and death, new life, and eternal life, to think of God, and of his great love for people, to remember a lacy white shawl over a bright pink springtime dress, and to see the snow in springtime covering everything in sparkling white. God said to his people long ago, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.”

I am so excited that I am making progress in swimming. Today, for the first time in my life, I swam two whole laps, that is to say, four lengths of the pool. For me the big problem is the rhythm of breathing with the stroke. Today, I was able to approach an easy timing and I was not terrified of being in the deep water. So, I have made huge progress since my first class three years ago.
Although six people are signed up for the class, today I was the only one who came. So I had a whole hour of one on one instruction. This particular instructor is also a musician, so he teaches the rhythm in this way: the feet are the bass line, or perhaps the drums, and the arms have the melody line. Meanwhile, the breathing has its own count, but it is best to coordinate it with the arms. It’s important to relax in the water, just as it is important to relax while singing.
I have also gained in stamina. I can tell because three years ago, I thought an hour was way too long a class! I was exhausted after about 20 minutes, and then sort of stuck it out until the end. Today, I was quite tired at 55 minutes. My teacher said, “We still have five whole minutes!” So, the “stick it out” time has decreased considerably. It’s important to use time wisely, and to meet commitments, no matter how tired we may be.
I spoke to the aquatic director after my class, thanking him for providing classes. “I am so grateful and so excited,” I said, “I am really making progress!”
“Yes!” he said, “I was watching you today.”
There are two more classes in this session, but I will miss the final one because of a trip we are taking. But, I can sign up for the next set. There’s nothing like having a coach and a set time to meet to learn new skills.
An old saying is “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” and people usually say this applying it to people. It’s not true, if the trick is worth learning.

Life is all about patterns. I’m taking swim lessons again, because after more than a year out of the water, I have to start over. I’m so close to being able to swim, but, the rhythm of the breathing eludes me. Also, it takes a lot of energy to be able to swim any distance, such as the length of the pool, and I am lacking in energy. I said to an instructor, “I have so little energy.” He said, “Then don’t waste any of it.” As we learn effective patterns of movement and breathing, we can save energy, and direct that energy to the swimming itself. Yesterday, we worked on the back stroke. That alternating arm movement is so difficult for me. I wonder if it is an issue of focus in my brain, or an issue of the strength required to move my arm through the water?
I used to do a lot of quilting, a process of creating blankets, clothing, or art work, in which at least three layers of fabric are sewn together in patterned stitching. Patchwork is a particular style of this art. It started as a way to make use of every scrap of fabric available, and not waste anything. For example, to make a dress for an adult, you need about four yards of fabric. It is folded in half lengthways. You lay the pieces of your pattern on the cloth along the fold, so that you are cutting one line, and it is the same on both sides of the piece. Usually the skirt front flares out from the waist line in a triangle, and the skirt back is in two pieces so you don’t need to put it on the fold. But, there will always be unused fabric because of the shapes required. Sometimes you could make a child’s garment with those parts, if you laid the pieces carefully at first. But there will still be some left over, too dear to throw away, but too odd shaped to make another garment. A good use of those pieces was to cut them into various shapes, triangles and squares being the favorites, and sew them together in patterns to make the top of a blanket. Sometimes people also used the good parts of worn out clothing to make patchwork. Imagine a dress that was worn out on the back, and at the hem line, but still fine in the front. These parts could be used again in a patchwork quilt. A quilt has this top, then some filler such as cotton, wool, or some other old blanket that was nearly worn out, and then a bottom piece. These layers can be tied together with yarn, or sewn with decorative stitching. An early American proverb is “Waste not, want not.” If you have little, don’t waste any, energy or fabric.
Sudoku is a modern puzzle in which you organize numbers into squares. In each puzzle, some numbers are given, and you have to find the others. The rule is, though, that you must not repeat the numbers in a horizontal line, a vertical line, or in a set of nine in a smaller square. Think of a grid of nine small squares set together to make one large square. Each smaller square has nine tiny squares—one number for each tiny square. For each small square, you need the numbers one through nine. For each long vertical line, and each long horizontal line, you need the numbers one through nine. You have to find the correct placement by using what is already given. For example, if a smaller square already has an 8, you can’t put another 8 in that set of nine tiny squares. And if an 8 already occurs in one of the longer lines, you can’t put the 8 in that line. Each number has its proper place. I see the puzzle as a nine-patch quilt. It is the simplest pattern in quilting. Put those tiny squares into blocks of nine, then organize the blocks into larger blocks, until you have made the size you want. Being careful of how you organize the colors within the blocks, you can make designs in the larger piece. So I enjoy the puzzle which occurs in our daily newspaper. It’s an exercise in logic, in organization, and in creativity within a structure.
Patterns of numbers, of movement, of rhythm, these are the patterns of life. Shall we dance? Shall we sing? Shall we swim? Can we use what’s given to find what’s not? Can we see colors in the numbers, or hear music in the water, or find poems in the daily rhythm of life? If you don’t see the pattern, keep looking. If you don’t hear the pattern, keep listening. If you don’t have much to work with, don’t waste anything. Use the structure, the forms of the stroke, the steps of a dance, the melody of a song, to gain energy, to be effective, to create beauty. Perhaps we can find then, the patterns of love and joy.

