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hello
Sometimes it’s really hard to hold out for hope that things can get better. And it gets really hard when you hold out hope and try your best, but things get worse.
I want you to remember your light within. Do you know what I mean by this?
When people are happy- their soul is lit. You can see it on their face, their energy is contagious and it unites people with a loving intention. But when we become distracted, angry, rudderless and withdrawn, our light dims greatly. I don’t believe it ever truly burns out, but it can feel that way. And if you feel that way, here’s a bit of hope from my heart to yours.
Remember that anything is possible. You don’t and never will have all the answers to the universe. So be humble and kind to yourself and accept the possibility that miracles, healing, and hope is always possible.
Start giving your soul what it craves. More dancing. More looking at the stars…doing things for joy just because. Seek things that light you up from the inside.
While you do this, have patience for what you don’t feel externally yet. Believe in the goodness. Do the best you can to keep focusing on the next best thing. It can be as small or simple as noticing how good garlic salt is, to taking a deep breath of mountain air and knowing somehow that it’s sacred. Just get up everyday and do the very best you can, even if it’s just a smile at yourself in the mirror. But hey- I wouldn’t be so quick to minimize that smile of yours. It’s pretty beautiful. Not only does it light up a room, it lights up other people. Yeah- you have the power to do that with just your smile, you hopeful thang!
I want to thank you for reading this magazine the way you do. Please let this magazine prove to you that people of all types, religions, ages, status and more can come together with radically different beliefs and something worthwhile can still come of it.
It’s not always easy to be the change we wish to see in the world, especially if our inner light is dim, but if you’re reading this, I know you are exactly the soul who can do it. Sometimes you just have to be the one to go first. But you don’t have to do it alone… let’s do it together.
With love, gratitude and light this holiday season and every day,
Heather Niccoli Editor-In-Chief Home&Harvest Magazine
By
BrickBrick
Building a Timeless Legacy
Soft and pure, the white lights adorning the fragrant Christmas tree sparkle loud enough to waft into the kitchen where a grandmother and her grandson are happily pressing cookie cutters shaped like stars, snowflakes, and Santa hats, into rolled-out dough. As they work, they carry on a one-and-a-half-year-old-driven conversation. The toddler smiles, samples the dough, and sticks a finger into the colored frosting, getting half of it on his face as he licks his finger. He tilts his face up to his grandmother. They smile with loving happiness, and he claps his hands, then leans in for a sticky hug. Christmas music plays softly in the background. Grandma sighs contentedly and wonders how the years sped by so quickly. She used to love doing this same holiday activity with her three girls. Come to think of it, when she was a kid, she loved making Christmas cookies with her mom. She is grateful she’s carried on the tradition.
Under the boughs of the decorated tree lie beautifully wrapped gifts. Some will be of a transient importance—played with until broken or outgrown, but some gifts are special and will be significant to the lives of the recipients. In her heart, she prays the gifts from her life will leave a lasting legacy on her family, and on others she has touched along the way. From a young age, she has been intentional to be the kind of person she is, to make her life meaningful, to live with purpose, to have important things to pass on, enriching the lives of loved ones, and to give as selflessly as possible. She has been creating her legacy her entire life.
Everyone leaves a legacy, which is defined as a long-lasting impact of particular events or actions, according to the Oxford Languages. How will you make a difference in the world? How will you pass on your personal values, accomplishments, and traditions? Everyone has a story to tell. Will yours be the result of taking command of the pen’s strokes, or of letting the ink spill messily onto the page of your life, covering up what had already been written? How will you build your house of legacy?
In college, I learned about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Maslow’s research concluded that, once basic needs such as food, water, and shelter (and more) are met, and that a person feels safe, their greatest need is love and belonging. Legacy is a means of building that sense of belonging, one brick at a time. Just like a contractor, you need a plan, a blueprint. Add those bricks that build positive ideals. Be intentional about which ones you pick. Only use the highest quality materials-
by
Laura L. Morgan
-to build a long-lasting and permanent structure. The family values I have been writing about are great places to start. The bricks for this project of building a legacy for your family are: generosity, peace, an adventurous spirit, teamwork, work ethic, resilience, and education.
I am forever grateful to my father and to my father-in-law because they changed their family’s legacies from one of depravity, abuse, and addiction. They could have resigned themselves to the mindset that life is just this way, and I can’t change it. But, no! They intentionally chose to build their lives with high quality bricks, ones that left a positive legacy for their children and grandchildren. As an aside—no, they weren’t perfect (who is?), but they made great strides and have left a wonderful legacy. Perhaps the legacy you have been given is one of a broken and rotting building. Now is the perfect time for some demolition. Restart the building process form the ground up. Meaning takes shape as you mortar new bricks into place.
Whatever the condition of your legacy, here are some great introspective questions to ask yourself:
What seeds am I planting right now that will sprout into my family tree?
What are my core values and beliefs—my moral principles?
What kind of a person do I want to be known as?
How do I want to impact my family’s life?
How can I improve my family, community, state, country, world?
How can I improve the lives of others with whom I come into contact? (Even in the line at the grocery store or waiting at a stoplight.)
What unique mark can I have on whatever I do? (What are my unique talents?)
How has my life mattered? (It has! If you’re struggling with this one, you can think of one positive way.)
How can I develop a plan to build my legacy?
What is my explicit purpose, my life’s calling? (What work or activities make me feel motivated and fulfilled?)
Now that you’ve asked yourself some thought-provoking questions, how are some practical,-
-“boots on the ground” ways to create that interconnection across time, to create that legacy. One must make choices in the present in order to effect change, but at the same time, one must be looking forward to the future. How many of us are reflecting what we hold near and dear as we create our legacies? Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, a German writer and scientist, was wise when he wrote, “Choose well. Your choice is brief, and yet endless.” Today’s society is quite enamored with instant gratification: buy it now and pay later, fast food and coffee, instant information on the Internet, etc. The news gallops from one sensational moment to the next, but in the quiet space of wisdom, reflection, honesty, and intentionality lies our strength and resolve to create legacy. Let’s begin with standards, boundaries, and expectations. We need these instilled in our children. They keep them safe, help them learn to navigate life productively, and create a family legacy. We also need them as adults. As both a parent and a teacher, I understand that setting boundaries can cause push-back. People don’t like to be told what to do. They want to be lazy sometimes and to have lower standards. I encourage you to hold fast. Stick to loving and positive standards. Your family will create a legacy of excellence. Make everyone talk. “That (insert last name) family, all the kids work so hard in school and are well-behaved. I wish all my students were like that.” “Those (insert last name)s, they will help you out when you need something. Even the kids get involved.”
In an article by Susan V. Bosak, she states, “The world isn’t connected by molecules. It’s connected by stories, traditions, memories, hopes, and dreams.” These are the threads that bind us, legacies woven into our family tapestries. Stories, as you may have ascertained from my previous Home&Harvest articles, are near and dear to my heart. My family is uniquely blessed to have ancestors on my husband, Trent’s, side of the family who understood the importance of family stories and their impact on future generations. We have three books. Yes, entire books, of family stories dating back to the early 1800’s. What a priceless legacy. It is a human desire to know from where you came. Someday, I’d like to write a children’s book series with some of these fascinating tales from both sides of our family. What a beautiful gift that would be for my grandchildren. Don’t just rely on historic recollections, however. Create your own great memories for your family. Go on those adventures!
Stories can also take the form of journals or diaries, or scrapbooks that combine photos with stories. One Christmas, I created a recipe scrapbook for each of my daughters. It had photos of their grandparents, great- and great-great-grandparents and a special recipe or two that they were known for, ones that we still savor today. I added myself and some of my recipes they love because someday I, too, will be a part of history. Other legacy memories include letters saved and family legends passed down through generations. In my mother’s desk she willed me, I found a letter, written in Swedish, from my great-grandmother. I know stories about her life, how she lost six children in the “old country” and had six more, my grandpa being the first, after immigrating to America. Thank goodness for Google Translate. I have deciphered most of the letter. These things fascinate me. Letter writing is not nearly as popular as it once was, to our society’s detriment. They are great sources of family information and legacy. Perhaps you could commit to writing one letter before the end of the year to someone in your family. Trent and I had great intentions and made it a few years in before life got in the way,-
-but we had a great idea. Each year, we would write a letter to each of our daughters and pick a gift representative of what was going on in their lives at that time. We told them what milestones we observed them reaching, how their personalities were developing, what we had done as a family, and our hopes and dreams for them. As adults, they cherished receiving those letters. Legacy. Another great way to create legacy is to pass on family traditions. Perfectly, the holiday season is approaching. What family traditions are you carrying on, or are you creating? At Thanksgiving, we make Great Grandma Effy’s stuffing recipe. Some have the traditional football game, played outside and/or watched on television. Some invite a new family over to share the bounty. I enjoy when we create a Thanksgiving tree where everyone writes what they are thankful for on a fall-colored leaf cut out of paper. We then stick them on a paper trunk, or on the window. At Christmastime, do you open presents on Christmas Eve or morning? Do you have a system, or is it a free-for-all? Do you take a moment to reflect on the year, or to read the biblical account of Christ’s birth? I love making sugar cookies with my family and then gifting them to friends and neighbors. Last year my daughter, Allise, and I made jam to give as gifts and she wants to do it again. Of course, I’m in! As a child, my mother began a tradition of making candy houses. That is a fun one! In our house, Christmas Eve wouldn’t be the same without the fondue and bar-b-cups. Overall, traditions are an important part of the connectedness and belonging one feels. Passing down skills is another great aspect of legacy. We have generations who canned produce, who taught their children to sew, or plant, or build something. Learning family skills is a fun experience and passes on hard-won wisdom to the younger generation. Some skills could be important for survival. I’m glad my daughters know how to start a fire, set up a shelter, deal with an emergency situation, and know how to cope without a cell phone. Creating a family legacy also includes service to others. Volunteering and giving generously are a couple of topics I’ve previously addressed. These are important for learning to be altruistic. In this series of articles, I have focused on family values, defined as a family unit’s principles or standards of behavior. What is important to you in life? What do you wish to instill in your children that will continue to be important in their lives, that they will, in turn, pass on to their children? Gather your bricks wisely to build your house because values are crucial in building a legacy.
There are major benefits to leaving a positive legacy. If you are a person who has a strong sense of purpose, and vision on how to get there, you are more likely to enjoy better mental health. You will feel a happier sense of well-being and have a greater ability to stay positive and hopeful. This mindset leads to resilience when facing challenges. People who feel a sense of purpose—that their lives are meaningful and will make an impact on future generations—have a higher quality of life and thus tend to live longer. Legacy isn’t just about leaving someone money or possessions. It is bigger than yourself. It is looking through a shimmering glass into the hazy future, uncertain, yet being intentional to make the best choices. It is about taking a risk to unleash your potential and live a purposeful life. It is figuring out your guiding principles. It is pursuing becoming a life-long learner on one hand and sharing your wisdom on the other. It is about dreaming big, planning accordingly, and working toward building your legacy: brick, by brick, by brick. Build it to be strong and lasting.
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Holidays ON THE HOMESTEAD
by Elaina Pierson
The Latah County Historical Society collection includes a number of books written by early residents of Moscow and surrounding areas. The accounts describe how the authors came to be here as well as the struggles, achievements, and often joyous events amid the hardscrabble life of a homesteader. Many of these authors were children brought or born here by westward-moving families and recount special moments of frontier childhood, including some magical Christmases.
One such book is Palouse Country Yesteryears by Dora Otter Fleener. She came to Idaho in 1902 at the age of seven with parents John and Myrtle Otter, along with three siblings (three more siblings would be born later). The following is an excerpt that illustrates their holiday traditions:
“Christmas was a time we youngsters looked forward to with great anticipation; we counted the days remaining until that Great Day. It seemed such a long time to wait. So to give us something to do to help keep our restlessness in check, Mama suggested that we make paper chains. We hunted up some colored paper, cut it into about one half inch wide strips. Then each strip was made into approximately a four inch length, which allowed for a small lap to be pasted to a ring, about one inch in diameter. We alternated the colors which made quite a showy decoration. We made yards and yards and draped them around the room, from the picture frames and windows and over the doors, and made some for the Christmas tree too.
“Hanging up our stockings was a tradition. We had always done that on Christmas Eve. There were no evergreen trees where we lived in South Dakota so we never had a family Christmas tree [before moving to Moscow]. We could sneak downstairs in the wee hours of the morning and unfasten our stockings from the several door knobs and then scamper back in bed with them. We would find hard candy, nuts, maybe an orange and some small toy. One time I found a pen knife with the handle the shape of a slipper in the toe of my stocking. Another time it was a donkey and a cart – I wished it had been a horse and cart – I still don’t care much for donkeys.”
“We suffered no shock when we found out that there was no Santa Claus but it was fun to pretend there was and what we found under the tree on Christmas morning we would say that Santa Claus left. Of course that sort of talk was for the benefit of the younger members of the family. But there came a time when they too had their doubts. Vernon and Floyd [Dora’s brothers] were heard to say that they didn’t believe there was a real Santa – they decided that Mama and Papa put the presents under the tree. However, after that particular Christmas morning they weren’t so sure. Each found a shiny red fire engine and they agreed that there must be a Santa Claus after all, because Mama and Papa wouldn’t give them such nice presents.
