Vicki Lane's Blog, page 33

Bringing thr Music

Visiting cousins brought Josie a karaoke machine! 
Delight ensued.







 

Up Close

 

Gingerbread Cake and Cranberry Coulis

An excellent dessert, leftover from the Christmas feast. A moist gingerbread cake topped with a cranberry coulis and accompanied by homemade cinnamon ice cream--all the work of my DIL Aileen.
Yum!
 

Outside of Time

                                                                           

      

 The day never really dawned, as such. Misty, gray, chilly--it wasn't till about 3:30 that a brush of sun showed on the slopes across the river. And that was short-lived.

The day matched this weird space between Christmas and New Year's--I always find it difficult to feel like it's 'real' time. Instead, it feels like a floating, tenuous non-reality. 

I did manage to pay a few bills (there's some reality for you) and write thank you notes, as well as reading a novel Claui gave me for Christmas.

It was a "blind date" novel in a plain brown wrapper, labeled as a thriller. My Darling Girl by Jennifer McMahon turned out to be a riveting read for me, partly because much of it recalled my own experience with a difficult, Jekyll and Hyde sort of mother. (Though, I hasten to add, nothing as disturbing as the novel,)

What begins like a Hallmark movie, devolves into psychological terror. And it left me a little stunned--and, suitable to the day--a bit outside of time. 

Hiraeth--A Repost

                                                                      

Hiraeth (heer-eyeth) is a wonderfully evocative Welch word. It's defined as a homesickness for a place to which you can never return; nostalgia or yearning for the lost places of your past. 

The picture above, taken from Google Earth (2007), was the home of my maternal grandparents. The size of the yard is distorted -- it looks absolutely huge -- but in a way that's appropriate because in my earliest memories, it was huge -- a great, green grassy empire that was all mine. 
When I was very young and my father was in that mysterious place known as ‘overseas,’ my mother and I lived for a time with my grandparents. And later, when my father came home from WWII, I continued to spend time here.  My family lived just around the corner but I spent a great deal of time at my grandparents' house -- I even had my own bedroom.

The new owners seem to have made very few changes -- at least when this picture was taken. I can look at the picture and remember so many different times -- much like Miss Birdie's hall of doors I posted about on Christmas Eve 2014. (HERE) But here the memories are all good. 

My earliest memory is of lying in a crib between the two big beds in the master bedroom upstairs while my grandfather in his bed held my left hand while my grandmother in hers held my right . . . and the fresh smell of pillows put to air in the sunny eastern windows . . .  and later when my younger brother and I were both there for the night, how we would sit on little stools in the big bedroom and eat apples while we listened to the Lone Ranger on the radio . . .

Above the garage was a bare room, in the late Forties and early Fifties home to a ping pong table and my grandmother's treadle sewing machine --  remodeled in the early Sixties into an apartment where I lived while John was stationed in Japan a year after we were married.

I rode my bike along that sidewalk when I was a gawky pre-teen and later my grandfather took my older son for walks there. I looked out those windows to the right of the front door and saw John (only a classmate and acquaintance at the time (8th grade or thereabouts) driving his go-cart on the sidewalk across the street.

And from the breakfast room windows to the left of the garage, I would watch for John when he came in his Model A to pick me up during our senior year of high school. And our wedding reception was held here and we ran down the front steps in a flurry of rice in 1963 -- just as my parents had in 1941. . .

Of course the memories of this beloved place have crept into my writing. A Christmas post a few years back about an incident when I was young (HERE) surely contributed to Miss Birdie's Christmas memory (though without the bitter part.) 

And while I do, indeed, have hiraeth for this lost paradise, I know that I'm where I belong and where I want to be. But I still love prowling that hall of memories. . .

Whew!

 

Merry, Merry and Happy Happy!

May this day be full of beauty, peace. and new beginnings!

 

Ice Patterns

 

Happiness is a Blue-Footed Booby

An early Christmas gift from Sandy . . .
 

The Traditional Tree

The cranberry/popcorn string, the candy canes, the icicles, the red bows and glass balls. . .

The angel I made from a kit some forty years ago. . .

The crocheted snowflakes from Lillian Vernon (is that mail order business still around?)

A heart Justin made in second grade . . .

And a tree from Josie's kindergarten days . . .

John made this Santa almost fifty years ago when we decorated a tree at my grandparent's house. . .
And a mama and baby pig--just one of my many "favorite" ornaments.
It's taken me several days, but The Tree is done! (Josie helped on one of the days.)