CATS IN BOX, PENTATONIX, ARTS BUILDING MEMORIES & A BEACH WARM UP-THE WEEKENDER

THIS IS MORE THAN CURIOSITY

    Hemingway and Joy love boxes. A container from a trip to our "big box" store was temporarily put in the garage, pending it's filling with Christmas lights.  We didn't move quickly enough.These two rascals decided to encamp there, together! Put a box in the garage and immediately a curious cat is inspecting it from the inside.

DAYS OF MEMORY

    Our friend Lew sent along a summer scene of the Arts Building Terrace at Ball State University. It's a place of special significance to Lana and me.  Her art classes were in this hall as were my political science courses. I addressed a

throng of students who filled the lawn at an early Earth Day celebration and spoke to another crowd while running as a class officer candidate.  

    This was also a green that filled with sun and nap takers, lunch breakers, and romance makers.  It is also a gorgeous building and sits as a boundary to what was once the center of the campus. Could it really have been that long ago?!

                             A PARTING MELODY

   Charles Dickens was right.  Regardless of faith or belief, we should keep Christmas in our heart all year.  Here's a unique take on a seasonal classic.  Enjoy

Cheers!
A TRIP TO SHAMEL BEACH

    As many of you suffer through winter's icy blast, we offer

a few moments of light and sea from California's central coast at Cambria's Shamel Park beach.

   Hope this warmed you a bit and perhaps evoked memories of land without snow and ice.

    See you down the trail.

PUZZLING AND PLAYING

LEFT OVERS

   It's become a self imposed ritual to begin a new year by cleaning out something.  In recent years it seems to be computer or photo files.  This year I unloaded and deleted a lot of stuff from computer and phone and feel better now!

IT IS NOT TEDIOUS

   When we arrived to visit friends they were in the final stages of finishing a puzzle, but finding the going very slow because they were dealing with a section of sky and the pieces were similar.  Lana is a dedicated puzzler so she, Marcos and Bill, put an end to the challenge.

   Were it up to me, I might have framed that puzzle or laminated it so that it's completeness could be kept and celebrated forever.  But it was not up to me and all too soon I thought, they were off on another challenge.

 There appears to be a kind of mania that seizes puzzle workers in the grips of a new 1000 piece challenge.

 So many pieces this time, they had to be spread around the room.

 The theme was comedy and as I started looking at some of the jigsaws I was captivated by old TV and movie memories.
Soon I was doing my best to add an ear, or eye, or hat or some such.  I'd hit a dead end and go back to reading, saying that is tedious work. 
  "It is not tedious to someone who enjoys it" Marcos observed, "it is part of the challenge."
   I took note that part of the challenge is also working up an appetite for sweet, or a drink.
   Eventually, again, with assistance from Norma Jean, not pictured here, our champs, solved another one.

 A SO CAL TOAST

The mid west is so deeply imbedded in Lana and me that we excite, like a kid on his or her first trip to Disneyland, when we are around fresh fruit trees.  Especially so for Lana who loves fresh OJ.

Cheers! 

Happy New Year.

I feel good about getting these snaps off my phone.

And I'm happy for the great memories.

See you down the trail.

THE WAY IT LOOKS-THE WEEKENDER

WAITING & HAPPY

    It is a bitter sweet time of year isn't it, this emotional roller coaster of late December?  The end of the year comes as a definitive statement of either gains or losses, joys or regrets, but it runs directly into that grand and waiting portal of hope, the new year, where and when all things are again possible. Dreams and aspirations are birthed when we arbitrarily mark the turn of the calendar. Happy beginning indeed.

      Noted below in a powerful video is the chronicle of California people just an hour north of us in Big Sur. They enter this new year with an urgent need.

WINTER

CENTRAL COAST STYLE

   Stolo Winery-Cambria

   Mission Plaza-San Luis Obispo

                      Fiscalini Ranch-Cambria

    Such things are unofficial of course, but these may be the first of the California poppies of the season, and it is not yet spring.  Nor has it been wet, but here they are, on the Fiscalini Ranch Preserve in Cambria.

    Katherine and Lana-Bluff Trail-Cambria

AFTER THE FIRE
Heart felt video of Pfeiffer Big Sur fire

See you down the trail.

ABOUT A WOMAN AND WOMEN

HE SPOKE WISDOM

     Pay attention to the women in your life. Treat them with kindness, tenderness and affection. That in essence was an early lesson from my father.  He is the man who always made a point of kissing my mom when he returned home from a day at work, and always before leaving.  Not just a peck, a real kiss. There were times in my life when I was embarrassed by it.  I grew out of that.