“We always tried to be grateful and satisfied with what was left for us under the tree, even though ever so inexpensive. There were small cast iron toys (we never heard of wind-up, friction or battery powered toys), dolls, teddy bears, musical tops and jack-in-theboxes, as well as handkerchiefs and hair ribbons. And we might get a game of checkers or dominoes or educational cards. Mama had probably knit a pair of mittens for each of us – they were warm, made from wool yarn. She also made wristlets for the ones who had outgrown their coat sleeves, which left a gap between the coat sleeve and the mitten top. Hands and wrists were easily chapped by the cold winds and the cold water we washed in at school. Books were welcome presents too. Ruth especially liked to read. Some of the popular books of that era were the Elsie Dinsmore books for the girls and the Rover Boys and the Horatio Alger books for the boys.”
Just up the road from the Otter home lived the Munson family. Being neighbors in the country outside the “big city” of Moscow, with both families having children close in age, the Otters and the Munsons were great friends, according to Dora.
Charles J. Munson was one of the earliest arrivals to Moscow in the early 1880s. He married schoolteacher Clemma Roaderick in 1890 and they settled their farm, called Cozy Cove, a few miles east of Moscow. The youngest of their five children, Caroline, was a prolific writer of tales detailing the family’s adventures. In her book Growing up with Carrie – Book 2, she shared this story, “The Christmas Tree”:
“I awoke early and dashed to the window full of excitement because today if it wasn’t snowing we were going to pick out our Christmas tree. The snow sparkled outside seeming to share my excitement and happiness. For months I’d saved silver gum wrappers, and every scrap of colored paper from magazines and any old source. For weeks I’d been cutting and pasting them to make yards of chains.
“Running down stairs I ate a hasty breakfast and got my coat, mittens and galoshes. I could hardly stand still to wait for Mama to bundle me up and add a cap and scarf. Then Papa with an axe over his shoulder was followed by Burton dragging his “Flyer” sled. We all trudged through the snow up across the snow covered fields to the stand of trees on the top “40.” Along the way-
Photo captions, previous page
Munson.C.02 – Caroline “Carrie” Munson at age 16 Munson.Ch.01 – Charles and Clemma Munson on their wedding day in December 1890.
Munson.Ch.04 – The Munson Family, l to r: Clemma, Oscar, Burton, Goldie, Vivian, Charles J. and Caroline “Carrie”
-Vivian and Goldie flopped down in the drifts and spread-their arms up and down to make angels in the snow and Burton took a few small runs down the hill on his sled. I, being the baby, had all I could do to struggle up the hill without such outside activity.”
“Once the wood was reached such running around and yelling, “Here’s one” and someone else yelling “Oh this one’s perfect!” After much checking of all sides and heights, a vote was taken- on each tree. Once decided democratically, Papa chopped down the winner of the vote and tied it to the sled. With Burton pulling and Oscar pushing, the girls on each side holding it secure, it was time to go flying down the hill. Not far down, Papa handed Oscar the axe, lifted me to his shoulder and I rode the rest of the way while we sang “Jingle Bells” as we tried to keep up with the sled slipping down the hill.
“The next few days was such a bustle and stir. I spent most of my time stringing cranberries and popcorn.
“Since we’d left the tree on the front porch we hadn’t seen it. It had been installed in the parlor off the hall, reserved for important events.
“By Christmas Eve all my boxes of chains and popcorn and cranberries had disappeared. Everyone was so eager for night to come we couldn’t eat. Such dashing around with packages slipped to Mother to take into the parlor (where no one was allowed to go but her).
“Finally darkness came, and dinner was over. Papa hurried to do some last minute chores at the barn and left. Then suddenly we heard sleigh bells come jingling toward the house, a lot of stamping on the porch, and the hand powered bell on our front door ring. Mother dashed into the hall (carefully shutting the door after her) and we could hear her greet Santa Claus. There was a spell when time stood still as they went into the parlor. I tried to peek out the windows to at least see the reindeer but the older kids grabbed me and we just stood like statues suspended in time.
“Finally we heard steps going down the hall to the porch and stomping down the steps, and then sleigh bells went jingling off into the distance. Not long afterward Papa got back from his chores at the barn and I ran to tell him Santa had been there already. He felt so bad he’d missed him, but I was too excited to sympathize too long with him. Then Mother came in and we all crossed the hall to the parlor, me in front because I was the baby, and the parlor door was opened. There in all its splendor was our Christmas tree – my chains all wrapped in gay wreaths around, candles alight on its branches, a star crowning its head. Underneath the packages were stacked, but they were never nearly as wonderful to me as our Christmas tree!”
These stories offer a special glimpse into the lives of children growing up in the early days of western settlement. It wasn’t an easy life, but the memories shared for us to read today show a clear appreciation for the good things, or as Dora describes it, in the “wonder and beauty” of the Palouse.
Today many children feel the same excitement in anticipation of Christmas, and all the family traditions that come with it. Picking out a tree, decorating the house, and waiting for Santa Claus still hold the same magic today for many families and show that while many things have changed, the simple things of Christmas persevere. Time with family, the joy of new toys, and frolicking in the snow continue to bring happiness to children in 2024 just like they did in Christmases long past.
Flank Flame to But
Is It Still Grilling?
TONY NICCOLI by
Thanksgiving is over – the feast consumed, and hopefully all the dishes washed. The fridge is just starting to run low on leftovers and its about time for someone to cook again. Take stock for a quick second. Were you the primary chef for all the holiday festivities the last few years? If so, maybe drop this article on your partner’s lap. If you answered no, then you should definitely keep reading. In my family, one tradition was always that anyone from “Team Chef” got to relax after the holiday meals. And those who hadn’t cooked turned into “Team Dishes and Clean-Up.” Well, here is a chance to take that a little farther. If you didn’t prepare the family meal this year, I’m going to challenge you to make something really special just a little while later to celebrate those who were stuck in the kitchen battling hours of side dishes and bird basting just to ensure your happiness.
You don’t need to be a confident griller – or even own a grill – to pull off the following recipe. I wanted to just go ahead and say that right up front. So, if you have been reading some of these articles, but never actually went ahead and tried grilling along with me, now is your perfect opportunity.
You might be someone that owns and even frequently uses a grill, you might live in a house with an avid griller but never actually grill yourself, heck you might not own a grill or have ever used one. It doesn’t matter – this technique is for all of you, and anyone with an oven and a pan can try it out.
One of my absolute favorite ideas about pushing you to try this is the approachability. I’m not just talking about an experience similar to grilling for someone that hasn’t tied it before, or who has always stayed in the dogs and burgers lane afraid of venturing out to the complexity of a steak. Even for those of you who grill all the time, this style of cooking will allow you to ease into a cut that you might have otherwise feared. When most of us start grilling steaks (hopefully) we chose the easier and more dependable cuts. And if we didn’t, well the spectacular failure of overcooking and running a really expensive meal tends to humble us back down to the safety of a 1” to 1 ½” sirloin, strip, or ribeye. And hey, I get it and I have been there with you. For years I was terrified of taking on a full porterhouse, and I couldn’t even imagine how to get a sear on a flat iron steak without cutting into a chewy, grey, well-done middle. I made some attempts at filet mignon, but the unbalanced ratio of depth to surface area had me stumped. Rather than continue on the path of trial and error, I just gave up. I knew how to hit medium rare on a New York strip and so that was all I grilled. I saw ribeye and sirloin as a variety, and even a challenge. So, if this sounds a little like your experience, just know that you’re in good company.
When we grill, especially any cook that involves having the lid closed, we are essentially using an unpredictable, direct-fire oven that is outdoors and subject to sudden temperature swings. We lose the vast majority of stored heat any time we open the lid to flip, the areas directly over the gas or charcoal are prone to flare-ups from dripping grease and oil, and any strong wind against the metal lid can quickly siphon off heat. There you are taking on that challenge and trying to keep it all at 550 degrees just long enough to pull off a perfect steak. Want to know what the broiler on your oven does when you turn it on? It heats directly to 500-550 degrees and just sits there –perfectly – for as long as you ask it to do so! So, in a way, minus the open flame aspect, broiling is direct heat cooking and the next closest thing to grilling. Now you have less variables and can either take on your first home-made steak, or venture out of your safety zone and challenge yourself with a much more interesting cut. And the confidence you build in the kitchen will be ready to transfer to the grill this spring!
On your grill outside, the steak is going to be very close to the flame – just a few inches above. And there is going to be a series of grates that allow grease and drip down, allowing a nice bark to form on the surface. Halfway through, you will open the lid quickly and flip so that both sides get the exposure and caramelize into a satisfying texture – along with an even cook through the middle. We want to model all of that behavior fairly closely in the oven as well. Start by setting your top rack high – allowing just a few inches between the heat element in the top of the oven and the surface of the steak. Make sure to use a broiling pan, or a wire rack in your normal cookie sheet. That meat needs to be off the surface so it is free to drip, receive airflow around all of the exterior, and brown without boiling and steaming in its own juices. Keep the door closed! You can peak through the glass all you like but that door stays shut until you do a flip at the midpoint of the cook.
So before you start, make sure to take the steak out of the fridge at least 20-30 minutes before you start the cook. We always want to do this when cooking outside, but it becomes even more important here. As always, I’m going to recommend that you just use salt and pepper to season the steak. There are tons of really great rubs out there, and if you’ve been reading this series for a long while you might have even learned a few great ways to make your own. My grilling drawer has an assortment of plastic bottles of rub that came from the grocery store or local butcher, and a few little mason jars of things I’ve concocted on my own – and I love them all! But there is just something special about letting the flavor of the meat do the talking. And I always feel that when you are trying something completely new the unadulterated simplicity of just salt and pepper builds the best foundation. Learn the basics with this simple seasoning and then start to build some complexity once you have the rest of the techniques mastered. For the salt, just like grilling outside, we want to use a bit more than you think you need. A nice thick steak is just calling for it. Then pepper to taste just to amplify the bite in the outer bark. Be sure to season both sides. Preheat the oven by turning on the broiler on high and putting that pan up on the top so that it heats as well. You would never heat your grill with the grates sitting off to the side and then toss them on cold when you begin the cook, so make sure that the pan is fully heated before the steaks go on!
The steaks go in for the first round of cooking and here you have an option. If you have any type of meat thermometer that can remain in during the cook, (but be seen through the door) that will be ideal. If not, you are going to have to use your best judgement depending on the thickness of the steak. I can confidently tell you that if you use a strip steak or T-bone that is just a little over an inch thick, you can expect to hit medium rare with just a shade over 3 minutes per side, or medium at just around 4 minutes. If you are going with a thicker cut, or something really thin, just plan you time accordingly. But remember this is very similar to grilling and will be much faster than you would normally expect something to cook in the oven. Use a pair of tongs for the flip, because we don’t want a meat fork piercing the steak and allowing all the delicious juice to run out.
We are also going to pull them just a little before they reach temperature. As the steak rests, carry-over cooking will occur in the center, bringing it up another 5-10 degrees. If you are tracking with a thermometer, remember not to just use the scale on thermometer for doneness, but to subtract that extra allowance for the carry-over.
So, when you think you’ve hit that final mark, go ahead and pull the pan, set it on a safe trivet, and loosely cover the top of the steaks with a piece of aluminum foil. You don’t want to wrap it tight – just lay it over the top and wait 5-10 minutes. Time the remainder of your service prep around that resting period – having everything ready to go so the steaks are going onto people’s plates just after they come out of the foil tent.
For a first time trying this, I would recommend making a simple side dish and salad. Do something you can prepare ahead of time so that you only focus will be getting a perfect cook on the steak. Once you have a little confidence, remember that you already have the oven running at a high temp, so broiling veggies on the same pan, or even starting a potato ahead of time on a lower rack allows you to run the entire meal in the oven, often without any extra cleanup after. It might be a much simpler process than running around preparing a Thanksgiving feast, but love you put into it and the effort shown might just really go a long way to make the holiday chef in your life feel a little more appreciated.
And please remember that if you fall in love with this technique, and leave your grill alone in the cold all winter, you better be ready to show it a little more attention in the spring. That should be perfect timing to take your new-found steak grilling skills outside. I know you can do it – I believe in you and so does your grill!
In
Each of our residents are free to enjoy a worry-free lifestyle, because we provide the necessities. Things like housekeeping, laundry services, group activities, and caregiver support* are all included in the monthly rent! Plus, we’re conveniently located on TriState Health’s campus. So come by and take a look around.
EGG NOG
Bundt Cake KITCHEN
SarA Raquet
INGREDIENTS || cake + icing
Cake:
1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1 cup eggnog
2 Tbsp bourbon or rum extract
2 tsp of vanilla
Icing:
2 cups powdered sugar
2 Tbsp egg nog
1 Tbsp bourbon or rum extract
1 tsp vanilla
STEPS
Prepare a 12-cup standard Bundt pan with non-stick baking spray. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Combine flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg in a bowl and set aside. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugar on medium until smooth and creamy, about 5 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. With the mixer on low, add one-third of the flour mixture then add one-half of the eggnog, and all the bourbon and vanilla. Add another one-third of the flour, then the remaining eggnog, and the remaining flour, mix well to combine between each addition. Transfer the batter to the prepared Bundt pan and smooth the top. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the pan comes out clean, 50 minutes to 1 hour. Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes. Turn the cake onto a wire rack and cool completely, for about 1 hour. For the icing: In a medium bowl, whisk together the powdered sugar, eggnog, bourbon, and vanilla until smooth. Spoon the icing over the cake and let stand until hardened, about 15 minutes.
