Cottage Blessings

The Short Long Winter

Mom: So, Patrick, do you like The Long Winter?

Patrick: Nope.

Mom (surprised): Really, why not?

Patrick: It's long!

*******
Life imitated art in the cottage tonight.

To begin with, I served the family a meal to mirror the one we had been reading about in The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder--pot roast, pan gravy, mashed potatoes--it was everything a snowed-in pioneer family with dwindling provisions could desire. The girls, bless their hearts, instantly recognized my purpose, entering right into character. With one or two pointed remarks about "running low on flour," "the train from the east" and "burning straw," dinner was passed most pleasantly, although we all missed Pa who was apparently out in the stable tending to the stock.

Later on, Ma was washing up with Mary and Laura, when Mary remarked upon how determinedly cold the kitchen seemed. (Blindness sharpens the other senses.) The indefatiguable Laura looked wide-eyed and shivery, and even Ma had to admit that the sink water was running rather icily.

Sure enough, our heat was out--in real life--and no crisis has ever been better timed!

With all the gravity and unflappable level-headedness of Ma, I told the children we must pass the time as best we could until the heater could be fixed, ordering them to wear their warmest nightclothes. [They change into pajamas every night--why is it that tonight the process seemed--and was--magical?] They were back in a flash and all smiles, with Marie sporting an ensemble that could best be described as a "get-up": a too-short red plaid nightgown, stray ballerina pajama pants, and a lamb-studded pink button down sweater. Crowning the effort most emphatically was mommy's brown felt hat, absurdly cute when worn by a seven year old and tilted just so. Our intrepid girl looked as if she could have held out until Spring and quite possibly intended to do just that.

Still in character as Mary and Laura, the older girls swaddled Maureen (our Grace) in toasty blankets, and we all huddled together in the big four poster bed upstairs to read. The advancing chill added to the ambiance, so that it was a joy to begin each new chapter--The Wheat in the Wall, Not Really Hungry, For Daily Bread, Four Days' Blizzard--surrounded by those bright-eyed blanket-bound listeners. Patrick and Maureen dozed on a pillow next to me, and the older girls lounged comfortably on all sides. I half expected to hear Pa's fiddle ring out in the distance or perhaps the windswept whir of a storm brewing, but the next sound we heard was a smart rap on the front door.

No, gentle readers, it was not Mr. Edwards or even Almanzo Wilder, but only the oil burner repair man. The moment his unmistakable poundings met Ma's ear, she thrust baby Grace (by this time played by understudy Eileen) to the nearest empty-handed girl and bounded off to let him in, returning to 2007 by way of the front stairs and ending our little fantasy for the night.

But, oh, it was fun while it lasted!

A light went out

"Am I not here, who is your Mother?"

(Our Lady of Guadalupe to St. Juan Diego)

Please join me in offering prayers for my dear friend, Margaret, her husband, and their family. They lost their precious little one today. I am so sorry, so very, very sorry.

May God help Margaret and her family through this grief and suffering.

A First Word of Good Cheer

As I was tucking her into bed tonight, two-and-a-half year old Maureen mused about the morrow, asking, with a typical toddler's grasp of reality, "Mommy, in the morning, can we go to the pet store and get Patrick a fish? And then get Marie a doll? And then get me a doll?" I grinned to hear her generous, yet self-serving scheme, but before I could utter a word, baby Eileen beamed with shining eyes, clapped those two dimpled palms together for joy, and rang out a long note of assent clear as a bell, "Yayyyyy!!!!!"

Now I ask you: Does "Yay" qualify as a first word?
Here are the two dear little planners in a photo taken today. And, that's right folks, we here at the cottage obviously do not believe in wiping children's faces after they eat!

Ten Things I Love that Begin with the Letter S

The delightful Dawn, who needs no introduction, passed along this lively alphabet meme. Here are the ten things I love beginning with the letter S, the perfect letter for a Saturday night, and, yes, I am sipping sweet tea as I type this:

1. The Blessed Sacrament;

2. Saints, all of them;

3. Springtime and Summer;

4. Swallows and Amazons;

5. Sunshine and showers;

6. School at home;

7. Starting a new year;

8. Seven children;

9. Sitting with my husband at the end of the day; and, of course,

10. By Sun and Candlelight, Dawn's wonderful web log (Thanks again for this meme, Dawn, it was fun!)

A Rose in Winter

[Please click on the thumbnail above for a larger image.]

I absolutely love the pair of rosey summer wreaths we keep on our two doors--so much so that when Autumn blew into town, I could not bear to part with them. By early December though, it seemed the wreaths would need to be packed away, left to linger in a dark corner of the basement, dull and dormant as the real flowers outside. That is until I decided to dress my blushing darlings up for the season! Gleaming red and pink balls, sugary cottages, and two fetching porcelain dolls spruced the wreaths up so nicely that I've decided to put them back on the doors this week as a bright spot in the bleak wintery landscape to come.

