Morning came up as fast as gears change in my car from park to drive with a little jump. Don’t worry, I’ll get it fixed when I have to hold my purse strings with both hands. Up in Minneapolis I ran around going to a couple of appointments and then was on my way to walk a few errands. What was that sound? It was something I knew quite well. Ah-ha! Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. But, where in this wintry city was it echoing from? My ears honed in on city hall’s clock tower where the carillon played true. While I missed the first twenty minutes of holiday songs, I picked up the last three humming and singing along with a giddy smile. Glancing around there were few people to relish in the moment. Up in the skyways I found several people who had no idea what they were missing. You know, there is Dave playing his cello up in the hermetically sealed bridges… I remind myself of the fact, especially since I was up with the rest of these people a minute ago, not by choice but out of necessity to enter the second story office my appointment was at. A concerto by Handel burst from his fingers upon the quivering strings. I stopped to chat, thank him for his playing and put a little bread in his case. All right, so there is something for people to hear in the skyway leading from the government center to the parking ramp. They miss out on the initial runny nose you receive out the door, the crunch of snow underfoot, a shiver that entices one to move into a candence or a skip – depending on your mood. They can be stuck up in the climate control. I’ll take in the unexpected one outside. I meandered down the stairs but minutes ago and began my stroll five blocks away to a waning meter that I fed quarters earlier. Better some pocket change, wintery air and carols than eight bucks to pay later in the ramp during a business day in downtown.
For this Christmas as a family we decided to forgo a gift exchange, while this began out of a lack of general funds it morphed into concentrating on more of the interpersonal, traditional and connectedness we share together around the holidays. Earlier today my sister and I trimmed the tree I put up last week. Pine smell? Not in my home since I was a wee little one. Allergies of a few in the family brought an end to that. Plus less mess, no dead tree to deal with and only PVC off-gassing and support for the petroleum industry nowadays. I miss the real tree, but would only pick one up that is potted and able to be nursed until a spring planting. We rummaged into totes of ornaments overflowing with childhood dreams. Cinnamon, nutmeg and clove came to my nose. Cookies with more sugar than flour danced on my tongue. Seeing far flung family in Wisconsin and southern Minnesota transported me where I have not been at this time of year to in what seems to be another dimension. I cannot fully grasp it, for the daydream recedes from my eyes, ears, mouth, hands, and soul.
With the tree finished, we then organized the living and dining room, and finally the kitchen took shape to the point where we were satisfied and needed a break. Sledding was on our wish list for an excursion and we headed out around eight for a hill that cascades down, quit gracefully when blanketed in snow, from the parking lot of a church in town. Up there one can survey the entire area. Nothing else naturally reaches so high. A water tower here and there dot the horizon on this flurry night of snow that at first glance you expect to be in a movie readying yourself to catch a flake on your tongue and giggle in delight. My little sister has a sled all lined up and is exceptionally eager to try her skills at maneuvering this hunk of plastic along the softer than cotton fluffed snow between the red oaks placed in the way down below. A howl of enjoyment erupts as I push off and spin backwards on the first run. What was my choice? The sled that is more an essence of a sled, since it is merely a thin sheet of plastic stamped with a hole for a handle that I’m certain was a way to use up some leftover product at a factory. No control, equals unpredictable fun. Then my sister follows after me in a sturdy sled with multiple handles and even a rope that gives one the feel of control. Within seconds she too falls off as I did. Although, I end up being the only one with snow in the face, up my back and down in my boots around my ankles… for now. Later I say we go as a train down the slope and my sister blurts in excitement we should tie our two sturdy sleds end to end. Sorry sheet of plastic, we’ll play again soon. This new configuration might be the best ever. Our runs were three times the length of any of the previous ones and we would roll out of our molded modes of transportation in glorious fun with gut-busting laughter. Stopped down at the hill’s bottom two feet of snow makes for slow going out there in uncharted sledding territory. Walking up hill in heavy boots easily induces sweat, so I relax a tad longer and dive in backward hearing a pleasing swoosh as the snow escapes from beneath me. Snow angels are the obvious next activity. We find ourselves needing help in getting up and another fit of laughter permeates the quite white landscape. That’s right, we are the only ones on this hill. I joked that all the other kids were home playing video games. An hour had past in an instant and we decided hot coco was on the menu for our victorious return home.
At home we join mom for the end of Home Alone II. I heat up extra water for her and offer up some air-puffed vegan marsh mellows that she happily accepts. The mugs we use, to my knowledge, we’ve had since I was at least eleven. One is a mouse all cheery with a stocking cap, cheese in hand and a mug of coco at his side garnished with a candy cane to stir away the lumps of stubborn coco. Another has musical instruments wearing holly and the last one is a cuddly teddy bear dawning a Santa hat. Wow, that smell takes me to a plethora of places and moments I’ve been in an instant. I see family that is no longer with me, friends I went caroling with in high school. A smile emerges from my lips and I am grateful to have those memories fresh on my mind.
My mother has brought up some personal Christmas stories of yore recently. Real life not hyped up, raw and painful and beautiful all at once. Ones where she details how we were given a new book and hand-knitted mittens as our sole presents, and this went on for years. Yes, two gifts. Three if you want to get all technical being that their are two mittens… that reminds me of being cold as I type. As long as I can recollect the house has been kept at 64 degrees F to cut down on the exhorbitant heating bills that people in cooler climates, such as us, experience round this time of year. A thought pops into my mind of Jimmy Carter wearing a sweater on national television encouraging everyone to do their part and turn down that thermostat. That takes me back to memories of growing up in a home with less. Sometimes we ran out of fuel oil to run the furnace, I was convinced this thing came to life and would suck you in if you got too close as it ate up all the petroleum we fed it to warm ourselves. Those were trying situations that I could see how painful it was in my mother’s eyes and in the way she expressed her frustration through body language. We four, my mom, two siblings and I would snuggle up on the over-sized couch in front of the kerosene heater in the living room. Safe? Totally, with a window cracked at each end of the room to draw out the carbon monoxide ensuring we would not sleep for eternity.
