CHRISTMAS EVE - Proud Grandparent

Old memories and traditions are an integral part of the Christmas season. They often help us to get a full measure of enjoyment out of the Great Feast Day. When I was a boy, most traveling was done in automobiles, but I do remember a few teams of high-stepping horses that could really make their sleigh bells jingle as they pulled bobsleds or cutters along the snowy country roads. For many of us, the merry sound of sleigh bells, whether actually heard or dredged up from memory, is about all that is needed to establish a Christmas mood:

CHRISTMAS PAST

Sleigh bells sing on country lanes,
Christmas carols, candy canes,
Sparkling tinsel, giant tree,
Gifts galore for you and me!

Age may turn my hair to gray,
Steal my zest and zeal away.
Time may rob me of my gold.
Christmas memories I'll still hold.

Christmas is a time for youngsters. And for families. When our children were small we did our main celebrating on Christmas Eve. We began with a large evening meal. Santa Claus was not a major contributor at our house, but by the time the dishes were finished he had usually left a bag of goodies and small gifts on our front porch. The rest of the evening was spent exchanging gifts, playing with new toys, admiring new clothes and singing a few carols.
We still try to continue that tradition, but each year it becomes a bit more difficult for our group to get together for the Great Season. With family members now scattered from the East Coast to the West and from the Twin Cities to Dallas, and with winter travel conditions being what they are here in the Midwest the odds are against our all being together again this year. And the grandchildren have a way of growing up and having classes and getting jobs that make it all the more difficult to plan. But once again, we'll do the best we can. We'll gather wherever we can get the most of the group together and then keep the telephone lines buzzing as we compare notes and share greetings on Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMAS EVE

Turkey roasting in the oven,
Coffee brewing in the pot,
And the clan will start to gather
Any minute, like as not.

One more snowy Midwest Christmas –
Outside cold chills to the bone –
First we'll line up the grandchildren,
Look them over...how they've grown!

We'll eat supper, do the dishes,
Then all gather 'round the tree;
Exchange gifts and sing some carols.
See what Santa left for me.

Thank you Chad and Zac and Justin--
Jared, Riley, Gabe and Jake--
Thanks, Michelle, Mikey and Noah,
What a precious group you make!

Life provides us joys a-plenty,
But none greater, I believe,
Than being a proud grandparent
On this Blessed Christmas Eve!

CHRISTMAS IS FOR US YOUNG ONES

Oh, I don’t wait up for Santa,
half ecstatic, half in dread
on that Great Night, I sleep soundly
in my warm and snuggly bed.

Christmas morning, see the presents,
dolls and balls and brand-new sled,
then there’s turkey with the “fixin’s”
till each hungry mouth is fed.

With the family here together,
we all talk and play and sing.
Through the crisp, cold air of winter
we can hear the church bells ring.

Christmas time finds me excited,
happy as I used to be.
On the snowy side of eighty,
there’s still lots of kid in me.

ROCKING CHAIR

We don’t see a lot of rocking chairs in motion these days. Maybe people don’t have time to just sit and rock anymore. In my childhood days, a mother rocking a small child to sleep was a common sight. Or a busy farm wife taking time off from her work to rock and comfort one of her small tots that was not feeling well. Grandmothers would rock and knit and recall the old times when their children were young.
Grandfathers would rock while smoking their pipes, and grumble about all the confounded changes that had taken place in the world. Some blamed all or most of the country’s problems on the high-lines that brought electrical power to the rural areas. The weather certainly was not the same since they started taking all of that electricity out of the air. And every time they graveled or oiled another road they were just asking for more trouble. All those people on the move and the exhaust from all of those Model T Fords certainly couldn’t be good for anything. “Now they’re even putting big boxes on those contraptions and hauling hogs to market! It just don’t seem right.”
Rocking in a chair was often referred to as “being on the move without going anywhere.” Today’s senior citizens have a whole different set of options than their parents and grandparents had. And most of them like to “go somewhere.” For some it is 18 holes of golf every day. For others it is a bus tour down to Nashville to see the Grand Ole Opry or to Branson, Missouri. Some enjoy weekend tour to Dakota or Mississippi to one of the gambling casinos. Or to Las Vegas, Reno, Tahoe, Laughlin, or Atlantic City.
Amusement parks and theme parks are now scattered across the country. And big-time sporting events are within the reach of most.
We often saw pictures of President John F. Kennedy in a rocking chair. Some said he found that rocking brought some comfort to his injured, aching back. Song writers have found the chairs to be good subjects for their work. One famous song title said, “Old Rocking Chair’s Got Me.” Another set of lyrics told of rocking away troubles and cares by “just sitting doing nothing in an easy rocking chair.” And a more recent song hit by Country Music icon George Jones proclaims, “I Don’t Need Your Rocking Chair.”

