Photoblog: Deck the Halls

My kids have chickenpox. Bad. They also have cabin fever, sibling rivalry, and pale complexion from calamine lotion. A mouse got into my cupboards (all of the cupboards, apparently) and delighted in acts of rodent defecation all over my clean dishes. All that, and it snowed. Seriously - I'm in need of some cheering up. Care to join me?

We live in a really cool old one-room school house. For the bulk of our time living here we've been too busy or too distracted to really capitalize on the charm and appeal of a Schoolhouse Christmas. This year - varmints and diseases be darned - we're pulling out all the stops. We have already decorated, and continue to make cutesy crafts to supplement our already-decadent decor. (I'm a bit sleep deprived, here. Forgive me for substituting alliteration for truly clever writing today.) We're even hosting our very first, grown-up Christmas party (complete with mulled cider and fancy finger foods), and a Christmas Tea for my co-workers. Oh yeah - we're rockin' this Christmas season.

So, in keeping with our festive theme, I'm going to ignore the piles of laundry and the stacks of dishes, and take you on a tour of the well-decked halls of Evergreen Schoolhouse. Enjoy.

 

Our first stop is the upstairs dining room - aglow with a peaceful light and the soft sound of brilliant children thinking about their peaceful game of chess. Yes - it's always like this. Always.

 

Next up is the cozy living room. Note how the piano is invitingly calling your name. "Come play with me! Sing a rousing carol or two. Invite your friends to join." (It's a bit needy.) Of course, the seasonal central feature of this room is our tree. So pretty. 

This is what our tree looked like when we first put it up. Lovely, but needs a little something - don't you think? 

This is our tree after a visit from the Tinsel Fairy. (Note - this is not an entity my family was aware of when I was a child. It only entered our lives after I married Mark. Late one night. When everyone was asleep. Leaving its handiwork for all to see (and cats to play with, and vacuums to clean up). 

I must admit - ever since that first (and subsequent) midnight visit from the Tinsel Fairy, I always think a tree looks a bit naked (or, at least under dressed) without some shiny floss.

But, the tree is far from the only glamorous thing around here. (Besides us, of course.)  We've hung up lots of lovely features - like  these decorations in the windows and doors.

 

 And even put out a bowl of lovely glass balls. Oooohhh - shiny!

No chimney (save the stove pipe, which gets really hot), so we hung stockings on the steps. It works!

Best of all - our Nativities!

We've had some accidents, of course. Besides just these, heads have also rolled. Joseph's and a shepherd's head, to be exact. A little glue fixed 'em up, though. I think they're going to pull thru. 

Besides just these broken pieces, we also have some other interesting features to our Nativity sets. For example - this one is missing Jesus. Kind of a big deal. I debated whether or not to get rid of it entirely, but it's a lovely, old, nine-piece set. So, the wise men and Mary and Joseph now look adoringly at a little lamb. It's actually scripturally accurate, in a way, and much less blasphemous than putting in a troll doll.

This set is one of my favorites. They're almost a foot tall, and gleaming in brilliant jewel tones. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a decent picture without also having our wall chart of the presidents involved. That's right - home schoolers decorate their walls with geeky learning things. Might be a bit ugly, but once you hear a four-year-old sing all the presidents in order you'll agree - it's totally worth it. 

 Continuing in that theme, we also left our presidential flashcards up. I mean, people like to *receive* dead presidents for Christmas. Don't you think they'll also want to *look at* dead presidents as well? 

And, finally, here's the part where you come in. See - I've hung up a lovely ribbon from which to hang all of the Christmas cards we receive, and photos from our upcoming holiday events. I'm saving a spot on there just for you. See it - right there?  Yep - that's your own special place in the very decked halls of Evergreen School. Can't wait to see you there!

Merry Christmas, all!

