The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Eleven: Christmas Traditions

 tra·di·tion

/trəˈdiSH(ə)n/    

N.

The transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, or the fact of being passed on in this way.

    I'm sure every family has their own private traditions which they follow at certain times of the day, week, month, or year. 

    Today I will be sharing with you some of our Christmas traditions.

    We always watch The Nutcracker with our parents a little before Christmas, and then either a few days before, or a few days after Christmas, my brother and sister and I watch Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. 

    If we're not at relatives, an old couple we met about eight years ago come over for Christmas Eve supper.

Here are some pictures of last year: 

And these are from 2018:

Then we open our gifts, and Mama reads "The Other Wiseman," by Henry van Dyke.

    On Christmas Day, we usually just lounge around and relax. We usually eat lunch about 12:30, and then Mama and Daddy take naps, and us children read our Christmas books, or play with our new toys, until 4:45 or so. Then Mama and Daddy get up, and we sometimes watch those old cartoons (like Bugs Bunny, Tom and Jerry, and Daffy Duck)  with Daddy, while Mama gets supper out. We always have cold turkey sandwiches and leftover pie for supper. And then we often go for a drive after dark, and look at all the "Twinky Lights," as we always called them when we were little. 

    And then we come home, and read some more, and then head for bed!

    And that's it for today! Come back tomorrow for the final post!

                             *Caitlyn*

 What are your traditions? Do you have turkey or ham for Christmas dinner? And do you open gifts on Christmas Day or on Christmas Eve?

   

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Ten: What the Bells Saw and Said, Part Four

     Part One

    Part Two

    Part Three

    Today I will be sharing with you the final part of "What the Bells Saw and Said," by Louisa May Alcott. 

                    What the Bells Saw and Said

                           by Louisa May Alcott

    As the spirit imitated the various calls, as only a jovial bell-sprite could, the others gave him a chime of laughter, and vowed they would each adopt some tuneful summons, which should reach human ears and draw human feet more willingly to church.

"Faith, brother, you've kept your word and got the laugh out of us," cried a stout, sleek spirit, with a kindly face, and a row of little saints round his cap and a rosary at his side. "It's very well we are doing this year; the cathedral is full, the flock increasing, and the true faith holding its own entirely. Ye may shake your heads if you will and fear there'll be trouble, but I doubt it. We've warm hearts of our own, and the best of us don't forget that when we were starving, America--the saints bless the jewel!--sent us bread; when we were dying for lack of work, America opened her arms and took us in, and now helps us to build churches, homes and schools by giving us a share of the riches all men work for and win. It's a generous nation ye are, and a brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting for ye in the day of trouble and giving ye our Phil, and many another broth of a boy. The land is wide enough for us both, and while we work and fight and grow together, each may learn something from the other. I'm free to confess that your religion looks a bit cold and hard to me, even here in the good city where each man may ride his own hobby to death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as he will. You seem to keep your piety shut up all the week in your bare, white churches, and only let it out on Sundays, just a trifle musty with disuse. You set your rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor shivering at the door. You give your people bare walls to look upon, common-place music to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then wonder why they stay away, or take no interest when they come.

"We leave our doors open day and night; our lamps are always burning, and we may come into our Father's house at any hour. We let rich and poor kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad you'll see prince and peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-woman and noble lady, saint and sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whose motherly arms are open to high and low. We make our churches inviting with immortal music, pictures by the world's great masters, and rites that are splendid symbols of the faith we hold. Call it mummery if ye like, but let me ask you why so many of your sheep stray into our fold? It's because they miss the warmth, the hearty, the maternal tenderness which all souls love and long for, and fail to find in your stern. Puritanical belief. By Saint Peter! I've seen many a lukewarm worshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews, wake and glow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the stone pavement of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael's angels before his eyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all about him, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who have saved the world, and whose presence inspires him to follow their divine example. It's not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding ye that men are but children after all, and need more tempting to virtue than they do to vice, which last comes easy to 'em since the Fall. Do your best in your own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and good luck to ye. But remember, there's room in the Holy Mother Church for all, and when your own priests send ye to the divil, come straight to us and we'll take ye in."