Dutiful Marines would knock on our door the week of Christmas with a live tree, a ham and a few presents for each of us. Looking back I kind of saw them as Santa’s helpers. Here were these well dressed men bearing gifts for those less fortunate and that generosity stills sits with me. Need… as if we have a necessity to have this slowly dying tree set on our living room floor. Same goes for the presents, usually a new-fangled plastic toy, and even the ham is in that category. We would have made it through that… though even at that age I knew there were other forces at work well beyond my control. Children in school boasted of all the wonderful presents they had asked Santa for sitting on his lap at the mall, and then magically opened each and every one weeks later. That would annoy me and I let kids’ chattering about all their toys get to me now and then. I was fortunate to not always have television growing up; that shielded me a certain amount from the consumer culture that surrounds us. Mom was so good with us, she would explain what we had and why we had it. Outside we found everything a kid could want: access to an huge woods, parkland, a lake and a big space of a yard where I would kick around a ball, explore creatures in the back acreage was another favorite, creating games based on our natural surrounds or just play in the garden and sandbox.
We learned to be thankful in unique ways. In summer we would grow and gather our food, from the garden, forest and a park that had been an orchard in a past life just down the road and over a hill. When there was a bounty of this or that we would can, dry, preserve, freeze and store all kinds of goodies in the root cellar. Shelter, food, clothing and a loving family is all we truly needed to get through it all. I find myself honestly missing that feeling of empowerment in knowing where my food came from and working with my family as our ancestors have before us in readying themselves for the coming winter. Hands of my family had cared for the soil that nurtured seeds into germination and later to fruit. We would cover the entire crop of tomatoes at the first hint of frost to guarantee a successful harvest. T-shirts would be stretched to the breaking point with load, after load of ripe apples and plums we stole on our bikes. Such incredible snippets of time in my life.
Now, working in a food co-op I am connected to my food, and yet in a vastly different way than I ever was before. I promote foods that, for the most part, are grown in a manner that provides farmers a fare wage and safe work environment, that in turn gives us truck-loads of organic and locally grown delicious produce -when in season of course. However, I sell more than that. Here in my being I have a passion for and yearning to share all I can about this pasta dish or that salad. Selecting a cheese for that lasagna tonight or creating a recipe out of the blue for a fresh fruit dessert, I can help with that as well.
There is still a garden each year at my home where you’ll walk amongst tomato plants towering at six feet; zucchini and cucumber vines seem to be one of those puzzles done as a kid where you had to connect one item to another via the rats’ nest of lines on paper. Peppers, marigolds, onions and cabbage, too play with your feet and toes as you admire the life present in the garden. Baby lettuce, spinach, radishes, carrots and oh so many other lovely vibrant plants slowly say hello in a rainbow of greens as the wind gives them a nod to wave up in an elevated bed – not raised, because this one is on a supported platform. All around this bed are blueberry and logan berry bushes sporting branches heavy with fruit, asparagus and raspberries round the corner offer more treats to sneak in my watering mouth. Overhead apple blossoms have long since fallen to the ground and decomposed into mulch, in their place are mini apples that grow to the size of baseballs and make a fresh juice outstandingly good in late summer. As of this week Kimchi is nearly ready to eat, kombucha awaits me to help run the process of fermentation, lemons ache to be juiced for limoncello and dehydrated juicer veggie pulp wants to be a topping in my next soup. Yum!
Back to talking of all that chilly air… gives me an extra push to unpack more of the boxes stowed for safe keeping, during the period I was away in Belize earlier this year, in a closet down the hall from my new room in the basement. I miss you Belize, your lack of vehicles down dirt roads and unmissed exhaust trails from planes overhead leaves me with few words but that of thanks. The sweetest of sunsets and nature’s sounds of night were always spectacular! All of that outdoor activity made me feel as though I was transported into little Nathan, the kid who was outdoors to the tune of the post office motto. Several weeks have past on by with me sleeping in familiar sheets and colorful comforters. Yup, two of them, for there were some air return issues that my step-dad and I worked on for a number of days. We redirected the line to the vent supplying the room with comfortable air, you know what I mean depending on the season, because it was taking from above the main line originally and so not much pressure was left once the anxious air rounded that ninety degree turn and a majority of it kept straight and true to other household destinations. Adding in a return duct put the vacuum effect in place to ensure the proper circulation for finding that temperature sweet spot. I’m so thankful for all the help my family has put into making this a reality for me in having this space where I can be, sleep, read, meditate, practice my various musical instruments, get back into my art and have that place to get away to… and journal.
Sleepy, welcoming dreamland is not too distant for me as I type. Tomorrow even we’re off to my Great-Aunts’ home where they prepare enough food to feed over fifty relatives, no kidding.
To Be List:
_ fun making with help from constructing a quincy/quinzhee/ quinzee, a.k.a. a snow shelter to sleep in with little sister (have not made one since college)
_ bake vegan chocolate chip and banana cookies
_ sing carols and deliver more cookies to neighbors
_ collect coriander seeds from my last potted summer plant
_ venture out on ice skates
_ camp in the snow, cross country skiing in and out (for this trek I’ll be dehydrating my own food for snacking on and soup making)
_ rustle up some trouble for NYE
_ whatever else I want 
May there be cheer in the hearts of all and peace in your hands.
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