Out on the prairie, at this time of year, it is often difficult to see what is prairie and what is sky.
Untouched Photo of the Rolling Hills of the Prairie
We always say that Eskimos have a gazillion different words for snow, without thinking that maybe we have a number of English words for snow that we don’t really use. I ended up at Avalanche.org when I went in search of words to describe last week’s phenomenon.
We had not, in many days, and thankfully, had any more snow. And yet, the trees in the mountains and on the prairie were being covered in whiteness. One of the kinds of frost is called Rime, and it is the frost that forms during freezing fog, something we have often in this region of the country.
It hangs heavy on the trees, both deciduous and conifer.
It’s quite strikingly beautiful, though it blots out much of the landscape.
It’s like Narnia here sometimes . . . it’s already been Christmas . . . now it will always be Christmas.
I think that’s the thing about living this far north . . . we’re at such an extreme. It feels, today, like it’s always been winter, and that it has never been summer, and might never be. It feels like we shall always been in short, dark days.
It’s not true, of course. We’re gaining light hand over fist this time of year, and we will soon be back to the oppressively sunny days of our summer, when the sun comes up at 3am and hardly ducks behind the last mountain by 10pm. We’ll be up early and stay up late, and wonder if the sun will ever give us a rest.
But all of this makes me understand the celebration of the solstice and the equinox. We come slamming so quickly out of summer into the darkness of winter here. We hibernate and close ourselves in, tucked away by the fire, hopefully with enough wood put up to keep us warm through the long, cold, darkness of winter.
As you may recall, we spent this Christmas driving around, delivering baked goods to the folks we knew were going to be alone because the service (and brunch) were canceled.
Despite our somewhat morose and not very festive mood, Farmergirl decided we needed a tree, and so she set one up:
Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown.
Taking a picture of the tree made us feel even more morose, so I tried re-staging it:
A Tree Only Charles Schultz Could Love
We did manage to take a few pics whilst driving around:
Miss Charlotte is the church matriarch I've mentioned in the 52.
At 93, Miss Charlotte is not the least bit concerned that bears might devour her.
The Christmas Baldwinis (also from the 52). With full-size tree.
Farmergirl got a dock, but it was delayed with the weather, so she got a sheet of paper.
Books are always a favourite with the Garribers.
Slipper Socks
I did say, at the beginning of this post, that there were slipper socks. I seem to have got diverted with the Charlie Brown tree.
Those Ballet Lessons paid off.
Sadly, I had not finished attaching the soles by Christmas. It proved a more difficult task than I’d anticipated, and I got them finished in time for Farmerteen’s birthday.
Goodbye, Farmergirl.
Hello, Farmerteen!
Farmerteen has newly-dyed hair (brown), and is serving dinner at her youth group this evening (Fall Bake, salad, and Vanilla, Butter, and Nut Pound Cake).
She has decided this should be a “year of firsts” . . . though we haven’t really done much to qualify yet.
I’ll let you know, after I unearth myself from the angst of being the mother of a teenager.
This is Farmergirl’s last day as Farmergirl.
I thought you would enjoy these shots, taken last week.
Farmergirl’s birthday is Wednesday, and I am oft asked what would she like. Her current wish list (beyond her love of iTunes and Claires) includes:
Now 29 (CD)
Yet Another Cinderella Story sound track
The Twilight books on CD
Any of the -ology books (Dragonology, Pirateology, Wizardology, The Wand Maker’s Guide . . .)
Twilight sound track
Anything with skulls
Alice’s choker (necklace)
Alice posters
(pretty much anything that has to do with Alice Cullen)
Ear buds (I always need more)
Any thing hand made or home made!! [emphasis hers]
I once worked for a literacy organization who served the homeless and other economically disadvantaged groups, the head of which used to say that too many social services organizations are really just jobs programs for the middle class. He was devoted to hiring the populations we served, which came, as you might imagine, with its own set of challenges — in particular because business mores are middle/upper class mores.