SPICED pear turnover
kitchen ALYSSA LYMAN
INGREDIENTS || dough + filling + eggwash
Dough
1 cup salted butter, cubed and chilled
2 ½ cups flour + more for dusting
12-14 tsp ice water
Filling
6 cups cubed pears (about 10 small pears)
½ cup brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla
¼ tsp ground ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp corn starch
Egg Wash
2 eggs
1 Tbsp water
STEPS
Place the flour and the cubed butter in a chilled metal mixing bowl. Use a pastry cutter or two forks to incorporate the butter into the flour. After about three minutes the mixture should look like course sand. Start sprinkling in the ice water while mixing with a fork. You’ll know you have enough water when the dough stays together when pinched. Turn the mixture out onto a floured surface and bring it together into a disc shape. Wrap with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours. Peel, core, and cube about 10 ripe pears (or enough to make 6 cups). Place into large saucepan with the brown sugar, vanilla, spices, and corn starch. Stir to combine. Let cook on low heat for 20 to 30 minutes until the pears are soft. The brown sugar will caramelize and glaze the pears as the mixture cooks. Transfer the filling into a bowl to cool. Prepare the egg wash by whisking together the eggs and a tablespoon of water.
Roll the dough out on a floured surface to about ¼ inch thick. Use a cookie cutter, cup, lid, or whatever you can find in your kitchen to cut dough into 6 inch rounds. When all of your dough is cut into shape, fill each round with 2-3 tablespoons of the pear filling. Brush egg wash around the edge of the dough, and then fold the dough in half over the filling. Pleat the edges with a fork. Use a sharp knife to cut three small slits in the top of each turnover, and then brush the tops with egg wash. Place on a parchment lined baking sheet and bake at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown. Optionally, you can glaze the cooled turnovers with a mixture of ½ cup powdered sugar, 2 tablespoons of milk and a dash of cinnamon. Yields 14 turnovers.
Iced Gingerbread Oatmeal Cookies
INGREDIENTS || cake + icing
Cookies
3/4 cup salted butter, room temperature
3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 egg, room temperature
1/4 cup molasses
2 cups of all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups rolled oats
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
Icing
1/4 cup salted butter
1 Tbsp vegetable shortening
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 -2 Tbsp heavy cream as needed
STEPS
Preheat oven to 350°F
In a stand mixer or with an electric hand mixer, cream together the butter, brown sugar and granulated sugar until light in color and fluffy in texture about 4 minutes. Scrape the sides of the bowl and add in the egg and molasses. Mix until well combined. Add the flour, rolled oats, ground ginger, cinnamon, baking soda and salt. Mix until the dough forms. Scoop out about 2 tablespoons of dough. Roll the dough into a ball and press slightly down on a silicone or parchment paper lined cookie sheet. Bake at 350°F (180°C). For small cookies, bake for 8-10 minutes While the cookies are baking, make the icing. Make the icing by combining the butter and shortening until smooth. Add powdered sugar, vanilla and 1 tbsp of heavy whipping cream. You can always add more milk, if needed. The icing should be quite thick. Transfer the icing to a zip top bag with the corner clipped or piping bag. When the cookies come out of the oven, allow them to cool on the pan for 3-5 minutes. Transfer to wire rack. When cookies have cooled, zig zag the icing on top of the cookies. Allow icing to dry.
INGREDIENTS || cake + icing
1 cup salted butter room temperature
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
2 cups all purpose flour Melting chocolate of your choice
STEPS
Chocolate Dipped Shortbread Cookies Kitchen SARA RAQUET
In the bowl of a stand mixer, add butter, sugar, vanilla, and flour. Mix slowly until a crumbly dough forms. Form dough into a ball and roll in between parchment paper to 1/3-1/2-inch thick. Cut into small 3-inch circles (or any shape desired) and place onto prepared baking sheets. Bake 12-15 minutes or until the bottoms of the cookies are barely golden brown. Cool for 5 minutes on hot baking trays before transferring to cooling racks. Once cooled, melt chocolate and dip half the cookie in it. Place on parchment paper and sprinkle with crushed peppermint candies (or sprinkles of your choice).
SO SIMPLE
stuffed bell peppers KITCHEN
Heather Niccoli
Looking for a simple, healthy dinner option? Try these cauliflower rice + turkey or regular rice and beef stuffed peppers! Feel free to omit the cream cheese and have FUN with your seasonings. It’s time to show off just how tasty and simple peppers can be!
INGREDIENTS
6-8 whole bell peppers
3 Tbsp olive oil, divided
8 oz. lean ground beef or turkey
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 zucchini, diced
4 tomatoes, diced
1 10 oz bag cauliflower rice
1 pkg cream cheese
2 cups shredded pepper jack cheese
STEPS
Rinse peppers and cut the tops off, set aside. Scoop the seeds out carefully. In a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil over medium-high heat and add the beef or turkey and season with salt and pepper. Cook thoroughly, drain fat and place in a glass bowl. Heat another tablespoon of olive oil and add the onions, cook about five minutes. Add in the garlic, zucchini, tomatoes and season well with salt and pepper. Add in a bag of cauliflower rice and stir together until everything is well incorporated. Add the meat back in. Stir in one 8oz pkg. of cream cheese until melted, taste test for added seasonings. I recommend chili, garlic, and onion powder, or chipotle for a little zest. Place peppers upright in a 350 degree oven in a baking dish. Sprinkle the peppers with cheese. Pour a little bit of water in the bottom of the baking dish. Cover with foil and bake for 30-40 minutes. Remove foil, and bake until the peppers are soft- about 10 additional minutes.
Top with more cheese if desired!
CHRISTMAS CRANBERRY Cake
KITCHEN
INGREDIENTS || cake + icing
3 eggs, room temperature
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup butter, room temperature
2 tsp vanilla
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp orange zest
12 oz fresh cranberries
½ cup chopped nuts
Icing
1 cup confectioner’s sugar
1 medium orange, zested and juiced, divided
SarA Raquet
STEPS
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. With a mixer, beat the eggs with sugar until slightly thickened and light in color, about 5-7 minutes. The mixture should almost double in size. Add the butter, vanilla and orange zest; mix two more minutes. Stir in the flour until just combined. Add the cranberries and nuts then stir to mix throughout. Spread in a buttered 9-inch springform pan (you can also use a 9 x 13 pan). Bake for 50-55 minutes, or until very lightly browned and a toothpick inserted near the center of the cake comes out clean.
Icing: Place confectioner’s sugar into a bowl. Add 1 tablespoon orange juice and and 1/4 teaspoon orange zest. Whisk until smooth, adding more juice as necessary. Reserve remaining zest and juice for another use. Drizzle over cake and enjoy!
mexican christmas lasagna
kitchen
INGREDIENTS HEATHER NICCOLI
1 lb ground beef
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
15 oz can roasted tomatoes
15 oz can corn
15 oz can refried or black beans
½ cup red enchilada sauce
½ cup green enchilada sauce
7 oz can green chilies
4 oz can diced jalapeño peppers , drained 2.25 ounce can sliced black olives, drained (optional)
STEPS
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Cook beef, onion and garlic in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Drain fat. Stir in salt and pepper and add in tomatoes, corn, beans, sauce, chilies, jalapeños and olives. Stir in pan until well combined. Spread a tiny bit into the bottom of your 9 x 13 and layer with tortillas. Cover with more meat mixture and cheese. Repeat until you top with remaining mixture and cheese! Bake roughly 30 minutes and top with cilantro or whatever wish! If you are trying to eat low fat, substitute beef for shredded chicken and low fat plain yogurt for cheese. You can also totally omit the tortillas and just serve a few baked chips on the side! What makes this “Christmas” is using both the green and red sauces. Feel free to only use one or the other for different flavor combos.
Martha’sJournal
Diane Conroy BY
TThere is a little girl’s story of this Ranch that is truly delightful. Martha Lorang was one of the younger of ten children of John & Mary Lorang, Genesee pioneers. Martha wrote down her escapades as a young child on the Farm with all her brothers and sisters and cousins. I am going to let her tell her own story. Here is the beginning of it.
“FACTS
AND FUN OF THE EARLY JOHN LORANG FAMILY AND GENESEE, IDAHO RANCH
By Martha (Lorang) Johnson Compiled in the Spring of 1985
John Lorang and Mary A. Gesellchen married in Mount Calvary, Fond du Lac County, Wisconsin -- 11:00 a.m., February 19, 1884. Shortly after, they migrated to Colton, Washington, via train to Riparia, Washington, and up the Snake River by riverboat to Lewiston, Idaho, then up the steep Lewiston Hill by lumber wagon, to the Ranch northwest of Genesee, Idaho territory, (at the time) Nez Perce County – which they bought one year later.
Ten children were born to this union. All survived and grew up to maturity before either parent died. Peter, the first child, was born in Colton, Washington. The rest were all born on the Genesee, Idaho, farm except Charles, (the youngest) who was born at Gritman Hospital, Moscow, Idaho, because Mother was rather frail as she had milk leg when Viola was born. From the day Viola was born to the time of Mother’s death, Mother had to wrap her legs with bandages from the knee to around the ankle, to keep the swelling down so she could operate her legs and navigate. Sometimes, she had open sores on one ankle or the other.
The Ranch was called the “White Spring Ranch” because a man by the name of “White” owned it when Dad bought it. The word “Spring” was added later because of the two ever-running springs on the place. One of the springs was piped to the house and barn about 1910. Dad had never had any engineering experience, but it worked, and was supplying water. It also supplied water to the cement-basin fountain in front of the house. The fountain had a boy on the top holding an umbrella and the water trickled over the umbrella at all times.
Also, Dad said he paid $1.00 an acre when purchased and there were no fences and all animals from about the neighborhood roamed together and when Dad had to go to the mountains to get firewood, Mother generally was afraid and would not go out to milk the cow or cows – whatever they had – and Dad would be disturbed about that. Mother said that she would pick up wood chips that she could find about the place to burn for cooking.
The barn was built prior to my memory – but I know it was said that when the barn was built, there was a big barn dance to celebrate. Nor do I know when the workshop, chicken enclosure, or roost or pig pens were built, or the underground cellar, or smokehouse. We never had a garage and our first car, a 7-passenger Paige, was sometimes stored in the grainery. We, also about that time, had a Ford pickup with a short body that operated mostly by foot treadles. We had only mud roads – the Ford would go about 25 miles per hour – and in the spring and fall when we drove it, the wheels would get into the ruts and you couldn’t get out of them if you wanted to. Dad was a very poor driver and had many close calls with the Ford – mostly on the mile-run from our house. I remember one time he somehow did something and the Ford was in the ditch headed back home. He also almost went off the Lewiston Hill with the Ford. Charles was with him and Charles said, “Dad, look at the Eagle’s nest!” Dad looked when he shouldn’t have and started off the grade. Luckily, with much difficulty, they were able to finally get it jacked up and on the road again. Dad was an outdoor lover and of birds and animals.
West of the two Curio houses, Dad grew a willow grove. He had an area that was fenced in to keep a deer he got one time when he was in the woods – a young one. The game warden complained and Dad had to release it to the Manito Park Zoo and it soon died there.
Dad also had several coyotes fenced in the wired cage. The coyotes would rock the Neighborhood with their cries – usually when you gave the yell first. He also had odd ducks and tree squirrels in a roller cage and they kept the roller continually rolling. It was fun to watch.
Dad mounted many birds, which he had in the Curio House. They were given to the University of Idaho, Moscow, Idaho in 1953. They were given to keep as a private collection, but it seems they have been mixed with other birds.
In the willow grove, we had a long swing among the towering trees where we could swing to the heavens. Viola and I spent a great deal of our time – in the summertime – two on the swing, pumping each other, while we swung face-to-face.
Also, each year, Dad and hired men butchered a hog or two. They would make a boiling vat of water and dump the hog in there after killing it, of course, and then scrape them with scrapers they always had on hand. Then came time for hams, and sides of bacon for the smokehouse. They were first cured by putting into a brine of brown sugar and whatever, and hung in the smokehouse to be smoked and further cured. Mother also made a raw sausage, liver sausage, blood sausage, and head cheese. We kids had to help to prepare the guts for the sausage-
-fillings. We had two sticks made for that purpose. One would hold the sticks together and the other one would pull the gut through the sticks, which had an indentation in the middle where the gut would be pulled through. We kept that up until it was well cleaned. After that, they were turned inside out and put into saltwater to purify. After that they were then ready to be filled. We had a sausage filler with a funnel that the gut fit over and the meat was filled in the stomper. After the meat was filled in and you pushed the handle and the gut was filled, it hung in the smokehouse for further cure for delicious sausage.
We had apples, prunes, plums, pears, and cherries of every description. Apples were stored in the underground cellar and taken during the winter to Follett’s’ Store to buy clothes or whatever we needed. We also sold the produce individually.
Dad planted a walnut tree – but got no walnuts. We also grafted a peach on a plum (as I remember it) and it was a success and the graft bore peaches.