It is the last day of February, a snowy day here where I live, a good day to write on the blog.
For two weeks my computer was gone for service and for the other two weeks?
We’ve had some snow here, probably not enough to change the drought situation, but still, we’re grateful for anything. After one snowfall, the kids built snowmen and snow forts in the back yard and had a snowball fight with grandpa. I was delighted to watch, rather than participate. When that snow melted, the forts and the snowmen remained, albeit diminished. We then took all those large lumps of iced snow and put them on the garden beds. They have not melted further, and now there is new snow. I think the snow is pretty, as long as I don’t have to go anywhere in it, or shovel the driveway before going anywhere. My dear husband and our neighbor take care of all that. I’m looking into one of those systems that melt the snow on the driveway, since we need to repave the driveway anyway.
I reread, and saw a movie of Pride & Prejudice, by Jane Austin. It is the 200th anniversary of publication of this book and it is still fresh and popular. Would that I could write something for people to enjoy 200 years from now! Some famous person said about Jane Austin’s world, “These are people for whom a snowfall is a major event.” I am also one of those people.
On the night of the birthday party for our daughter—about 17 people attended—it began snowing and blowing outside, but we were warm inside, laughing and talking together. All that snow is still on the ground along with new snow. At the party we served soup, home made bread, salad, and of course birthday cake. I made four soups: vegetarian pumpkin/apple soup, cream of broccoli/cauliflower soup, beef stew, and meaty chili. I made the vegetable stock for the first two, and then as I was putting things together, I had this thought, “Don’t put onions in everything!” So I did not put them in the broccoli. Sure enough, one of the guests asked, “Is there anything without onions?”
For the salad, I put the iceberg lettuce in one bowl and the specialty greens in another, and then in smaller bowls I put purple onion, avocado, bell pepper, nuts, and dried fruit. These days, everyone is so careful about diet, that you can hardly make one salad.
The birthday cake made by our other daughter, was carrot cake with cream cheese frosting embedded with chopped pecans. There are many recipes for this cake, but my daughter’s recipe is supreme. I’m not sure how she makes it so very moist! Since it is full of carrots, we do feel we are eating a healthy food, even as we enjoy the frosting. We also enjoyed a gluten free chocolate cake made especially for the allergic among us, but tasty enough for everyone.
Today in the newspaper there is a recipe for a chocolate cake made with eight eggs, and one tablespoon of flour and lots of butter. I was about to try it, then I remembered it is Lent, a season of self denial and prayer—not of extravagance. Still, snowy days seem to call out for chocolate. Now I’m looking for other recipes, because even one tablespoon of flour will ruin it for our grandson who cannot eat wheat. Of course he can’t eat the butter either, and he can have only the yolks of eggs. Much of my life, and now my daughter’s life, is spent trying to adapt recipes to our health needs. Finally, if we use oil instead of butter, and only the yolks of the eggs, how will it taste and what kind of texture will it have? Have you ever seen a recipe for a one or two serving cake? I have not, so whatever I make, must be suitable for sharing.
Every day I do the puzzles in the newspaper, such as sudoku, crossword, and Tom Underwood’s coded messages. Recently, I have been preparing for an upcoming presentation of our “Adventures in China” so I am looking at pictures from each trip, making display boards for Beijing, Shanghai, and the Yangtze River towns. Thus have I consumed my time in February.