Chilly Chuckles

I have mixed feelings about winter. Pretty to look at, sure - but, I'm still not such a fan of any season that requires its own special wardrobe and heavy equipment just for basic survival. The combination of cold, dark, and dreariness can sometimes make it hard to stay upbeat and positive. If you're having trouble finding humor in the doldrums of winter, take a gander at this collection of cartoons. They're sure to tickle your funny bone and make your day brighter!

Iowa

I am not a native-born Iowan. For those of you who are, likewise, not from the state, you probably do not understand what this means. To be a true Iowan, at the very least, your grandparents and parents must have grown up here, and you are most likely related to at least half the people in the county. During my elementary years, I used to marvel at how everybody in my class knew who you could pick on, and who you couldn't. Family duty required you to stick up for your first cousins, see, but once you got to the seconds and 'once-removeds' the lines got fuzzy. I was the only one who wasn't related to anybody, so I was fair game for everyone.

Fortunately, I married in to an old-time Iowa family from this neck of the woods (yes - that is the proper way to describe my general geographic area), so I have learned the joys of what it means to be any relation to... As in, "are you any relation to the Farriers who live in Brighton?" Yes. Yes I am, and it feels good. I can now catch the question before the words are even fired, while they are still being loaded and the eyebrow quizzically cocked.

As much as I do love this state, and all of the down-home, wonderful, traditional elements that it embodies, there is one thing I will always despise about the land between two rivers - the winters. Our average January temperature is a balmy 17 degrees Fahrenheit, usually coupled with a thirty-mile-per-hour wind and blinding snow. And here's the thing - that's exactly what the weather was like in December, and what it will continue to be like in February. Winter is not a season here. It is an endurance trial. The best we can hope for is good company, plenty of hot cocoa, and something to smile about. The first two are your responsibility, but I hope this list, compiled from various anonymous emails I've received throughout the years, will at least help you out with the last:

You Know You're An Iowan If:

• You design your kids' Halloween costumes to fit over a snowsuit
• You have more miles on your snow blower than your car
• Driving in winter is actually better than any other time of year, because at least the potholes are filled with snow
• You've ever gotten a snowshovel stuck on your roof
• You describe 0 degrees as 'a bit chilly'
• You've ever called in 'snowed in' to work
• You've ever gone to work when you should have called in 'snowed in'
• You consider drilling a hole through 18 inches of ice and sitting on a bucket in a blizzard a sport
• You're either as white as a sow's belly (winter) or you have a farmer's tan (summer)
• You've worn shorts and a parka at the same time
• You just stick your head out the window until the ice clears so you don't have to bother with your scraper each morning
• You've ever used your heater and your A/C in one day
• Your labor day picnic has ever been moved inside because of frost
• You own a separate vehicle just for winter
• You've driven a four-wheeler or snowmobile to work or school
• You don't stop golfing for the season until the snow is deep enough you can't find your ball
• Your New Year's resolution to exercise more means shoveling the neighbor's walk as well as your own
• Despite how hard the winters all, you still love this state and are proud to call it home

Spring

It is time! The captives are returning home, the ravages of war are receding, and I'm beginning to believe that we just might live to see another day. It's a cyclical battle that rages around us - the combatants scheming in their lairs when not engaged in active warfare. When the forces collide they leave destruction on their wake, and it's come to the point where the locals barely notice a change in power. Invaders from the north? Terrorists from without? Factions within political parties? Nope - just Old Man Winter and Spring in their eternal tug of war.

Our snow is almost all melted now. I'm a combat veteran, so I know better than to think there won't be a few last barrages of snow before an official ceasefire is called, but the tide has turned and I think that Spring is most certainly going to be victorious. Trust me - there were times when I wasn't so sure. There's typically at least a temporary shift in power in mid-January, which didn't happen this year. Winter has apparently been improving its training techniques. No, one thaw does not a summer make, but just as surely as the first killing frost has power, so too does the pull of Spring.