     He was always quick to compliment my mother on her appearance, the meal she had prepared or something she may have said or done in a group or professional setting. He always had a good word for his mother or her sisters, all of whom were English, properly presented and sticklers on good manners.

     So now I brag for a moment about Lana, who's art and gardening have been the subject of previous posts.  This is a more seasonal praise.  She has been baking bread for some 40 years and in that time has become a true master.  But this holiday time of the year, she hears an even different call.

A BUSY KITCHEN

     Here is a representative sample of her efforts a couple of days ago.  There was more of everything, but these were captured before they too were boxed or gift wrapped. Biscotti, cranberry bread and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Nice to look at, but even better to taste. An incredible output you may think?  Well, on this day she also baked her regular bread and made pasta! 
     There are also chocolate covered orange peels, spicy almonds and sugared pecans, come to life on a different day.
     It is amazing that in all the effort, and there is a lot involved, she is humming or singing and operates with the efficiency a finely tuned factory. I get tired simply watching her, but she moves like an athlete.  I do my part my sampling.  And there is a later shoulder massage, well earned.

REEL THOUGHTS

     American Hustle is a brilliant film adventure and it is no wonder it's gotten a lot of buzz.  The acting is the brilliance! 

     It is a "somewhat truthful" retelling of an odd moment in American history, ABSCAM, thus a good story. It is well directed by David Russell and made entertaining by its capture of time by wardrobe and bad haircuts and amusing. But the acting sells the deal.

      Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Jennifer Lawrence, Bradley Cooper, Jeremy Renner are all-have I used the word-BRILLIANT. Louis CK is perfect in his supporting role and Robert DeNiro turns in a short but stunningly haunting role.

      This is a fun and captivating entertainment and I suspect you'll leave the theater talking about how good the cast was. 
       If you are interested in such facts, Amy Adams and Jennifer Lawrence are dazzling beauties. I notice these things. Again it goes back to my dad, who while always an English gentleman-he was raised that way-truly enjoyed the company of women and they were comfortable with him.
      He was chivalrous and sensitive. My memory is somewhat hazy, but it was fortified by mom's recounting. When I was a wee one, dad taught me how to wink, using the women of his office as my training partners.  Never a full wink, like a blink.  No, as he was in teaching me basketball skills, he was specific.  A real wink needs to be subtle, a gentle motion to be seen only by the recipient. 
       As I recall a wink toward a blond coed led to something that more than 40 years later leaves me with a partner I gladly kiss on arriving and departing. And who does things in the kitchen for which there are not enough compliments.
      Maybe you are shopping for a new year's resolution-pay attention-work on your wink and as Otis Redding sang "Try a little tenderness...."
      See you down the trail 
      
     

BEFORE ELF ON THE SHELF AND THE GLOW ON THE HILL

A VERY SPECIAL NIGHT

   Remember the old Coke commercial, "I'd like to teach the world to sing...?" Well, I'd like to invite the world to see what we have come to know as an extraordinarily wonderful evening, the Strings in the Chapel concert on the hill over looking Cambria's east village.

   I've posted here the last two years: Local Magic, 2011

and As Good As It Gets, 2012.  This year it was even more so.   

    There is a special joy to climbing the steep hill to the 140 year old Santa Rosa Chapel, festooned in lights and candles. In a sense it is as though moving from modernity to a wrinkle in the cosmic continuum where all Christmas moments meld.

    Jude Johnstone gathers extraordinary string players who weave a garland of sound and sentiment that fills the little wooden chapel with the exquisite richness of the season. Augmented by the vocals of Jude and daughter Ra Duncan hearts are lifted and spirits are thrilled. In the glow of the candles it is easy to forget whether it is the 19th, 20th or 21st Century.  

     Bruce Black's stories of his Grandmother and his emotional telling of the 'Twas The Night Before Christmas evoke memories that trigger time machines in the listener's hearts.
     The highlight for Lana and me is the beautiful poignancy of Judith Larmore's meditation decorated with her vivid remembrance of moments from Christmas season's past. Her words are emotional poetry as she transported us to snowy Indiana winters and drew from those days a story about kindness. Her Indiana roots, the fact her small town was my Mother's home and her lovely way of painting word pictures again found the way to moisten my eyes and lift my heart with a true Advent moment.
     Jude prepared a medley of Sting arrangements and tunes interpreted by the master string players, harpist and vocals of mom and daughter. A muted trumpet played on this set and I wish I could hear it all again!
     I'd like the world to hear, and see and feel this Christmas magic that happens beneath Pines, tucked between the Santa Lucia Mountains and the Pacific.  Our Christmas gift has come early, again.