ROCKING CHAIR

The old lady likes to look out –
When a long day’s almost done –
From her westward-facing window
She watches the setting sun.

Then at dusk, in the big parlor,
Over near the open stair,
She greets her last true companion,
Her old platform rocking chair.

She recalls her faithful husband –
They’d shared years and smiles and tears –
Until at last he sagged and fell
Beneath the weight of the years.

She recalls how proud he had been
Of the six children she bore.
Feels a bit sad, thinking how she
Seldom sees them anymore.

‘Cause years raced by, as years tend to.
Before long, the kids had flown,
Leaving just her and her husband
In the big house, all alone.

When he left this world for heaven –
A life she could not yet share –
She did much praying and grieving
In this same old rocking chair.

She’s sure she feels more content here
Than the richest millionaire.
She has one friend she can count on,
Her old true-blue rocking chair.

At times the nursing home beckons,
But she refuses to go.
Why trade one’s own home and hearth for
A life you don’t even know?

So she sits and reminisces,
Now and then says a short prayer,
Thanks God for His every kindness,
And this faithful rocking chair.

MIDWEST WINTER

Every now and then I come across a new word - one that I don't know ... or know the meaning of. Usually my curiosity will eventually get the better of me and I'll go to the dictionary to look it up. A recent discovery was the word "rime." No, it has nothing to do
with writing or rhyming. It simply means "frozen water vapor." Just a short, nifty word for frost. Perhaps one we could use in late fall when – freezing becomes more and more common – and frost grows thicker on everything outdoors. Until, at last, winter takes command and we find "rime" even on the inside of our window panes.
After going to the trouble of finding out the meaning of this cute little word - and adding it to my meager vocabulary - can I find a use for it? I already have quite a few autumn poems ... about brightly-colored leaves and dark gray skies and the sad, haunting cry of those spear-shaped formations of wild geese heading south and leaving us here behind to cope with an angry, cruel winter. Autumn is a beautiful, wonderful season. The only thing I don't like about it is the fact that it leads directly into winter.
I've never cared much for that season, and still don't look forward to the cold, to the snow-clogged and icy roads, driveways and sidewalks, to appointments that must be canceled and plans that must be postponed, and to the fuel bills. But when it finally "winters in ," I usually find that It's not really so bad after all. Then we are never at a loss for conversation material: “How deep is the snow in your yard? My thermometer said 20 below. What do you suppose the wind chill factor is today?”
And then there is always the anticipation of Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day and Easter. Before we know it we will be counting down the days until spring is here. As with almost everything else, winter is about as good or as bad as we expect it to be.
Rural youngsters of my generation lacked organized entertainment activity, but we managed quite well on our own. Some of the kids in our neighborhood had ice skates and skis. Almost every family had at least one "store-bought" sled. And most farm boys could build a "single bob" sled from scrap material. Barrel stave skis were only partially successful. I often wonder how many "blue thumbnails" have resulted from trying to fasten a leather strap to the unyielding wood of a barrel stave with a hammer and roofing nails.
Flying down a steep hill, with the metal runners of a Flexible Flyer sled roaring over
ice-covered snow was a big thrill in our young lives. After supper and evening chores, we sometimes took our sleds back out to our favorite hill. A kerosene chore lantern worked well to mark the end of our trail at the ,bottom of the hill. Curves and other hazards were
often marked by torches made from tin cans, using old rags and waste oil for fuel. The light of a large, bright moon had a way of turning our familiar pasture hill into a strange new, wonderful world, or planet. Nighttime sledding parties were "just about as good as it gets."
And now to see if we can get some use out of our new word "rime."