After Mother moved from the farm and Henry was renting and finally bought the farm he cut all the willow grove – each year –and also, the fruit trees for firewood. Henry planted grain, after the trees were removed.
We had a small potato patch for house-use west of the willow grove – I know because I had to pick potato bugs – by knocking them into buckets as we went along. We too, had an orderly vegetable garden spot back of the potato patch.”
To be continued next issue…if you would like to visit the Farmhouse where Martha was raised, just stop by Tues. or Sun. 1 pm to Sunset or anytime by appt. diana_conroy@hotmail.com
We are also having a Christmas Open House on Sunday, Dec. 15, beginning a 1 pm, where we will warm up the old Kitchen stove and serve goodies with music. You are welcome.
KEEPING THINGS SWEET THIS HOLIDAY SEASON
trent morgan BY
It is finally time to relax after the work of autumn. Done now is winterizing equipment, getting last-minute projects completed, prepping animal spaces for the cold, and tucking in perennials so they have a better chance to make it through the cold to come. All this is motivated by a strong driving force, nudged by turning leaves and nights threatening a frost. I love how changing seasons stir in us the hope of the next phase of life in this new season; reflection, rest, and giving. Having taken nature’s cues, we are all able to enjoy a sit by the fire to appreciate our hard work and the harvest as the snow now flies. We also may begin to make lists of garden or orchard preserves and delectables to pull from our bounty for sharing with friends and family in this season of giving. A solid part of my family’s seasonal gift exchange is sharing canned jams and jellies or dried fruit. Even better, and, if you are lucky, a freshly- smoked venison summer sausage or package of smoked salmon or steelhead. You likely have great homegrown giving traditions as well. As far as a single simple gift from the heart, my favorite is honey. I know I have friends wondering, Who will make the honey list this year? Sadly, my honey harvest was small for reasons worth pondering.
My wife and I are definitely givers, and come the holiday seasons we feel increased pressure to express our thanks to friends, family, and coworkers for how much they make our lives joyful. I know some struggle with that and may not have such positive family situations, and that is worth acknowledging, too. The season of giving is a time to put away the past and cherish the now and perhaps even look toward a better future. I think we can agree. This takes giving a part of you which can be exhausting if you are running on empty, but you can do it. There is, of course, no better way to do that than with giving gifts. It does take work to process and present these gifts and it is not always easy to do, considering all the pieces that must fall into place if you are giving from your harvest, which may not be as bountiful as usual. Many in our region experienced the effects of last season’s January cold snap robbing us of a plentiful harvest. It affected not just hobby farmers and orchardists but commercial operations as well. Sometimes, despite our best efforts as nature’s caretakers, she throws us a loop. Many of my friends had trees die back or had a loss of predicable crops as a late January deep freeze plunged temps drastically for several days. This is a vulnerable time for tree blossom buds as they are imperceptibly beginning to swell with a week or two of warmer winter weather, making them vulnerable to a re-deep freeze. When it became evident that I would only have one variety of apples this year, no apricots or peaches, and possibly only a handful of plums, my heart sank as I thought of how they all contribute to Christmas giving. I tried to tell myself there was nothing I could have done about it, but inside every hobby farmer carries some insecurity as we continue to tend barren trees all year long.
In October, I traveled to a family wedding in central Washington, which is stunning that time of year. Talk about harvest! Miles upon miles of orchards and vineyards of every variety, shape, flavor, and size, heavy laden with apples, pears, and grapes. I grew up here in these orchards and always touch base with a buddy from my youth when visiting. Over breakfast at a local diner, we commiserated about our hobby-farm crop. Chatting over eggs benedict, Brett told me this year his peach orchard failed. I saw the same surprised sorrow behind his intelligent, experienced eyes that I had been feeling.
In the Wenatchee area, the Bickford name and peaches are synonymous, so when he told me his orchard, which usually produces several tons of high quality Elberta and Redhaven peaches gave him a total of two boxes of fruit, I felt his pain. Sometimes nature just doesn’t allow us the gifts we are used to getting. Earlier this summer, I attended a conference called “Emptied.” The title seemed odd to me but struck a chord immediately when the key note speaker likened our ability to give to that that of a vessel, say a gardener’s watering can. Let us say the water that we use to refresh and give to our plants is symbolic of holding the essence of our ability to give to others. We tip the can and empty it at work, with family, or volunteering at the local food kitchen. We give gifts at Christmas or donate to our favorite charity; all good! All expected. Sometimes, it empties more quickly and we have to go fill it again, or sometimes we keep trying to squeeze more out when we have nothing left. Sure, we can go buy a bigger can—or two— or three, but they still need to be filled. More is expected so we empty it faster, but we don’t have time to fill it; see where I am going here? We cannot tend to our plants without filling the can. Do you ever feel like there is more expected of you than you can give; that you can’t keep the vessel full enough to meet the demands asking for your time and care? And now it is Christmas, and more is expected. It is a good time of year to ask what we are doing to fill our giving reservoir so that we may give from a place of abundance.
It is here that my mind wanders to thoughts of my honey bees and what they give. Perhaps there is nothing in nature that gives so great a gift for their efforts than this small insect. We don’t think much about what the bees must do to make it; that they have needs. We just expect the sweet result of their work. Most people don’t upend a honey bear and squeeze glistening golden delight thinking, This is nectar converted to simple sugars in a bee’s digestive system by complex enzymes as it is passed from one bee to another.
Or appreciate that in its lifetime, a single honey bee will live and work an average of thirty days, and by the end of her life, forage for and contribute about 1/12th of a teaspoon of honey. Or that A LOT has to go right for that to happen. We take it for granted, like maybe we take for granted that our joyful giving must come from a healthy, full place within us. Bees, like us, can’t give us their sweet bounty without staying healthy and having access to the nutrients and safety to thrive.
My bees had a rough year last year. It is true, fewer friends and family are receiving honey for Christmas this year, but as I give what I have this holiday season, I also have a better appreciation for the lessons they have taught me which I can apply to life. How my vigilance in tending to their health will not only keep me giving, but help them as well. I can see the hives now, down in the field with a skiff of frost on them, and I hope they are happily clustered around their healthy queens, surrounded by stores of honey which they have gathered and I have left for them in a safe, insulated hive. I did a lot this year to promote health in my hive colonies with the realization that I can’t ask them to give without giving them the support they need; it’s a rough world out there for our tiny bee friends, let me tell you. Like honey bees, demands on our giving are often when we are experiencing adversity, so here are a few positive ideas to “fill your vessel” so you can give your wonderful gifts out of abundance this season. They are each taken metaphorically from what I have done this year to help my gals succeed in producing their sweet treats. I want to give sweet things too, so I am not taking anything for granted!
First, give yourself enough space…. Just the right amount. Too much room in a hive and the colony cannot defend or regulate the temperature in their environment. Not enough, and they will feel cramped and want to make a new queen and split the colony. They need just enough room to allow the queen to make new workers and to store the preserves they need. You can also do this by keeping a balance between maintenance and growth. Being idle is bad, but being too busy might even be worse. Take stock frequently for this balance and add or eliminate space to gain a healthy giving balance. Given the right space, bees will make extra honey to share and so will you.
Protect the queen. A healthy queen is the key to a strong colony. If she has a good disposition and lays quality brood, the hive will be strong, produce lots of worker bees, lots of honey, and not want to sting you; their equivalency of being a grumpy giver! There are ways to see if a queen is healthy. The workers know if she is. Diseases in hives are carried by mites in the form of viruses and these must be eliminated for the queen and her ladies to live long, strong lives. In the past, I had not been aggressive enough in treating for mites and paid a price. Likewise, for us, we must actively inoculate from things that deprive us of positive energy or sow seeds of doubt and discouragement and the productive energy to give. You know what those things are. Keep out the robbers. Once they have tasted honey, there is nothing better freeloaders love! Predators will steal honey if they can. A huge battle I fight on behalf of my hives is against yellow jackets. By the tens of thousands! Yellow jackets are aggressive, enter the hive to steal honey and kill and devour bee larvae; the future of the colony! To stay healthy and full enough to give, you too must eliminate whatever takes your gifts without asking. This can be hard, but must be done. Besides setting traps for wasps, hornets, and yellow jackets, I place “excluders” on my hive entrances to restrict the robbers from entering. Do you need to exclude some things to protect your giving?
Feed your bees! Dearth is a word that describes a scarcity. For bees, this is no nectar or pollen to make food—thus, no honey and no new bees! We all have periods of dearth such as bees experience in the late summer but in our lives, so we must seek other sources of nutrition. For my bees, I place special sugar-water feeders inside the hive to get them through dearth strong and ready for winter. Are you finding ways to feed yourself and your hive? All of these will fill your vessel for abundant and happy giving.
I learned a new phrase in the beekeeping world that makes me proud to be a hobby apiarist. It makes my honey special. It is Single Source Honey. This means that any honey my bees make is from right here. I don’t move my hives around to find better sources of nectar or pollen or to avoid predators. I have to make sure their environment is safe and that it has what they need all year. Did you know that you are a single source being as well? The gifts, talents, treasures, and value you can give to others is coming from inside you and is precious because it is part of you alone. Give this year from what is uniquely you; your sweet essence and worth, but don’t neglect to protect the source. Take care and have a great holiday season.
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Christmas Blessings Gayle Anderson
by
If you could magically transport yourself backwards anywhere for Thanksgiving or Christmas, where would it be? For my early childhood self, that would have been at my Uncle Art & Aunty Lois’s house in Montana. Growing up, we lived all over Montana and a few places in the Dakotas. The transient lifestyle was because my bricklayer dad followed where jobs would lead and that meant moving, sometimes yearly. It also meant winter was a lean time due to no work, so we usually couldn’t travel back to see family. The handful of times we did was nothing short of pure magic. It meant the minute we would walk through the door of my aunt and uncle’s small tidy home, we’d be met with hugs, kisses and lots of laughter. Oh and of course, good ole comfort food. My Aunty Lois and Aunt Peggy were my cornerstone for what hardy good food looks like. I have since incorporated family favorites into our holiday meals. And speaking of comfort food, normally us kids didn’t get bedtime snacks, however when we stayed with Grandpa Bruno, he would feed us bananas and Oreo cookies. And now as an adult, if I want to indulge in a bedtime snack, well you can guess what I eat.
During those treasured times with extended family, it felt like we were living in a Norman Rockwell painting. Seriously. Those moments were the basis for forming sacred lovely holiday traditions when I became an adult. Even as a young child, I would notice how my mom looked relaxed and happy chatting away with her sister and sister-in-law. Giggles and all sorts of antics would erupt as they were preparing meals, washing dishes or playing cards. Even my dad seemed to quietly enjoy or maybe tolerate would be a more apt description of being with family. He was a loner, and the lively relatives seemed to overwhelm him. And while I adored spending time with the adults, what us kids really loved was playing with the cousins. From the time we got up to the time we went to bed, we were inseparable. A favorite memory was when Uncle Art took out his old blue Scout, hooked up sleds behind it and would drive us kids up and down the snow-covered road. Another favorite was going into town to ice skate. We would wrap our feet in newspaper in hopes that would stave off the frozen feet so we could skate just a little bit longer. Like my mom said, we made our own kind of fun and every moment was cherished. I can’t even explain the grief and tears that flowed when we were forced to leave to go home.
Fast forward and into my early adult years, by that time, my mom had remarried and my stepdad was an over the top wonderful father figure to us kids. He was a feisty Norwegian and brought the tradition of having Lutefisk on Christmas Eve. He ate it with gusto! It consisted of lefsa (sort of a flour looking tortilla), lutefisk and layered with mashed potatoes and there was sort of a white gravy over it all. I refused to try it; however, my brothers and husband were game and tried it once. After that no one would touch the stuff, and we lovingly dubbed it as a “Norwegian taco”. Thankfully Mom would make a big holiday meal with turkey and all the trimmings. While we were enjoying the foods normally enjoyed for a Christmas meal, our step-dad kept trying to convince us that we were missing the food that fueled the Vikings…and then there was some good natured trash talk about his food and ours.
Being newly married, it was then the learned adjustment on navigating the blending of family traditions. His side vs my side. You see, both my husband and I came from German families and the tradition of opening presents under the tree on Christmas Eve was how we all grew up. Christmas Eve as a young adult meant we gathered at my parents wherein my siblings and their spouses and any kiddos along with various and assorted relatives/friends would all gather to enjoy a big meal, open gifts, play games and bask in the beauty of close family. Then for the kiddos, Christmas morning there was an additional present from the big guy from the North Pole and the opening of the Christmas stockings. Christmas Day was more of a quiet day to relax and stay home. And living close to both sets of parents, both moms didn’t want to change their treasured Christmas Eve holiday traditions. Yep, a bit of a sticky wicket to try to navigate. When you are newly married, you want to try to appease the husband and in-laws, so we tried alternating the treasured Christmas Eve ritual. His parents were more formal, mine were not. So formal vs. crazy fun… well you get the picture. Mind you his parents were good solid people, it’s just that I enjoy crazy. And If truth be told, I was miserable when it wasn’t my parent’s year. And if truth be told, the husband enjoyed himself a whole lot more when it was my parents’ year. Then enter kiddos into the picture. By that time, we lived in a bigger home and could accommodate a lot of people, so out of desperation I announced that we would host a joint Christmas Eve wherein both sides of the families were welcome to join us. Luckily, both sets of parents were agreeable to that. Was it lots of extra work for me? Yep, but it was worth every minute of preparation. And it was fun. My brothers and their wives loved his siblings and their spouses, our parents got to be good friends, and life was good for many years. Was it mad chaos? Of course it was… but remember, I embrace crazy.
