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There is only one kind of love, but there are a thousand different versions.  

La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680)

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1621013_saI found another memory in a box.  A big box. Actually, a big box store. Funny, isn’t it, where memories emerge?

There we were, on a snow filled New Year’s Day, shopping for a new stove at Best Buy. Among the many items that go on sale in the new year are appliances. In this newly minted year, we find we need to replace our oven, so, off we pottered, research having been done online and through a few well-placed phone calls, looking for a range.

Trudging into the store after making our way through a parking lot that had not yet been plowed from the first 24 hours of a 48 hour snowfall, we stomped slush from our feet and were greeted with a rush of welcome fit for a duke and duchess. We were so welcomed, of course, because we were just about the only patrons in the store!

Off we went, the Duke of Deer and his Duchess, down aisles of all things electronic, toward the big appliances. Once we found our bearings, we inspected a fine row of stoves and rounded a corner of stainless steel, when I exclaimed “oh, this is just like the stove we had when I was growing up!”; and it was. White enamel in look and as pure as the white driven snow, it had coal, black burner grates and (WAIT FOR IT) and an analog clock with a chubby, round face and arrowed hands, right smack dab in the middle of the range.

My girlish glee immediately aroused a clerk, smelling the prospect of a sale, maybe the only sale on that very first day of 2014. A rather young chap, he slid around an LG, or was it a Samsung, and, swift as a lord-a-leaping, opened the  white oven door. “This is GE’s new retro model, and it is only $….“. We weren’t interested in buying this smart new model. Though it would have fit into our budget, it would not have worked in our kitchen.

Even so, the Duke of Deer, whose childhood also held such a white cooking wonder, and his Duchess spent several sweet moments DSCN3980warmly recalling the features of their childhood ovens. How very wondrous it seemed.

Now, dear reader, there is more to this New Year’s day story, which I will soon share with you, for one thing, you know,  always leads to another when memories are stirred on the Cutoff – and they even involves Hershey’s Cocoa.

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Calla lilies and greens in vaseChristmastide flowed gently here on the Cutoff, and we now find ourselves at Epiphany. I’m sure the three “wiseguys” would not have travelled through so many feet of snow and double digit, negative, temperatures to bring their honorable gifts. I started this post nearly a week ago, and here I am, revising it yet again before it goes out on the virtual waves of blogdom.

Our Christmastide activities were somewhat restricted as Tom recovered from surgery, however, we were gifted with more time to enjoy our decorations, holiday music,  movies and the gentle solitude for much of the season.

Personally, I have had more time to read mid-afternoon, teacup in hand, a Christmas cookie swiftly disintegrating into crumbs down my sweater. Somehow, the trappings about me seemed softer, my angel collection sweeter, and the smallest moments crisper.

I had time to peruse my collection of Christmas books at a more leisurely length, enjoying lush volumes with holiday decorations and traditions, reading the treasures of children’s books accrued, and revisiting longtime favorites, such as “One Christmas”, Truman Capote’s memoirs of a childhood Christmas and Philip Van Doren Stern’s “The Greatest Gift”, upon which my favorite movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”,  was based.  If you haven’t discovered either of these gems, you must put them wherever all good book lists go, perhaps in abeyance for next December.

M. C. Beaton kept me entertained, as only she can, with a light Hamish MacBeth Christmas mystery, “A Highland Christmas”,  and I managed to rip through Alan Bennett’s delicious novella, “The Uncommon Reader”, which was a Christmas gift. Have you read this charming and funny story about how the Queen upsets the well-ordered royal apple cart when she starts spending all her time reading? Not known for literary pursuits, her staff, the prime minister, and the Bishop of Canterbury don’t know what to make of her and measures are, um, taken.

I’ve also enjoyed Bess Streeter Aldrich’s collection of short stories, “Journey Into Christmas”, which I first discovered through Nan’s blog, Letters from a Hill Farm. You can find her post about it here. Do wander around her blog where she writes about books, poetry, life on their farm, and often posts the best recipes.

Journey into Christmas

“Journey Into Christmas” was a present one Christmas. I enjoyed some of the stories then, but this year I delved deeper into this collection of homespun stories of simpler times and the soul of Christmas. I was so moved by one of Bess Aldrich’s stories about a family’s hard times at Christmas on the prairie and how the characters made “the best of it” that off to the library I went on New Year’s Eve day to check out her novel, “A Lantern in her Hand”. I ended up returning home with four of Aldrich’s books, which include two volumes of her short stories and essays.