"A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all," said the sixth spirit, who, in spite of his old-fashioned garments, had a youthful face, earnest, fearless eyes, and an energetic voice that woke the echoes with its vigorous tones. "I've a hopeful report, brothers, for the reforms of the day are wheeling into rank and marching on. The war isn't over nor rebeldom conquered yet, but the Old Guard has been 'up and at 'em' through the year. There has been some hard fighting, rivers of ink have flowed, and the Washington dawdlers have signalized themselves by a 'masterly inactivity.' The political campaign has been an anxious one; some of the leaders have deserted; some been mustered out; some have fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no monuments. But at the Grand Review the Cross of the Legion of Honor will surely shine on many a brave breast that won no decoration but its virtue here; for the world's fanatics make heaven's heroes, poets say.

"The flock of Nightingales that flew South during the 'winter of our discontent' are all at home again, some here and some in Heaven. But the music of their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation's memory, and makes a tender minor-chord in the battle-hymn of freedom.

"The reform in literature isn't as vigorous as I could wish; but a sharp attack of mental and moral dyspepsia will soon teach ourpeople that French confectionery and the bad pastry of Wood, Bracdon, Yates & Co. is not the best diet for the rising generation.

"Speaking of the rising generation reminds me of the schools. They are doing well; they always are, and we are justly proud of them. There may be a slight tendency toward placing too much value upon book-learning; too little upon home culture. Our girls are acknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty and wise, but some of us wish they had more health and less excitement, more domestic accomplishments and fewer ologies and isms, and were contented with simple pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not quite so fond of the fast, frivolous life that makes them old so soon. I am fond of our girls and boys. I love to ring for their christenings and marriages, to toll proudly for the brave lads in blue, and tenderly for the innocent creatures whose seats are empty under my old roof. I want to see them anxious to make Young America a model of virtue, strength and beauty, and I believe they will in time.

"There have been some important revivals in religion; for the world won't stand still, and we must keep pace or be left behind to fossilize. A free nation must have a religion broad enough to embrace all mankind, deep enough to fathom and fill the human soul, high enough to reach the source of all love and wisdom, and pure enough to satisfy the wisest and the best. Alarm bells have been rung, anathemas pronounced, and Christians, forgetful of their creed, have abused one another heartily. But the truth always triumphs in the end, and whoever sincerely believes, works and waits for it, by whatever name he calls it, will surely find his own faith blessed to him in proportion to his charity for the faith of others.

"But look!--the first red streaks of dawn are in the East. Our vigil is over, and we must fly home to welcome in the holidays. Before we part, join with me, brothers, in resolving that through the coming year we will with all our hearts and tongues,--

"'Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring out the false, ring in the true;
Ring in the valiant man and free,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.'"

Then hand in hand the spirits of the bells floated away, singing in the hush of dawn the sweet song the stars sung over Bethlehem,--"Peace on earth, good will to men."

    Come back tomorrow for Day Eleven!

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Nine: What the Bells Saw and Said, Part Three

     Part One

    Part Two

                                      What the Bells Saw and Said

                             by Louisa May Alcott

As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves, looking ten years younger for that burst, another spoke. A venerable brother in a dingy mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed to have grown sad with looking on much misery.    "He loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed for, and he makes others love and remember them, bless him!" said the spirit. "I hope he'll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile them to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder.  If I could set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happier creatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by his eloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon. Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacrifice and suffering as any in those famous books. Day and night I try to comfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known by proclaiming them with all my might. But people seem to be so intent on business, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear and answer my appeal. There's a deal of charity in this good city, and when the people do wake up they work with a will; but I can't help thinking that if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on necessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like that which ended yesterday. It's a short story, easy to tell, though long and hard to live; listen to it. "Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot of my tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently and single-handed a good fight against poverty and sin. I saw her when she first came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yet not afraid. She used to sit all day sewing at her window, and her lamp burnt far into the night, for she was very poor, and all she earned would barely give her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves, who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them, and daily gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre table. But there was no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove, and so she starved.