Then life has a habit of changing things up, my stepdad passed away and a year later a divorce (mine) changed holiday celebrations. And being a close-knit crew on my side, we tried doing new traditions, such as one year we did a progressive Christmas Eve dinner where the kiddos would open gifts at each house. Here is what it looked like: One family lived in Moscow, one family lived in the country outside of Moscow, and two families lived in Genesee. We factored in driving time between each place and how long we would stay at each home. We gathered at my youngest brother’s house in Moscow mid-morning for good strong coffee/hot cocoa and a continental breakfast, next we traveled to the country to my middle brother’s house for appetizers and drinks (never let a bachelor who doesn’t know how to cook do this solo) his version of hors d’ oeuvres was setting out an intact whole stock of broccoli and opened up a container of ranch dip... well after a lot of good-natured ribbing, we decided he needed a woman in his life and would make a point to ask Santa to procure a nice one for him. Next stop was Genesee for the salad/main entrée at my house, then followed by dessert at my oldest daughter’s house. It was a fun, full day that garnered lots of hilarious and beautiful memories. (side note… the bachelor brother took our advice and married a wonderful woman and we welcomed her and her two sons into the family).
And then several years later, a widower who I mostly refer to as my “sweet man Rod” entered my life and we opened our family to embrace his adult daughter and then high school aged son. To my delight, Rod had grown up with large family-filled gatherings and came from German heritage that celebrated Christmas Eve like we did. He and his kids were used to large boisterous gatherings. However, by the time he entered my life, Rod’s family-
2025 Subaru Outback
-gatherings ended up basically nonexistent due to deaths, ill health and siblings who opted to just celebrate with their immediate family. And then, enter me and my crew and Rod and kids truly embrace our ever-expanding crazy family. When I recently asked Rod what was special about Christmas now, his words were, “I love having everyone gather in this large, blended family.” Can we overwhelm a normal person? Yep. And for us, Christmas Eve means we will gather as many as can make it and celebrate the Reason for the Season with food and fellowship. And where does this gathering happen? Rod and I built a new heated barn and have now hosted all sorts of holidays as well as many family functions. This is where I break out the massive vintage Christmas décor that I have collected from scouring estate sales and thrift stores over many years. One year, we had a contest of how many Christmas trees could people count as I had big trees, small trees and lots of other tree decor. The count came in at 53! Seriously it takes me about 2 weeks of decorating, and I usually do a different theme each year. As I lug totes down the stairs from the loft, sometimes I question my sanity! Plus, I can’t help myself and I will gussy up my old “yard art” truck outdoors that welcomes people to our place. We get countless people driving by who stop and take pictures. And if I’m outside, they will stop and thank me for the seasonal displays. As people drive by, I believe the unexpected whimsy brings a smile to their face.
Christmas this year will be extra-extra special as my youngest daughter, her husband and their kiddos will be here for the first time since they were married. It would be fair to say I am beyond happy. And as we gather, everyone brings their favorite holiday side dish to share, because there are some foods that just make the holidays special. On a quick note, if holiday food preparations threatens to ovewhelm you… let me share a thought on what happened to me last Thanksgiving. Half of our family decided to fly into Corpus Christy, Texas, and rent a large house for the holiday. We had never done that before and I was stressing about logistics of how to do a full-on Thanksgiving meal 3 days before turkey day and mentally trying to map out where to find a fresh turkey at that late date in a foreign city. And as we were planning the food for the 18 or so people, I had mentioned this to my youngest daughter about how I was making myself crazy with how to pull off a large traditional meal. When she says, “Mom, let’s skip the traditional food. Instead let’s do a charcuterie spread, nibble throughout the day and for a meal, let’s make it simple and do pasta and seafood!” And it was like a light went off in my head… and thought how simple and perfect that is! We did that, it was absolutely one of the best, tastiest and most memorable way to have a relaxed day. And you know what? I’m going to do it again this year. And I hope this gives you permission or courage to step out of the traditional fare and try something different.
And in closing, here’s what I know for sure, as the holidays roll around, we all come to the table grateful for each other. For me, where we were once strangers, we have become family. If you ask any of us, we would tell you we are far from perfect, we sometimes squabble and get our tailfeathers in a knot… but in the end, we are a family united together by love.
“In the same way, though there are many of us, we are one body in Christ, and individually we belong to each other.” The Good News: Though made up of individuals, a family is one unit. Romains 12:5 As you celebrate Thanksgiving, let us all be filled with reasons to be grateful. And may you have a blessed Christmas as we celebrate the birth of our Savior.
A Reading for You
by Annie Gebel
The Wild Wood Tarot places all of its cards along the wheel of the year. Each season is represented in and by one of the minor arcana suits and several off the major arcana cards find themselves at home in the various energies of the different times of year as well. These winter months can be found in the suit of Stones, which has to do with the element of earth itself and the ideas of achievement, physical or material possessions, skills, and advancement. So, for this reading I separated out the Stones cards and the five major arcana cards connected to the winter months and chose the following three. Which of these speak to you?
xEight of Stones - Skill
It’s easy to receive the message in this world that we need to do more, multitask, learn something new. What if, though, the path to peace and abundance is less? The message of this card is to focus on mastery of one skill. If you chose this card, consider what you’re being asked to dedicate yourself to right now? And ask yourself what you’ll need to say no to, let go for now, or let someone else handle?
This winter, maybe you’re returning to something you love or finding passion for something new. Either way, though, let that something be your focus. Lean into what you need for that focus. Is it time to concentrate on you more than others? Do you want to turn that spare bedroom into your creative work space? Maybe it would be helpful to change your hours at work or hire a sitter on Saturday mornings or pick up take out once a week. You may not be able to do all the things you’d love to do to give you the time and space to really dig into improving your skills in this one area, but don’t decide that without even considering it. Let your imagination open doors to possibilities and take the time to energetically and physically DO THE THING, but not all the things.
18 The Moon on Water
This card is kind of the epitome of winter. It’s about inner transformation just like winter is about what’s happening under the surface. The leaf-bearing trees look dead, but they’re not. They’re preparing. Some animals hibernate, but they’re not gone - just sleeping until spring comes again.
bIn the imagery of this card there are many symbols. If you feel called, take the time to see which ones draw you in. Journal about them or google them if you’re unsure of what they might mean. If you’re feeling creative, make a playlist related to the symbology or create artwork inspired by it. Know that this time isn’t about your family or friends seeing the changes in you or grand gestures on your part to change your external world. You’re setting the stage by stirring your inner juices and beginning to feel into and acknowledge your inner transformation.
This recognition can bring up a lot of feelings. You may feel excitement, like yourself for the first time in a long time, and you may feel anxious or fearful about what this all means for your future. It’s all normal. I will be honest with you and say that sometimes internal changes do lead to external changes that mean you’ll leave friendships or change jobs, but not all the time. So, try to simply be with what comes up for you. Express it in your art, journaling, dance. Don’t deny your feelings. Look for and ask for symbols and messages to help you continue to navigate your life from the inside, from your intuitive self.
Knight of Stones - Horse
x
If you chose this card, you might be feeling like you need a kick in the pants to finish something. The Knight of Stones comes from a place of kindness and compassion, understanding and reliability. All that considered, though, this Horse really just wants you to get it done. See it through. Don’t give up now.
You might find that you need to dial into some particular aspect of whatever needs completion to get it there. Perhaps remembering the pride you felt in having the idea to begin with or thinking about how good it’ll feel to have the task off your plate. Maybe you simply just need to motivate yourself in some fashion for the final push. It might seem like a lot is being required of you. It might be absolutely true that you’re giving more than you thought you’d have to. You have it in you, though, to give, and it’s only for a short time longer. Go get it!
Knitting Relationships Heart by Heart
BY
Christine McGreevy
Ever since my mother taught me to knit when I was eight, I’ve been counting stitches. Since that first crooked, brown wool scarf this practice has grown into my haven, my home. So, as a grandmother in my sixties, it was only natural during the global lockdown in 2020 that I coped with it by copiously creating. During that long isolation, I constructed not one, not two, but ten tunic length cardigans. Each garment was a bright variation on the same design. About every six weeks, I finished a cozy, colorful sweater. As soon as they were blocked, folded, and tucked in as tenderly as a newborn, I would wrap them in special, gold, polka dot paper. Then I carefully placed this treasure on the front porch of one of my beloveds, someone I was longing to hug in person.
Stitch by stitch I found solace in a scary world. Purl by purl, I steadied myself. Yarn and needles carried the seasons. Casting on and casting off through spring and summer, weaving in a bazillion ends throughout fall and winter. All those yarn-overs and knit-two-togethers gave my anxious hands an important task. My mind found delight in this varying rainbow as well as fresh focus in the luxurious, tactile textures. Most important, my spirit was comforted by the reliable warmth growing on my lap each day. While I constructed these physical representations of the in-person companionship that we all were missing, I managed to completely wear off the polished finish on my size 10 wooden needle tips, twice. After ordering replacements, both times, I kept on making. During those quiet hours spent envisioning the recipient, I was literally weaving my love and gratitude into a yarn tapestry embrace. When none of us could travel anywhere in the bigger world, I journeyed back and forth, row by row, day after day.
While writing about how my dedicated discipline of making heart sweaters saved me during the intensity of a worldwide pandemic, I contemplate this ancient craft. To create, a knitter must also prepare: choose a pattern, gather the necessary tools and fluffy fiber. It’s essential to have clear intention, along with some skill and support-or, even better, both. Imagining the finished product, a tangible article of clothing that is unique, alive, and handmade helps muster the courage to cast on.
But here’s the thing, in the beginning, the project doesn’t look remotely wearable. It’s just one long, unimpressive row of squiggles. So, along with the excitement of starting something, you must grapple with how very far you are from the finish. Yet, if it is important, you dedicate yourself to the process, leaning in to engage for hours and hours that are sometimes quite lovely and at other times incredibly frustrating. Lengthy directions can be challenging, and you lose your place as the yarn gets tangled. Or you make a big mistake and must rip out precious progress and go backwards, sometimes ALL THE WAY BACK to the beginning. Or when trying it on, it doesn’t even fit. But you don’t stop if you want a sweater. You find a way to keep going.
When teaching my niece Grace these timeworn techniques, I told her,
“You’ll know for sure that you are a real knitter when you are willing to spend the time to unknit, go back to fix things… when you don’t give up after a mistake. You are a genuine artist when you are proud of the whole process, because it is a deliberate practice that requires faithfulness. Along the way we become more capable, step by step. But it’s not fast. It’s not easy. Skillful handiwork is not only about the TA-DA finished parts but ALL the parts: the work, the time, and your own steadfast commitment.”
Intentional, mindful practices shape the rich canvas of my whole life. When I am not knitting with yarn, I am knitting relationships. While our family leans toward meaningful connection as a daily habit, we also place extra focus on each other during one cherished tradition. Within an evening of simple handmade ceremony, we deliberately craft vital group dynamics. While skillful needlework produces beautiful apparel, as a group we generate an enveloping circle of kindness when we sit down on December 21st to stitch our lives together heart by heart.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, let me tell you about the beginnings of Solstice. In 1990 my husband Tim and I owned a small farm on the high desert outskirts of Boise, Idaho where we lived with our three young children. Out on that country road, we had a sweeping view of the foothills and savored watching the moon rise faithfully over the wide, expansive valley. I had been a kindergarten teacher, but by then I was quite content to be home with my lively companions, their pets, the large garden, and acreage we all tended. Tim’s work also took him on a daily commute into a downtown office, along with a busy travel schedule.
At that time, seven years into our marriage, our days were full to the brim while we juggled a myriad of goodness and challenges. In rare solitary moments, while I folded mountains of laundry or washed dishes, beneath all the boisterous commotion, I heard a deeper kind of river calling out to me. I was hungry for a Slow Way, where apart from all the busy-ness we could listen deeply and share our honest feelings.
Tim and I both had grown up in an era when narrating the-
-flowing waters beneath the surface was regarded as dangerous and best kept off limits. Yet, I was yearning to step beyond that cultural caution tape. So, I convinced my dear partner to move further into this unknown but beckoning territory. I wanted to live in a world where it was safe and normal that we (children and adults) speak the contents of our hearts out loud. And since this idea was daring and a bit risky, I boldly proclaimed,
“It’ll be OK. We will just start by sharing appreciation…after all, how could saying Thank You for loving me in these ways… hurt anybody?!”
I concocted a simple but deliberate ritual for the winter solstice. On the longest, darkest night of the year, I hoped sharing the things we carry inside but seldom get to put into words would help us embody light for each other.
We began in late afternoon by listening to soft music as we all decorated a plain, white candle with pieces of colorful wax. Setting aside our daily routines, sitting elbow to elbow, while focused on our own handmade designs was a relaxing reprieve. When we finished just as the sun set, the kiddos raced with delight from room to room, turning off all the lights in the house. Then we stood around the table holding hands, gently welcoming the darkness. After a few moments, I lit one tall, red taper. I emphasized that this candle represented the ancestors that came before us because they had literally made our lives possible. Both Tim and I said our parent’s full names, followed by our grandparents and great grandparents, as far back as we could remember. It was tender and powerful to invoke the people that had brought us into being.
