I miss the smell of wet wool. In a world before polar fleece, that’s what winters smelled like in Maine. Wet wool, wood smoke, and beans slow cooking all day Saturday. Beans cooking still smell like love to me.
Every day, my husband Charlie and me trade off dog walking duties. Usually Charlie takes our puppy Scamp out in the mornings and I do the afternoons. But last Saturday afternoon, we were both hanging around the house, and I thought, 'Wouldn’t it be nice to take a little walk around the block together?' And let me tell you, it was enlightening!
Well, my Christmas decorations are all put away. The only thing I keep out for the winter are a pair of children’s snowshoes, though I do take the little red bows off. I like having them around. They were my mother’s when she was a kid, handmade by her uncle, Octave Pease. The webbing is made from the hide of a deer he shot himself.
One more holiday to go! Then I can turn over a new leaf, try to get my weight back under control and get off the holiday treadmill of shopping and parties and red and green everything. My spanky is exhausted, and frankly, so am I.
On New Years Day, the whole gang, Celeste and Bud, Rita and Smitty, Betty and Pat, Dot and Tommy, Shirley, and Junior and me and Charlie have our traditional brunch at Celeste and Bud’s. It’s a low key affair, just good friends hanging out together, enjoying each other’s company: a great way to kick off the new year.
Christmas Eve, what did you leave out for Santa? Cookies? A sandwich? I love hearing people’s answer to that question. Chocolate? Or even better, what did you feed Santa’s reindeer? Carrots? Apples? When Dot’s husband Tommy was a kid, they’d leave out dog food, which I think is kind of weird. I mean, these reindeer are magical beings! They can fly, for God’s sake!
I’d intended to spend this month writing about Christmas here in Mahoosuc Mills. You know, visions of maple sugar plums and all. But I just need to get something off my chest.
Mahoosuc Mills is just buzzing this week! Everyone’s busy getting ready for our Down Home Holiday Festival. It used to be the Down Home “Christmas” Festival, but we are now “politically correct.” The St. Hyacinth’s Christmas Bazaar is part of the festival. I guess we should change it to “Holiday” Bazaar, but hey, we’re Catholics! Who are we kidding?
Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone, so we are now officially in the midst of the holiday season. I’m going to jump right in with a gift-giving tip for you and your friends that is guaranteed to make Christmas shopping more fun.
See, the Women Who Run With the Moose (that’s me and my friends, Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot, and Shirley) have known each other since God was in diapers, so it may surprise you to learn that we do not exchange gifts at Christmas.
I have great memories of Thanksgiving, and most of them involve my mother in an apron, doing just about everything. Oh, I sure do miss her.
My Dad would help her get the turkey into and out of the oven, and he’d carve. He’d cut up the turnip, too: a job for a man, and maybe his chainsaw. My sister Irene and me would peel the potatoes and stuff the celery with cream cheese, sprinkling a little paprika on top. But my mother did all the rest.
I’m feeling a little out of sorts this morning. Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re thinking: tropical storm Ida, right? Like I haven’t heard jokes like that all week. You just wait until you have a hurricane named after you.
I’m getting to my blog later than usual, because after my alarm went off, I closed my eyes for what I thought was only ten minutes. Oops!