The novel, “A Lantern in her Hand” is based on Aldrich’s own family stories of homesteading on the Nebraska prairie. It $(KGrHqQOKosFG-BUOBtpBR4)r(3JIw~~60_35brings to mind the Little House books, which you know how much I love. As I sit here, finishing up a post that has taken a pilgrimage of time to publish, I am warm and safe in our home amid this deep freeze we, and much of the United States, are in. Our shelves and freezer are full. We have any number of ways of communication at our fingertips, one of which I am employing right now. These are factual stories of a time that seems simpler, but, of course, really were not. I can only imagine the loneliness that must have hung over so many during the devastating winters of the early 1870′s, and truly admire the determination and pure grit that came to be known as the pioneering spirit.

I’ve not minded this gentle flowing Christmastide, with my Tom and my books and my comfort. I’ll hang on to it for a few more days.

Have you read any stories by Bess Streeter Aldrich?

Do you have a favorite or new Christmastide read?

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Grasses swaying with snow 2014 commenced with traditional midwestern frigidity, with snow falling in the early hours of the New Year. Fall it did, continually, for some 48 hours, dumping almost 18 inches of powdery white in some areas, two feet in others. We managed to accumulate foot or so here on the Cutoff before it was over. We were “snowed in” until dinnertime Thursday night when our good neighbor plowed us out with his truck.

We are so very fortunate, for we had plenty of food put by and our homely nest was cozy and warm. A crude path was swept out early, up to the Barn, where Tom could spend some time in his office. Just the fact that he is doing well enough to do some computer work now is an encouraging new year omen. The snow made all seem clean and right in our little cut off corner, and the ever-growing icicles provided a Zhivagoan mood, giving one the impression of an Ice Palace. We were just glad we didn’t need to string a guide rope from one door to the other, for we were close to white out conditions a few times.

Come late afternoon, when the flakes were no longer dusting our existence, I ventured Fairy with snowout, stomping a path to the compost pile, then trudging the opposite direction, down the long drive to the mailbox, which was as empty as Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. No mail awaited, but, it didn’t really matter, for the bills will come when they come.

Freezing, I stood, watching squirrels scamper about, pilfering provisions from a bin full of walnuts Tom left out in the Fall. They were having so much fun, chasing each other, sailing across tree limbs, and leaving shards of shells everywhere, I couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t a little drunk on walnut juice imbibed on New Year’s Eve.

Or, perhaps, they had been under the spell of the garden fairies.

I simply cannot help myself. In spite of the terrible cold (we awoke to -8°F this morning), and the danger, as well as inconveniences, of such snow accumulation, there is still such sparkling beauty amid the cold starkness for us to behold, and, just beyond the five foot towers of snow, there is always the possibility of unexpected visitors.

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DSCN3874Three sisters with big pine with snow

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DSCN3766Ring out the old, ring in the new

Ring, happy bells, across the snow

The year is going, let him go

Ring out the false, ring in the true.         

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Happy New Year, dear friends. May 2014 be filled with good health and good cheer. 

Penny

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The Christmas Room

DSCN3584Isn’t it amazing what children remember? This past summer, when our Minnesotan contingency came down for a visit, the first in  eighteen months, Keziah sat in the dining room, a room she designated as where she will always eat breakfast, and recounted her Christmas in the living room. The interesting thing is that Kezzie was only 18 months old the last time her family had been to our house for Christmas. Nearly half her lifetime ago. There she sat, telling about where the Christmas tree was, where her mommy sat, and how we opened presents.

Since early summer, to our pleasure, they traveled down several times. With each trip, the living room has developed a persona of its own.  Kezzie began referring to the room as the Christmas Room. “Yia Yia, can I go in the Christmas Room?” was suddenly queried. It is now a favored spot for us to cuddle and read a story, or for her play the “pinano” with Uncle Jason, and Papa and Kezzie watch for the deer and squirrels out the expansive window – all in the Christmas Room.

When Tom’s eye surgery was postponed with an unknown date lingering, we thought about putting up the tree earlier than usual. When Katy’s family decided to come down for Thanksgiving,  visions of sugar plums began to dance in our heads, and the idea was cemented.