"For a while she worked bravely, but the poor three dollars a week would not clothe and feed and warm her, though the things her busy fingers made sold for enough to keep her comfortably if she had received it. I saw the pretty color fade from her cheeks; her eyes grew hollow, her voice lost its cheery ring, her step its elasticity, and her face began to wear the haggard, anxious look that made its youth doubly pathetic. Her poor little gowns grew shabby, her shawl so thin she shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her feet were almost bare. Rain and snow beat on the patient little figure going to and fro, each morning with hope and courage faintly shining, each evening with the shadow of despair gathering darker round her. It was a hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her poverty, sin and pleasure tempted her. She resisted, but as another bitter winter came she feared that in her misery she might yield, for body and soul were weakened now by the long struggle. She knew not where to turn for help; there seemed to be no place for her at any safe and happy fireside; life's hard aspect daunted her, and she turned to death, saying confidingly, 'Take me while I'm innocent and not afraid to go.' "I saw it all! I saw how she sold everything that would bring money and paid her little debts to the utmost penny; how she set her poor room in order for the last time; how she tenderly bade the doves good-by, and lay down on her bed to die. At nine o'clock last night as my bell rang over the city, I tried to tell what was going on in the garret where the light was dying out so fast. I cried to them with all my strength.--

"'Kind souls, below there! a fellow-creature is perishing for lack of charity! Oh, help her before it is too late! Mothers, with little daughters on your knees, stretch out your hands and take her in! Happy women, in the safe shelter of home, think of her desolation! Rich men, who grind the faces of the poor, remember that this soul will one day be required of you! Dear Lord, let not this little sparrow fall to the ground! Help, Christian men and women, in the name of Him whose birthday blessed the world!'

"Ah me! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. The passers-by only said, as they hurried home, laden with Christmas cheer: 'The old bell is merry to-night, as it should be at this blithe season, bless it!'

"As the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, saying, as she drank the last bitter draught life could give her, 'It's very cold, but soon I shall not feel it;' and with her quiet eyes fixed on the cross that glimmered in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting for the sleep that needs no lullaby.

"As the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty for her were over. It was bitter cold, but she no longer felt it. She lay serenely sleeping, with tired heart and hands, at rest forever. As the clocks struck twelve, the dear Lord remembered her, and with fatherly hand led her into the home where there is room for all. To-day I rung her knell, and though my heart was heavy, yet my soul was glad; for in spite of all her human woe and weakness, I am sure that little girl will keep a joyful Christmas up in heaven."

In the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a breath of softer air than any from the snowy world below swept through the steeple and seemed to whisper, "Yes!"

"Avast there! fond as I am of salt water, I don't like this kind," cried the breezy voice of the fourth spirit, who had a tiny ship instead of a tassel on his cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with the sleeve of his rough blue cloak. "It won't take me long to spin my yarn; for things are pretty taut and ship-shape aboard our craft. Captain Taylor is an experienced sailor, and has brought many a ship safely into port in spite of wind and tide, and the devil's own whirlpools and hurricanes. If you want to see earnestness come aboard some Sunday when the Captain's on the quarter-deck, and take an observation. No danger of falling asleep there, no more than there is up aloft, 'when the stormy winds do blow.' Consciences get raked fore and aft, sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors are hauled down and true ones run up to the masthead, and many an immortal soul is warned to steer off in time from the pirates, rocks and quicksands of temptation. He's a regular revolving light, is the Captain,--a beacon always burning and saying plainly, 'Here are life-boats, ready to put off in all weathers and bring the shipwrecked into quiet waters.' He comes but seldom now, being laid up in the home dock, tranquilly waiting till his turn comes to go out with the tide and safely ride at anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our crew varies a good deal. Some of 'em have rather rough voyages, and come into port pretty well battered; land-sharks fall foul of a good many, and do a deal of damage; but most of 'em carry brave and tender hearts under the blue jackets, for their rough nurse, the sea, manages to keep something of the child alive in the grayest old tar that makes the world his picture-book. We try to supply 'em with life-preservers while at sea, and make 'em feel sure of a hearty welcome when ashore, and I believe the year '67 will sail away into eternity with a satisfactory cargo. Brother North-End made me pipe my eye; so I'll make him laugh to pay for it, by telling a clerical joke I heard the other day. Bellows didn't make it, though he might have done so, as he's a connection of ours, and knows how to use his tongue as well as any of us. Speaking of the bells of a certain town, a reverend gentleman affirmed that each bell uttered an appropriate remark so plainly, that the words were audible to all. The Baptist bell cried, briskly, 'Come up and be dipped! come up and be dipped!' The Episcopal bell slowly said, 'Apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion! apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion!' The Orthodox bell solemnly pronounced, 'Eternal damnation! eternal damnation!' and the Methodist shouted, invitingly, 'Room for all! room for all!'"

Come back tomorrow for the final part! 

                                          Part Four

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Eight: What the Bells Saw and Said, Part Two

     Today I will be continuing "What the Bells Saw and Said," by Louisa May Alcott. Get part one HERE.