When winter comes, it often appears to do so suddenly, but only because we are not paying attention. We disregard the threats -  pretend we don't see the subtle shifting of the landscape, the invading army camouflaged in reds and oranges. We fool ourselves into thinking that early frosts are just heavy dews, that cold rains are a relief after the heat of summer. But, try as we might, there comes a point when we can no longer ignore the fact that the enemy has surrounded us, and has set up camp to stay. By the time we are pulling on the armor of sweaters and jackets, we've already lost the fight. The first heavy frost of the season kills the vegetative resistance. The geese and songbirds take flight. The squirrels and rabbits go underground. We often don't realize that the battle is lost until the snow slides in to claim the land for its own.

But, of course, even if winter won the battle, it never fully wins the war. All through the dreary months when we suffer under Winter's tyranny, Spring is gathering strength, calling for reinforcements, and planning for its victorious return. Sometimes it engages the enemy in an exhausting and drawn-out campaign. Some years it sneaks in, planting its forces until is has winter surrounded and calls for an immediate surrender. This year, though, it rode in strong and hit hard, striking a decisive blow. The tyrant, snow, has been unseated. Freezing temperatures are afraid to even make night-time attacks, and the first blush of green has returned to the landscape. Come back, you refugees. Come out from hiding, you prisoners of war. Spring has returned and is victorious once more!

Tonight I will fall asleep to the artillery of a beautiful Spring lightning storm. There will be more battles in the weeks to come - with winter throwing all the cold and snow and ice it has left at us, and Spring fighting back with glorious sunshine, sudden explosions of color and life, and the subtle strength of a warm, southern wind. At some point we will all cheer the final seasonal departure of Winter to his retreat. I know he will be plotting his revenge while I am reveling in the heat of summer, but that's ok. The eternal seasonal war may be never ending, but at least winter is not!

Blogettes

I often find myself with great blog one-liners that never get the chance to see the light of day because they don't lend themselves to another topic or a longer post. Seems a shame to deny these little blogettes their five minutes of fame. Here are some of the random thoughts that have gone through my head this past few weeks. Feel free to try to extrapolate the situation in which they occurred if it will increase the comedic value for you...

• Potty Update: In one week my youngest child will be 3 years old. She frequently pretends to be a kitty.  She absolutely refuses to use the potty, though when asked to she will consider sitting on the porcelain "litterbox".
• How is it that I can scoop until my hands are numb and never get down to the gravel in my driveway - leaving me spinning for traction on packed snow all winter. And, yet - when spring comes, there is gravel where my snow pile once was? 
• It's no wonder that most yoga poses have animal names. Everyone's heard of 'downward dog' and 'cobra pose'. Want a real workout? Try barnyard yoga - 'stretching hen' (one wing out front, the opposite leg stretched behind), 'bored goat' (head through fence, contorted at a 90 degree angle), or 'bottle fed calf' (legs akimbo, neck extended to its fullest extent, eyes rolled back in head).
  
• Why is it that cats always need to use the litterbox while you are scooping it? I do not feel the need to pee into the toilet while it's being flushed... And, how come the water in our cups always seems to taste better to them than the water in their bowl?
• I recently overheard my oldest daughter asking her sisters questions like this, "Will you please give me that toy? ... Say yes." I have to admit - she has moxie, and it was working for her before I put a stop to it. I'm thinking of borrowing the move for a day or two, just to see how it works out for me. 
• Here's a public service announcement - Most people are not as interested in the features on your new cell phone as you are. Just an FYI.
• Why don't TV stations put better shows on late at night? If you're up at 1:00 a.m. you're already suffering from insomnia. Why should you have to suffer from bad television too?
• How come I can get 200 friends on Facebook within a week of starting my page, but I can never find a babysitter on a Wednesday night? 
• Free range chickens don't range far when it's 10 below zero.
  
