a Charlie Brown Christmas

While not actually a Christmas carol, the music to Charles Schultz' 1965 television special is iconic to anyone who grew up in that era or any subsequent generation. Vince Guaraldi's score is perfect, and any cut from it - even the "non-Christmasy" music - instantly conjures up Christmas for me.

Capturing the Christmas Spirit can be tricky. Charlie & Co. are masterful at portraying this without being sticky or maudlin. The message of the show, of course, cannot be missed. We are celebrating much more than tinsel and lights in this season!

Here's "Christmas Time is Here" from the opening credits.


Today's the seventh day of Christmas!

Mary had a baby

I have had the honor and privilege of singing wonderful music with wonderful people. My first real choral experience was in high school, when the first thing I recall singing on stage was Handel's Messiah. We sang nearly the entire work, the Christmas and Easter portions, and I sang my first (and last) public solos in the recitative Then Shall the Eyes of the Blind be Opened (prophetic, no?) and the alto part of He Shall Feed His Flock. Overlapping my high school experience was Skyline College Choir, under the direction of the extremely talented Dr. Patricia Hennings (a.k.a. "Cap'n Pat").

Those two musical experiences literally formed and colored the rest of my life. Aside from my blood relatives, there is not a single friendship or relationship I have made since that cannot be traced back to those choirs. And that includes my children!

Out of the Skyline choir came the Schleptet. Later given the more acceptable name, "Acapellicans", we were friends who sang well together. No fewer than eight - often ten or twelve - we were never sure how many would be together, hence the "schlep" in our -tet. My singing talent, I think, is based mostly on the ability to surround myself with others who sing well. The raw talent in this group was utterly divine, with many who had natural voices that vocal pros would give their right tonsil to have. This was especially true of Carolyn and Linda, our sopranos.

One night after being out Christmas caroling in the frigid damp, we were feeling particularly - ambitious? high on our collective talent? nostalgic? Something like that. We'd been wanting to record our Christmas music, had not done so, and time was running out. So Bill got out the microphones and recording equipment, and we gave it a go. With the sopranos almost completely out of voice, we could have just one take per song, and we filled up a cassette tape with beautiful music - and priceless memories.

One of my favorite cuts from that evening is "Mary Had a Baby". Despite her protestations and facial contortions, Linda nailed the solo. Of course, all I have is an old cassette tape from 1985. So the version below will have to do. But I tell you true, in all modesty, we sounded better than the youngsters here. We were divine.

we interrupt our regular programming...

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... food poisoning! Recovery is imminent, but no caroling for me today. Be back soon!

Solstice

from this source

Did you see it? Last week, the full moon occurred on the Winter Solstice - and then, to top it off, it eclipsed. Like, totally. What an amazing confluence of cosmic events: it has not happened since the early 17th century, and it shan't happen again until 2094 - I don't intend to be around for that one! I do not necessarily believe that the things that happen in the sky influence my earth-bound behavior. However, I am a big fan of natural events and good timing, not to mention being a big fan of the Creator of such events.

I almost missed it - I thought it was going to be on the evening of the 21st, but (in this time zone) it happened at about 11:30 on the evening of the 20th. (I'm so glad I was paying attention!) It was raining on and off, so I was also unsure that anything would be visible in the heavens... but the sky cleared, and I ventured outside around 11:15. I wasn't sure where to look, so I just went out to the courtyard of my building - there are no great views of the sky there, but I didn't really know where the moon would be in the sky at that time. All I needed was to look up: there she was, directly over my head.

http://mantoos.com/science/winter-solstice

So beautiful. So strange.

Not long after totality was reached, the clouds returned and hid the moon. (I felt some relief to be going inside - my neck ached from tipping my head back so far!) My constant companion, my iPod, was with me as I watched bella luna... playing selections from the many versions of Windham Hill's Winter Solstice recordings. It is an Advent tradition for me to begin my Christmas music listening with these albums recordings. They relax and inspire meditation in me, and I play them often. So of course, I had the Windham Hill playlist going as I dashed outside into the cold. It was a perfect companion.