Epiphany

Epiphany is the celebration of the visit of the Magi to the Christ Child.  Who were the Magi?  They were the wise men, the scholars of their time. They came from far away, from the east of Judea, because they had seen a spectacular star in the heavens and they believed it had significance. So, they followed it to Bethlehem. You can “read all about it” in the Bible.
Epiphany falls on January 6 on the western calendar, and is the twelfth day of Christmas, the end of the Christmas season. In the Eastern church, it is the day of gift giving and feasting. It is not observed in quite the way it used to be, but this year it fell on a Sunday, so we observed it in church.

The snow is still on the ground, and we expect another storm by Friday. People have turned off their festive lights decorating their houses, and the Christmas trees have been taken down, the decorations put away. I’ve left the Christmas cards taped to the archway in the dining room. These days, cards include pictures of the family sending them, and I want to enjoy them a little longer. School has started again, so I have the opportunity to work some days, but I also feel it is a privilege to stay home when I do not receive a call.
Tomorrow, our grandchildren will spend part of the afternoon with us. I hope we’ll play the new game I received as a gift.
I’m looking forward to some reading time this month, I have three books lined up, and maybe I can read more than those. When it is cold and snowing outside, what is better than a cozy house, a cup of hot chocolate, and a good book?

Christmas

We had a blizzard (extreme wind and heavy snow) in the week before Christmas.  But by the weekend, the sky was sunny and the roads were clear.  Our son drove up from Atlanta, stopping to pick up a friend along the way.  We celebrated Christmas with joy, with feasting, with gifts and games and activities and music, but our main celebration was in worship of Jesus, the Christ, our Lord and God.  We not only commemorate his birth, but we recognize him as God incarnate (made man). Our first activity on Christmas morning was going to church.  There we sang hymns and heard the Scripture with good friends. The bond we share in our family and friendship circle is the bond of divine love.

Our house was full of people, music, and conversation. Our son brought his accordion and played it for us.  This instrument has a keyboard and a bellows for air and a set of buttons to give chords. It is held on your lap as you play.  You have to move it back and forth to get the air, while playing the keyboard with one hand and making the chords with the other.  Do you know “The Chicken Dance”?  You don’t need a lot of room for it.  While I was in the kitchen I heard the music and came into the front room to do the Chicken Dance with my daughters and husband.  When it came to the circle part we had only a few steps to circle, but we did it. The accordion is usually used for polka music, but when our son plays it, he can also make it sound like a pipe organ. Maybe it’s the choice of music?  He played some hymns in the minor keys and we sang along.

The Christmas tree, an artificial one, stood in front of the window in the center of the front room.  It was decorated with glass ornaments, some very old, some fairly new; handmade ornaments, some of which our sons and daughters made when they were children; Santa Claus / St. Nicholas figures; snow men figures, toys;  a few commemorative ornaments of gold plate; stars  of various material: Styrofoam decorated with glitter and pictures; beads; and plastic and wood; nativity scenes, mostly tiny, but one about 3 inches of ceramic; plastic icicles from the 1950’s; Angel figures, and various other ornaments, each having a special history.   We used the oldest lights we have.  When we were first married, oh so long ago, Grandma gave us her Christmas things, because she was no longer using them.  We’ve acquired lots more along the way, but it gives us pleasure to use the old things too.   After all, we remember those old times well.

Our dinner Christmas Day was beef roasted with carrots, potatoes, and onions, green salad, “rotkohl”,  green beans, and bread and butter, and red wine.  “Rotkohl” is purple (or red) cabbage, sliced and fried in a little oil.  After it has cooked about 10 minutes, I add vinegar, sugar and salt.  The vinegar turns the cabbage red.  I suppose in China, this might be called sweet and sour cabbage, but I never saw it in China.  That is, I saw red cabbage in the market, rarely, but I never saw it prepared this way in a restaurant.  Our second daughter says it is her favorite food.  For dessert we had a selection: chocolate mousse, pumpkin pie, peach pie, all could be topped with whipped cream. Our allergic grandchild had his own special desserts prepared by his mother.  Our daughter and son-in-law grow grapes on a small arbor in their backyard, and make wine from these grapes, only a small amount each year.  It is this sweet red wine that we enjoy at holiday time. Our table is an old farmhouse table, about 100 years old, passed from my aunt to my mother, to my sister, to me.  It can be a small square or a long rectangle.  In fact, our room is not big enough for it at its full length. On Christmas Day, the table had a white cloth, deep blue dishes, and red cloth napkins. When the wine was poured and the toasts raised, our hearts were warmed. How blessed we were on this special day!

