Category Archives: Holiday

Community, Faith and Spirituality, Holiday

Christmas 2025

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Joy to the world, the Lord is come!

Let earth receive her King,

let every heart prepare him room, and heaven and nature sing,

and heaven and nature sing,

and heaven and heaven, and nature sing. 

Joy to the world, the savior reigns!

Let all their songs employ;

while fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains

repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding joy,

repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,

nor thorns infest the ground;

he comes to make his blessings flow,

far as the curse is found,

far as, far as, the curse is found.

He rules the world, with truth and grace,

and makes the nations prove

the glories of his righteousness,

and wonders of his love,

and wonders, and wonders, of his love.

–Joy to the World

Words: Isaac Watts, 1719 (Psalm 98: 4-9)

Music:  Arr. from G.F. Handel, 1741, by Lowell Mason, 1848

Community, Faith and Spirituality, Holiday, Nature

Thankful, on this Thanksgiving Day (2024)

On this Thanksgiving day, a chilly drizzle dims, but cannot mask, the beauty of fall’s spectacular finale here in Northern Virginia.

Late-blooming roses and a few determined petunias share space with brilliant red maple leaves, soon to fly away. As I give thanks for nature’s many gifts, the words of this familiar old hymn, a comforting presence, abide with me today.

For the beauty of the earth,

for the glory of the skies,

A red maple, in its blazing final burst of fall color.

for the love which from our birth, over and around us lies.

Lord of all, to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise. 

Due to some unsupervised weeding and many hungry deer, only one Montauk daisy has bloomed in our patch this season.

For the beauty of each hour, of the day and of the night,

hill and vale and tree and flower, sun and moon, and stars of light;

Lord of all, to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise. 

A ginkgo tree, a living link to the era of the dinosaurs, dressed in its golden November glow.

For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind’s delight,

for the mystic harmony linking sense to sound and sight;

For the past two years, this azalea puts forth a few fall blooms. Unlike the typical spring blossoms, of dark fuchsia, the off-season flowers have petals of striated pale pink.

Lord of all, to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise. 

Wishing you and your loved ones a Thanksgiving filled with many blessings!

 

–For the Beauty of the Earth

Words: Folliot S. Pierpoint, 1864

Music:  Conrad Kocher, 1838

Community, Family, Holiday, Nature

Halloween ’24 and its Prequels

Slim revels in the various lead-up events to the big day. His enthusiastic presence heightens the fun at our church’s annual Trunk or Treat. It’s a pleasure having him by my side, revving up the crowd from his usual perch at the back of my car.

It was Slim’s idea that the refurbished nativity animals accompany us to the event.  By this time, he and the pups had gotten chummy with the foursome of ox, donkey, lamb and ram.  He decided that their debut at Trunk or Treat should function as a preview in preparation for Advent.  But they needed some Halloween flair, he insisted.  He dug through boxes of fall decorations to find suitable ribbon for bows, which he carefully tied around each faux-furry neck. 

We were all happy to see our daughter and her fiancé, who dropped by last weekend between Halloween parties. Slim heartily approved of their regal vampire costumes.

Slim loves a festive centerpiece, and he has an eye for detail. In our dining room, he toyed with the painted gourds, arranging them just so in the punch bowl.

The week before Halloween was warm and sunny here in Northern Virginia. Between decorating projects, Slim could often be found soaking up the October rays and basking in the balmy breezes. While sad to see that the impatiens had succumbed to a recent frost, he appreciated the persistence of our petunias.

He was surprised to discover some out-of-season blooms on our lilacs.

A birder from way back, Slim had for years been encouraging me to join the Feeder Watch program of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Now that I have, I understand. I’ve always appreciated the peace that comes from being immersed in nature, especially at times when the human world is a muddle of confounding conflict. And I’ve found that when I’m counting birds for Feeder Watch, I pay closer attention to each little creature that appears. I’m looking with greater concentration and intentionality, and the experience is more satisfying. Slim spent hours sitting motionless in a chair close to the feeders, gazing at the variety of birds that swooped around him, not troubled at all by his presence. I found some precious moments to settle myself in a chair just beyond, and savor the pleasant ambiance.