P.S. ~ it's the fourth day of Christmas!

the bleak midwinter

snowflake stars are cut from silvery origami paper

Today is the third day of Christmas. I seem to have spent the first two days (and, possibly, the day before that) dining exclusively on cookies. This behavior must stop ~ my body is craving vegetables, meat and milk at this point. Back to work now, that shouldn't be a problem.
This song is one of my very favorites to sing in Advent and Christmas. It is also one of the very favorites of the Bethany Quartet ~ and I sure missed singing this, and any Christmas music with them this year! The first time I ever heard In the Bleak Midwinter was in Julie Andrew's holiday special in 1987, hence the video link above. (Click on it, click on it! It's so good. Not only was Ms. Andrews the star, but her guests were Placido Domingo, the King's Singers and John Denver ~ certainly all-stars in my music library.)

There is nothing I do not love about this song:

In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
snow on snow.
In the bleak midwinter long, long ago.
Angels and archangels may have gathered there.
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air.
But his mother only, in her her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

What then shall I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb.
If I were a wise man I would do my part.
Yet what I can, I give him: I will give my heart.

It's that last verse. As a person of little means (as far as this society is concerned), it gives me pause - and hope. Whenever I have a meager offering to bring, this verse runs through my head and I feel comfort. It is no small thing to give from the heart - in fact, it is the only gift that matters.

this flake, and those above, were "cut" with an iPhone app, "the Flake Factory"!

the Cradle Song

Be near me Lord Jesus
I ask thee to stay close by me forever,
and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children
in thy tender care,
and fit us for heaven to live with thee there.

It's enough to break your heart, isn't it? Those words, that song, that tune... It is achingly tender and oh, so beautiful. Of course, I am in a fairly tender spot right now, but it brought tears to me this morning in worship. Something about being rocked gently and loved tenderly... something about the inclusivity of all the dear children... something about living our lives in a way that is fitting for the One who loves us so dearly... All that sentiment in just three or four breaths? Impossibly sweet.

Yesterday was Christmas Day. (Today, of course, is the second day of Christmas, and we still have ten more to go!) All the dear children were under one roof for my family yesterday: my parents, their five children, all seven grandchildren and the single great-grandchild. With spouses and friends, there were twenty-one of us. We had a rollicking good time, yes we did. We ate well, laughed and kidded each other, caught up on each other's news. We tried a white elephant gift exchange for the first time, and that was just too fun. I looked over at one point (I think it may have been when nephew KMQ opened a gift that consisted of 2 packs of staples and a chipped dental mold of his father's teeth) and Dad was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Overjoyed was the sentiment of the evening!

There was the joy of simply being together, of course. (I am not the only one of my family who subconsciously counts heads - and if someone is missing, the joy is diminished ever-so-slightly.) But there was more to it than that. We all know that it could be the last time for us all to be together for Christmas, which adds both a sting and a richness to the experience. The way that we were able to achieve it is bittersweet as well. For the first time in my recollection, Dad put out an edict: his only gift was to be that we would all be together. It goes without saying that this is what he always wants of us, for any holiday. But it has never been decreed... until this year.

Which brings us to the logistics of getting everyone there. This is not a difficult request for most of us. However, my middle brother DQ, who lives the farthest from us, has a very hard time traveling these days. He is too ill to get himself to us, and often too ill to travel at all. Because of this, he has missed a wedding, and most birthdays and holidays in the past few years. Knowing this, my son took it upon himself to get my brother to Christmas. A. called DQ and arranged ahead of time (though he was not going to take no for an answer!) He left right after breakfast and drove the 90 miles to pick up DQ, brought him to us... and when the festivities were winding down, did the whole thing again in reverse. Spending about 8 hours on the road. Mostly in a driving rainstorm. The night before he had an early flight out to Anchorage.