Here is how the wreath looked in Summer, by the way:

The two ornate circlets gave the Christmas tree Victorian flair:

It seems my wreaths and I just might be able to hold out until the Spring thaw.

*******
Many thanks to Cheryl for beginning this thread about door decorations. I was beginning to think it was too late to show the wreaths this year!

More from Patrick Scissorhands

As you may be able to surmise from recent posts, Patrick is going through a bit of a scissors phase. I forgot to tell you that several days before Christmas, we caught him contentedly attempting to cut one of the wires we use to ensure that the tree does not tumble down from its perch on a coffee table.

I gave him a bit of a speech about it, turning to my husband with a note of nervous humor, "He's just going to cut a wire a day until the whole thing topples over."

Without missing a beat, Margaret quipped, "It's his Advent Calendar."

Sowing a Seed

"Joshua and the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho! Joshua and the battle of Jericho! And the walls came tumbling down!"

I can still see the scene in my mind's eye: the cafeteria of St. Mary's School, surreal to me at night, with an assortment of neighborhood children pressing round a fortress of cardboard milk cartons. The gang of us are singing at the top of our lungs, before bolting forward with a whoop to topple the flimsy firmament at just the right moment. This simple, boisterous game was all part of "Family Night," an event promoted in those days by a young priest named Father Daily and filed away forever in my treasure chest of joyful childhood memories. I am not sure what I knew about Joshua or Jericho at the time, yet the fun and wild abandon of the game remains with me still.

Then there was Lent at St. Mary's Church and the 7:30 evening Mass in its dimly lit basement. My mother and our neighbor, Mrs. Maloney, would rarely miss it. Anne Maloney and I could not wait to pile into the car for the novel nightly outing, or better yet walk under the train trestle with its flourescent lights and cooing pigeons, pretty sure of a soda at Alexander's afterward, and, if we were very lucky, a piece of creamy white chocolate to split between us. How I loved those Masses with Anne at my side and holy Father Callahan on the altar. The memory of them brings a pleasing mist to my eyes even now.

Looking back on my early "spiritual" experiences, I see now that, although they were in some ways less than ethereal, those blessed moments are cloaked in a mantle of simple childish gladness and mirth. To this day, I love the Mass and the Church and the Holy Bible and our parish priests, and, it seems to me, the seeds of Faith and love and loyalty were sown deep, sown in the ready heart of a child and fed and fertilized with soda and smiles, war whoops and white chocolate.

In passing on the Faith to our children, it is a great hope of mine that we will allow them to form many happy associations like these. Armed with a childhood of fond religious memories, they surely will fare far better against the world's onslaught than those tottery milk cartons in the cafeteria. With this in mind, we have begun a new tradition in our home--First Saturday Outings.

The idea was born over hot chocolates in Starbuck's back in December. I had taken the four older girls and my favorite slingrider to do a little window shopping while dh watched Patrick and Maureen. The night was pleasingly temperate, and our spirits were so high that it made me wonder why we rarely go out together in the evening. It happened to be First Saturday, and I considered what fun it would be make a special trip every First Saturday night. The girls were at once taken with the idea and talked about the first Saturday of January for a full month. Even the wonders of Christmas and New Year's could not dilute their eager anticipation.

First Saturday morning, the children awoke already talking about Mass and Confession and the special trip planned for afterward. This month, our outing consisted of omelettes at a local diner with a walk through Border's Bookstore afterward. Dh and I decided to spring for a round of hot cocoa at the cafe, but, much to everyone's dismay, they were all out of (gasp) cocoa powder. Fortuitously, the girl behind the counter offered white chocolate as a substitute, and, you will be glad to learn, the pale variety was accepted by today's young Catholics as readily as it was by Anne Maloney and Alice O'Brien those many years ago.

We arrived home late and began the usual bustle of toothbrushing, pajama hunting, and laundry rounding ("It's like herding cats," quipped dh.) The little three were asleep in an instant, when I remembered we had not yet said a Rosary or meditated an extra fifteen minutes on the Mysteries for First Saturday. The four girls were only too happy to stay up a while longer for a cozy, quiet Rosary, and I was just about to remind them of the quarter hour's meditation, when an idea struck me.

"Get on your coats, girls."

Eight eyes opened wide, and even dh uttered a disbelieving, "Did you say 'coats'?"