Before long, it was time for the annual pre-Halloween joyride. The dogs piled in, and Slim took the wheel. On an afternoon that epitomized convertible weather, they merrily cruised the neighborhood, looking for old friends and admiring the numerous ambitious Halloween displays.

Slim has claimed that he and his wide circle of influencers are largely responsible for the exponential growth of Halloween, from a quick one- day celebration, to a weekend, to its own extensive season. He’s been known to get a bit cocky, so I take his words with a grain of salt.  Is it really a good thing, I wondered, for gargantuan blow-up spiders, demons and Disney villains to join us as early as August?   I asked him why he and his colleagues, if they wielded such power, couldn’t turn their attention toward easing some of society’s ills. They were trying to do just that, he replied. The thinking was this: If we can unite for weeks over a love of candy, playing dress-up and poking fun at our fears, maybe we can realize that our points of commonality outnumber our differences. 

Maybe there’s something to this.  Even one day of Halloween is an amazing occasion.  People across our country open their doors to hand out generous amounts of candy to children.  Most of these are kids we hardly know, or have never met.  We greet and give to strangers, simply because they show up, wear a costume, and say “Trick or Treat.”  It seems that over the years on October 31, we’ve moved toward a greater emphasis on the treating than the tricking.  That’s something to keep in mind and strive for, every day, whether it’s Halloween season, or not.   

Slim and my husband worked together to light up our house in a Halloweeny palette of orange and green.
Crafts, Family, Holiday

Skeleton Crew ’24

It’s that time again–time for our beloved family friend Slim and his pack of devoted pups to jump back wholeheartedly into the life of our household. For the past eleven months they’ve been keeping a low profile up in their attic hideaway. In years past, my mother’s basement has served as their quiet refuge during the non-October months. This changed last year when Slim made his acquaintance with the recently finished upper room at our house. He loved it so much he found no reason to leave, as long as I promised not to be overly intrusive. He has a good four weeks of chatty, jovial cordiality in him per year, but no more. I understand. I need my alone time, too.

Slim and the gang enjoyed tucking themselves into the attic’s odd and cozy spaces. When they were huddled silently behind the screen, as in the top photo, I sometimes forgot they were in the house. Other times they nestled into the dormers, where they could lounge with a pile of books and keep occasional watch on the neighborhood below.

As planned, Slim caught up on his reading, delving deep into some of his favorite periods in art history.

Inspired by our intention that the attic serve as a studio for my painting and craft projects, Slim had rekindled his interest in a variety of artistic pursuits.  His building of a miniature medieval manor house turned out to be no more than a passing fancy, rather as I had expected.  He offered advice as I fiddled with the restoration of an old family mantel clock.  When I encouraged him to take on the task of gold-leafing the column bases and capitals, he claimed to be overtired.  What can I say, he was off duty.  

As fall approached, Slim’s energy increased.  He  painted a couple of dried gourds, delighting in their arresting shapes and textures. 

And in early October, he offered encouragement, if not actual assistance, when I began repainting our church’s battered old nativity figures, those that spend Advent and Christmas in the outdoor manger.

There was considerable room for improvement, as these “before” photos of the lamb and donkey show. Slim was by my side as I worked on the animals. The human figures–the holy family, shepherd, angel and three kings–will be more challenging. I wish I could entrust their makeovers to Slim. But Halloween is upon us, and I know he will certainly be “overtired” in the days ahead.

I can hear Slim now, starting to make ready for the big day.  He’s dragging out the orange and green lights.  Onward, to Halloween!

Family, Holiday, Memorials, Parenthood, Travel

Father’s Day 2024

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Daddy and I, July 1965, in Lebanon, KY.