So this is the other part of what breaks my heart with tender joy. That my dear son has grown to be a man with such a generous heart. That my feeble brother was willing to risk his pride in letting him do so, as well as in revealing to us how feeble he has become. That my father risked his own pride by asking us all to give him his heart's desire. And that we all managed to gather in joy and love. We acknowledged what is before us but did not allow it to diminish us in any way ~ and in fact, our collective circumstance has enriched us beyond imagination.

Thanks be to God for these tender blessings!

on the bright side

On the day before Thanksgiving I was at work, doing my usual stellar job of tending to the eyeball patients. A "frequent flyer", a blind woman who is in the midst of multiple surgeries, came in for her pre-op exam, and her young-adult son accompanied her. I ushered them in and shut the door, and only then did I notice that he was sniffling and snuffling and then SNEEZING and COUGHING without covering his face. In a very small space. Just spitting it out into the air we were all breathing.

Yuck.

I left the room momentarily, and brought back a mask for him to put on. He sneezed a few more times before he got it on (I should have just put it on myself!) It was too late, of course. In exactly 3.2 days, I had his cold and it was kicking my butt.
Thanks, dude.

++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, but here's the thing. I decided I was not going to let this get me down. Rather than dwell in the misery of it all, I started thinking of the up side:

• I was not sick for Thanksgiving.
• I may have been sick on December 1st, but that will be long gone by December 21st.
• I have so far, through the intervention of many, many foreign substances, managed to avoid any respiratory infection. It's just a cold.
• While I was not able to call in sick any day this week (long story) my boss sent me home early on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I didn't have to kill myself (much) working while feeling like crap.

And ya know what? It helped. I'm still really congested, but I worked a whole day today and then went to get some dinner and do some shopping. I'm really tired, but I made it. And tomorrow will be fine, too. I may not get to go to the Advent festival AND the progressive dinner, but that will be okay.

see? not Grumpy!

I just love it when that happens.

None of the images in this post are mine. That should be obvious, but now I've confirmed it. Thanks, Google images!

my only thanksgiving recipe

One of the drawbacks (or benefits, as the case may be) of being the only one in your family who lives in an apartment is that you're simply not going to be the one to host holidays or parties. I've lived in this apartment for 14 years, I think. (Wow!) The only time I had everyone over was when I moved (though they were never all here at the same time) and on the day of Grandma M's memorial service. I do wish I lived in a big ol' house - I'd be the Christmas party house for sure.

So anyway, I've never roasted a turkey. There, I've said it. I think I've made mashed potatoes before, but that was probably 30 years ago or more. (I've got a good excuse for that one: I'm allergic to raw potato - break out in a terrible rash wherever it touches me.) However, I am usually good for bringing a dish or two to wherever the party is on Thanksgiving, and what follows is the recipe for the one I usually bring.

My friend B. asked for the recipe the other day, and I obliged... and thought I'd also share it with this space, in case others might enjoy. So - I hope you enjoy!

I'll give you the basics (I think I got it from a magazine ad in the 80's), and then the things I do to change it up, too, in case that appeals to you.

Berry Mallow* Yam Bake**

*I nixed the marshmallows years ago - it's already pretty darn sweet!
** hey, I googled "berry mallow yam bake" and this recipe is still alive on the interwebs!

combine:
½ cup flour
½ cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup rolled oats
1 tsp cinnamon

cut in until mixture resembles coarse crumbs:
⅓ cup butter the original said margarine, but I know better these days!

toss 1 cup of this mixture with:
2-17oz cans yams***
2 cups fresh cranberries
***of couse, nowdays the cans are a bit smaller. I use the 29 oz can. you can also use fresh, peeled sweet potatoes or yams, cut in 2" chunks - though you should bake it a little longer!

Place in a 1½ cup casserole, top with remaining crumbs. Bake at 350º for 35 minutes.