We’ve attended a lot of older churches, many of which had parsonages with the properties, most of which, because clergy seldom live in them these days, have been pressed into service as fellowship halls, food or clothing distribution centers, and things of that sort. One church used it as a housing program for middle class youth, and it was then that Richard’s point came home to me.
It’s hard to work with economically disadvantaged populations and the homeless . . . it’s messy (and sometimes dangerous) The middle class is going to keep property in repair like you would . . . it’s easy (and not particularly messy or dangerous).
The birth of Issac Jabez-Obama Williams was announced in the bulletin today at Bethel AME.
It was the second service we attended (earlier, the 9am at ECOR), and included no fewer than three sermons, two altar calls, and two offerings.
On our way out the door from ECOR, the church matriarch stopped me and said this:
“I hear there were 2 million people in Washington DC for the inauguration. I understand there were no arrests that day,” she smiled, “That gives me great hope in our country.”
My friend Linda sent me a link to this video this morning. She didn’t specify why. I like that about her.
The average age of our collective NW friends is about fifty three. We’re largely the youngest folks in many of the circles we travel. Consequently, we’ve watched several friends go through the following scenario(s):
Aging mother and/or father:
Develops cancer and dies, leaving other spouse
Develops Alzheimer’s and can no longer care for self (and has to be moved out of state)
Can no longer care for self because of alcohol/drug problem
Develops Alzheimer’s and can no longer care for self (and doesn’t want to move)
Must move from the old farmstead to assisted care
My parents squared away their retirement plans by moving to WA with me. And now . . . now the inlaws are on the other side of the country, with both of their children on this coast . . . and both Michael and I have suggested they move west.
They are reticent to do that, of course. They’re well-established in their community, and in their house (on which they recently finished a remodel with which they are quite happy). They’re healthy, and they’re only in their early 60s, so the thought of up and moving when there’s no pressing reason to is . . . not all that pleasant.
My best argument for the move is to not have to do it later, when they can’t hear, or see, or drive (all things that have negatively impacted the octogenarian moves of the above parents who weren’t already otherwise negatively impacted).
I can see how people who’ve lived in the same house in the same town for the last 25 years would be disinclined toward picking up and moving across the country. (If for no other reason than the years of accumulated dust behind the deep freeze). And I agree with their individual sentiments that they’d like to have quick deaths while out doing something they enjoy (er–that was individually–not like a sky-diving death pact or some Thelma-and-Louise ride into the canyon).
But I think it would be really neat for them to be near their granddaughters . . . to watch them grow up, to be able to have a consistent and real presence in their lives.*
I told Michael we need to write a note to our future selves, to tell them that, when Farmergirl wants us to move closer, that we should. He said he would hate to have to follow his own good advice, and therefore doesn’t think a note to the future is a good idea. He scowled and said he’d hate to be right, and know his earlier self was right, and have to admit it. (Then he kind of chortled and snorted and grinned).
When I asked Farmergirl what she thought, she said she thought they ought to move west, because–and this surprised me– “I think they ought to be around for Brooke, like they were when I was her age.”
I think maybe they ought to come out for, say, 4 months . . . get a furnished apartment, and try the area out. Maybe try the same thing in California (where the aforementioned baby cousin lives), and see what they think actually being here (instead of just visiting). (Maybe even try it out during four of our nice sunny months).
🙂
* I don’t think Boomers, in general, think along these lines . . . I think most Boomers grew up with the idea that retirement would include trips to Europe and cruising around the Bahamas (which, for a lot of Boomers I know, retirement does include a healthy dose of travel) . . . most Gen Xers I know say “I could never live with my parents**” when they find out I do . . . and their parents by and large think likewise. (On that note, I am really happy to see the First Family is an extended family . . . I suspect we will return to that as a dominate family form).
** It’s okay–I could never live with your parents, either. 😛