      

                                       What the Bells Saw and Said

                            by Louisa May Alcott

    "They preach below here, and very well, too sometimes, for I often slide down the rope to peep and listen during service. But bless you! they don't seem to lay sermon, psalm, or prayer to heart, for while the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired with the breathless hurry of the week, sleep peacefully, calculate their chances for the morrow, or wonder which of their neighbors will win or lose in the great game. Don't tell me! I've seen them do it, and if I dared I'd have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal. Ah, they don't dream whose eye is on them, they never guess what secrets the telegraph wires tell us as the messages fly by, and little know what a report I give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above them morning, noon, and night." And the old spirit shook his head till the taste on his cap jangled like a little bell. 

    "There are some, however, whom I love and honor," he said, in a benignant tone, "who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all the success that comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in their noble hearts for those less blest than they. These are the men that serve the city in times of peace, save it in times of war, deserve the highest honors in its gifts, and leave behind them a record that keeps their memories green. For such a one we lately tolled a knell, my brothers; and as our united voices pealed over the city, in all grateful hearts, sweeter and ore solemn than any chime, rung the words that made him so beloved,--

"'Treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home to me.'"

    He ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered their grey heads as a strain of music floated up from the sleeping city, and died among the stars. 

    "Like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects," began the second spirit, who wore a very pointed cap, and a finely ornamented cloak. But, though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face was old, and he had nodded several times during his brother's speech. "My greatest affliction during the last year has been the terrible extravagance which prevails. My post is, as you know, at the court end of the city, and I see all the fashionable vices and follies. It is a marvel to me how so many of these immortal creatures, with such opportunities for usefulness, self-improvement, and genuine happiness can be content to go round and round in one narrow circle of unprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits. I do my best to warn them; Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the beautiful old hymns that sweetly chide or cheer hearts that truly believe; Sunday after Sunday I look down on them as they pass in, hoping to see that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears, and Sunday after Sunday they listen to words that should teach them much, but seem to go by the like the wind. They are told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate him because he possesses more of this worlds goods or honor than they: they are told that no rich man may enter the kingdom of Heaven, yet they go about laying up perishable wealth, and though often warned that moth and rust will corrupt, they fail to believe it till the worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease. Being a spirit, I see below external splendor, and find much poverty of heart and soul under the velvet and ermine which should cover rich and royal natures. Our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits and under quiet sonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in shady places. Often as I watch the glittering procession passing to fro below me, I wonder if, with all our progress, there is today as much real piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with weapon in one hand, and Bible in the other, came weary distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger, suffering, or solitude.

    "Yet in spite of my fault finding, I love my children, as I call them, for all are not butterflies. Many find wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart. Many freely give of their abundance, pity the poor, comfort the afflicted, and make our city loved and honored in other lands as in our own. They have their cares, worries, and heartaches as well as the poor, it isn't all sunshine with them, and they learn, poor souls that

"'Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.'

"But I've hopes of them, and lately they've had a teacher so genial, so gifted, so well-beloved, that all who listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity, good-will, and cheerfulness which he brings home to them by the magic of tears and smiles. We know him, we love him, we always remember him as the year comes 'round, and the blithest song our brazen tongues can utter is a Christmas carol to the Father of "'The Chimes!'" 

    As the spirit spoke, his voice grew cheery, his old face shone, and in a burst of hearty enthusiasm, he flung up his cap and cheered like a boy. So did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry, a group of shadowy figures with faces lovely or grotesque, tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind, and waved their hands to the spirits of the bells.

             End of Part Two

Be sure to come back tomorrow for Part Three!

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Seven: Giveaway Winner & Christmas Story

     Today is the day. The winner of the giveaway announcement. Are you excited? I am! 

    Last evening, I wrote all the contestants' names on slips of paper, and folded them up, and put them in a small, elegant dish (actually, it was a candle holder....) My brother was chosen to draw out the winning name. And now, I am going to torture you. 

    For today's post, I looked up some Christmas stories. I found a really nice one by Louisa May Alcott (Who is my favorite author ever). It's called "What the Bells Saw and Said."

                    What the Bells Saw and Said

                                   by Louisa May Alcott

    No one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at midnight on Christmas Eve. Six quaint figures, each wrapped in a shadowy cloak, and wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-headed, for they were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and the "light of other days" shone in their thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, looking down on the snow-covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and the quiet streets deserted by all but the watchmen on their chilly rounds, and such poor souls as wandered shelterless in the winter night.