A particular image of my father has taken up residence in my mind recently. I see him sitting at our kitchen table in our house in Atlanta. He has a map open–a fold-up highway map, the kind we used to buy at gas stations and welcome centers–those old ones that today’s young adults have rarely seen. He has a pen in hand, and he’s cheerfully planning the route for an upcoming trip. The destination is likely to be one with which he’s very familiar. Probably it’s a town in central or eastern Kentucky, to visit family. Even near home, Daddy didn’t like to follow the same path twice. Mama said that was one reason she never learned her way around Atlanta. Daddy enjoyed driving, and he was good at it. He’d had considerable practice, as he’d been driving since he was twelve or so. He was born in 1929, and he learned on a Model T. I always knew that if I needed a ride somewhere–anywhere accessible by car–Daddy could, and would, gladly oblige.

Mama remembers how Daddy poured over such a map while my husband and I were on our way to New Jersey after our marriage in the fall of 1995. I was moving away, and this time, it seemed likely to be for good. Before, I’d always returned after a few years. H and I were in a packed U-Haul, with my little Rabbit convertible behind on a trailer. Because we left later in the day, we spent a night on the road in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. When I called home to report our safe arrival, Daddy quickly picked up the phone. He’d been worried about us. (He didn’t yet know that I’d perhaps married as capable and confident a driver as he.)

My husband and I with the moving van in Atlanta, November 1995.

“I’m so relieved to hear your voice!,” he exclaimed. “I think I drove every mile with you!”

Daddy was not a man who cried easily or often. But Mama said she remembers him shedding some tears that evening, as he worried over the map.

H with the van in Carlisle. The trailer for my small car was huge, and could easily have held a Cadillac. As H said, “We were long.”

On this Father’s Day, and every day, I’m grateful to be my father’s daughter. I know that wherever life takes me, no matter how treacherous the road, Daddy is there beside me, every mile.

My husband and my father in Atlanta, December 1996.

Somehow now the years have spun by like the numbers on the oven timer, and H and I are a married couple past middle age, with a daughter of our own. She’s twenty-five, a young career woman, living in another state. But it’s Maryland, and she’s still nearby. So far, we’re lucky that way. I know that she, too, counts herself fortunate to be her father’s daughter. She can be sure that her Dada, like her dear Papa, will be forever at her side, driving with her every mile.

For another post on my sweet Daddy, see here.

Community, Holiday, Memorials, Travel

Once Again, and Daily, May We Honor our Hometown Heroes

The Hometown Hero banners are up again along the quiet main streets of little towns throughout upstate New York. They honor men and women currently serving in our armed forces. Most of the faces are young. So, so very young. They look down from flag-draped lamp posts along Union Street in the little village of Spencerport. Some are smiling, appearing hopeful and excited. Others are stoically stern. All of them should break our hearts.

Let’s carry such young faces with us, every day. May they be living reminders of the reality of the ongoing sacrifice taking place continually, here and in far-flung spots, for our precious American freedoms. Let’s honor these soldiers, like my twenty-one year old nephew in the Marines, who offer up years of their youth so that we may remain the unique country that our founders envisioned.

Keeping these young faces in our minds and hearts, let’s behave better toward one another. Let’s remember that they’re toiling now to keep us free. Free to voice our own opinions, and free to disagree with one another. But when we disagree, let us strive to do so with grace, thoughtfulness and kindness, recognizing our common humanity. So that we might discover common ground. And so that we won’t take impulsive actions that will jeopardize the republic for which these young heroes fight.

Also on Spencerport’s Union Street lies peaceful Fairfield Cemetery, which I first explored on a walk five years ago with my dog Kiko. As Memorial Day approaches, the graves of the war dead are decorated with American flags. Pictured above is the monument to those from the area who gave their lives defending our Union during the Civil War. Let us remember the devastating cost of a nation divided, and of going to war against one another.

As this viciously polarized election season ramps up, let’s take a deep breath and consider that our hard-won democracy might indeed be fragile. Let’s make choices that show we value the sacrifice of all our hometown heroes, of today and generations past. Let’s remember that they have fought and died, and continue to fight, to protect us from falling prey to tyrants. Let’s pay close attention. Let’s not be misguided by anger and spitefulness. Let’s be informed and seek the truth, even when it’s not the truth we want to hear. Let us not be fooled. Let us recognize those who try to manipulate us into willingly laying down our invaluable freedoms.

