Tomorrow I will turn 59.
I have liked every age I have been better than any age I was before it. I expect to like being 59.
Birthdays are very traditional at our house - even mine.
The birthday person - what a boring phrase that is - chooses the meal, the cake, the party venue. Tomorrow my daughters have agreed to come to town and walk through all the shops with me. It is amazing how easy it is to live in a smallish town and not have any idea what is behind the store windows.
There is a new shop called ZIZI's - I don't know what they sell.
There is a little place on main street that seems to be a hand me down clothing shop. We love those though this one looks to have an eclectic assortment of campy outfits for girly girls far younger than I. Still, it will be fun to look.
There is a building being refurbished that will host a new fancy restaurant. I am looking forward to that. The other night I saw a cat perched on the ledge outside of the second story window there. He/she was purring- content just watching the world go by. I wondered how many people noticed.
Of course we have our favorite places to go. We have a local bookstore - hooray for that!
I am not an "antiquer" but I have a favorite antique shop where I love to look at the old tablecloths. There is also a shop that recently changed hands that has truly fabulous granddarling gifts that I love to pick up and turn over in my hands. I will never be able to afford them, but the pleasure of looking and touching is worth it.
I was disappointed last night to drive into town and discover that they had decorated with polaroid blue lights instead of the traditional white ones, but alas, no one had asked me my opinion. It gives town a surreal look to me. Oh well, Santa will come all the same.
I always want it to snow on my birthday. It used to, but not so often any more. If it isn't going to snow, I would like it to be sunny and warm, I wish "birthday persons" could order whatever weather they wanted to be served with their dinner and dessert, but alas, no one will ask my opinion about that either. LOL
After our walk we will come home and cook together just like we did for Thanksgiving. I love being in the kitchen with my family. My mother and Aunt will come and we will go get my mother in law. How blessed I am at almost 59 to have a mother, an aunt and a mother in law all who can join me in celebrating my birthday.
I share a birthday with Louisa May Alcott and Madeline L'Engel; both writers. I find that inspiring.
I am looking forward to my birthday. I expect to really enjoy being 59. Happy Birthday to Me.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Give Thanks in all circumstances
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who have found your way here.
I live in New York so as I type, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC is getting underway. I always watched the parade as a child. My first Thanksgiving memories are of watching while the grownups cooked. Our job was to stay out of the way. If we did it well we could get away with just about anything.
As I got older, the boys were in hunting camp and I was at home cooking with the women.
I learned so much about life cooking with my mother and aunts on Thanksgiving Day.
The richness of simple good food. The blessing of good company. The delight of laughter wafting up into the air with the aroma of turkey and stuffing. The love of family and the unexpected gifts that could be found by opening your door to someone in need, oft times someone I had never met before.We gathered up the needy, the lonely, the visitors to this country or our town who couldn't get "home" for dinner for one reason or another.
Now, at almost 59 years old, I have my own home with my own kitchen and interestingly, though I have cooked many Thanksgiving dinners in the last 40 years, today I will be working in the kitchen with the women again. My grown daughter, Jackie, will be the master chef this year assisted by her sister and I. Truth be told, Jackie is a better cook than I am, with a sensibility to good health (not nearly so much butter as my mother used), to local produce and to serving a hormone free, locally raised turkey.
Axel, my ten - almost eleven - year old grandson is here to watch the parade and yell out"come look at this" for the exciting parts.
My home - the family home of 30 years - will be full of deliciousness, laughter and love. I am so very thankful for that. Little Natalie - my 2 year old granddaughter- will add delight to the recipe of a Happy Thanksgiving.
Our thoughts will be with the friends and family members not gathered under this roof. My son, a Navy man serving in the Pacific northwest, and separated by 3000 miles from his wife and my other granddaughter Lorelai, will not be with us in body but surely will be in spirit. My brothers and their families and my mother in law and her family will be gathering together over the river and through the woods - some of them coming in for dinner from hunting as in years past.
We will give great thanks for them all and of course for the loved ones who are no longer with us here but will live forever in our hearts. I am thankful for all the many wonderful gifts they have given to me over the years.
It is no surprise that my favorite scripture is
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances
from Thessalonians 5:17 .
This has been a rough year for many of us and certainly for many around the world, but this scripture reminds me that it is not only today, but every day that I should give thanks.
It is in living with a grateful heart all year long that I have much to celebrate when we gather together today around our table full of love.
I am so thankful that I was raised with the understanding of gratitude and rejoicing and praying in all circumstances .
I am thankful that my grown children live lives of gratitude. And, I am thankful for email, and Facebook and blogs that make it easy to say " I love you." to those who can not be with us today.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!!!