MIDWEST WINTER
New dainty lace of autumn rime
Foretells approach of wintertime,
When soft, white snowflakes' restless shift
Creates an ever-growing drift.

Ice crystals on the pond join hands
To build a stratum that withstands
Not only the large grownups' weights,
But pressure of their sharpened skates.

The young folks laugh and shout with glee
And race outdoors with sled and ski.
No alpine mountain do they need;
The pasture hill gives breakneck speed.

When chore-time interrupts their fun,
They plan a later, evening run,
Hoping the night's full moon won't fail
To light the rugged upper trail.

Their old, coal oil chore lantern will
Target the bottom of the hill.
They speed through shadowed, eerie land,
Then climb the steep hill, hand-in-hand.

The icy air, at last, takes hold;
Their toes and fingers ache from cold.
They'll seek, after one final ride,
Hot chocolate and the warm fireside.

Then, off to bed, and peaceful sleep
With dreams of hills, where snow's piled deep.
Winter's gray skies, the cold and snow
Bring joy to those who'll have it so.

THANKSGIVING

In grade school, we always looked forward to Thanksgiving. We made new decorations to take the place of the construction paper witches, black cats, and jack-o’-lanterns that held places of importance on the walls and windows a month earlier. Now we traced or drew, and cut out Pilgrims, corn shocks, pumpkins, and turkeys. And we looked forward to a day or two off from school.
Thanksgiving is nicely spaced, about midway between Halloween and Christmas. And looking forward to “Turkey Day” kind of helped to break up the dull fall season. President Roosevelt once tried to change the date, and have us celebrate the great autumn feast earlier in order to give the turkey producers a longer season to prepare and distribute their products for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. But the majority of the people wouldn’t stand still for that. So we still do our celebrating on the last Thursday of November. At least here in the US, but in Canada it is celebrated earlier.
Our schoolbooks told us that turkey is the main item on many people’s Thanksgiving dinner table, but a lot of us had never tasted the big bird. Most farms produced their own chicken, pork, and beef. Some also had ducks and geese, but back in those days, turkeys were difficult to raise. And, as a scarce item, the big birds were a real luxury food, and expensive to buy in the stores and meat markets.
We all seemed to enjoy learning as much as we could about the first Thanksgiving. As farm and small town children we could identify with the Pilgrims and their efforts to make a living off the strange, harsh land. And we saw the pictures of their Native American neighbors coming to that first celebration, carrying deer and wild turkeys they had stalked and killed and brought along as their contribution to the menu.
We learned of the Pilgrims hardships during those first years. And how the friendly Indians shared their seed corn with them and taught them how to grow, harvest, store, and use the crop. We were told that without the new corn, the people and the colonies would most likely not have survived.
The warm, happy story of people with such different backgrounds working together, and then joining to feast and celebrate and thank God for their success always caught and held our interest. And helped make us all feel thankful for our blessings.

THANKSGIVING PRAYER

We thank you, Lord,
For this great land,
For rolling plains
And mountains grand,

For fields, and strong
Farmers who toil,
For crops that thrive
On fertile soil.


For working men
And women who
Take great pride in
The work they do.

For colleges,
Teachers, and schools,
Officials who
Enforce our rules.

For our leaders,
Many whose strong
Efforts move our
Country along.

For those who at
An earlier date
Led the way, made
This country great.

Pilgrims, Indians,
Who, hand-in-hand,
Paved the way for
This day so grand,

Their efforts, at
That early stage,
Purchased for us
Our heritage.

Thank You, for all
Who’ve shaped our land,
Devout clergy,
Great churches, and

Men and women
Marching in ranks.
For all of these,
We give Thee thanks.