• It's no wonder the cost of living is cheaper down south. Our little town here in Iowa has had to pay tens of thousands of dollars in man hours and equipment just to keep the roads clear. In my hometown in Oklahoma the winter road crew consisted of (and I'm totally not making this up) a guy in the back of a 2 wheel drive pick up with a grain scoop and a pile of sand. Wasn't the most effective way to keep the roads safe, but it didn't really matter. South of the Mason Dixon line cars are pre-programmed to drive off the road automatically if there are more than 17 snowflakes on the pavement.
  
• My hens live in our old outhouse by the road. It's drafty, to say the least, and in order to keep them warm in this frigid weather I put in a heat lamp. The red glow seeps out of the cracks in the boards at night. Yep, we have now officially given our Amish neighbors yet another thing to talk about.
• I want a tractor. No - I want enough land to need a tractor. Come to think of it - I want to be the kind of person who knows how to drive a tractor. Better yet - I want to be the kind of person who can fix a tractor. While wearing a feed store cap. And I want to wipe my hands on a red rag tucked into my back pocket. Tractors are the gateway drug to rural girls' fantasies...
• Why do so many people drink soda, beer, and coffee when the natural instinct of 99.9% of children the first time they try these beverages is to spit them out? I've been told that you have to 'acquire a taste for it.' Yes, but why would I want to? Surely I can get my empty calories and caffeine somewhere else, can't I? Isn't that why chocolate was invented?
  
• Why is it that we keep cigarettes legal so we can tax the daylights out of them for revenue, and then turn around and use taxpayer dollars to launch aggressive campaigns to try to get people to stop smoking? Ditto gambling.
  
• Why does anyone buy anything from infomercials? Those black and white sections where the voice over says, "has this ever happened to you" make people look like complete idiots - totally unable to even wield a knife or turn on a blender without creating some pulpy disaster. And who, really, is surprised at this point when they dramatically announce that they'll drop one whole payment if we call in the next five minutes? If a salesperson in a store insulted my intelligence as much as an infomercial does I'd sue, and yet these sheisters are selling Magic Bullets and NuWave Ovens by the hundreds. I just don't get it. 
• And, finally - how is it that the mind droppings of an over-scheduled homeschooling mom can be interesting enough to have garnered 20 dedicated readers? More importantly, how can I turn that into a lucrative career? :)
  

Winter

You know, there are a million different ways to exercise. In Oregon they hike in majestic redwood forests. In California they jog on sandy beaches. In Florida they play tennis in the citrus-scented breeze. In Iowa - we scoop snow. I just shoveled our driveway. Well, that's only partly true. I just shoveled 1/2 or our driveway. I'll do the rest when the feeling returns to my toes. Plus, is it fair to call it shoveling when at this point I'm just making tunnels? Whatever you call it, at least I got a good workout. Despite the fact that it is a balmy 6 degrees outside (with a -13 windchill) I was stripping layers and sweating under my Carharts. I guess busting 4 foot drifts will do that for you.

So far I've not found a website or diet book that tells me exactly what kind of workout you get shoveling snow, but I'm going to estimate (conservatively, of course) that I burned 42,878 calories out there - give or take a few. Of course, it doesn't help that I've taken in 43,952 in the last two days in hot chocolate and homemade bread alone. (Hot chocolate and fresh baked goods are frequently prescribed by physicians in the north to combat Seasonal Affective Disorder, Hypothermia, Cabin Fever and other common serious winter maladies.) I'm hoping that my afternoon scooping will put me back in balance, calorie wise, but I did promise to bake cookies for my daughter's 4-H club tomorrow...

I've never liked winter. I used to attribute it to the fact that I was born in Oklahoma and lived there until I was 6 years old. Winter there meant a light frost occasionally and a reprieve from weeding the garden. Leading child psychologists often say that the first 5 years shape the rest of your life. So, as a child, I assumed that I abhored December thru February because of my warm upbringing during my formative years. Now I've come to realize that it's just because winter sucks.