Next, in that hushed kitchen, starting with the youngest, one by one we took turns to “show-and-tell” about our candles before lifting them up to that glowing, central flame. Out of the blackness sparked one flickering light after another, illuminating each face with an expansive, hopeful radiance.
As we ate our favorite lentil-sweet potato soup and homemade bread, I explained we would go around the table, speaking to one person at a time. The rest of us had only one job: to listen without interrupting. The prompt was:
“Please tell this person why you love them and give as many examples as you can.”
Tim and I modeled this by going first, talking to our youngest son, who was just three and a half. I can still remember Tim telling him:
“Mitchell John, you are Guy Smiley, always so happy and funny. You are such a good climber. I can’t believe how you can climb to the top of the hay pile and the back yard shed. That’s a big, tall building! You are strong and brave. I love how you ride on the tractor with me and how you build amazing forts with your brother, Martin. It makes me laugh how you always want to go barefoot, no matter how cold it is outside. It’s wonderful the way you share your toys. I love it most of all when you run up to give me a huge hug as soon as I walk in the door each night.”
Mitch was beaming as he listened. All three children loved giving and receiving the affirmations. Their capacity for sitting still during this was greater than we had expected. Even at their young ages, they were able to articulate what they loved most, at that moment, to each person.
Five-year-old, Martin was a natural introvert with a talkative older sister who acted as his frequent interpreter. So, he didn’t need to say much. But that night when he had the floor to share what he loved about his dad, between every sentence he paused, looked around and fully expected an interruption from his more vocal family. Instead, we all just waited.
“Dad, I love you because you wrestle with us, and you let us drive on the big tractor with you. (pause) I like it when you bring us presents after your long trips for work. My favorite was the jet airplane. (pause) I like building things with you… It’s fun when you irrigate the field, and the water fills up in the ditch so we can build our rafts… It’s the best when you make us breakfast with coffee cake on the weekend and that you get up early… I love the bread you make on Sunday… I like when you sing us songs and when you tuck us in at night. And I mostly love your Marvin of the Moon stories.”
I remember holding my breath listening to Martin while also watching my husband. Tim was in the early days of his career, working long, intense hours, six days a week. He stoically carried many weighty worries about being away from home so much, coupled with fears about if he was even worthy to make an impact in the world. Of course, he already knew that Martin loved him. But I could see while receiving this earnest outpouring from his quiet son, the warmth of this tender exchange was truly a tiny, winter miracle. For both.
Around that cozy table a palpable feeling of interwoven closeness grew as we could all feel that we mattered. The words we shared were not hard to find, we had been simply carrying them in our heart pockets, just beneath the surface of our days. It was a sweet relief to say them. Afterward a steady calm and contented appreciation filled our home as we tucked everyone into bed by candlelight.
The next day the little solsticers decided we would continue to relight our candles at dinner. They loved the ritual. There was such genuine beauty from that bright circle of five flickering flames on our supper in those days between winter and early spring. By Halloween, they began asking when we would make those candles again and if we could pleeeease have that night with all the lights off. The Solstice Circle was well on the way to becoming our favorite tradition.
The second year we recreated the same ceremonial evening. Our daughter and sons, knowing what to expect and being a little older, contributed even more to the interactions. We coached everyone to include recent events and experiences from the past months to talk about too. Again, it was a gentle delight to spend the beginning of winter in such a gratifying way.
Within a few short years the older three kiddos welcomed one more baby brother.
Soon after, we sold our small farm and moved to Northern Idaho, returning to the fertile, rolling hills of Tim’s childhood. December after December we repeated these candlelit evenings. In the same way I later steadied myself during scary times by knitting different versions of the same sweater, repetition helped Solstice become a trusted pattern. With this secure starting point every winter we could “cast on” with our candles and wax again. Then in the darkness, we gathered around our simple meal and began. From this familiar place, every season seemed to develop its own unique flavor as we made new discoveries.
At first, we honestly had no idea that this annual gathering would be “connection insurance” for our lives ahead. Then during high school and college, through tumultuous hormones and busy schedules our four offspring continued to arrange their social calendars during winter vacation around our tradition. There were naturally times of resistance, yet together we found solutions. On many occasions Tim and I made silent eye contact across the darkened room, trying to conceal our amazement while our teenagers continued to sit down and talk about their feelings. With goosebumps and gratitude, we kept going stitch by stitch.
As parents, revisiting our children’s glorious and celebratory moments was a delightful byproduct. We recalled their recent triumphs, reveled in accomplishments, courageous efforts, and challenges overcome. Also, possibly even more treasured, was spending time clarifying the relationship snags that had been problematic. The sessions became a valued opportunity to go back, unknit and repair tangled strands. We learned how to unravel confusion or difficulty with care. We took time to offer completion, healing, humility, support, or a sincere apology. As our daughter and sons grew, they too, developed skillful empathy and incorporated these abilities as well.
The privilege of hearing one another narrate vulnerable, unguarded places taught us that not only was Solstice something that we all looked forward to for the loving validation, but it also held a faithful reliability that we counted on as the most fundamental framework of our lives together. These years of tending to the winding, unwinding, and sorting of our overlapping threads have made our connections warm, comforting, and durable…like a substantial wool cloak that shelters and protects us all from life’s stormy elements and most bitter winds.
I have developed and shared hundreds of Starter Kits, containing all the necessary materials, with families and all ages, shapes and sizes, including groups of couples, roommates, and friends. Along with this bundle of encouragement and instruction they are then able to make their own variations, like knitters with a fresh new pattern in hand while choosing their own favorite skeins of yarn. After leaning into this tried-andtrue process, I repeatedly hear feedback like this:
“We are a loving home, but even so, I could see each face glowing as we shared compliments and gratitude with one another. Clearly these were words that needed to BE SPOKEN. This was a far more intimate and deeper love expression than we’ve had before.”
Since families live together, siblings spend so much time growing up beside each other, we assume that closeness happens automatically just by being related. But true connection doesn’t happen without effort any more than a sweater appears out of nowhere simply by imagining it. Close-knit, healthy family ties are made thoughtfully and with care. Grace learned to keep going in the hard parts when she wanted to be a real knitter. Related-ness is intentional too. We can’t just give up when we feel far from the finish if we want to be a real family.
At home, beside the people we love, if we feel separate, cut off, distant or alone, we suffer. We imagine: Surely this is my own failing, my fault. Then shame and fear hold us back from trying again. But I know for sure that it doesn’t have to be that way. Within a trustworthy, intentional structure like Solstice, we can find enough courage to reach out again. This accessible template provides a safe place to talk to each other, about each other, in front of each other…within an affirming, nurturing container of light.
While glorious garments are made with multicolored yarn, thriving relationships emerge when the essential filaments of our unseen, deeper layers are respectfully woven into vibrant belonging. For over thirty-three winters we have continued to fashion our family fabric. The young ones when we began are now adults with partners and homes of their own. Tim and I now stand in the ancestral line of grandparents. Witnessing our three granddaughters, their small hands so like their parent’s all those years ago, as they hold up their candles to the red ancestor flame brings soft, grateful tears to my eyes.
I have been blessed to live this bounty, this beauty, this commitment to mending and making. Now I with the white hair and wrinkles bestowed by many winters of abundant exploration and work, I look back over my shoulder with wisdom. I remember when we first began learning how to move into an uncharted heart country, saying: Thank you for… I love you because… I want to tell you… I’m sorry about…
There were no shortcuts in this deliberate process of self-reflection and sharing, we just kept returning on the Longest Night to practice. Though Tim and I were beginners, we still imagined that we were leading Solstice. But gradually it has become crystal clear: the tender, spoken aspects of clarity and goodness contributed by every single one of us carry the very same fundamental weight and importance. We were not a circle of parents and children, speaking from different layers of maturity instead, equal peers in brave communication…each of us a precious, essential voice necessary for nourishing the health of our relationships.
Now an even greater truth is emerging. While initially it seemed we created this circle, instead we know, it is the vast, powerful potential of this special pattern, place and practice called Solstice that simply, has been always been, Leading us.
I believe that now more than ever, Solstice longs to establish roots in hungry hearts and homes all over the world. I imagine candles on countless dinner tables and live my life in service to the potent power of this process. I hope you will join us and step into the circle this December.
Bodies fall on the field, some being assisted by fellow comrades-in-arms as the clash continues into the dark of night. The blast of a piece of artillery rings success in the frenzied battle amidst the screams and shouts heard across the immediate countryside. The skirmish is taking a toll on both sides. Fatigue is evident in the posture of the squad’s heroes at the front line and still, the tireless voice of the sports commentator remains spirited, amplified over the highly audible public address system of Martin Stadium as 30,000 crazed mortal souls are engaged in a Cougar home football game. Sports is the only brutal type of battle that exists today on our continent. I live in peace. In my life, Peace on Earth is a phrase on holiday greeting cards showing a starry night and shepherds standing near a manger. My childhood only had drills to prepare us for the possibility of acts of warfare, not the reality of one. As an adult, I know wars to be tragedies of other generations, other cultures, and that they repeat throughout history. I am embarrassed by my lack of understanding of these violent events and the precise circumstances leading up to them. It is a lame excuse but I had difficulty in school trying to grasp knowledge from lectures. The spoken word just floated around the room with all of the other sounds and noises. Reading was a sitting down activity that competed with my addiction to the outdoors. I have since identified as a visual-learner so as a grown-up I have found documentaries a tool I wish I’d had in school. I remain somewhat reading-challenged (that sitting in one place thing) so I’m a National Geographic/History Channel junkie. It is quick and easy to gain knowledge of our nation and our world with the endless access to information in today’s advanced tech world.
The term Peace Treaty brings images of Native American tribes facing hostility resulting from the European colonists encroaching on their lands as they expanded westward. In North America, hundreds of peace treaties have been signed and of course breached throughout recorded history.
Peace by: Jacqueline Cruver
If you go back far enough, you find written proof under the rubble, of the desire for peace dating back long before Benjamin Franklin’s time. Respect for the rights of all people was the basis for The Great Law of Peace of 1450, created by the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) Confederacy, one of the first organized democratic systems. (the Canadian Encyclopedia). This league of nations was made up of six Native American nations and said to have influenced our U.S. constitution of 1787. (nativeamericantoday.com). The purpose of the Constitution as I see it was to address distribution of power, protect individual liberties and unite the American people as a whole. With those protections in place, the obvious thing left to fight about was how much room everybody got. The land ownership tug of war was something that the tribes did not, could not understand. Body and spirit, they are a part of the land. No agreement changes that and without it, their freedom and peace was taken from them.
The Age of Enlightenment has a promising ring to it. Around the 17th and 18th centuries European philosophers colonizing the Americas dubbed an Age of Reason. The new understanding of the universe, science and intellectual advancements could certainly improve the human condition. The resulting doctrines created were hardly received unanimously. I envision something similar to the popularity of a hall monitor demanding, “You kids need to just get along!” It was the beginning of a long process bringing us from burning witches to the land of liberty, equality and individual rights, and finally resulted in the world’s strongest democracies that ultimately strive to keep our freedom and therefore peace. The United States has a peaceful history with Canada, the second largest country in the world. Through several treaties and revisions dating back to 1760, this 5,525 mile border is the longest international land boundary in the world. Several Peace Parks and monuments exist on this border to commemorate peace and goodwill between the two nations. The Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park is nearly 1,140,000 acres. The International Peace Garden on the border of Manitoba and North Dakota is 2300 acres. Road trips for next year!
Globally, in our present times, several hundred International agreements with the United States are drawn up annually. I am assuming they are the means to peace keeping with nations that have differently structured governments and interests, including some known as enemies of freedom. The world sustains a civilization of great diversity in its peoples and their complex societal development. We are not the same, yet not unlike in our humanness. Although not politically correct, Peace and goodwill toward men, resonates a broad sentiment for freedom for the people of the entire world. I will not summarize the entire past 35 centuries of peace and war throughout civilization here, however my curiosity did lead me to biblical references and the Prince of Peace. “Peace be with you”. . . . “And also with you”. The gentle and kind greeting exchanged at each service during the years I attended the Episcopal church but let’s go back. In Anglican teachings it was meant to be more than a greeting, but a profound prayer and blessing of well-being. The word peace comes from the Latin word pax or pac, the origin of the word pacifism. It means amity, tranquility, harmony and the absence of war. The word Shalom is the word with a similar meaning in Hebrew which is older and the language of Israel. The United States has the second largest population of Hebrew speakers in the world, according to several sources across the web. In his book, “Hebrew Word Pictures” Dr. Frank T. Seekins states that the language spoken by Jesus would have been Aramaic. As he translates the symbols of the Hebrew word ‘shalom’, it means to be whole, sound, or safe. History suggests the greeting was perhaps put into use due to the tensions of a volatile and dangerous time of competing fragmented segments of the population. The puzzle piece… “ragmented”. The pattern that continues to repeat.
“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace”.