Blessing to you all,
Beverly
I live in New York so as I type, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC is getting underway. I always watched the parade as a child. My first Thanksgiving memories are of watching while the grownups cooked. Our job was to stay out of the way. If we did it well we could get away with just about anything.
As I got older, the boys were in hunting camp and I was at home cooking with the women.
I learned so much about life cooking with my mother and aunts on Thanksgiving Day.
The richness of simple good food. The blessing of good company. The delight of laughter wafting up into the air with the aroma of turkey and stuffing. The love of family and the unexpected gifts that could be found by opening your door to someone in need, oft times someone I had never met before.We gathered up the needy, the lonely, the visitors to this country or our town who couldn't get "home" for dinner for one reason or another.
Now, at almost 59 years old, I have my own home with my own kitchen and interestingly, though I have cooked many Thanksgiving dinners in the last 40 years, today I will be working in the kitchen with the women again. My grown daughter, Jackie, will be the master chef this year assisted by her sister and I. Truth be told, Jackie is a better cook than I am, with a sensibility to good health (not nearly so much butter as my mother used), to local produce and to serving a hormone free, locally raised turkey.
Axel, my ten - almost eleven - year old grandson is here to watch the parade and yell out"come look at this" for the exciting parts.
My home - the family home of 30 years - will be full of deliciousness, laughter and love. I am so very thankful for that. Little Natalie - my 2 year old granddaughter- will add delight to the recipe of a Happy Thanksgiving.
Our thoughts will be with the friends and family members not gathered under this roof. My son, a Navy man serving in the Pacific northwest, and separated by 3000 miles from his wife and my other granddaughter Lorelai, will not be with us in body but surely will be in spirit. My brothers and their families and my mother in law and her family will be gathering together over the river and through the woods - some of them coming in for dinner from hunting as in years past.
We will give great thanks for them all and of course for the loved ones who are no longer with us here but will live forever in our hearts. I am thankful for all the many wonderful gifts they have given to me over the years.
It is no surprise that my favorite scripture is
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances
from Thessalonians 5:17 .
This has been a rough year for many of us and certainly for many around the world, but this scripture reminds me that it is not only today, but every day that I should give thanks.
It is in living with a grateful heart all year long that I have much to celebrate when we gather together today around our table full of love.
I am so thankful that I was raised with the understanding of gratitude and rejoicing and praying in all circumstances .
I am thankful that my grown children live lives of gratitude. And, I am thankful for email, and Facebook and blogs that make it easy to say " I love you." to those who can not be with us today.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!!!
Blessing to you all,
Beverly
Monday, November 23, 2009
Opening Day Take Two
It was important to her. She had been waiting for months. Opening day was Friday and she was ready. The movie started at 640.
When Lizzie called for her help of course she said yes. She loved saying yes to friends in need, especially friends who so readily helped her when she was the one in need.
She looked at her watch to be sure it would work, but her mouth had already agreed. It would be tight but it would work out. It always works out.
She arrived at the stroke of 5 to pick Lizzie up, but it was not what she expected. The procedure had just started. Ughhh. Her heart started to race at the prospect of missing the show, but she had said yes. She wasn't about to make Lizzie feel badly, that was not her style. Too late to back out now. She had standards. It would be OK.
It took longer than planned before Lizzie was ready to leave. The trip to Livingston and then Elizaville felt like a cross country tour. The traffic was terrible. It brought out the worst in her. She didn't want Axel to see this side of her - -what kind of message is that for a mother to send a son? - but if only the cars in front of her would disappear! New Moon was opening tonight too, so when they finally got to the theatre the parking lot was full. Then the movie was sold out. Everything was going wrong. Everything. Tyson was saving her a seat, but the ticket girl didn't get that, there are rules after all. Her phone was hot from all the texting. ENOUGH. STOP! she finally told Tyson who she knew was only trying to help. Nothing would help. The movie had started 40 minutes ago. This was so not what she had wanted, but she had only her own kindhearted self to blame. She could have said no when she was asked to help. Why didn't she just say no?
She broke all the rules and got into her seat but it didn't make it better. It was not the way it was supposed to happen. Her mind was numb with disappointment and emotion. She had missed the experience she had so long anticipated. She had wanted to be present to this film. To watch intently. To appreciate all of it, the story, the acting, the feelings of this girl, this precious girl named Precious. Instead her own story was unfolding in her mind. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and feelings, her own life.
How would she get from here to "all's well that ends well"? How to let go of such a disappointment that really is just a movie? How would she do that?
Choice, that's how. That really is the greatest weapon and tool that we have. We have a choice. We can carry every disappointment, every hurt, every anger with us, or we can take a long hard look at it, wallow in it even, and then let it go. It weighs so much more when we choose to put it in the back pack of our life and carry it with us. It weighs so little when we take a long hard look at it and carry only the lesson learned.