On Sunday morning our choir sang our Christmas program.   At 7:30 am, we were “warming up” in the church basement.  We had one service at 8:00 am, and another at 10:30.  When I looked down from the balcony, I spotted my husband in the congregation, and wondered who the woman was sitting by him.  OH!  It was our daughter and her youngest son.  I was so honored that she came.  Her husband was singing in a cantata at their church, so she had gone to early service there, then come to ours for late.  Our group is more traditional, theirs more modern, in choice of music.

Then on Sunday evening, our grandsons performed in the children’s program at their church.  This traditional program includes acting out the account of the birth of Jesus.  One of the songs was one we don’t hear so much any more: The Friendly Beasts.  The costumes were mostly hoods with the ears or horns of the various animals.  Each animal has a verse telling what gift he gave to the Christ child.  “I, said the donkey, carried his mother.”  It is a tender song, reminding us that whatever we have, how ever small, we may give as a gift.

All this music is now swirling around in my head, and I sing out fragments as I go about my day.  “Let no earthly tongue keep silent, let creation praise the Lord.   Alleluia, allelu, alleluia!”

My high school choir director gave me my life motto, worth remembering as we hear of continual tragedy around the world:

“No matter what happens, KEEP ON SINGING!”

Recently I have been awakening at 3:30 am.  Sometimes I stay awake until about 6 am, then go back to sleep.  The problem is I am then disoriented for the whole day.  This morning at 3:30 am I looked outside at the black sky brilliant with stars.  It reminded me of an old song, “Oh how beautiful the sky, with the sparkling stars on high….”  I don’t recall the rest of it, do you?

Our choir program will be Sunday morning.  We’ve had the final rehearsal, but I am not quite confident of all the music.  I was sick and missed some rehearsals, and my voice is not quite ready for those high e, f, and g notes. On Saturday, I’m meeting with another singer who also has a piano in her home.  Maybe I can be prepared by Sunday morning.  I’m so grateful for my training earlier this year. Without that, I wouldn’t even attempt an f, much less a g.  The beauty of singing in a choir instead of solo is that I can drop out for a minute and let the others carry the song.  I don’t like to do that, but sometimes I have too.  So do  the others.

Our drought continues—we have no snow.  While it is easier to get around without snow, we realize our ground is dry and thirsty.  It is a reminder that our souls are dry and thirsty too, and in need of the water of eternal life.  Christmas music is a vessel for that water—drink all you can, and carry some to share with those around you.

On this day in the year 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.  President Roosevelt called it “A day which will live in infamy” in his speech declaring war on Japan.  In those days, a “war” had a beginning and an end.

My parents, on December 2, 1941, stood before a Justice of the Peace, and were declared married.  In the picture always called the wedding picture, my Dad is wearing his Army Air Force uniform.  Five days later, the USA entered the world war that was already raging in Europe and Asia.  My dad left my mom for his assignment in January, 1942.  Throughout my life, when points of decision arose, I heard my mom say, “The world could go to war tomorrow.”  It was her way of saying, “Take the risk, don’t delay.  Go forward, take action.”

Today’s “wars” drag on and on, are not declared, and seem to have no particular purpose.  Has the world changed so much, or has my perception changed?  Some of both perhaps.  There is so little I understand, but one thing I do perceive is this: we are continually engaged in a battle for our souls.  Will we find our way to truth and life, or lose our way in the confusion of this world?

Today we remember St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, 270–343 AD.  He was a man of extraordinary kindness.  Although he has been forgotten by many people, in some parts of the world he is still important.  Today is his day, because it commemorates the day of his death.  The mythical figure of Santa Claus, giver of extraordinary gifts, is based on this real, historically attested person.  Since my children are grown, I don’t do anything special today, except to give thanks to God that this person lived his life and left us a model of kindness and sacrificial giving.  You can learn much more about him by searching the wonderful world of the internet.  I especially liked the site stnicholascenter.org  by Jim Rosenthal.