Ring it Out, Ring it In

It's that time of year again.  The end of the year.  For most, it's a time of reflection on the past year to make room for improvements in the new year.

Of course we want the new year to be better than the one before.  Life is a cycle of ups and down,  good things and not so good.  We all know this, but when we're hunkering at the bottom of not so good, it's hard to remember that things change.

Millions of people will make New Year's Resolutions tonight.  I don't do that.  Each time I have, they've vanished into the stratosphere in only a matter of days.  I've learned to be more goal oriented, but even that could use some tuning, and not something as easy as fine-tuning.  I'm working on that.

I've decided to blame all the bad things this year on the number of the year, itself.  I mean, look at it.  See that 13?  No, I don't really believe the number 13 is bad luck.  Expecting bad luck simply draws it into the real world.  But it's a nice excuse on which to blame those bad things.

If I could have one wish, it would to be like J.K. Rowling.  Not so much because of the fame and wealth, but what I could do with those two things.  I have a friend who recently started working in a homeless shelter here in our "fair" city.  She started just in time for Christmas, and she told me about a little girl.  I don't know how old the girl is, but she'd wanted a doll for Christmas.  Disappointed when it didn't appear, the girl's comment was, "I wanted a doll, but Santa ran out of them before he got to me, and I got gloves."  I have no doubt those gloves were needed, but imagine the joy on that little girl's face, if Santa hadn't run out of dolls.

The shelter is in need of coats.  New, only, because laws don't permit "used clothing" in this situation.  If I had J.K. Rowling's bank account, I'd buy they each person there, young, old, or in-between, a coat.  And a doll for that little girl.  Maybe next year?

I've been blessed this year with lessons learned.  Several of them within the past two months.  Those are the things I want to focus on as 2014 plays itself out.  I guess that is a sort of resolution.  If it is, so be it.  Or, as Captain Picard always said, "Make it so."

I hope you can "Make it so" this year in whatever way you choose.  Because, you know, life is a succession of choices.  When it comes to good ones, make it so.

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Family Gatherings

MEMORY MONDAYS

Great-Grandparents and their children & grandchildren.  Mid-1920s

It's that time of year when I start thinking of the Good Ol' Days.  Holidays do that, and with Thanksgiving only a few days away, those memories of my family's holiday get-togethers come tumbling back through my mind.

I'm not technically a member of the genealogy of my family.  I'm adopted.  But my adopted family is all I've ever known, and I'm proud to be a part of them, even though I won't ever be listed in the official genealogy records.  I don't mind.  It's still my family.

My grandmother was the oldest girl of seven children.  Her grandparents immigrated to the U.S. from Germany in 1886 and settled on the farmland of Kansas.  She passed away when I was six months old, so I don't remember her.  But I have known most of her brothers and sisters, my great-uncles and great-aunts.  And their kids and their kids' kids.  I have a LOT of cousins.

The family enjoyed getting together and did so often.  The photo on the right was taken in the late 1930s.  The bib-overalls are proof that this was a farming family, although the photo was taken in the city at my grandparents' house.  I love this picture, because it's the house where I grew up, after my grandparents passed away.  The boy in the overalls standing with his hands in his pockets is my uncle.  My mother's younger brother.  As it is with many families now, the men would gather in one spot, while the women gathered in another--usually the kitchen!

Thanksgiving and Christmas were always big family affairs when I was growing up.  As many as possible would gather for a big dinner out in the country on one of the farms.  Quite often it would be at the home  of one of my Great-aunts, Aunt Dorothy or Aunt Lucy.  Lucy had a twin, Louis, but I didn't see much of him.  It was those two Great-aunts and their families who celebrated the holidays together.  There was never a lack of good food.  Everyone brought something.  My mom was often the one who cooked and brought the turkey, so I'd always wake up to the smell of roasting turkey on holiday mornings.