Some opening days are missed. That is just a fact of life. Some opening days are missed.
Sometimes, when you make someone else's life a little easier, you are the one who pays the price. Usually it is a very fair price to pay.
And sometimes the second viewing is Opening Day for something Precious.
When Lizzie called for her help of course she said yes. She loved saying yes to friends in need, especially friends who so readily helped her when she was the one in need.
She looked at her watch to be sure it would work, but her mouth had already agreed. It would be tight but it would work out. It always works out.
She arrived at the stroke of 5 to pick Lizzie up, but it was not what she expected. The procedure had just started. Ughhh. Her heart started to race at the prospect of missing the show, but she had said yes. She wasn't about to make Lizzie feel badly, that was not her style. Too late to back out now. She had standards. It would be OK.
It took longer than planned before Lizzie was ready to leave. The trip to Livingston and then Elizaville felt like a cross country tour. The traffic was terrible. It brought out the worst in her. She didn't want Axel to see this side of her - -what kind of message is that for a mother to send a son? - but if only the cars in front of her would disappear! New Moon was opening tonight too, so when they finally got to the theatre the parking lot was full. Then the movie was sold out. Everything was going wrong. Everything. Tyson was saving her a seat, but the ticket girl didn't get that, there are rules after all. Her phone was hot from all the texting. ENOUGH. STOP! she finally told Tyson who she knew was only trying to help. Nothing would help. The movie had started 40 minutes ago. This was so not what she had wanted, but she had only her own kindhearted self to blame. She could have said no when she was asked to help. Why didn't she just say no?
She broke all the rules and got into her seat but it didn't make it better. It was not the way it was supposed to happen. Her mind was numb with disappointment and emotion. She had missed the experience she had so long anticipated. She had wanted to be present to this film. To watch intently. To appreciate all of it, the story, the acting, the feelings of this girl, this precious girl named Precious. Instead her own story was unfolding in her mind. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and feelings, her own life.
How would she get from here to "all's well that ends well"? How to let go of such a disappointment that really is just a movie? How would she do that?
Choice, that's how. That really is the greatest weapon and tool that we have. We have a choice. We can carry every disappointment, every hurt, every anger with us, or we can take a long hard look at it, wallow in it even, and then let it go. It weighs so much more when we choose to put it in the back pack of our life and carry it with us. It weighs so little when we take a long hard look at it and carry only the lesson learned.
Some opening days are missed. That is just a fact of life. Some opening days are missed.
Sometimes, when you make someone else's life a little easier, you are the one who pays the price. Usually it is a very fair price to pay.
And sometimes the second viewing is Opening Day for something Precious.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Opening Day
I am a hunter. I was not always. In my family I was the only girl with three brothers and the "boys" went off each fall and the "girls" - my mother and I - stayed home. I did not feel left out because in the absence of my father and brothers, we had a field day of our own. With no
5 o'clock dinner to prepare, we ate when and what we wanted. Grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and a good book was the treat I got while they were away. On the weekends we took Fall Foliage rides over winding back roads and stopped for penny candy and ice cream. It was wonderful.
I grew up and married a non hunter. Every opening day I would call home and see who had bagged a buck and from time to time I would go get Mom and we would take a ride for old times sake. At the Thanksgiving table Daddy would give us a venison roast and some steaks for winter meals and share a camp story or two before he went back in to hunt some more.
But all seasons change and the season for me to stay home every November came to an end when my father died in 1999.
Without Henry, the prospect of hunting was grim. A dear friend knew that and saw a remedy. He took me elk hunting in the high Cascade mountains of Oregon and I learned the ropes of hunting camp and how to handle and shoot a gun. When we came back, my brother gave me a sweet, sweet rifle, and stood by while I sited it in. Passing muster, I was allowed into the truck, and off we went into the woods.
I could never take my father's place, but I could join the boys as they carried on the family tradition and then I could pass that tradition on to my own children. I was honored to do so.
Opening day dawned cold and bright that year. Three deer were hanging in the shed at dusk, none of them mine. But the next day I shot and killed an eight point buck. Boom/Flop it is called and the celebration, as I was taught what comes after the gun is fired, was a tribute to my father.
Yesterday was the first opening day since then that I did not spend in the woods with my brothers and now grown man children. At 58, with a knee that will not allow me to climb a tree stand or sit in the cold, wee hours of the morning, I woke on opening day at dawn and said a prayer for my brothers and sons and for all hunters and then donned my scrubs and headed out to my job as a nurse at our local hospital.