Simple, right? I usually make at least a double batch of this for my family. For the church dinner, I use 3 large cans of yams. I like to stir in chopped candied ginger and/or fresh orange zest with the yams & berries. And we've liked the resulting heat when I added a couple teaspoons of chipotle powder to the sugar mixture. At any rate, it's a really pretty dish; it's nice to have a non-beige item on the plate at T'giving! (Yeah, I've never taken a picture of it, so no photos here. Sorry.) Oh, and if you want to add the marshmallows, the original recipe calls for 1½ cups sprinkled on when it's finished baking, then under the broiler until lightly browned. I think that was how I set my oven on fire in 1982!

love, KQ

change...

a most intricate quilt

I really, really love the transition seasons.

fall makes me want to live in a small country town.
(but so does spring. and winter. and summer.)

This week I knew that fall was finally here when the temps rose over eighty (F) and then dropped to the high forties in the space of a day and a half. I was trying to figure out why I love that so much...

rainbows are everywhere when you know where to look...

I think it's the fresh, sting of cold when one walks outside from the warmth of home - the warmth lingers in the body, but the skin tingles with the chill. It's a delicious feeling to me. And then the reverse is also true: cold, cold skin (and/or fingers, toes, nose...)feels the immediate change moving indoors, and there is that tingle again as the comforting warmth envelops...

jewels that fall to the earth and then dissolve into it...

Oh, and the wet of rain, the slant of the sun, the changing (finally!) leaves and impossibly blue sky... for all these things, and more, I give thanks.

let's find more time to go wandering this season!

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VII) - the antedote

The Game.

Poets have said it better than I... it is eternal. It is simplicity itself. It is life. It is the best in us, it is the worst in us. It is green grass, blue skies - it is mud and rain.
It is pageantry and the star-spangled banner. It is a millionaire's game. It is a child's game.
It is not, any more, the national pastime. It is not a designated hitter. It is not Dodger blue, and it is not leaving in the top of the seventh. It is not booing your own. It is not the most expensive seat. It is not the same as having a picnic with a show going on in front of you.
For me, it is the romance: Fathers and sons (mothers, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers) enjoying the game, telling stories, having a catch. It is seeing your kid put a ball in the pocket of his glove, wrap it with a rubber band and stick it under his mattress. It is sportsmanship (and sportswomanship).

It is best friends from kindergarten, all grown up, brought together again by the baseball gods to stand for the anthem.

It is pulling up to a farmstand and finding a cart of balls. It is watching the team win, turning off the television, and passing gently away into that good night. (Good night, Grandad. ♥)

It is Mike Ivey hitting in the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, on a Friday night against the Dodgers at the 'Stick. It is a frozen chocolate malt blowing off your wooden spoon in swirling winds. It is the record that breaks. It's all that history. It is brothers sharing the outfield. It is old players coaching newer ones. It is the legends.

Mays

Cepeda

McCovey

Marichal

It's the stories: the ones that will break your heart, and those that cause your spirit to soar.

It really is the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. It is cheering for the home team, 40,000 orange rally rags waving in unison. It is the remembering of glory and heartbreak and falling in love with the team. It is the chess game strategy. It is the tragedy of the loss. Yes, it is even a bad call at the plate.

photo courtesy of Google images

It is clever, charming, beloved broadcasters.

It is wearing orange on Fridays. It is hating the Dodgers. It is not caring much about the Series unless Your Team is in it. It is crying for joy when Your Team makes it to the Series.
It is not life or death. It is not more important than loved ones lost, or sick, or hurt. But it is a balm against those things. It is a sweet distraction. It is a reprise from the pain. And sometimes it can even be the antidote for the grief, easing it enough to snap the stress and hurt and anger and make all of those things less severe, helping you to go on.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VI) - in Memoriam

September 24

Twelve days after the wedding, a memorial service was held for the Bullis family. The Quartet was asked to sing, as well as the choir and the Prayz group. Our four living former pastors were invited to attend, and accepted. An army of ushers was formed.

Because Bethany holds 200 people at most, and estimates were that there would be five times that in attendance, we had a logistics problem. Enter 1st Presbyterian Church of Burlingame. They have a much, much larger sanctuary, with overflow rooms and even a large patio where the service could be broadcast to more overflow. The pastors worked things out, and we were told where and when to show up. When we did, it was amazing: all we needed to do was make the music. The church had thought of everything, took care of every detail from printing the bulletin - to helping with the sound check - to setting up rooms for the family, pastors and musicians to wait - to passing out water during the (quite warm) service. They were warm and gracious, unobtrusive yet enveloping. I know that the Bethany community will always be grateful for their hospitality.

