For the last four years for the month of November, until Thanksgiving, we've been following a little family tradition. There's a glass pumpkin shaped jar that sits on our kitchen table with a pile of colored paper and a felt tipped pen. Every day, when we get the chance, my husband, E. (with some help), and I will write down something we're thankful for that day.
Thanksgiving night, after we've come home from a long day of traveling along routes 117 and 4 in between eating way too much, we gather in the living room or on the bed and take turns reading what we were each thankful for every day that month. It's my favorite Thanksgiving tradition and I have saved nearly every single one of those scraps of colored paper since we started back in 2009. And so, for the second year in a row, I have taken all those notes on what we were thankful for and created a word cloud.
I love making these because they are vivid and simple. It takes a month's worth of effort and packages it up nicely. This year I used Tagul, though in years past I've used Tagxedo. Both are pretty good, though I've decided I prefer Tagxedo.
I adore family traditions of all kinds, and I love coming with them even more.I can't say how unbelievably pleased I am that this tradition has stuck for as long as it has.
What traditions do you look forward to to this time of year?
I know church is sort of a weird place to hear a spooky story (granted, we go to a UU - you get all sorts of good "weird" there), but that's where I heard this one.
We had a guest pastor this past Sunday (Jennifer Wixson, a Quaker minister and writer), and with Halloween just around the corner, she decided to tell us the story of the autumn she spent in a cabin on the backside of Sabbathday Lake. Lots of strange things happened that fall, she explained. A strange, yowling black cat that seemed to only come to her, many unexplained thumps and bumps, and just a general air of unease that seemed to linger around her while she was staying in the cabin.
But one night, a Halloween night, things became especially strange. Spooky, even.
Our guest pastor was driving home very late that night and there was an especially thick layer of fog settled on the road she traveling home on. As she drove painfully slow through the fog, she spotted a strange figure ahead, moving down the middle of the road. As she drove closer, she realized it was a man carrying something on his shoulders, though what, she wasn't sure.
She stopped driving when the man was just ahead of her, and though she was more than a little bit anxious, she felt it wouldn't be right to just drive on without asking if he needed a ride, so she rolled down the window and called out, "Need a lift?!"
The man turned and grinned. "I don't need one, but my dog does!" Suddenly she could see what he was carrying on his shoulders - very dead dog. She could see, because its head had lolled towards her, right through her opened window. Shrieking, she shied away and head to resist the desire to just shove the gas peddle down to car floor.
"Did he get hit by a car?" she asked. The man didn't answer, but instead tossed the dog's corpse into the back of her pickup. More than a bit shocked, our guest pastor finally did hit that gas peddle, leaving the owner of the dead dog behind her. She glanced back once as she drove away and the man had disappeared.
As soon as she got back home, she ran inside and jumped into bed, throwing the covers over her head, not moving until morning and the safety of sunlight arrived. When morning finally did come, she summoned the courage to go outside and look at the dog in the back of her truck and make a decision about what do with it.
But the dog was gone. There was absolutely no trace of the dog. Not a spot of blood, not a hair. It was as if it had never been there.
It was not long after this, our guest pastor told us, that she really started to feel unwelcome in that place, that lovely cabin by the lake. She described a feeling of being chased out, and that if she didn't leave, things far worse than a dead dog in the back of her truck appearing and then disappearing were going to happen.
So, in addition to this great story, our guest pastor also shared this really awesomely creepy poem by James Whitcomb Riley, one that you might have heard or read before, or at least the title might be something familiar to you:
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout--
An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin;
An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15240#sthash.dNhBu4XH.dpuf
Little Orphant Annie
by James Whitcomb Riley
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout--
An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin;
An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15240#sthash.dNhBu4XH.dpuf
Before I was staying at home, I would be driving to work at this time, watching the sun come up in pinks and purples over our little range of mountains. The colors and time alone would fill my soul and make me ready for the day.
I don't have those quiet morning drives any more. I don't get up extra early to sneak out the door before little ones are awake enough to miss me. So, now I fill my soul bit by bit with these little sips of first light coming through my windows each of these early mornings. Maybe I've secured myself twenty minutes to take a shower (not so this morning) or perhaps we're fast out of the gate, scrambling to get ready for school. Either way, I take what sweet moments to collect myself that I can and make myself ready for our day.
We've been busy here the last couple of days. The week of Halloween festivities has finally hit and kicked off with two things: a story and an early bout of trick-or-treating.
I'm awful about remembering my camera (and when I have it in hand, my photographs aren't necessarily worth hanging on to - one might think my children are simply colorful blurs rather than actual skin and bone children), but I really do wish I had it Friday. Our town and it's down town businesses do an annual Halloween walk in the afternoon a week or so before the holiday. This was our first year participating, but having done the town Easter egg hunt in the spring, which was similarly organized, I felt it would be well done, safe, and fun (which it was).