Don't get me wrong - I know there are people who just love the crisp, clean look of a fresh layer of snow. They don their parka and matching hat and glove set with glee, sometimes even strapping on a pair of snowshoes or cross country skis. These are the people who have jaunty snowmen in their yard. They are out cheerfully scooping by the time the fourth flake has hit the ground. They decorate with snowflake window clings and glittery snowmen figurines. I'm not sure - but they probably even make snow angels. Surely there is as village in Maine (or perhaps the Himalayas somewhere) that is missing them...

There isn't a single family in Iowa who doesn't have at least a half dozen grainy photos from each generation of bundled human shapes standing next to enormous snow drifts, snow men, snow piles and/or snow forts. It is often impossible to tell who is in the picture, since they are covered in 18 layers of clothing. Relative size, at that point, also is no help. A lone person standing next to a snow drift taller than his head could be little six-year-old Bobby (from the blizzard of '73) or Dad going out to hay the cattle (from the blizzard of '62). Living in Iowa gives you grit, and so we carry on. We scoop. We scrape windshields. We don boots and hats, gloves and scarves, wool socks and thermal underwear. We get chapped lips, chapped cheeks, and chapped hands. In short - we we make the best of it.

The coal stove needs to be stoked and shaken down, and I need to empty the ash pan. The chickens will need to have their waterer de-iced and filled, and the snow shovel is still calling my name. I guess it's time to throw on the insulated overalls and boots and get back outside. There may be drifts in the driveway, but at least I've got grit to get me through...

Cold....

Well, the short-term predictions won out over our long-held expectations. It snowed - just like the weather men said, but despite the fact that it is only the 10th day of October. How can something be both right and wrong at the same time? Expected and unheard of? Believalbe but intolerable?

My girls danced in their bare feet on the porch, and later surveyed the scene from each window (all 16!) upstairs, as if they were afraid each window might bring to focus a snowless reality and wake them from their dream world. I, on the other hand, wept silently.

Ok, it wasn't really that bad, but I am not a fan of the cold. Or the snow. Or the ice. I think it stems from having had glasses growing up. You just can't get into the rhythm of a good snowball fight while ducking to clean your glasses after each defensive move. Plus, every winter I lived in a two-minute haze upon entering any building from the great outdoors from the time I was 8 until today. Fogged up glasses do tend to take the joy out of even the most Burle-Ives-esque winter day.

Still, it wasn't all bad. The jaunty blanket did bring the usual crisp, clean look to the landscape. (There's something downright smile-inducing about a Holstein cow contentedly chewing her cud with her black spots more obscured than usual and gleaming whiter all over.) Also, is there a joy more innocent and pure than that of a child dancing over the first snow of the year? If they could bottle that it would surely end even the most acrid of rivalries - with world leaders pushing away from the heretofore fruitless negotiating tables as they joined hands to frolic in the winter splendor around them. The snow didn't make my day, but the smiles of my children sure did.

Another bonus (while I'm in the mood to look on the bright side) was the opportunity to light my first fire in the stove this evening. The air inside was just cool enough to make me want to haul in wood, spend whole minutes crouched with my neck craned to see inside the grate, and fill the house with smoke as I peered into the hopper for a progress report. Glad to know I've still go the touch.

I suppose I should be thankful for the snow - how it reminds me to slow down and enjoy the scenery, see things from a different perspective. How it brightens the days of my children - bringing them to feel a joy I cannot give them through any other means. How it brings me a season of rest and reflection. (With perpetual summer, I am sure I would wear myself out in a few more years.) How it gives me the opportunity to do the most basic of things (make food, clothe my children, make a way to keep them warm) and be cognizant of what a deep and powerful accomplishment those things are.

So, YES - I am glad the snow came. I am grateful in this moment for both the tangible and the esoteric benefits it brought to my home, my perspective, my family, my heart... Most of all, however, I'm thankful that IT STOPPED!