Like the Sunday following the disaster, there was a feeling of family coming together. So many people from Bethany's past showed up to love and grieve with us. The pastors shared themselves without reservation, and what a comfort it was to have the rock of their presence. (The current pastoral circumstance is far from comforting, which made this even more important.) The choir sang an arrangement of "Amazing Grace" (Sung here by the Turtle Creek Chorale). The Quartet sang Bobby McFerrin's the 23rd Psalm. T. played his composition, Elegy in Eb, on the cello. The family shared with us precious memories of each loved one. A few close friends also shared memories. There was nothing about the afternoon that was not beautiful.

After the service there was a reception at Will's high school, just a mile or so from the church. (Attendees of the service were encouraged to park at the school, and buses were used to transport to the church.) It was held in the gym, with long tables spread with food down half the length of the gym under unreal, yellow lights. I got there late (took Mom home first, at her request), and had little opportunity to speak with the family. However, I did speak to a few of their neighbors - other folks from Bethany, who survived the blast - and I was so grateful to hug them and tell them that I was glad they had made it.

Winding down, T. and I sat out on the front lawn of the school, looking at the moon and replaying the previous few days and amazing event we'd just been part of. (This is part of what we do for each other: help one another to digest the big events in our lives.) I remember thinking that I was so grateful (there's that word again!) for the relationships I hold with the many dear friends I saw that day. I thought about how the grass felt on my bare legs, and when was the last time I sat on the grass? I remembered my own high school days. I thought about how - even in the midst of terrible sorrow - it was, truly, a perfect evening.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part V)

I ask you: could there be a more lovely setting?

After church on Easter, my dear friend's daughter Piper approached me. Her mama had alerted me that the question was coming: would I be the florist for her wedding? A whole range of emotions swept through me at the thought. Holy cow. What a huge responsibility! and honor! and challenge! I'm not really a florist! I love flowers! (I need the money!) I said yes. When I agreed to take the job, I had no idea what was in store for the summer. When Dad got sick(er) I'd think, "can I bear this and do Piper's flowers?" Somehow, the answer was always yes.

sunflowers: the bride's favorite, and such a cheerful flower!

Piper and I corresponded over the summer, and I learned that she was definitely not going to be a bridezilla (thank heaven!) Like her mama, she is an easy-going spirit. The wedding site was found and Sunday, September 12 was chosen. She wanted happy, bright colors with sunflowers, lavender and poppies; an overall wildflower look. (The poppies were nixed - it was an evening wedding, and they close at night!) She was going to have six (SIX!) bridesmaids, each dressed in a different color, and her betrothed would have six groomsmen.

(Frankly, I thought this was a bit excessive when I heard about it, but at the wedding I realized: there was so much love in this wedding that there had to be 12 attendents, just to help carry it all!)

I planned out what I'd need for 7 bouquets, 10 boutonnieres, 2 corsages and 2 flower girl baskets. One fun Saturday morning, I met Piper, her sister and mama and best friend at the flower market. We wandered around, and I showed them a few things, they showed me what they liked: sunflowers (gold), bachelor's buttons (blue), hydrangea (green), sweet william (her betrothed's name) (hot pink), an ornamental grass, and gold and red "brains" (cock's comb) were some of the favorites.

I had my own mini-flower market going in the garage...

I added some veronica, red gerberas and purple sweet peas to fill out the (extensive) color palatte.

Oh, how I LOVE sweetpeas! These had pretty short stems -
couldn't make it into the bride's bouquet - but they sure were purty in the others!

Some feathers caught my eye... perfect for the men's boutonnieres! Piper was not at all sure about that, but when I explained it to her, she was on board. It was all coming together, and I was alternately nerve-wracked and excited.

pheasant feathers, dried lavender and satin ribbon. classy, no?

