Christmas Casserole of Memories

Reflection is an important exercise in the slowing down theme. In the last few days I have thought back to some Christmas impressions and memories from my childhood. 

One thing I remember is Christmas candy. At Christmas time, Mom liked to buy a tin of Fanny Farmer candy to share around. It could take me a long time to decide on the one or two pieces I was allowed to pick during my turn. Such an array of colors, shapes, textures, and flavors to choose from! Would it be a hard, narrow bone-shaped one with a filling of soft sweet marrow? A big section of multi-colored bands ribboned into perfect interlocking waves? Or a tiny pink pillow of fruity tang? Maybe a striped minty oval? I'd hope it wouldn't cut my tongue in its sharp grooves if I wasn't careful enough in my sucking it down from big to little!

I asked my brother recently if he remembered The Choosing from the candy tin. Oh yes, he did remember reaching into that "casserole" of candy. 

Mom also liked making her own Christmas candy and cookies. It was the one time of year when she (or we) used her cookie press and made many tiny shortbreads in the form of trees, camels, stars, and hearts. Sometimes the dough was colored, and sometimes the plain cookies got colored with sugar or sprinkles on top. Some years she made raisin-filled cookies, which were two rolled out cookie dough layers baked together with a raisin mixture between. The top cookie often had a cut-out "window" in it that allowed the dark filling to show through nicely. We thought it was great stuff to be allowed putting the raisins through the hand-cranked meat grinder for the filling.  

Mom was often into a new hobby or craft around Christmas time. I remember her plastic canvas poinsettias, fine crocheted and starched snowflakes, and latch art creations. She'd love to learn a new art, talk about it to anyone she met, teach her daughters to do it, and/or gift it to someone. The photo at the beginning of this post depicts such a case. That particular Christmas, she enthusiastically roped us girls into making baskets out of fabric-covered ice cream buckets. My dad and brothers pretended the finished products were more like upside-down frilly pioneer bonnets! 

I also have fond memories of Christmas caroling. We'd meet at the church, having bundled up really well against the frigid Wisconsin cold of a December night. After getting put into groups for caroling in certain places like Northwoods Beach, or Stone Lake or Peninsula Road, our designated group would pile into warmed-up vehicles and head out for our first stop. We'd traipse through a snowy yard and crowd up to the house beside an cracked-open window or door and begin singing to the elderly people inside. After a few carols, we'd wind up with We Wish You a Blessed Christmas, including "Good tidings we bring to you and your king..." (well, for all we knew, their kin actually was royalty) and the people would give us their teary-eyed gratitude and sometimes a package of chocolates. At the end of caroling, when our toes and fingers were past feeling and our hearts were full feeling, we went back to the church or some church family's house and had hot chocolate and other goodies.

Christmas programs at school were always a big deal, too. We might have tried keeping our special singing or speaking parts a secret from Mom and Dad, but I'm sure they ended up finding out much of what was ahead during our times of "going through the whole program" at home. After the program proper was over, the parents would come down to the school room in the church basement and view the art work we students had done on the chalkboards, and sometimes there was a gift exchange among the students and sometimes a pinata, and always there were bags of treats passed out to the children - oranges, candies, nuts and popcorn balls. Always it was one noisy, exciting affair. 

I also remember getting sick around Christmas time. I think two Christmases in a row, I missed out on the fun program night because I had strep throat. One of those times, my twin was sick too, so I guess we could at least stay home and commiserate together. 

In our family, we always got some sort of gift for Christmas. In the lean years, it was one item that we children were supposed to share, such as a sled. Often our gifts were books or crafts, something to occupy our minds and hands. Later on, as we children got older, we started doing a gift exchange among family members. I think back then there was more emphasis put on homemade gifts than what there is now. It was tradition for us to have the Christmas story before the opening of gifts. Dad would read the account from Matthew or Luke. In my mind, the Christmas story never took so long to get through as then.

I'm curious - what are some memories in your Christmas casserole?

Jetting and Lagging

We've been home from Thailand for over a week now and I am here to say that jet lag, the oxymoron of journeying, is a very real thing. It is not just in my head; it is in my trunk and limbs, too - in my whole body, really, from my bones to my breathing to my brain. Maybe especially my brain.

The jetting aspect of jet lag is the oxy- part of oxymoron, in which the jetlagee is keen and sharp, bursting with high energy propelled by the rush of exciting travel experiences. The lagging aspect of jet lag is where, sorry to say, the moron part comes in. I've had both, over the last nine days.

We hadn't been landed long when the lagging showed up. Rolin picked us up at the Toronto airport after 10:00pm one evening last week, which was at least 24 hours past the start of our journey home from Chiang Mai. During the hour-long ride from the airport to our house, I think Ken and I amazed Rolin with some of our statements/questions. Finally, laughing in probably both amusement and concern, he said, "You guys are definitely jet lagged!"

