Reflection...

 After a family party, my sisters and I typically perform what we have come to call "a postmortem" on the event. One might say, "You had too many creamy dips; we should mix it up next year," or, "There was too much pepper in the dressing." (I ignore that one. It's hard to have too much pepper in the dressing.) We note what worked well, like where we set up the beverages and a reminder to have a bin available for recycling beverage containers. I keep notes, making the next event go a bit more smoothly. 

My sisters were not here for Christmas, so I am on my own doing a postmortem on the event. On Christmas Eve, we had our son-in-loves family here. Nine of us circled the table and dined on prime rib, mashed potatoes, broccoli/cauliflower salad, and popovers. Rachel made an amazing triple-layer coconut cake for dessert. The meal came out well, the table was prettily set, and the house was warm, cozy, and looked festive. I am pretty sure everyone had a good time.  Of course, the Owlet stole the show. She was dressed in an over-the-top metallic gold bow, booties, and tulle tutu.  Her paternal grandfather met her for the first time, and it made my eyes a little leaky to watch him take her into his arms and fall in love. She is the first grandchild on both sides of the family, so this is all new to us. New and wonderful. 

On Christmas day, I hopped up and took care of all the animals, then set to work making Schnecken. My boss sometimes brought Schnecken from a wonderful local bakery many years ago. It was like cinnamon buns, only so much better. They stopped making it, and we grieved a little. Then I tried baking it myself. It took a bunch of practice, but I finally came upon a recipe close to what we used to get and very special. I use bread dough made from the starter I've had for 27 years. I had mixed up the dough the day before and let it rise all night. In the morning, I kneaded it, set aside enough for two regular loaves of bread, and then rolled the rest out, pulling and stretching like I would pizza dough. Meanwhile, I melted some butter in a cake pan, added cinnamon, brown sugar, and pecans. I spread the dough with more cinnamon and brown sugar, then rolled it up, sliced it into disks, and tucked each into the pan on top of the buttery deliciousness. I covered it up and tucked it near the woodstove to rise a while.  While baking, it perfumed the air, and once baked, it was ready for snacking while we opened gifts.

Rachel, Evans, and the Owlet arrived around 10:00. Chris and I cooked breakfast, sausage, biscuits, and gravy, and we had a pleasant. leisurely meal. 

We meandered to the living room and opened gifts. Bravo and Flirt are familiar with the routine and waited expectantly by the stuffed stockings. They were not disappointed. Soft toys, gourmet cookies, and chewy things were there for them. Flirt even got a new coat to keep the winter chill away. 

Every year we say we are going to cut down on gifts. We worked hard to do that this year. As we settled around the tree, Rachel quipped, "You two did better, but that's a lot of presents. You failed."  It was kind of an excellent failure, I think. 

One unique thing about our family is that everyone puts a lot of thought into gift-giving. Chris is especially good at it, taking notes all year long if I mention something I'd like to have. Sometimes he thinks my desires are a little goofy. This year I desperately wanted special doormats from LLBean. They are a little pricey, and I have been too cheap to buy them for myself. Chris had them under the tree for me. He also had a sweet surprise. 

A chunky silver and pearl ring already sized to fit me perfectly. It's comfortable and so pretty. 

Rachel and Evans delighted me something special, too. 

This vintage piece was initially made as a wee ladies compact. Inside is a mirror and a place for some powder. Outside there is a lovely pattern on the front, and the back shows a stormy sea. A tempest, if you will.  It is now a locket with a photo of the Owlet inside. Perfect. 

Today is Boxing day. The day on which, 80 years ago, my parents married. 

The inscription on my mother's photo says, "With all my love, Dorothy." They were an attractive couple. As a child, I thought they were quite glamorous. Dad was a WWII GI (who fit into his master Sargent uniform until the day he died), and mom was a fashion model. When I was little, they frequently hosted parties, with dinner and dancing. I used to love to watch them dance together. As a child, we never really know what our parent's marriage was like, but I could see a spark between them, especially dancing. They always kissed before dad left for work and again when he came home. They said, "I love you," often. They cuddled at night. From the next room, I would hear my dad sleepily say, "Hug your back?" followed by the sound of my mom rolling over. They stayed together until death did them part, and I only remember them arguing one time. Of course, there were stresses. His mother was difficult. They had 5 kids. (5!) But they made it work. They were excellent role models in many ways. Here is an example. If we had a blizzard and the roads were impassible, my dad would get dressed for work (right down to the necktie) and set out to walk the 5 miles to his insurance office. I used to beg him to stay home. He would ruffle my hair and say, "People depend on me." A role model for sure. 