Our little lass waited patiently, through the Thanksgiving feast, then Papa stringing the lights, and Friday night’s feast of the leftovers. DSCN3605Finally, the ornament boxes appeared.  The time for “making the Christmas tree” had at long last arrived. Auntie Jenny got Kezzie started, pulling out birds and balls and angels, showing her how to attach the hooks, and reveling in the joy of a child trimming the Christmas tree. By the time Tom and I entered the Christmas Room, Kezzie was going full throttle, with birds aligned, all in a row, on the same branch, for birds do need to keep each other company,  and sheep cavorting with sledding penguins. A new world order in a small Cutoff corner. She worked for two hours, never leaving the Christmas Room, independent and determined to place each and every (and I mean every) ornament in just the right spot. Owls, you see, must face the outdoors, so they will know what is going on.

We are not yet sure how our days of December will play out this year. We are , however, sure of exactly where all of our wildlife ornaments are. There is some small comfort in that. They are, of course, all on the lower branches of the tree, where they will  remain, no matter what may be, building new memories and new traditions, in our Christmas Room.

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DSCN3516Thanksgiving on the Cutoff; an exercise in orderly chaos. It is a holiday that comes on the fourth Thursday of every November, is almost always cold, but not frigidly so, starts with viewing the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, is followed by endless football (and equally endless Hallmark Channel runs and reruns when I can wrestle control of the remote). It is a day of thankfulness, interspersed with dicing and slicing, basting and mixing, and the ultimate touchdown of getting the entire meal on table with everything warm! Order, then chaos . . .

. . . and it is my favorite holiday. What’s not to like? The menu is set. The entertainment, as well.

Of course, the clean up is, well, like I said, orderly chaos.

This little fellow, now walking and exploring, brought constant smiles to our faces,

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while this young miss was quite the conversationalist at the dinner table.

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There was much to be thankful for around our table, dear reader. Among the many things I am grateful for is each and every one of you.

I hope you had an enjoyable weekend.

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920“I often get up in the night and add to my list. Somehow the main function of a list is to make me feel well organized. Practically speaking, they aren’t much use as I invariably mislay them. I make careful grocery lists and leave them behind when I go to the village. But it is nice to know that when I get home, I’ll know what I forgot because it is under the coffeemaker right where I left it when I unplugged the pot. I put it back on the counter by the door and add to it. There is hope that I may once catch up with just one list for I notice they are smaller than they used to be. They are only one page. This is because I have discovered if I walk slowly down all the aisles at the market, ideas come to me! I look with interest at the soap shelves and I think SOAP, and get it.”  Gladys Taber. “The Stillmeadow Road”, November. page 246

I had just returned from a marathon of grocery shopping for our Thanksgiving dinner, settling the turkey in the refrigerator, piling sweet potatoes into a basket, placing a can of pineapple on the counter with an orange, an apple and cranberries for the relish. Turning around, there it was; the grocery list I’d forgotten! It was, of course, sitting right where I had placed it; that perfect spot where I wouldn’t forget it.

While waiting for water to boil for tea, I pulled out “The Stillmeadow Road” and turned to the chapter entitled November. I soon came upon the passage I quote. It was as though Gladys Taber was writing about me when she penned this more than 5o years ago. Gladys Taber‘s words still ring true today. I love it when prose is everlasting, don’t you?

It snowed today. Not much. Just enough to set the evening rush hour in a spin. Supper is in the oven. The table is set. Tom will be coming in the door in a bit. Until then, I think I’ll settle in a chair and see what else Gladys has to say about November – and maybe start a new list of all that I forgot.

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We call it Veteran’s Day, though our elders, who were children during World War I, may still call it Armistice Day. You might call it Remembrance Day. Whatever the name, these are moments, brief moments in time, set aside to remember and honor those who have fallen in war.

Have you seen Masterpiece Theater’s My Boy Jack? It was aired here in the States on public television a few years ago. It is the story of Rudyard Kipling, and his boy, Jack, who went off to war, and never came home. This is the final scene with a poem so haunting. So poignant. So memorable on this day of remembrance.

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Knocking on doors

DSCN3359Halloween decorations have nearly exceeded Christmas decorations here. While Halloween decorating isn’t what we personally indulge in here on the Cutoff, I do like to whisk around on my broomstick these brisk October days, seeing what others are conjuring up on their lawns and doorsteps.  This trio of witches are in keeping with the current fads of the season.  I thought  you might get a cackle out of seeing them before hopping in this Hallows Eve car as we take a ride,

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knocking on doors, virtual trick-or-treaters on this Hallow’s Eve.

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