We had barely touched down on home turf again, it seemed, until we were taking off again into Christmas activities. So it was very handy to have the jetting phase available. The day after we got back I got right into unpacking the suitcases and doing a big laundry and shopping so that the next day I could concentrate on preparations for our church's Christmas Banquet. We're on the Social Committee, and some of the responsibilities we'd signed up for were decorating and setting up.

During the day, I had bright energy for a walk in the woods, foraging for evergreens and red twigs to use in table decorations. As well, I tackled the fun project of peeling designs into oranges to line with rows of whole cloves. And since we'd also signed up to plan a group activity for the social, I prepared a version of Christmas Outburst to play after the meal that evening.

The whole event came off splendidly, in my estimation. I stayed wakeful enough throughout the evening to taste the good food, engage in conversation at the table, applaud the quartet who tackled difficult Christmas hymns with such valiant effort, laugh at the amusing inn stable animal conversationalists in a skit, and keep score in the Outburst game.

But on the way home from the Banquet is when the lag hit. I say hit, because that is exactly what it does. The tiredness slams into me like a giant wave, and I can't stand upright against it. Ricky and Jasmine came to our place for the night, and I couldn't even be hospitable and stay up to talk with them a bit. Feeling almost sick with fatigue, I crashed into bed.

Only to wake up in the wee hours of the morning. That's how jet lag affects me. The wall of exhaustion hits me in the early evening and I can hardly keep my eyes open. I zonk out as soon as I hit the pillow, but then I wake up at 4:21am, (or at 3:21am, or 2:21am ☹) and can't sleep a wink more until time to get up or at least for several hours.

I'm wide awake and my brain is soon in high gear, planning what I need to take to FB for the girls, arranging my clove-studded oranges into Christmas centerpieces and, of all things, trying to figure out how puns work. How can two unrelated objects or ideas come together in a sentence and create such a satisfying click with their joining? And just how are those connections made at such lightning quick speed?

A considerable chunk of time passes while I lie there and picture possibilities. In one, there is a lithe little pixie named PunDit who sprints across the convoluted ridges of a brain pulling tiny strings and making connections from one side to the other. Panting, but gleeful, he announces to anyone who will listen, "I PunDit!"

I love puns. Especially fascinating are the unintended ones. Here are four puns I've heard lately:

1. Someone, who was impressed with his dining experience at a recently-renovated restaurant called Pebbles, asked: "Have you ever been to Pebbles? It rocks!"
2. One of the planners for a Christmas Banquet gave a suggestion regarding using disposable plates and cutlery, saying of her idea that she'd "just throw that out there".
3. In describing one of my musically-talented cousins, I said he was instrumental in helping someone purchase a hammered dulcimer.
4. A few young ladies were leaving their house to come to ours for a gathering planned by our daughter Kerra. It was a dark and cold evening and one of them remarked how it felt like a perfect night to go Christmas caroling, but they weren't. "Oh, but we are," contradicted her sister. "We're going Kerra-ling!"

People say that a returned traveler should expect jet lag to last awhile. Figure one day for every hour of time zone difference, they advise. Well, that is good news for us - only three more days to go!

People also say that there are measures travelers can take to combat jet lag. Get back into the current time schedule as soon as possible. Exercise. Take melatonin. Drink lots of water. I suppose I could add that it's not the best idea to go hear Messiah only three nights after you get home. But it's our annual Christmas tradition, so we bought the tickets anyway.

It was a meaningful performance again this year. I only wish I could have been with it for every note and nuance. I'm sad that I fought sleep through a number of those beautiful pieces. I willed myself to stay awake, but the weariness descended anyway and took my eyelids with it. Against the backdrop of the choir, the soloists and the orchestra sometimes swam in blurriness before me, and then exited altogether, briefly. Moments later they were back again, bright and clear. (It was almost worrisome!)

If I were a coffee drinker like Ken, I would've gotten a cup to drink at intermission, and like him, would've been kept from lagging in the second half of the Messiah program. But then, very likely that amount of caffeine would've also jetted me awake for hours in bed that night, like it did him.

In the end, this is what I think about jet lag: After a long flight, it's going to happen. Be kind to yourself while it does. After a long jet lag, it will pass. Rejoice when it does.

And someone might ask me, in view of all this jetting and lagging aftermath, if the trip to the other side of the world was really worth it.

To which I'd respond, "Absolutely!"

This Post's Quote:

"Starve your distractions; feed your focus." 

~ as seen in Clinton Weaver's Nepal Times newsletter

This Post's Childhood Memory:

At Christmas time, Mom often bought us Fanny Farmer's Flavor-ettes hard candy for a treat. I remember the round tin with the red lid, and the pictures of colorful candy around the outside of the container. There were many shapes, colors and tastes of candy inside - the bone-shaped red and white striped pieces, the berry-shaped, fruit-flavored gems, the red and green little "pillows" and most fascinating of all, the wavy ribbon pieces.

What are your favorite Christmas candy memories from your childhood?