E., after much deliberation, decided she wanted to be a farmer, and a friend luckily spotted a pea pod costume for M. in a local consignment shop (we couldn't quite decide what he was going to be, so it was lucky we found the costume!). They both looked absolutely adorable and a lot of folks got a real kick out of their get up. I think for Halloween I'll even add a nice little blue ribbon for E.'s prize winning, and pretty huge, pea pod.
And now, for a story. I really enjoyed coming up with our Michaelmas tale early last month. I don't normally consider myself a good off the cuff story teller, but lately that skill is becoming fine tuned. It's especially helpful to have little M. to test things on. So, when I wanted to come up with a bit of a Halloween-y story that also corresponded with our changing scenery this is what I told M., and then later, E.
Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a little goblin who lived under a stump. All little goblins love to play tricks, and this goblin was no exception.
One crisp, autumn morning the little goblin came out of his hidey-hole and looked up at the green, green leaves of the trees.
"I'm tired of these green leaves," he said to himself. "I should play a fun trick to change just that!"
So each night, for many nights, the little goblin went out and painted the trees leaves. Some were golden yellow, others firey orange, and still more were golden red. Very soon, all the leaves were different colors and the little goblin was very happy and so where the people who would walk in the woods and gaze up and the beautiful fall leaves.
After some weeks, as the autumn air grew cooler, the goblin began to grow restless and tired of the colorful leaves. He was ready for another trick.
He thought to himself - "Wouldn't it be fun if all those leaves feel to the ground. The would go swoosh, swoosh crunch under people's feet, and mothers and fathers would rake them up into piles and children would jump in them or hide in them and pop up and say, 'BOO!'"
So each night, for many nights, the little goblin went out and shook the trees, making their leaves flutter down to the ground. The wind helped, too, and soon all the trees leaves fell to the ground, going swoosh, swoosh, crunch under people's feet and being raked into piles from children to jump and hide in.
The little goblin was very happy with his tricks that autumn and thought perhaps it would be fun to do them every year. And from then until now, everyone has seen his handiwork in the autumn's colorful and falling leaves.
E. really loved this story and has since requested others (including one featuring a swim in "our" lake). I've told her she has to give me a couple of days to think of something, but I think I can fulfill the order.
A quick little note: This little story is my intellectual property. If for some reason you feel like you'd like to share the story online, please link back to my blog. Thanks! :-)
Sunlight, that sweet smell of fall leaves full of crunch, the taste of perfect apples right off the tree - this was our Michaelmas. We went apple picking at a local orchard and picked so many apples that have slowly been turned into crisps, apple sauce, a pie (hiding out in the freezer until Thanksgiving), and school snacks.
Apples led to a brief exploration of a town we didn't know so well, eating one of those apple crisps and a blackberry crisp, all followed by a candle-lit retelling of my version of the story of St. Michael, featuring Daddy as the dragon and E. as the fearless, dragon-defeating saint.
Not long ago I was asked why we were choosing to celebrate these old holidays, these days that so few in our country know about or pay attention to. Why celebrate something that doesn't have a Hallmark card all ready for you to grab or designated section for that holiday that's set up months in advance? Well, that's why. For once, I said to them, it feels so good to celebrate something for the sake of celebrating it, to understand the meaning and to not be bogged down by the commercialism (you see, I'm getting in touch with my inner Charlie Brown).
In our crazy busy world that marks the most deeply entrenched traditions in our lives with department store holiday displays and wintery commercials in October, all along with the push to buy, buy, buy, it is such a relief to NOT. HAVE. TO. DO. ANYTHING. Do nothing, but be with one another and look deeply into ourselves and our family to see how closely the traditions and people of the past touch our lives.
Did you know being a mom is exhausting? It is so, so tiring?! Where are these bloggy ladies getting all this time to write beautiful blog posts and take perfectly composed pictures and make all this delicious stuff? (It should be noted that I take a lot of time late at night reading other really awesome blogs.) Clearly their priorities are different than mine. (I watched two hours' worth of Scandal today.) Or maybe their sweet babies have regular (read: "normal") eating habits and, actually, I don't know...sleep. (I nursed M. for about two hours' worth of those Scandal episodes today. He slept for maybe half of one.)
While I've been trying to find a rhythm that fits nicely with our family, I've been trying to carve out time for me to write within that rhythm. It's part of that whole idea that Mama needs something for herself on top of everything else she does.
There were supposed to be pictures...but I lost the camera.
It was my mom's camera.
Ugh.
We went camping this weekend, and I loved it. I went four-wheeling for the first time in years (years!) and felt like a real red neck woman without guilt. We stayed up late with a bonfire and some beers (well, I didn't have a beer, but it was nice to see others with one...and maybe I did have a sip or two of Pumpkin Head).
But, damn, am I tired. And that camera is still lost.
And I am one grumpy mama.
"What do you do when you feel grumpy?" I would ask E. when she's got her fists balled up and that scowl on her face.
What does a grumpy mama do?
Deep breaths, nurse the baby, eyes closed, make my big girl laugh. Sometimes.
What makes a grumpy mama feel better? Sleepy babies in bed (after some giggles that make the roughness from before a bit smoother), a movie with my biggest love, new polish on my nails. Being home again.