(Jimi Hendrix, paraphrasing Mahatma Gandhi’s belief in the transformative power of love and nonviolence)
I am not sure when the “V” sign, made with two fingers palm out, was adopted to express this universal word, peace. However, the peace sign known as the hippie symbol, the divided circle I drew on my bell bottom jeans with an ink pen, has an important origin. I am embarrassed to admit I did not know what it actually stood for. I just thought we were dancing around with flowers in our hair not wanting to support war. How could I have been so uninterested and uninformed? It was the international symbol of peace because it represented the anti-nuclear-weapons movement. In 1958 British peace activist and graphic artist Gerald Holton designed it for a protest march for the British Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) and it quickly became the symbol for the anti-nuclear weapons movement. Here I am discovering an important fact of those times half a century later.
The song, Turn, Turn, Turn, was written by Pete Seeger and released in the early sixties as the United States and the Soviet Union began aiming nuclear missiles at each other. The lyrics, “A time of love, a time of hate. A time of war, a time of peace ” was taken almost directly from the book of Ecclesiastes in the King James Version of the Bible. By the time it became a popular song, the arms race was increasing rapidly and so were the protest songs of the era. Reflecting the natural ebb and flow of ideas and perspectives of a changing world, music, as always, provided a commentary on the times. It voiced opinions much like journalists putting their spin on the story. I hear history repeating itself when I listen closely to lyrics of those cherished oldies I occasionally spin on the turntable. Baez, Dylan, Donovan, CSNY, all delivered messages that remain poignant. Vinyl is making a comeback! As fashions become retro, I probably won’t squeeze into my bell bottom jeans, but I will be wearing my peace symbol earrings again, aware of the same crucial message it carries today.
The history of civilization verifies that armed conflicts are not a new pattern. War is a familiar result of power struggles and striving to achieve peace is a painful and prolonged process but I am putting you to sleep with my rambling chatter, just like Mrs. Hyatt did in my world history class. It needs to be told like a story, with a leading man and beautiful woman woven into it somewhere. Maybe a stage performance like the Broadway musicals Hamilton or Evita. Pretty great learning tools. If someone tells me about things they experienced in the first person I am as focused as a toddler at storytime. Like what I learned when I was invited to help with the installation of an art exhibit that was traveling the states this past fall. The Swedish artist Ludmila Pawlowska and her husband Jan (pronounced yawn) Lech brought the impressive collection of her contemporary pieces, titled Icons in Transformation. Volunteers were needed and the experience sounded interesting. This unexpected opportunity allowed me to meet someone from another place on the globe and learn about their family history that was nothing like mine. I was fascinated. I took every opportunity to visit with them, straining at times to understand the challenge of our differing languages. One sunny Saturday I whisked her and her husband off for a drive to take a break from the endless tasks of setting up the exhibit. I showed them the view from above the L.C. Valley then dropped down and continued back to Pullman along the river. They were stunned by the uniqueness and at ease out in the peace of the wild places. Stopping briefly, we wandered along the shore naming familiar native plants and enjoying the geology of the river canyon. Our common love of the natural world spoke louder than any of our differences. The stories of Ludmila’s life before she married and moved to-
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-Sweden burst open the doors to an awareness of the oppression of her government and her heartfelt ties to Ukraine. Ludmilla, also known as Mila (pronounced Me-la) was born in exile in Kazakhstan and unable to leave Russia until later in life. Peace was not in her background. Her family had been forcibly separated and scattered during the Stalin era. Her grandfather was deported to Siberia and uncles were sent to homes for children of state enemies. Troublemakers like teachers, artists, intellectuals were exiled to gulags far away from the country’s center of power. Even as the death of Stalin allowed a new leader, people were still not free to leave. I have no comprehension of this kind of oppression. Here in the U.S we only know through viewing journalists’ shocking images, of people who are praying for peace each moment of their day, in more than one country across the globe. The sound of conflict remains their reality. Peace does not exist in the minds of those who are not free. I developed a profound awareness of my freedom and the sound of peace through this chance acquaintance and as the theme of Mila’s haunting work suggested, I sensed a transformation. That would greatly please her.
“Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding.”
Albert Einstein
Please, take notice of the many holidays in the approaching months shining light on peace, and the avenues of unity, hope, and freedom that allow it to be achieved. Seeing all of the languages represented on the welcome sign that greets me as I enter the west entrance to the city of Pullman, it is obvious that I know little about my neighbors and their many cultures. I need to meet more people who share our world. I can better understand the challenges to peace in our comparatively young nation by learning from other peoples stories and ancestry. It is imperative.
~American Indian Heritage month starts on the first of November. There are roots of our own democracy in the organization of these nations. I have found colorful performances and captivating educational opportunities in the area during this time. My all-time favorite remains a chance to feel the drum ceremonies when offered. Explore, discover, connect and change your perspective with newly found insights.
~Veteran’s Day is the 11th. If the word is peace, this is the day to say thank you to those who served. The names and faces of those dedicated to freedom and liberty are sometimes overlooked as the years of their service somehow slip from our attention. Some of us did not have family members that made the sacrifices that these heroes of hope were willing to make. I became deeply reflective at seeing names of so many multinational soldiers inscribed on parts of a traveling war memorial. I felt equally overwhelmed attending a simple luncheon at the senior center as recognition was given to veteran elders of the community who had demonstrated the depth of the love they had for their country.
~Thanksgiving is November 28th. Some would say this is not a day that reflects on peace or unity if historical details are challenged. As a child I learned about a feast to celebrate cooperation and-
-and brotherhood. The older I get though, the more I realize how many things I once believed are only make-believe. Look at the concept of the perfect man for instance. My point being I just find it fun to believe in fantasies so I like those pilgrim hats and indigenous natives bringing big platters of corn to the table and how everyone can make a nice turkey place card from tracing their hand! Pass the gravy please.
~Human Rights Day December 10th, will bring my awareness back to important issues that I have let slip out of my focus in that entitled reality I mentioned before. I would hope that in the collection of college environs there will be some events planned that will offer a selection of speakers and that I will be able to grasp a message that helps me to become that better version of myself. I cannot grow while hiding in my shell.
~The birthday of the Prince of Peace is the 25th. Each year I reflect on the many different ways this holiday is celebrated around the world.
~Hanukkah the 25th to January 2. A Jewish festival that means “dedication” and honors their success at regaining their religious freedom.
~Kwanzaa is December 26th to January 1. The origin of this holiday comes from a cry for peace. It was created following the Watts riots in 1966 to draw attention to freedom and human rights in our own nation and reconnect the African-American and pan-African community, culture and family. Rituals, dancing, singing, drumming, feasting and dialog are shared to celebrate values of unity, responsibility, purpose, creativity and faith. (taken from an AI overview of ten reputable sites).
There is another one that I have left out, and will expand on it now. It has no given calendar date that I can determine so can be held on Thanksgiving or sometime near. It floats around in November, loose and flexible which suits me quite well. It was tossed around social media for a dozen years before making it into the Merriam Webster dictionary pages and a movie title. Friendsgiving. To me, it has been a day of love-giving and a welcome celebration of unity among supportive friends, particularly when immediate family could not make themselves available. Sometimes it is the necessary substitute for the traditional family Thanksgiving dinner that needs to be put off a year because of misunderstandings, hot tempers or the possible potential for conflicts under one roof instead of peace. I have attended Friendsgiving dinners before Thanksgiving and after and have even accepted multiple invitations. I have hosted a group of eight, seated at a table meant for four. I once arrived at a friend’s house thinking it would be just our two families and found four more couples and their children seated at tables that filled every square foot of their living room with chaos and connection. I also recall my very first Friendsgiving, sharing a beer and a frozen turkey tv dinner cooked on a wood stove with an unexpected guest on a cold and snowy night. These were all under the title of Friendsgiving because the focus was on the love shared with those who are not our family. The bond is not biased, biological or based on obligations. Some of us are fortunate to have friends that have become so dear to us, that calling them family does not describe the depth to which we cherish them. Those meaningful relationships deserve a celebration of feasting and-
-recognition because they are the basis of our peace of mind.
Holidays interrupt our routines and provide structure and fiber to the hum of sameness. Having a reason to stop and reflect on things is important in these days of constant screen time and the high pressure to keep up. Our conscience is a voice that directs us toward right actions and we can’t hear it when we become disconnected from ourselves, overwhelmed by the static around us. Look away from the screens, look at someone’s face. The ones you gain insight and comfort from are the ones who sustain you. Nurture those connections so they will be allowed to grow. Then, you will be allowed to grow.
“We plant seeds that will flower as results in our lives, so best to remove the weeds of anger, avarice, envy and doubt, that peace and abundance may manifest for all.” -Dorothy Day
A sense of peace. Sights and sounds like dawn on a lake as the fog slowly lifts, timid little lapping waves, and the evening’s red-tinted alpenglow on snow-clad mountain peaks. My images of tranquility. I only have to stop and remember that in my extraordinary life I have the freedom to go through the kitchen, pick up my car keys and drive to a place of solitude. I will celebrate this fortunate existence with each road trip, bicycle ride, forest hike and snowshoe trek that I embark on. Maybe I’ll grab the hand of a friend and take them along to share the treasure. I know that I will look long at the greeting cards with the familiar sentiment of Peace on Earth, pausing long enough to envision the freedom and peace I know, being the reality for everyone everywhere on earth.
“World peace must develop from inner peace. Peace is not just mere absence of violence. Peace is, I think, the manifestation of human compassion. -The Dalai Lama
Peace out.
Temple Kinyon BY
Episode 26
Why Not?
“Otis, if you don’t settle down, I’m calling your mother,” Reverend Anderson barked.
“Yes, sir,” Otis mumbled.
Clark nudged Otis in the back, and the two started to giggle.
“I mean it, Otis,” Reverend said. “And you, too, Clark. This isn’t playtime. We only have one more practice tomorrow before our big show on Sunday, and you two clowning around is distracting to all of us.”
Otis nodded to appear to have agreed, but as soon as the Reverend turned his back to discuss something with Mrs. Himmel on the piano, Otis rolled his eyes and sent the rest of the kids into stifled snickers.
The Reverend whirled around. “People, please. Mr. Swan, since you seem to love the limelight so much, let’s hear your solo again.”
“Oh, man,” Otis said under his breath. He trudged to the standing microphone in the center of the semi-circle of kids and props making up the Nativity manger. He looked at Mrs. Himmel for his cue. She played the opening notes, and he began to sing. “Siiiilent night. Hooooly niiiight, all *crack*.” His voice faltered in a squeaky clunker, sending the kids into another round of giggles. Inside, he burned with embarrassment, but to save face, he turned to the group, flashed a toothy smile, and gave a thumbs up.
“AGAIN!” Reverend Anderson shouted.
After two more false starts, Otis stumbled through the song and then returned to his position among the other kids. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat of humiliation; he’d lost his ability to belt out a song.
“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow night for our dress rehearsal,” Reverend said. “Arrive early so you can get into your costumes. If anyone even thinks of goofing off tomorrow night, your parents will receive a phone call. Remember, Santa doesn’t visit naughty kids.” He looked at Otis, who smiled innocently. This time, it was the Reverend who rolled his eyes.
The kids filed out of the church to the parking lot. Otis scanned to see if his mom had arrived, but he didn’t see her car. Several of his friends congregated around him.
“Otis, you need to quit screwing around at practice,” Carla said. “You think you’re so funny, but all you’re doing is keeping the rest of us from practicing our parts.”
“Yeah, come on, Otis,” Benny Hudson, a seventh grader, added. “I think you’re funny, but you gotta knock it off during practice. I don’t want to mess up my lines, either. I’ve never played Gabrielle the Angel before. We cool?”
“We’re cool,” Otis replied. He liked Benny and felt bad he’d messed up everyone’s practice. If he could just get his singing voice to cooperate.
Mavis arrived, and he got into the car. As they drove out of the parking lot, she said, “I know you’ve been messing around during rehearsals, and it had better stop immediately. Got it?”
“Yes, Mom,” he mumbled. He knew he was being disrespectful by not taking things seriously. But he never asked to play the shepherd in the annual Nativity at church. Apparently, Reverend Anderson and Mrs. Himmel thought he had a good singing voice, which he used to have. Grandma Helen called him the Velvet Voice.
As shepherd, it was his part to finish out the story of the Nativity by singing Silent Night. Normally, he wouldn’t mind having the spotlight and liked to sing. But when his voice recently started to break and crack any time he tried, he’d lost his confidence. The kids had laughed at him, so he made the whole thing into a joke. He’d prayed and prayed for his normal voice to return, but it hadn’t, it just got worse. Of all times, Christmas seemed to be the time for miracles, especially one asking for his voice to shape up for the Nativity. But his belief in Christmas had started to waver, just like his voice.
Later that night, he and Doris lay positioned on their backs underneath the Christmas tree, staring up through the branches laden with strings of lights, ornaments, and tinsel. Every year, since Otis was five years old, he and his sister made a date to sneak downstairs at least one night before Christmas to enjoy the quietness of a sleeping house and the beauty of a lit Christmas tree. “Doris,” Otis said after they’d laid in silence a while, “I have a question.”
“Okay, shoot,” she answered.
“I’m having a hard time believing in Christmas. The story of Jesus’s birth seems pretty far-fetched. And then there’s the whole Santa thing.”