They were a noisy bunch.  Talking, joking and laughing went on throughout the day.  When everyone had stuffed themselves, but still sneaked an olive, celery stick or carrot, or another slice of homemade pie, they cleared the table, washed the dishes.  Once the chores were done, the grownups sat at the table for an afternoon and evening of playing cards.  Pitch was always the card game played, and I've never learned how to play it.  The level of sound would go up, and we kids could often hear the friendly arguments and shouts, while we climbed trees and scouted out the livestock outside.  I remember bottle feeding lambs and gathering eggs, which I detested, convinced that if a hen pecked me, I'd get chicken pox.  That proved to be untrue, of course, even though I did have chicken pox when I was 10.

As they evening grew later, talk of going home would begin, but it would take some time before everyone could tear themselves away from the good company and that last piece of Aunt Dorothy's chocolate pie.  When we kids were older, we'd have Aunt Dorothy bring out the wood folding table.  Four of us would sit at it and ask the table (spirit) questions.  The table would tilt on two legs, then drop down to "knock" once or twice for yes or no.  I've discovered mine wasn't the only family that did this, so we weren't the only "crazy" ones.

The drive down to the farm had seemed hours long, but it was barely 25 miles.  On the way home, as we drove in the dark through the small town that would one day be where I finished growing up, we followed a diagonal road shortcut that appeared to lead straight into the big grain elevator.  Of course it didn't end up at the elevator, instead leading to the north-south road that would take us home.  It wouldn't be long before I fell asleep in the quiet of the night, only to be roused, sleepy and grumpy when we arrived home.  Then off to bed, thinking of how fun and happy the day with family had been, eager for the next holiday.

I hope your memories of long-ago are as happy as mine!

Family is not an important thing. It's everything. ~ Michael J. Fox

'Twas the Night Before Halloween

'Tis the Eve of the Eve.  All Hallows Eve, that is.  Yes, tomorrow is Halloween, the time of ghosts and ghouls, princesses and ballerinas, ninja warriors and transformers.

Halloween has become my favorite holiday.  Usually it's spent watching television and answering the door once or twice.  There aren't many trick-or-treaters in our neighborhood, so a big bag of candy would last for years...if not eaten by my own g-kids.  But a tradition of watching favorite Halloween movies is as good as it gets.

This year I've chosen two movies.  Hocus Pocus and Practical Magic.  After all, it is the season of the witch.

I remember walking through my neighborhood as a child, accompanied by the older next-door-neighbors, collecting a large paper bag of goodies that seemed to last forever.  My mother nearly always made my costumes.  Homemade were always the best.  I was a monkey, a bride, a clown, and more than I can remember.  There are home movies I can watch, if I really wanted to a list.  Maybe next year.  The most

memorable Halloween was the year I was a Pilgrim/Dutch Girl.  Yeah, a bit weird, but the costume resembled that of a Pilgrim, complete with a yellow pig-tail wig, and those older-than-me neighbor's let me borrow their grandmother's wooden shoes for the evening.  They weren't all that comfortable, either.  We stayed within our own block, both across the street and the street behind us.  Two blocks of goodies, and everyone had something to pass out.  As we approached one house, a witch appeared from the side of it, scaring me.  I truly believed it was an old, scary witch, and I took off running for home and screaming.  In the process of trying to run in a pair of too-small wooden shoes, I lost my hat and my wig, arriving home frantic, crying, and shouting that a witch had tried to get us.  My dad looked at me and said, "Looks like you lost your hair and hat, too."  Devastated that I'd lost part of my costume, I begged him to go back for it, but to watch out for the witch.  I waited, afraid the witch would catch him, but he returned some fifteen minutes later, with Pilgrim hat and wig in hand.

I hit the age of twelve, grew up, and had just moved to a small town.  Life changed and so did Halloween.  But life in that particular town was exciting.  Pumpkin patches were raided, and the main street was littered with smashed pumpkins.  An outhouse or two was stolen and placed in the center of town.  Small fires and bales of hay littered the street.  Costumes?  Who needed them?  They'd have only been covered with eggs.  By the Halloween of my senior year in high school, the Sheriff's Department sent officers on horseback to corral the destruction.  But we were smarter and managed to make Halloween memorable.