KICKAPOO ESCAPE

The Creator has a sense of humor. And is not one to let anything go to waste. Left-over bits and pieces from the creation of the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains were swept together to form the Ocooch Mountains in southwestern Wisconsin.
Excess silken shards from our country's great rivers were spliced into a shimmering skein, and embroidered, zigzag, down a tortuous valley, toward the Wisconsin River. Early Native Americans named this little river "He who wanders here and there." Usually a placid stream, occasionally a roaring demon, it has, down through the years, been alternately loved and hated, adored and worshipped, blessed and cursed--and all for sufficient reasons.
Boaters and water lovers find the waterway too small for large craft or for commercial traffic, but exceedingly "canoe-friendly," except when prodded, irked and irritated by prolonged heavy rainfall.
Landlubbers have learned to live with the meandering stream and share its beautiful valley. To travel there, they built Wisconsin State Highway 131--playing hopscotch with the winding river--erecting a bridge to meet its each and every errant whim.
An effort was made to control and domesticate the river just above LaFarge. But we fools and our money were soon parted. The giant recreational lake involving 6,000 acres never materialized. About 18 million U.S. taxpayers' dollars erected only half-a-dam. And half-a-dam is no better or worse than no dam at all. The stream still remains unfettered and un-neutered. The water still flows free...toward the sea.

KICKAPOO ESCAPE

In the little Ocooch Mountains

With their gushing streams and fountains

There is a place that's

Very near and dear to me.

A whole world of peace and quiet--

Were I a rich man, I'd buy it--

Where the Kickapoo

Flows gently toward the sea.

When pressures of city and town

Weary my soul and grind me down,

I find there's just no

Place where I would rather be

Than in this rugged, peaceful land

With its lush greenery so grand,

Where the Kickapoo

Winds gently toward the sea.

Pack some lunch, grab up your paddle,

Load the canoe, we'll skedaddle,

And go a-drifting

Down the river, you and me.

On this winding and wondrous stream,

We will find time to plan and dream

As the Kickapoo

Wends its way toward the sea.

PARK BENCH WISDOM

Most of even our tiniest towns have at least one comfortable bench where a weary traveler may sit down and rest. And where the local old-timers can gather and talk over all of the current events including all local, county, state, national, and international happenings.
Such benches are often located in a shaded, park area. Other times we may find them right on the sidewalk of the town’s main street. And just outside the front door of a local pharmacy, restaurant, pool hall, or tavern. When the older natives gather at the bench, we can often benefit from some of their high-level conversation. We can glean a lot of their hard-earned knowledge and wisdom, provided we can winnow the chaff from the facts. We may find that many of their old tales have been altered and contaminated by years of retelling and by dimming memories. Also deliberately distorted by exaggeration, politics, religion, prejudice, good humor, and/or just plain orneriness. Also the love of being able to tell and get away with a good lie now and then.

PARK BENCH WISDOM

The old cowboy sat and whittled

On a stick of soft white pine.

He said, “Though the world’s changed, your life

Will be much the same as mine.

“You will wake up lots of mornings

Kind of dreading the new day,

But it’s best to face up to it.

Don’t let time just waste away.

“When you go to work, remember

You’re not a boy, but a man –

Know exactly what’s required, then

Do the best job that you can.

“Don’t just shy away from troubles

Or new problems that you fear.

You will have to face them sometime,

Such things don’t just disappear.

“If you ask for my advice, Son,

This is what I have to say,

There just ain’t no substitute for

Doing today’s tasks today.

“Life’s like a badly spoiled bronco

When it hits its bucking stride.

We really don’t have much choice but

To just hang right on and ride.

“Whether we’re alive and kicking

Won’t concern the world a lot.

It will keep right on a-spinning

Whether we’re aboard or not.

“Now, when you’re dealing with others –

The Good Book says what to do –

Treat folks to the honest kindness

You would like them to show you.

“Never put too much importance

On just who you think you are.

“Sure, you’re no pro football player

And no famous movie star.

“But don’t ever get discouraged

By your lack of strength or size.

Focus on the whole picture, not

You, as seen through your own eyes.

“Avoid things foolish and stupid

As you travel down life’s way.

Mix your work and progress with a

Bit of pleasure every day.

“You can’t hide behind a bottle –

I’ve tried that out and I know –

Problems wait around to greet you

When you’ve lost that rosy glow.

“The next morning, when you’re sober,

Those troubles still lie ahead.

it ain’t easy coping with life

When you have an aching head.

“Of things I tell you, this may be

The most important of all –

Mountains have been moved by the faith

Of folks who were weak and small.

“Oh, sure, you’ll feel unimportant,

At times, in this wide world’s scheme,

But you can make a real difference

If you hang on to your dream.

“Live so that one day you’ll look back

On these bygone days, and smile

At a lifetime filled with living –

One that’s really been worthwhile.