On Christmas day, niece Elyse Facetimed me. I saw my sisters, brother-in-law, 2 nieces, and one nephew gathered in the living room of the house my dad built. The same room all my childhood Christmas's happened in. It was sweet and gave me pause for reflection. Or even a postmortem of all the happy Christmas times of my life. And this year, it was more precious still, with an Owlet in my arms. 

Good things...

 We had snow Saturday. Not a lot, 5 inches or so. It started in the evening and was slow to accumulate. I woke up around 3 AM and could tell it was still coming down because it was just so quiet. Not that I live in a loud place, typical nighttime noises are the occasional passing car, hooting owls, or howling coyotes. But when it is snowing, a lovely hush wraps around this old house. Chris notices it, too. It's extra peaceful. 

In the morning, sweet flakes were still floating down, and something about the temperature made it so that every crystal could be seen in its own unique, frozen loveliness wherever it landed. I tried to capture a picture but could not catch the beauty as I wished I could have.

                                             

I wanted to share a few other good things that have happened recently. Last week Chris and I went to a store to pick out his birthday present. He wanted to upgrade our television set, and we picked out one he wanted. It was large. We put it on a rolling cart and paid for it, then I waited with the giant box by the door while he went to get the truck.  The automatic door slid open while I waited, and a boy walked in. I am guessing he was about 10 years old. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me there. He asked, making firm eye contact,  "Do you need any help?" I was startled. He wasn't a huge kid, the TV was bigger than he was, and he had no parent to encourage him to do a good deed. I thanked him most sincerely.  He nodded sagely and was on his way. I'm still thinking about him. 

This giant rooster is a collectible, vintage Staffordshire china figure. He was treasured by my mother. When I moved to Maine, my sister Deb sent him to live with me, and I loved having him here. But she missed him, so I sent him back to her house after a few years. Last summer, Deb found a companion piece. She wrapped up the original big guy and the new little mate and gave them to me on her last visit. They've come home to roost. 

I am not the most technologically savvy person in the world, but I have adopted a few apps ("A mobile application, also referred to as a mobile app or simply an app, is a computer program or software application designed to run on a mobile device such as a phone, tablet, or watch." Wikipedia) that improve the quality of my life. One is called Goodreads. I love it because if someone recommends a book to me, I can stop on the spot and add it to my "want to read" list. Then when I am ready for a new book, I can look through that list and see if something is appealing to me at the time. It also keeps track of what I have read and allows me to set a reading goal for each year. This past year I challenged myself to read 30 books. I am pretty delighted to see that I will finish 40 books before '22 arrives.

Many years ago, a co-worker gave me a Tourtiere (French Canadian meat pie) for Christmas every year. Her mother was from Canada, and those pies were something to dream of all year long.  I have tried to make one on my own, but it wasn't the same.  Tonight, as I was cleaning the studio after work, there was a tap at my door. My neighbor friend was standing there with a pie box. "It's a Tourtiere," she said as she handed it to me. How good is this? The answer is SO GOOD!

While it was warming up in the oven, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat by the woodstove with my feet up. It was a pleasant way to end the day.  The dogs barked, and I shushed them. Bravo looked out the door and made his, "Someone I like is here" whine. He barked and wagged. I was not expecting anyone, but the dogs were insistent. I got up, and sure enough, neighbor Penny was dropping off a tin full of homemade cookies. Gingerbread men, macaroons, sugar cookies, and more. They smell heavenly.

It goes without saying that The Owlet is a good thing. Ok, the BEST thing. This picture is of her tiny hands entwined with niece Aimee's. Sometimes when I see the baby, I am overwhelmed with such pure love I can't help but scoop her up and just breathe her in. She has added an extra layer of magic to our lives. Obviously, I knew I would love her, but the depth of emotion takes my breath away. 

The Christmas season is traditionally hectic for pet groomers, and it has been for me. Rachel is on maternity leave, and I am trying hard to make all of my regular client's dogs pretty for the holiday. This means many days worked in a row and long hours. But every day, customers file in with warm, sincere holiday wishes. Some bring sweet cards. Others carry candy, wine, even gifts. Best of all, some even (thank you, Covid) give tentative hugs. I treasure all of it. My life is full of good things, especially this time of year. 

Decked...

 I unabashedly love Christmas. This year has been a little busy, so I am not quite at my normal level of high spirits. I listen to holiday music all day long, and that helps, and I have decked the house. Don't get me wrong, I am perfectly happy, just not humming along at the high level of holiday joy I am usually infused with. I guess I'm distracted. 

A wreath on an old sled greets visitors. 