Long may our land be bright with freedom’s holy light!

–America, Samuel Smith, 1832

Faith and Spirituality, Family, Holiday

Once Again, Ash Valentine’s Day

This year, Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day both fall on February 14.  The last time this happened was in 2018.  I know, because I wrote about it back then.  What follows is my post from six years ago, with a few minor changes. 

These two holidays are unlikely bedfellows, so to speak.  Ash Wednesday is a day when Christians are urged to face mortality head-on and clear-eyed, to gaze into the bleakness of what would have been, had it not been for God’s saving grace.  It marks the start of Lent, the forty-day period leading up to Easter, during which prayer, repentance and self-denial are encouraged.  Lent’s Biblical basis is Christ’s retreat to the wilderness to commune with the Father in preparation for his ministry. 

Valentine’s Day, on the other hand, needs no explanation.  It’s a day for celebrating love in all its forms. It typically involves the giving and getting of various treats.  It’s a day for indulgence, not denial. 

To Lenten sticklers for self-abnegation, the concurrence of Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day will likely pose a conundrum.  To deny or not to deny?  Chocolate or no chocolate?  Dessert or no dessert?  Wine or no wine with that special Valentine dinner?  Perhaps a compromise:  to begin the denial process on February 15? 

I’ve written several times about Ash Wednesday.  See: Looking into the Ashes (March 1, 2017), and Saved from the Ashes (February 10, 2016).  I’ve tried Lenten self-denial in the past, but I’ve been known to lose track of the larger purpose.  The season’s truly spiritual pursuits–prayer, Bible reading, penitential introspection–they sometimes were left in the dust (or the ashes) of Ash Wednesday.  A couple of times, when I renounced all things sweet, my Lenten journey became little more than a period of dieting.  I wince when I recall certain instances of self-righteous forbearance that must have made me a most disagreeable companion.  See Mindful Eating, and a Mindful Lent (March 24, 2012). 

The purpose of Lent is to try to become more like Christ.  Instead, in our singular focus on denial, we become more like the Pharisees, those elite Jewish leaders who prided themselves on following every iota of the Mosaic Law.  They were probably among those Jesus denounced for ostentatious fasting:  “And when you fast, don’t make it obvious, as the hypocrites do, for they try to look miserable and disheveled so people will admire them for their fasting.  I tell you the truth, that is the only reward they will ever get.” (Matthew 6: 16, New Living Translation)  Jesus called out the Pharisees for their empty, showy arrogance and for the stumbling blocks they set up for others:  “You shut the door of the Kingdom of Heaven in people’s faces.  You won’t go in yourselves, and you don’t let others enter either” (Matthew 23: 13).  Overly zealous regarding trivial details, they tended to miss the big picture:  “You are careful to tithe even the tiniest income from your herb gardens, but you ignore the more important aspects of the law–justice, mercy and faith.  You should tithe, yes, but do not neglect the more important things. Blind guides!  You strain your water so you won’t accidentally swallow a gnat, but you swallow a camel!” (Matthew 23: 23-24).   

On Ash Wednesday, I look into the dark ashes and contemplate Jesus’s supreme sacrifice.  I give thanks that his unimaginable love lifts me from the depths of destruction and despair. 

On Valentine’s Day, I’ve usually painted cards for family members, sometimes also for friends. There will be candy for my mother and daughter. I try to cook one of my husband’s favorite meals. If I’m really on top of things, I’ll make the caramel-topped sponge cake, or the sugar cookies he likes. (I apologize in advance this year, when there will be no homemade desserts.) H may come home with a box of Russell Stover’s candy–maybe the Assorted Cremes? He knows that’s my favorite. He’s also learned over the years that I’m not a fan of that traditional over-priced Valentine staple–the bouquet of dark red roses.

During Lent, I’ll try to take Jesus as my role model. I’ll keep my Bible close at hand.  I’ll eat some chocolates.  I may also swallow a few gnats. 

But I hope to avoid the camels.  

Happy Ash Valentine’s Day!