The weekend before the wedding, I assembled all of my hardware: preservative, wire, foam, pins, ribbons, glue - everything I could find that might help. I scrubbed down and disinfected with bleach an army of plastic buckets. I pre-ordered the sunflowers and bachelor's buttons. Unable to secure fresh lavender stems, I not only bought 3 live plants, but I also moved on a hot tip and (ditching church) high-tailed it to a farmer's market 25 miles away where I could buy nice bundles of the dried herb.

yeah, I'm a mite bit proud of these...
even the father of the bride complimented me on them,
and he (to quote a breakfast cereal commercial) hates everything!

That week, I was fully ready with my checklists and time tables. I made all the bouts, since all but three would not have any fresh flowers in them - and those I could easily add to later. Thursday, my day off, was September 9. I went to the markets and gathered up the flowers. Armloads of them - my entire back seat was brimming with blooms! They all went to my parents' garage - where it stays relatively cool even on a hot day - to get fresh cuts and plunged into preservative-laden water. I set up a couple tables and some chairs...

the workshop. flower baskets and bouts
in the foreground, oodles of blooms, everywhere!

And then, it was 6:11 p.m. and San Bruno exploded.

Again, I said to myself, "can I bear this and do Piper's flowers"? The answer: "you must, so of course you can". That's fine and dandy, but now I was not only grieving, but the power was out and I was instantly about a half-day behind schedule. Saturday dawned warm and bright. I worked in the morning, then went to the wedding rehearsal - oh yeah, the Quartet was singing, too! My dear friend B. came back with me (thanks, B!) to help, and gallantly made herself useful while I spinned out of control for a bit. Then we got to work and banged out six beautiful bridesmaids bouquets. I finished the bride's bouquet, made the "centerpiece" and cleaned up for the night, placing the bouquets in ice chests.

bridesmaids bouquets

Sunday morning - wedding day! According to my master schedule, I was going to skip church, but with the events of 9/9 I could not do that. I had to be with my people. I also could not afford the 2 hours it would require to attend - there were bouquets to wrap, bouts to finish, corsages to make... I did what I had to do, and when I got to church, I looked for volunteers to help with the finishing touches afterward. I found three lovely friends to agree, Jenny jumped in - doing a yeoman's job - as my assistant for the day, and Mom helped too!

bridesmaids bouquets and centerpiece

Oh, what a flurry of flowers, friends and activity there was in the garage that afternoon! Six of us, plus T., who came to look at the structural requirements of the centerpiece (I was so worried about hanging that thing!) With barely enough time, Mom and J. offered to take pictures of the finished product while I dashed home to change... and we were off!

I couldn't figure out how we were going to transport the bouquets,
except in drinking glasses. But those fall down!
I sent J. to the church to pick up a couple of dish pans.
She found these wonderful silverware holders and saved the day!

Delivered the flowers and bouts - to wild acclaim. Realized that the corsages had been forgotten back at the house - but because of a terrible traffic accident, we couldn't get back. A quick call to B. and her hub K., and they graciously agreed to pick them up on their way. Went to the site, got to work on hanging the centerpiece. It worked! (Okay, so it had to be hung a couple of different times, and J. did the ladder work, and then K. helped to make it hang higher, and all right some of the flowers fell out, but I had this great glue that works on wet foam... so it all worked out!)

all's well in the end, right?

So: the project of the flowers was a blessing in that it was an urgent distraction from our grief - a place to look away for a short time, to catch our breath before moving further into mourning. The women who helped me were each grateful for the distraction too - working with our hands to make something beautiful, in the company of loving sisters, can only be good. And I am oh, so grateful to them for their help. It takes a village, indeed. The wedding was a joyful island in a sea of sorrow, and it was buoyant enough to carry us all along for a few days; blessed relief.

The following photos were taken by Piper's wedding photographer, Jeremy Young

flower girl basket, filled with lavender

the groom, sporting his feather-and-"brains" bout

of course, the bride

I was SO happy to see that the colors in the
bouquets matched the girls' dresses perfectly!