Doris thought for a moment before answering. “Well, why do you feel that way?”
“I’ve been praying for something harder than I’ve ever prayed for anything, and it has everything to do with Christmas. I’ve gotten no answer. Zip. Zero. And then the kids at church were talking about what they believed before practice tonight. Most believe in the story about the birth of Jesus. But only some believe in Santa, like Fertis. Some don’t.”
Doris selected her words carefully. “I don’t think you should ever question whether the birth story of Jesus is real or not. It is. And I think Fertis and some of the other kids still believing in Santa is definitely a good idea. Why not, Otis? You have nothing to lose by believing in Christmas but potentially something to lose by not believing.”
“Okay, fine, I understand believing in the church side of things,” Otis said. “But do you still believe in Santa?” Otis turned his head toward his sister. Her facial expression would tell him more than her words.
She turned her head toward Otis. The lights cast blobs of color all over his face. She smiled, “Of course, Otis. Everything Santa stands for, I believe in. Giving without expecting anything in return. Being nice. Uniting the world. Time travel. Magic.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Otis said. “But I’m more skeptical about whether the actual man himself is real. And how do Jesus and Santa tie in together?”
“Santa is a saint … you know, St. Nicholas? That’s how he ties into the religious side of things,” Doris said. “I get it’s hard to believe because we never get to actually see Santa. But we don’t see Jesus, either. It boils down to faith. I’m not interested in seeing what would happen if I didn’t believe in either one. I’ll always believe even if it’s just about the gift Santa leaves us on Christmas Eve. We’re talking about the big one. The best one. The Santa present is always the one we really want. It’s never the stuff we need.”
“The need ones always come from Mom and Dad,” Otis said with a sigh. “I told Mom I needed new socks and underwear two months ago just so I didn’t get them for Christmas.”
“Smart,” Doris said. “I’m going to do that next year.”
“But I still don’t get it,” Otis pressed. “We do see Santa. He’s all-
-the place. Who really believes that he is at every mall, every fire station, every grange party?”
“Duh, Otis. It’s not Santa at all those places,” Doris said. She knew if she blew this, it could destroy Otis’s belief in Santa. She had to choose her words wisely. “Those Santas are people who still believe in Santa and have taken an oath to carry out his work all over the world while the real Santa is at the North Pole getting prepped for Christmas.”
“So, when Mr. Hash dresses up like Santa at the fire station, he promised to act like Santa because he still believes in Santa?”
“That’s how it was explained to me,” Doris said. “But the real Santa visits a few places to keep an eye on stuff, so you have to treat any Santa with respect because it just might be the real one.”
“I’ve never heard the oath thing,” Otis said and thought a moment. “Sometimes I think Santa is just a way for parents to threaten their kids if they’re naughty. Speaking of ... Mom insisted on taking me and Fertis to the big mall tomorrow to see Santa.”
“Well, Mom still believes and wants you to believe, so you better buckle up and go,” Doris said. “Just don’t make a big scene. It’s too close to Christmas to get into trouble.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Otis replied.
Otis and Fertis stood in the long line that snaked its way up a red carpet to an ornate stage area. Red velvet curtains hung from the ceiling, creating a semi-circle around a wonderland of Christmas trees, fake snow, and presents. A dozen elves scurried around Santa, who sat on an ornate glittery-gold chair. He wore a red velvet suit trimmed in lush, fluffy wool, black boots with gold buckles, and a matching hat. Black leather gloves and wire-framed spectacles that sat down at the end of his nose rounded out his ensemble. The elves escorted the kids to Santa and gave them the option to sit on his lap or stand to discuss their naughty/nice status and what they wanted for Christmas. Some kids cried, and some eagerly chatted up the Big Guy.
“I talked with Doris about believing in Christmas,” Otis said to Fertis as they slowly inched closer to Santa. “She said people take an oath to fill in for Santa at malls and stuff when he can’t be there himself.”
“An oath?” Fertis questioned. “I’ve never heard that one before, but if Doris told you, then it’s true. She never lies to you.”
“I guess the real Santa is around sometimes, but no one knows where, so we should treat all Santas as if they’re him.”
“I can definitely do that,” Fertis said. “Why risk it?”
Finally, the boys reached the front of the line, and Fertis marched up to Santa first. He assured Santa that he’d been nice all year and whispered in his ear that he’d like to receive a new .22 rifle or the Star Wars Death Star Space Station.
The two boys had agreed they wouldn’t tell a soul about what they would ask this particular Santa to bring them. If they received something they’d asked him for, that would seal the deal on their belief in Santa.
Fertis finished his chat with Santa, and an elf handed him a candy cane. He walked off to the side to wait for Otis.
Otis bounded up to Santa. “Hello, Mr. Claus.” He stuck out his hand for a shake.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa replied. “Such a gentleman.” He shook Otis’s hand and smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “You can just call me Santa. So, what would you like me to bring you this year?”
Otis leaned in and whispered in Santa’s ear, “I’d like a Winchester XTR .22 or a Millennium Falcon so I can play Star Wars with my friend.” He pointed to Fertis.
“Ahhh, the buddy system,” Santa said and nodded in approval.
“Have you been nice all year?”
“Santa, it’s me, Otis Barnabus Swan. It’s all a gray area for me, remember? I’d say I’ve mostly been nice . . . up to this point.”
“Why do you say up to this point?” Santa inquired.
Quick as a jackrabbit on a date, Otis reached up and yanked Santa’s flowing snow-white beard. Hard.
Santa’s beard and mustache pulled away from his jolly red cheeks, flew into the air, and landed on the floor next to his boots with an unceremonious flop. Santa’s eyes bulged in shock, and he quickly scrambled to pick up the beard and put it back on his face. Several children screamed and cried at the sight of their December hero losing his facial hair. Mothers shrieked in disbelief and hurried to cover the eyes of their darling true believers.
As if out of nowhere, Mavis skidded onto the stage and immediately grabbed Otis by the arm in one of her famous I-can’t-believemy-mom-is-actually-this-strong holds. “What in the Sam Hill were you thinking pulling off Santa’s beard?!” she hissed at Otis. Then she gushed out a sincere, “I’m so sorry, Santa. I’m shocked at Otis’s behavior.”
“As am I, Mrs. Swan,” a stern-faced Santa replied. “Otis has just put himself on the naughty list and is in jeopardy of having my visit on Christmas Eve canceled.”
“Oh, I can guarantee he’ll shape up and be on his best behavior,” Mavis said. She gave Santa a gracious smile and then hauled Otis off the stage and away from the melee that was gaining momentum.
“You scarred my child for life!” “That boy needs to learn manners!”
“You’ve ruined Christmas!”
She ushered Otis to a bench along the wall and firmly sat him down. Fertis quietly followed and stood by the bench, lips sealed. Suddenly, two men dressed in navy suits strode up to the trio. One of them said, “Ma’am, we’re mall security, and we’re going to have to ask you to leave. As you can see, we’ve got a lot of upset kids and moms, so it’s probably best for everyone.”
Mavis looked them in the eyes. “Let me get to the bottom of this, and then I will be happy to leave.”
She bent down to be eye-to-eye with Otis, anger pumping through her. “Explain yourself, mister!”
“I just wanted to prove if this Santa was the real one or a fake,” Otis stated. “In Miracle on 34th Street, Susan pulled on the store Santa’s beard to prove if he was real or not, so I thought I’d try it.”
“Oh, Otis, for heaven’s sake!” She straightened up and closed her eyes for a long moment. She opened them and asked Otis more calmly, “So, you don’t believe in Santa anymore?”
“I don’t know what to believe, Mom,” Otis answered. Mavis sighed. After a moment or two, she offered her hand to Otis. He took it and squeezed. She squeezed back. She reached over for Fertis’s hand, too. She wearily said, “Come on, fellas, we’re not wanted here anymore.” She glared at the two security guards. “Let’s go get a burger and banana split at Roger’s for lunch.” They started out of the mall. “And for the record, Otis, you’re still in trouble. I’m just not sure how much.”
Otis, Mavis, and Fertis ate lunch and dessert, saying nothing about the mall incident. Otis thought he’d dodged a bullet. But when they started driving home, Mavis started in.
“I cannot believe you, Otis! I’m so upset with you. What has-
-gotten into you?!” She continued her verbal lashing at Otis for the entire thirty-minute car ride back home.
She’d whipped herself into an absolute frenzy by the time they arrived at Fertis’s house. She escorted him to the door and explained to his mother what had happened. “This wasn’t Fertis’s fault, but I wanted you to know in case there’s any parental backlash. It was at the Southway Mall, so different town, but you know how drama spreads.”
She then tore to Ed and Helen’s house. “I can’t deal with you right now, Otis. Your behavior over the last week is astounding. First the rehearsals at church, and now this?! Maybe your grandma can talk some sense into you.”
She careened the car into the driveway, slammed it in park, got out, and stomped to the back door. Otis followed. She rapped on the door, and Helen answered.
“Well, what a ni …,” she started.
“Helen,” Mavis interrupted, “Otis is going to explain to you what he just did at the mall and how he’s been screwing around at Nativity practice at church. I need to go home and cool off.”
“Of course, dear,” Helen replied gently, no questions asked. She wasn’t new to Otis’s shenanigans and understood why her daughter-in-law sometimes needed to regroup. She opened the door wider so Otis could enter and then watched Mavis scurry back to her car and roar out of the driveway.
“I’m finishing a third batch of Christmas caramels,” Helen said as she and Otis walked into the kitchen. “Pull up a stool and sit with me while I stir. Sounds like you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Otis pulled over a bar stool, sat, and fessed up to everything. Finally, he asked, “Do you believe in Santa, Grandma?”
Helen stared thoughtfully at the candy cooking in the pot and smiled. She then looked at Otis. “Yes, I believe in Santa and Baby Jesus in the manger and everything Christmas.”
“Why?”
“Oh, Otis, because it’s Christmas! It represents more than just presents, although that’s a big part of who Santa is. He’s a giver without wanting anything in return. But the real gifts aren’t wrapped in paper. Santa helps to keep a holy holiday magical and filled with faith about why we celebrate in the first place.”
“But is Santa real? Is he a breathing human?”
“St. Nicholas was real, but he’s been dead for over 1600 years, so no, he’s not breathing,” Helen said. “Look him up in your encyclopedia. The miracles he performed made people think about giving of oneself without expecting anything in return. There may not be a real Santa at the North Pole, but why does he have to be alive when the lessons are timeless? Otis, when you goofed off at practice and then took that beard off the Santa today, you were thinking only of yourself. You forced a lot of parents into having to explain the whole thing to their little kids.”
“Explain what, though?” Otis asked. “He was a fake Santa.”
“But those kids believed he was real,” Grandma Helen pointed out. “You used to believe without question, just like them. You didn’t think for a second that there was a fake Santa. You potentially stole that magical time from those kids today.”
Otis looked at his grandma, not knowing what to say.
She looked back and shrugged. “Why not believe in all of it, Otis? You’ve got nothing to lose if you do and so much to gain.”
On the day of the pageant, Otis’s tummy rumbled and rolled with-
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worry. He stood crammed in the back room behind the altar, waiting to go on with all the other kids—the kids who had taken their parts seriously and were ready. He berated himself for not taking practice more seriously. Dress rehearsal the night before had gone off without a hitch … except for his solo. He’d hit tons of clunker notes, and his voice kept breaking and cracking. No one was laughing with him anymore.
The time to go on came, and the group filed out in front of the congregation. It was standing room only for the annual event, and Otis immediately began to sweat under his shepherd’s costume. He watched each kid nail their lines perfectly, acting out the Nativity. And then it was his turn. He heard his cue and walked up to the microphone. He said a quick prayer in his head, cleared his throat, and waited for Mrs. Himmel to play the into. “Siiilent night, ho… *crack*.” His voice faltered, and he heard a few chuckles from the audience. He panicked, not wanting to ruin anyone’s Nativity like he’d ruined Santa for those kids at the mall.
Mrs. Himmel played the into again. “Siiiilent ni … *squeak*.”
A few more chuckles filtered through the church. He cleared his throat once more, sweat dripping down his back. But then he caught sight of Grandma Helen. She nodded, smiled, and mouthed, “Believe.”
He took a deep breath and heard Mrs. Himmel’s intro. Here goes nothing, he thought. What have I got to lose? “Silent Night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.” Otis sang with his heart, not for himself, but for every person there. For the first time, he hit every note perfectly.
The last note echoed through the church, and the entire congregation sat silent. After a few moments, Reverend Anderson stood, said a prayer, and thanked everyone for coming. Everyone stood and applauded, and Otis knew it wasn’t just for him or about him. And he was perfectly fine with that.
The gray winter of Christmas Day ebbed, causing long shadows in the house. Otis sat snuggled next to Mavis on the couch, their legs stretched out to rest their feet on the coffee table. The only light in the living room came from the lit tree, giving off its oneof-a-kind glow. Marvel slept in his chair, Deanie snored in the other recliner, and the other siblings were off somewhere in the house or outside “playing” with their Christmas presents. Otis’s new Winchester Model 9422 XTR rested on his lap.
“Looks like Santa came through for you even after you yanked off his beard and got busted by the mall cops,” Mavis said. “So, do you believe?”
Otis smiled and thought a moment. “Sure, Mom,” he replied. “Why not?”
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