Thankful Thursday: Lucky enough

Ah, yes, I remember that wall hanging in the keepers’ kitchen.

"If you are Lucky enough to Live in a LiGHTHOUSE 

You are Lucky Enough"

And we got to live in THIS very one! 

I love to look at the photos of this place from all the different angles, but this one is cool because it shows our bedroom windows right under the chimney.

Those two weeks were such a fun adventure! I'm grateful that we had the privilege of doing that.

I love to look back over the little snippets I wrote about our time there not as "keepers of the light" but as welcomers and hosts to the history of the place.

On this Thankful Thursday, I tear up a bit to think of my good fortune. 

May I never take such blessings for granted.

Traditions!!!

 Around this time of year my mind regularly revisits a boat-load of holiday memories and the traditions behind them.

Sometimes I take time to trudge way back to my childhood and walk across the road to Grandpa Frank’s house for Thanksgiving Dinner. I suppose we often had turkey with all the trimmings, but I especially remember the times when we had duck.  That has to be one of my favorite flavor memories.

Or I go back to Sunday mornings and find myself in the car with my dad as he drove his usual circuit to pick up a load of kids - and Mrs. Washington - for church. Mrs. Washington was a quiet little lady who worked as a house keeper for our bachelor neighbor over on the next corner and I remember her giving me a new pair of white socks every year for Christmas.

Thinking about Mrs. Washington's gift reminds me of two other old ladies in our church who also gave me little gifts.  I think it was Vera Cannon who lived on the corner across from our one-room country school...  or maybe it was Mrs. Johnson from the little burg of Snover - who gave me the dainty little hand-embroidered handkerchiefs through the years.  I still have a wonderful collection of lovely hankies - which take me back to those days and those sweet ladies.  I also still have a sturdy collection of the bigger and much more practical red bandana style manly handkerchiefs that my farmer dad used.  Now there's another tradition that created a significant memory!

Or I might find myself on Christmas morning once again discovering an orange in the toe of my Christmas stocking.  Those "stockings" were simply our real socks that we wore regularly - clean ones, of course.  In later years I made fancy stockings with names of each family member - which could contain lots more goodies!

There came a time when I realized that we might have to let go of a cherished tradition - or at least change it up a bit.  Like after big brother Dave met Becky at college and of course they wanted to spend Christmas together with both of their families - which meant it might not be on December 25 anymore.  Instead they figured out what dates they could come to the farm and we adjusted celebration calendar.  We simply had new dates for our family Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.  Same traditions, new dates.

Then came little ones of the next generation and more new traditions.  For example, even though we lived just around the corner from our family home, it was decided that we should all be there to hang our stockings on Christmas Eve - no matter the calendar date - and to celebrate the fun of Christmas morning together.

Our own daughters now remember when we started to change the dates on OUR family calendar to accommodate THEIR new family connections.

They also remember the year when a new foster daughter was placed in our home on Christmas Eve - which meant yet another great shuffle - not just dates and times, but maybe even a re-distribution of gifts!  Yikes!

Yes, during the foster kid years, there were lots of variables in holiday traditions. And several new stockings added to the collection.

Then came the day - after 40 years in that big house with the giant Christmas tree and any number of stockings hung on the mantle - when we would no longer celebrate in that place.  The tree farm was sold and we would move our traditions to other sites.

It was really hard to let go of that amazing place and all of the traditions there - for all of us.  The girls consoled us by saying that we could take the memories and the spirit of the place with us.  That we would find new places to follow our traditions - a bit like we had shifted our calendar - moving Christmas Eve and Christmas morning to new dates.  And so we did.  

Actually we had already done that - for one year when we lived in the Dominican Republic.  There would be no real Christmas tree but somebody gave us a fake one. We wouldn’t have a fire in the fieldstone fireplace Bob had built so the girls made a paper replica and taped it to the wall. We had not packed the fancy Christmas stockings in our suitcases, so we reverted to using real socks.  Our beloved traditions evolved into new ones.

Life changes.

We adjust our calendars and create new traditions.

What a wonder it is to have so many beautiful memories to cherish.

Photo cred: Bob Sims, Santiago, en la Republica Dominicana, 1989...

Turkey Dinner

It had been a long time since we had 

our entire family around the table together 

for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner... 

so it was pretty important to me this year.  