I am a hunter. In some ways I will always be a hunter whether I am out on opening day or not, much like I will always be a nurse, whether I am making my living as a nurse or not. As I sit at my computer thinking about hunting and tradition and recipes for the venison that will be shared with me, I realize that this November I find myself in an entirely different season. These last few weeks I have spent, not buying bacon and eggs, not cleaning my gun or target shooting, not gathering sleeping bags and camouflage gear but preparing for a season of life unlike any before this.
Yesterday was opening day for deer season. I missed it in body but not in spirit.
Today is another opening day. This November while my brothers cleared shooting lanes, I painted my late husband's office. This tiny room in my big old house has been a nursery and an office. My babies slept here and Dennis built his first computer here. Now it is mine. It is a soft yellow with a sea colored ceiling. The book case is painted a wonderful shade of orange. After a typo in a memo to my writing coach, this room was christened "The Quest House".
On the surface it looks nothing like hunting camp, but there are many similarities.
I am learning how to share my thoughts and experiences with others which takes practice just like shooting a buck takes practice. I am learning what to do with my words after I have them on paper just like I had to learn what to do with a deer once I had shot it. And I am opening my heart to the joys of sharing my writing just as I opened my heart to the joys of sharing the bunk house in hunting camp and a meal of venison that I had shot myself.
And so, as I sit at my computer in my newly painted writing/thinking/creating room I recognize this November day as Opening Day of The Quest House. Opening days are full of promise. Exciting. Invigorating. There is so much to look forward to when a new season opens, so much hope even in the midst of fear.
Thursday is Thanksgiving and as always, there will be much to be thankful for. This year I will add opening days to the list.
5 o'clock dinner to prepare, we ate when and what we wanted. Grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and a good book was the treat I got while they were away. On the weekends we took Fall Foliage rides over winding back roads and stopped for penny candy and ice cream. It was wonderful.
I grew up and married a non hunter. Every opening day I would call home and see who had bagged a buck and from time to time I would go get Mom and we would take a ride for old times sake. At the Thanksgiving table Daddy would give us a venison roast and some steaks for winter meals and share a camp story or two before he went back in to hunt some more.
But all seasons change and the season for me to stay home every November came to an end when my father died in 1999.
Without Henry, the prospect of hunting was grim. A dear friend knew that and saw a remedy. He took me elk hunting in the high Cascade mountains of Oregon and I learned the ropes of hunting camp and how to handle and shoot a gun. When we came back, my brother gave me a sweet, sweet rifle, and stood by while I sited it in. Passing muster, I was allowed into the truck, and off we went into the woods.
I could never take my father's place, but I could join the boys as they carried on the family tradition and then I could pass that tradition on to my own children. I was honored to do so.
Opening day dawned cold and bright that year. Three deer were hanging in the shed at dusk, none of them mine. But the next day I shot and killed an eight point buck. Boom/Flop it is called and the celebration, as I was taught what comes after the gun is fired, was a tribute to my father.
Yesterday was the first opening day since then that I did not spend in the woods with my brothers and now grown man children. At 58, with a knee that will not allow me to climb a tree stand or sit in the cold, wee hours of the morning, I woke on opening day at dawn and said a prayer for my brothers and sons and for all hunters and then donned my scrubs and headed out to my job as a nurse at our local hospital.
I am a hunter. In some ways I will always be a hunter whether I am out on opening day or not, much like I will always be a nurse, whether I am making my living as a nurse or not. As I sit at my computer thinking about hunting and tradition and recipes for the venison that will be shared with me, I realize that this November I find myself in an entirely different season. These last few weeks I have spent, not buying bacon and eggs, not cleaning my gun or target shooting, not gathering sleeping bags and camouflage gear but preparing for a season of life unlike any before this.
Yesterday was opening day for deer season. I missed it in body but not in spirit.
Today is another opening day. This November while my brothers cleared shooting lanes, I painted my late husband's office. This tiny room in my big old house has been a nursery and an office. My babies slept here and Dennis built his first computer here. Now it is mine. It is a soft yellow with a sea colored ceiling. The book case is painted a wonderful shade of orange. After a typo in a memo to my writing coach, this room was christened "The Quest House".
On the surface it looks nothing like hunting camp, but there are many similarities.
I am learning how to share my thoughts and experiences with others which takes practice just like shooting a buck takes practice. I am learning what to do with my words after I have them on paper just like I had to learn what to do with a deer once I had shot it. And I am opening my heart to the joys of sharing my writing just as I opened my heart to the joys of sharing the bunk house in hunting camp and a meal of venison that I had shot myself.
And so, as I sit at my computer in my newly painted writing/thinking/creating room I recognize this November day as Opening Day of The Quest House. Opening days are full of promise. Exciting. Invigorating. There is so much to look forward to when a new season opens, so much hope even in the midst of fear.
Thursday is Thanksgiving and as always, there will be much to be thankful for. This year I will add opening days to the list.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)