BEFORE THE ELF ON THE SHELF

     I read Leanne Italie's Associated Press report with a chuckle.  She recounts how some young parents wrestle with keeping the Elf on the Shelf phenomenon working in their homes.  A few years ago an enterprising woman self published the Elf on the Shelf guide complete with an elf that "moves around the house" keeping an eye on little junior or sissy, helping them to be good little boys and girls. It seems remembering the elf on the shelf practices can add stress to the season.  Well,...

     Way back now.  Long before this product came on the market, our daughters Kristin and Katherine had their own elf experience.  It seems that each Christmas season a new  Santa figure would mysteriously show up, some place near their rooms.  Furthermore, a little closer to Christmas Eve they would find elfin tinsel or an elf figure in their respective rooms.  And then on Christmas morning they would discover that the "right jolly old elf" himself had somehow lost a piece of his fur trimming someplace around the tree or fireplace. There was a year as well, when old Santa left a jingle bell for each of them.  As there is an 11 year different between them, this ritual played for good number of years.  Never any stress though.  But you know, since the girls have grown, the elves have not been around with a new Santa, nor has he lost any fur.  I guess, given the number of Santas we collected, that is just fine.  Storage space issues in a retired boomers home you know! 

    See you down the trail.  

A COUPLE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS

DECEMBER DREAMING
and ghosts-see below

WHERE THE PAST LIVES

     Snow had turned to freezing rain and the old wiper blades spread a smear of icy trails across the windshield. It was dark but the snow covered road shone in the headlights courtesy of the glaze of ice. It was late Christmas Eve and I seemed to be the only car on the highway and now on this county road.

      I saw the old beater off the road to the right with the hood up when a dark figure stepped around from the front of the car and stood there. It did not beckon or wave but  simply watched me approach as though resigned to see me drive by. The headlights caught the visage of an older black man in a threadbare overcoat. Ice crystals matted into his hair. He appeared surprised I was pulling the old Studebaker over to park behind his even older car, I think it was an Oldsmobile.  As I started to alight he walked toward me wearing a smile that shone.

     I had worked late at the commercial radio station in a city some 60 miles away. While my college was on holiday recess, I needed to be back at the station the next morning to sign it on at 6:00 AM. The winter storm had slowed my progress to get home to my parents house to spend a bit of Christmas. I knew my parents and brothers were probably concerned about my travel in the snow and ice. This was long before cell phones or adequate snow clearing equipment on county roads or state highways.

     Something "froze up" he said.  He was on his way to his daughter's house with part of their Christmas Eve meal.  He'd been there "a while" he said and the few cars that had passed slowed down, but sped by "when they got a look at me."  A black man on a county road.  

     He was headed for a neighborhood near the downtown of Indianapolis, a neighborhood I would not normally frequent nor drive through.  We chatted about how our Christmas fates had put us together as we navigated the ice covered road that led to suburban streets which in turn fed us into the car lined streets of old houses, commercial buildings and vacant lots.  Lights gleamed from windows, rimmed with Christmas decorations.  We chuckled at how a few of the homes had painted snow scenes on windows or doors.  No need for that now as the ice had turned back to snow and the drive crunched on.

     His daughter and son in law looked curiously out the door and then came down the steps when they saw the old man get out of the car. They were visibly surprised to see a young white man get out of the other door.  

     Two or three little faces peered out of the large window on the porch, their eyes were wide.  "Those little angels are my grand children," the man said, his smile even wider now.

     Both the old man and his son in law went to their billfolds as though to offer me money.  No way I said. It's Christmas Eve.  I'm just being a Santa's helper I added, looking at how other doors were opening and seeing people appear in windows.  The daughter wanted me to come in and warm up, have something to eat. I explained my family was waiting and I needed to get on.  We shook hands and his big grin had a special quality of that caused a tingle in my chest.

       As I picked my way back to the suburbs the aroma of the dish that had rested on the back seat continued to fill the car. It had a sweet scent that activated my hunger sensors and I began to think about my parents and brothers and how I hoped they had dined.

      When I made it to the driveway Dad was first out of the door, as Mom stood behind him, in her apron.

       "We were very worried about you," Dad opened the Christmas Eve conversations.

       Later when I had relayed the story and we had begun to eat the feast Mom prepared, I noticed she was sitting there, looking a bit distant, but smiling.

       "You did the right thing," Dad said, "but you took a chance in doing it."

        I never confessed my nervousness, in making the stop or driving into that neighborhood. It was the mid '60s and times were different.

        A ghost that visits me this time of year is that picture of Mom, sitting there and smiling. Later, and she would often remind me of the story, "you were a Christmas angel for that man."

        At least I was a young white lad who saw another traveler and realized color makes no difference. 

       The other ghost I recall is that heart warming smile. It spoke more than words.

        See you down the trail.