The tree was up and had lights on it for a week or more before I finally got the ornaments on. Sometimes I dream about having a themed tree, something sort of elegant and fancy. I look at pictures of such trees and feel a little pang. I plot ways I might like to create a unique and special display. Then I open up the bins of my old ornaments and find myself taking a snowy stroll down memory lane. Each ornament has a remembrance attached. That bright red heart in the center? I stitched that as one of my first sewing projects in my teens. There is the ornament from our first married Christmas, (ironically, a gift from my x-boyfriend's grandparents.) I love the one from Rachel's first noel. There are several she made as a child, and some my niece made. Lots given by cherished friends, some now gone before. One that was my mothers. One that belonged to Chris's mother. The end result is a sort of childish mish-mash. It distinctly lacks any type of theme, and the word "elegant" would never be used in describing it. But as I unwrap each decoration from its bin, I am awash in the sort of memories that make the holiday special. 

Sister Deb came last weekend to meet the Owlet. It was delightful to see her take the babe into her arms and watch her face light up. Little hearts shot out of her eyes and I was able to witness her fall in love,  hard. She brought supper to share (a magnificent lasagna) and while she was here said, "Let me wrap all your presents." Trust me, she didn't have to ask twice. I chucked rolls of paper and tape and ribbon at her and let her at it. She is far more skilled at gift-wrapping than I am, and each package looks a treat. She says her retirement job is helping people. She's well suited to this gig, but I am not sure if it pays enough. Unless you count baby snuggles... those are priceless. 

Note, I knitted those booties, and it is something else to see them on the Owlet's wee feet. 

I had to take a picture of the dogs by the tree. Bravo poses nicely. Flirt, on the other hand, is barely cooperative. She turned 12 on Sunday and cares not about my desire for a pleasantly arranged image. She does what she wants. Always has. 

A few years ago Deb found me a Christmas village set at a yard sale. Each little house was packed in a Styrofoam form, and sweet, old-fashioned handwriting described where every building belongs. Whoever owned it before me loved it. I do, too. 

When we first moved to Memphis, (1989) I met a neighbor who became a friend. I hadn't known her long when she made me this beautiful nativity scene. It is a true treasure. 

The little wooden nativity to the left is a relic from my childhood. It was displayed on the living room mantel each Christmas. 

My friend also made me a set of angels. I am particularly fond of the sweet, sleepy little cherub on the left. 

Visitors entering our home see this tableau. 

A collection of happy snowmen on the shelf, (complete with fairy lights when it's dark outside.) The big advent calendar on the right was made by Rachel and is a particular joy to me. Each pocket holds a little note with a happy memory written by a variety of family members.) 

The shadow on the wall is from a vase that holds 2 roses and some pine boughs. 15 years ago I went to a local florist in December and asked for a dozen roses. She packed them with fresh pine and I was puzzled at first, but soon grew to appreciate the loveliness. Now every December I put vintage bottles with a rose or three around the house, tucking a spring of pine in each one. It's a happiness. 

This entire season is a happiness. As I trot out each well-loved decoration, I am imbued with memories of Christmas past. The people, the pets, the kindnesses. I may be a little distracted this year, but not so much that I forget to be grateful for all the recalled joys. They surround me, in brilliant color, delicious flavor, and sweet scent. I vow to take time to sit a bit and enjoy the beauty and light of the season. 

Sunday drive...

 It's been a while since we've been on a scenic Sunday drive. I facilitated one happening last weekend. One of my customer/friend's kids was selling Christmas wreaths to raise money for her hockey team. I ordered two, knowing it involved an hour's drive to get them. This was a win for me in several ways. I got to support a lovely child, have a ride with my sweet husband (and it involved lunch out!), and I would get to see the friend's new Sealyham Terrier puppies and some cows. 

We left here around 11:30 and took some pretty back roads to Waterville.  We grabbed lunch at a Mexican restaurant, then headed for the wreath pick-up. The littlest kid was anxious to introduce me to the beautiful puppies. 

And I was excited to get my hands on them and imbibe in some puppy breath. 

I think this one realized I was a groomer and was voicing his opinion on my visit! 

One of the daughters had sweetly made beautiful personalized Christmas tree ornaments for Chris and me, even for Flirt and Bravo, and one each for Rachel, Evans, Opal, and the Owlet. Such a lovely surprise. 

With the fragrant wreaths tucked safely in the car, we followed my friend to their dairy farm. We had planned our trip to see some of the cows being milked. They have a modern carousel milker that can handle100 cows at a time.  The cows line up at the door and happily step up into a small individual station. Someone washes her udder and puts the milking machine on her. The whole thing spins along, and by the time each Holstein reaches the end, she has been milked, the device has disengaged from her udder, she gets her teats dipped in an iodine mixture (with emollients in the winter to prevent chapping!), and then she calmly steps off to rejoin the rest of the herd. 