Within two minutes, we were outside under the stars--barely chilly with the springlike weather we have been having--and singing around our outdoor creche. Everything but the creche was pitch black, and the children's voices rose sweetly in the thin night air. Hymn after hymn of their own choosing: "Lo, How a Rose E're Blooming," "Adeste Fideles," "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," "Do You Know What I Know?" "Away in a Manger"--they formed the merriest little quartet of carolers you ever heard, inventing harmonies and smiling toward the stable. I listened silently, my heart swelling with hope that these blessed hymns might be their "Joshua and the Battle of Jericho," with each heartfelt note girding them for adulthood.

As we walked back to the house, I found more than one young hand had made its way into mine, and a couple of the girls walked ahead arm in arm. Margaret turned to me with a face as bright as the moon above our heads and proclaimed, "This was such a fun day!"

More music to my ears.

Harp Sting

Margaret has decided she wants to begin harp lessons. She loves the delicate beauty of the harp and already imagines herself dressed as an angel and strumming this ethereal instrument for next year's Christmas Pageant. She was so excited when I found her a harp teacher and absolutely cannot wait to get started this week. In her enthusiasm, she kept saying things like: "I can't believe I am going to play the harp"; "Maybe Theresa can play a duet with me on her violin"; "Are you going to buy me a harp, or will we rent one?"; "Did you ever think about harp lessons when you were younger, Mom?"; "Why do they always show angels playing harps?"; "Do you think the harp will be hard or easy to play?"; "Where do you think we will keep my harp?"

After about a day or so of this, Margaret mused to Agnes, "I can't wait for my first harp lesson," to which Agnes deadpanned, "That's great, Margaret, but could you stop harping on it?"

Scenes from our Tea for the Twelve Days of Christmas and Epiphany

Our Tea for the Twelve Days of Christmas and Epiphany was appreciated by all the children, and I am hoping it will become a tradition in our house for many years to come.

How perfect is this teapot (coffee pot, actually)? Its deep burgundy and woodsy hues form a cozy backdrop for the lyrics to "Silent Night." I found this treasure at an after-Christmas sale and almost did not purchase it. That is, until I caught site of the nesting sugar and creamer and was smitten instantly and irrevocably. I had never before seen a creamer resting atop a sugar bowl, and, although I realize it will never hold enough milk to accommodate that hulking coffee pot, true love isn't necessarily practical. Believe it or not, it was only when I brought these home that I realized how perfect they would be for our Christmas Tea! After all, tea may be brewed in a coffee pot!

"Tea from the Innkeeper":

"Sugar Cubes for Our Lady":

"Milk for St. Joseph":

As you can see, the creamer actually forms a lid for the sugar bowl, reminding us that St. Joseph is the protector of Our Lady:

I had planned on heading out to the bakery for a baguette and rolls, but a busy morning prevented the errand. Theresa saved the day by whipping up a blueberry quick bread from a mix to represent "Bethlehem, House of Bread":

"Babes in the Manger":

"Shepherd's Staffs":

Margaret, Marie, Patrick, and Theresa spent part of the afternoon creating dozens of angels out of coffee filters. There were several different designs, but my personal favorites were the ones made out of our cut-up Christmas photograph. "A Host of Angels":

An angelic centerpiece, with seven angels--one for each of the children:

Agnes' letters were a highlight for all of us. She read them aloud while the others gathered round the tree. Has it truly been a year since she surprised me with that Wise Man Figure?

"Wise Men's Gifts":

At the very end, the children opened yet another very special surprise on behalf of the Christ Child:

The gifts of the Magi--gold, frankincense, and myrrh in ornate boxes--an extravagance purchased two days ago for a clearance price at yet another after-Christmas sale. I never would have thought of purchasing these, but the price was too good to pass up. You see, there are many advantages to being one of the minority who celebrates the Twelve Days of Christmas:

Of course, it wouldn't be a Cottage Blessings Party without our usual rag tag band of party crashers. Oh, how I love the ever-growing Raggedy Family:

So Eileen, what did you think of your first Christmas Tea?

Her smile says it all!

Happy Feast of the Epiphany, dear friends!

*******
Production Team

Babysitters: Theresa, Agnes, Marie, Margaret (in shifts)
Baking: Theresa
Poetry: Agnes
Angel Crafting: Margaret (lead designer), Theresa, Marie, Patrick
Best Boy: Patrick
Direction and Cinematography: Mommy
"Babe in a Manger" assembly: Marie, with help from Mommy
Tablescape Design Advice: every single person in the family, with final say given to Mommy
Music: Christmas Choirs (BMG), 3 CD set purchased at Staples for $7.99.

*******
A word about the three letters. A dear friend asked permission to read Agnes' letters aloud during her Tea. Agnes was honored beyond words and hopes anyone who wishes will feel free to do the same.

Deciphering Context Clues

Mom (putting on Maureen's pajamas with mind wandering to some of the more challenging moments of the day): Honey, you were a bit rambunctious in Mass today.

Maureen (beaming): Thank you!