What fun to pull out the brownstone dishes from 55 years ago...

I am terribly grateful for the opportunity and the fun.

I sure do love these people!

Anniversaries

 I tend to notice dates.

Significant dates.

Like anniversaries... of good things or not so good.

It was on this date in 2014 that we let go of something dear.

A cherished place 

Our Christmas tree farm

Our homestead

Our dream house we had built as newlyweds....

...

But now

For the last few weeks

I’ve been noticing something

Some good feelings

That I am starting to feel settled

Feeling at home in the new place

I seem to be feeling inordinately excited about the approaching holidays - and specifically about hosting our family celebrations once again.

This is the first time we’ve had a dining room in a really long time… since we moved out of the big house.  And to again have a fireplace where we can hang the stockings.

Plans are being made.

The menu is coming together.

The turkey has been chosen and is thawing in the fridge. 

Potatoes are being dug from the kids’ garden.  How cool is THAT?!?

...

Somewhere in the midst of the preparations and the good feelings I realized that this was the date of the that closing. That letting go… when we sold the Christmas tree farm.

Back in those days our girls would tell us things that really helped our perspective.

Things like the fact that we could take the good parts with us.

The spirit of the place.

That we could plant life in new places.

We knew they were right.

And now we get to enjoy yet another step of that wonder.

Another phase.

I also find myself remembering last year - the 10th anniversary of that letting go - when we were wishing, wishing… that we could be in our new home for the holidays… waiting for the final approval...  

But that didn’t happen.  

Well, EXCEPT for that one family dinner - and yes, it was take-out because of no working kitchen.

...

But now we are here and feeling at home.

We did it.

Sure enough, we brought "it" with us... that spirit of home.

We’ve planted life - which is already bearing fruit. 

A sense of community, connection, peace, welcome.

…

RIVENDELL

“That house was a perfect house,

whether you like food or sleep or storytelling or singing,

or just sitting and thinking,

or a pleasant mixture of them all.

Merely to be there was a cure

for weariness, fear and sadness.”

- J.R.R. Tolkien

…

Winter projects

We have been in the midst of moving.

For months I have been culling our stuff.

So much stuff.

Stuff piles up.

Stuff clutters our homes and our lives.

Stuff takes up space.

Some stuff likes to be ignored as it sits quietly in dark corners of the basement.

But moving time provides a good chance to face the piles and get rid of the stuff no longer needed.  And so we are. 

I tackled my archives.  

So many bins filled with so many sheets of paper.

Notes from courses taken.

Lesson plans for courses taught.

I sorted and pitched.

I recycled reams of paper.

But I also began to discover patterns.

Stories about who I had been decades ago.

Stories that disclosed that I wasn’t always right.

Stories of lessons learned.

Health and healing and transformation.

I found fresh appreciation for my life.

I suddenly realized the great privilege before me.

This huge task gradually shifted its very shape.

Yes, it was still something that I’ve “got to do.”

But… it also showed itself as something I GET to do. 

Who gets this kind of gift?

Who gets to sit down in retirement years and read through one’s own history?  This is the stuff of my life. My heritage.

Who gets to pause and sift through the memories and celebrate one’s own life?

Who gets to assess one’s direction while there’s still time to make changes?

A few file boxes were selected.

These few DID make the move with me.

However they will not be hauled to THIS basement.

They will not be forgotten again.

Instead they are sitting right here so I can see them every day.  

I often pause to greet them.

I look forward to sitting down together for the read of a lifetime.  

I daydream about writing projects that will come together. 

Any number of topics wait for me to glean those memories.

But first some precious time to read.

To remember and to marvel.

What a fun project for this next season!

Writing groups I have known

My first memory of writing groups was one led by my brother-in-law, Jerry.  I had heard of such gatherings and imagined them to be wonderful spaces. His group did not disappoint.  That first visit would whet my appetite even though it was a critique group - for which I was not ready - and it was too far to drive regularly.  But from that day forth I would hope to find a writing group that would be the right fit for me.