The place was immaculate, the cows content. It was pretty amazing to see. They milk 1,600 cows twice a day here. We were most impressed. 

Outside we saw rows of young cows, waiting to grow and join the rest of the crew producing milk for Mainers. 

All that dairy production got us thinking about... ice cream. What is a Sunday drive without it? Chris managed a happy detour to John's in Liberty, arguably some of the area's best locally made ice cream.  The server was a young guy with a HUGE personality. He made the whole experience sweeter. We enjoyed our treat and headed home. 

I was invited over to Rachel and Evans's home to visit the Owlet. While I was there, I helped give her a bath. What could be a more delightful way to end the day? I got to tuck her into clean pajamas and kiss her freshly fluffy head as she fell asleep on my chest. A warm and cozy hour of cuddling and listening to her breathe and sigh left me content and ready to start another week. 

Sunday drives are the best. 

Bravo's Bad Day and a Chicken Story...

 Yesterday Bravo had a terrible day. 

You have seen pictures of him, but there are a few things you don't know. The first thing is that he is a very sensitive dog. His feelings are easily hurt, and he has strong opinions about right and wrong. At the top of his "wrong" list, he does not like anyone to step on his tail feathers.  Even if no pulling happens, he anticipates that it might and becomes seriously affronted. If he is lying somewhere and a human foot comes anywhere near his tail feathers, he leaps up, looking mortified.  Side note: all bets are off with his Pug pal, Opal. She can bite and chew on his tail fluff, and even shake it like an old rag, or be towed about, hanging on by her tiny teeth, and Bravo looks on fondly, never correcting her, even when she pulls out horrifying large mouthfuls of long, white tail hair. 

Yesterday Bravo happily put his front feet up on the grooming table to greet his Spanish Water Dog friend, Nocci. He was smiling and wagging voluptuously as he said hello to his pal. Somehow, when he put four on the floor again, his tail feathers got caught in the hydraulic mechanism of the grooming stool that was there. What happened next was a bit of a blur, but apparently, he felt the tug of his tangled hair and jumped in horror. Sadly, the stool "jumped" with him. 

Here is a picture of the offending stool, with a tell-tale remnant of Bravo's fur dangling from where it became tangled. 

The feeling of a large object attached to his tail made him take a dead run down the length of the grooming studio. 

The stool swung wildly as he ran, catching every piece of furniture and making a horrible racket. Poor Bravo was unabashedly terrified.  When he reached the end of the room, he spun and headed back, and mercifully the stool let go and stopped chasing him.  He came to me, his heart beating wildly, panting in terror. His worst fears had been realized... something got his beautiful, floofy tail and hung on.  It was a bad day for Bravo. 

Meanwhile, we have had a little chicken drama. I mentioned in an earlier post that one of my large laying hens had brooded and hatched a chick in the tiny Silky chicken house. This was ok because the birds are only in the coop from dusk until dawn during the summer. They spend all the daylight hours out scratching around in the meadow in fine weather, only returning to the house to sleep.  Now that the days are shorter and the weather cold (with snow coming soon!), the hens spend much time inside their coops. The large birds are not terribly friendly to the old, tiny Silkie's, and the Silky enclosure is too small for them to spend much time in. 

The hen and chick had stayed in the small coop, but it was really time for them to move back in with the big birds.  Last week, Chris and I waited until dusk when they were asleep, lifted them from their roost, carried them across the yard to the big coop, and tucked them in, side by side, on a perch there.  I made sure to get up before dawn the next day to ensure no one was picking on the (almost full-grown) chick.  All was peaceful. That night the chick went back to the small coop, and her mother remained with her clan in the big enclosure. I've tried several times to catch the babe and try moving her to the big coop again, but it's awkward to crawl in the small space and catch a bird that does not want to be caught. I tried again tonight, feeling gritty and determined. I waited until it was good and dark (chickens do not see well in the dark) and wedged my voluptuous self into the tiny coop. The bird was on to me and tucked herself in the furthest corner. I crawled deeper, my knees coated in shavings, and grabbed her. She screamed as if I were killing her, which, of course, she thought I was. I tucked her under my arm and backed out of the coop. She went dead still, clutched against me. Bravo gave her a good sniffing, and I carried her to the big hen house. I popped her onto a roost, and she squawked then settled, blending seamlessly in with the rest of the flock. 

Mission accomplished. Bravo survived his difficult day; the pullet is with her flock. All is well at FairWinds.