I married, had children, and found myself creating costumes for my own girls, just as my mother had for me.  We often used items we already had or old fabric left from my childhood.  My youngest's first Halloween was spent as a Gypsy, created from odds and end of clothing we had.

Over time, as more daughters were born and became old enough to knock on doors, we went along with one of their cousins, in the tiny country town near where we lived.  By then they'd become fairly good at minding their manners with "Trick or Treat" and "Thank You," as we visited the homes of friends, family and neighbors.  During all that time, we went through a wide range of costumes.  Devils and angels, a tough kid with a black eye, a cheerleader, a ballerina, and an Indian Princess.  (That's the boy cousin during one of his robot phases).  The last costumes I made were four genies, all in different colors.

My girls grew up and had their own little Trick-or-Treaters, and at times, I was coerced into making a few costumes for them.  There are five to created for, and it can take some time an imagination.  Although we'd planned a Peter Pan theme this year, time got away from us--thanks to that family wedding less than two weeks ago--so we're sticking to face painting only, this year.

2009 with all 5 g-kids and oldest daughter

2011 in full costume and looking great!

2012 and, oh, how they've grown!

Not too bad for a group with different tastes and desires, not to mention from help from Goodwill and anything we found around the house, some years.  Yes, that's my crew, who are here to drive me to cackling.  An almost 12-year-old, an almost 11-year-old, a 9-year-old, 6-year-old, and the youngest is 4. 

I haven't dressed up for Halloween for a long, long time.  I've been too busy with costumes for the others to have time to think about me.  But this year, I was invited and attended a party at the home of a local author friend.  Just dressing up at the last minute, grabbing this and that from my closet and painting my face was fun.  The party proved even more fun!  Maybe next year I'll give more thought to it.  The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, Maybe?  It's a thought...

Enjoy your 2013 Halloween, whether you're partying, escorting off-spring or off-spring of your off-spring around the neighborhood, or simply sitting at home, thinking of the times gone by.  Because it's believed by some to be the night the veil is lifted between our world and the world beyond, think of the loved ones you've shared with on some of those past Halloween nights.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

But I love Halloween, and I love that feeling: the cold air, the spooky dangers lurking around the corner. ~ Evan Peters 

Traditions

(from dictionary.com)

tra·di·tion

   [truh-dish-uhn] 

noun

1.  the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs,information, etc., from generation to generation, especially by word of mouth or by practice: a story that has come down to us by popular tradition.
2.  something that is handed down: the traditions of the Eskimos.
3.  a long-established or inherited way of thinking or acting: The rebellious students wanted to break with tradition.
4.  a continuing pattern of culture beliefs or practices.
5.  a customary or characteristic method or manner: The winner took a victory lap in the usual track tradition.

There are probably as many traditions as there are people.  They come in all sizes, shapes, colors, reasons, times, seasons, and anything else you can think of.  We like traditions because the make us feel safe.  Once made, we know what needs doing, making decisions much easier.

We're most familiar with traditions around the holidays.  Christmas, Hanukkah and other religious/faith-based holidays at the end of the year often have the most traditions attached to them.  But we all manage to create more of our own, just for us.

Sometimes we have to adjust traditions to fit something new in our lives.  A marriage can dictate the melding of traditions.  A new baby may mean a change in timing.  As a family continues to grow, new traditions--Santa Claus, the Christmas story from the Bible--are introduced for the children.

And sometimes we make new traditions.  Children grow into adults who have their own children.  Jobs can often mean a distant move.  Divorce or the passing of a loved one are two of the saddest of reasons for the need to create new traditions.  But somehow, within all the changes, we adjust and find solace and peace in traditions, whether old or new.

If you have a favorite tradition, I'd love it if you'd share it, either here on the blog, through Twitter (@roxdelaney), on Facebook or my author Facebook Page.  Who knows?  We may find something that will make the perfect new tradition.

To many people holidays are not voyages of discovery, but a ritual of reassurance.  - Philip Andrew Adams