After landing in a place where I knew nobody, I got up the nerve to join Meet-ups to look for a writing group. I found two - in sequence.  The first was yet another critique group composed of all fiction writers so it was obviously not a good fit for me, but I attended a couple times anyway, because I knew that I could still benefit from being around other writers.  Sure enough, I was fascinated to listen to an amazing woman relate to the group how she was switching genres at age 102 - because she “can’t see well enough to write fiction any more."  So there she was trying her hand at writing poetry - which for some reason seemed to work better. Go figure.

After landing in our next place, I discovered my second writing Meet-up… just a mile from my house. In this group I met a dear friend with whom I felt an instant connection.  It has been my privilege to know her and learn from her.

Also in this new place, I was lucky enough to discover and attend the very first Flint Festival of Writers - and then the second and the third… I figure a writing festival is a bit like a writing group - just with a different format.  What fun to hang out with real writers and learn from them!  Amazingly some of them have become my friends.  I feel blessed.

Out of those festivals and through those friendships, I discovered yet another local writing group - this one within walking distance - at UM-Flint's Writing Center.*  It turned out to be a good fit for me.  I do admit I struggled a bit with imposter syndrome at first - because these people had studied writing in college and knew way more than I do since my major was not in literature nor writing composition.  But they welcomed me and encouraged me so genuinely and so consistently that my confidence grew to the point where I published a book!  And then another!  That’s just crazy.

Ooh, and there was that one other group.  I remember talking with one of my new writer friends about the maxim “If you can’t find the right writing group, start your own.”  And so we did.  Somehow a group of just the right people came together and we had such fun and learned so much.  I guess the time was right.  And then it wasn’t.  Circumstances changed for several in the group and we moved on, but what a delight to be part of it while it was happening.

Finding a sense of belonging in a writing group has played a huge role not only in my writing journey but also in my journey of life… because writing is one of the most significant ways I make sense of my life.  To say I am thankful for such groups would most indubitably be an understatement.  That’s why they make the cut for my Thankful Week posts.  

...

* My thanks to the helpful tutors at the Marian E. Wright Writing Center for the photo.

Minimalist Thanksgiving

“Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go… “ 

In our one-room country school, we had learned every word of at least seven verses of that nostalgic song.  But my family only had to go across the road to get to our grandmother’s house where we enjoyed roasted duck and other wonderful foods.

More traditions were added through the years.  Like the year that we opened our Christmas tree farm...  Bob’s family really wanted to participate on opening day - which was the day after Thanksgiving - and so it was determined that our family dinner would be that evening.  One of the in-laws took charge of the turkey at the house while Bob and I handled the tree farm operation and his siblings hung out in the wreath shed crafting their own original creations.  At closing time, we all headed back to the house to enjoy the meal that was waiting for us.  The schedule was complicated, but we made it work - for probably a dozen years - because so many were willing to help.

In recent years I have come to realize that the first Thanksgiving story was not as idyllic as I used to think - and that the “relationships” between the “pilgrims and Indians” were far from equitable.  Similar observations could be made about many long-standing celebrations - that the reality usually contains both good and not-so-good.  

I struggle to figure out how to handle such traditions that are fraught with less than ideal components.  At this moment in time, I guess I just try to find the good that I can and to focus on gratitude.  

Our kids all needed to be elsewhere today so we enjoyed a quiet day at home -  complete with turkey pot pies!  Not even kidding.  A minimalist Thanksgiving.  Simple and moderate.

This was not our first non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner.  There was another - 34 years ago.  We were living in the Dominican Republic where we taught in an English school. Since most of the staff and students were Americans, the school calendar gave us all the day off to celebrate Thanksgiving and the day after.  The long weekend seemed the perfect time to go to our favorite beach.  So we loaded our family of five onto a bus for the 90-minute trip to the north shore.  

It was obvious there would be no turkey and stuffing and gravy in the lovely little town of Sosua.  When lunch time came we took a break and gathered round the little table in our hotel room for our gourmet meal… of crackers and cheese … and a few Dominican snacks we had just discovered.  Nice and simple.  Of course we were hungry again by nightfall and celebrated again at the little rooftop pizza place.  

It’s only partly about the food. 

I don’t need to have all of those yummy traditional dishes in order to feel thankful.

I certainly don’t need to gorge myself - and then regret it in the coming days.

And I don’t really enjoy the schedule or the travel being so complicated.

So yes, the ideas of simplicity and moderation sound really good to me.

Less food, less stress, no less thankful.