    Presently one of the spirits said, in a tone which, low as it was, filled the belfry with reverberating echoes--

    "Well, brothers, are your reports ready of the year that now lies dying?"

    All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered in a sonorous voice:--

    "My report isn't all I could wish. You. know I look down on the commercial part of our city, and have fine opportunities for seeing what goes on there. It is my business to watch the business men, and upon my word I'm heartily ashamed of them sometimes. During the war they did nobly, giving their time and money, and their sons and selves to the good cause, and I was proud of them. But now too many of them have fallen back into the old ways, and their motto seems to be, " Every one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost." Cheating, lying, and stealing are hard words, and I don't mean to apply them to all who swarm about below there like ants on an anthill-- they have other names for these things, but I'm old-fashioned, and use plain words. There's a deal too much dishonesty in the world, and business seems to have become a game of hazard in which luck, not labor wins the prize. When I was young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and were satisfied with them. They built them on sure foundations, knew how to enjoy them while they lived, and to leave a good name behind them when they died. 

Now i's anything for money; health, happiness, honor life itself, are flung down on that great gaming table, and they forget everything  else in the excitement of success, or the desperation of defeat. Nobody seems satisfied, either, for those who win have little time or taste to enjoy their prosperity, and those who lose have little courage or patience to support themselves in adversity. They don't even fail as they used to. In my day, when a merchant found himself embarrassed, he didn't ruin others in order to save himself, but honestly confessed the truth, gave up everything, and began again. But now-a-days after all manner of dishonorable shifts, there comes a grand crash; many suffer, but by some hocus-pocus, the merchant saves enough to retire upon, and gives comfortably here or abroad. It's very evident that now honor and honesty don't mean what they meant in the days of old May, Higginson and Lawrence."

Well, this story is really long, so I will be doing it in parts. And dow, I'm sure you wan to know who won the giveaway, right?

The winner is.......

Jacie T! Congrats, Jacie! Using the email form on the sidebar, please email me ASAP, with your mailing address, and how you would like you coffee (ground, whole bean, etc.). 

     Come back tomorrow for Part Two of "What the Bells Saw and Said!"

                              *Caitlyn*

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Six: Winter Poems & Last Chance To Enter The Giveaway

     Welp, we're halfway done. Day six. Today is the last day to enter the giveaway. It ends at 5:30 tonight, eastern time. The winner will be announced tomorrow morning. Be sure to comment on Monday's post to enter. 

    My baby sister finally accepted the snow. I am so proud of her. She just loves sitting in the snow, doing nothing. But I have discovered if I turn her towards me, her face isn't exposed to the flying snow, so she actually likes sled rides now. Kind of. But she still prefers to sit in the snow, getting her pants all wet, and eating snow. And then she did not want to come inside, and she started crying, and yelling. From one extreme to the other, I guess😄. 

    We sledded all day yesterday, and I was so stiff and sore, I didn't last long this morning. 

    Anyway, on to today's Blogmas post. I love Christmas poems. They're so descriptive, and glowing. One of my favorites is Winter Time, by Robert Louis Stevenson.

              Winter Time

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,   
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;   
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,   
A blood-red orange, sets again.   
   
Before the stars have left the skies, 
At morning in the dark I rise;   
And shivering in my nakedness,   
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.   
   
Close by the jolly fire I sit   
To warm my frozen bones a bit; 
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore   
The colder countries round the door.   
   
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap   
Me in my comforter and cap;   
The cold wind burns my face, and blows 
Its frosty pepper up my nose.   
   
Black are my steps on silver sod;   
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;   
And tree and house, and hill and lake,   
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

Make sure you come back tomorrow to find out who won the giveaway! Merry Early Christmas! ~Caitlyn

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day 5 : Guest Post

    Today, I have a special treat for you: A guest post by my mom! I have wanted her to do a guest post for a long time, and she finally made time!

______________________________________________________________

                                                 Colors of the Season

     Stinging snow, clopping horses, hissing gas lights, and the spicy fragrance of homemade pies. These are the wintery memories of my childhood as an Amish girl.

  Our barn on a winter night was warm and steamy with cows' breath, as they contentedly stood in their straw-filled stanchions, chewing their cuds. The hum of the distant diesel motor mingled with the swish-swish of the milkers and the chatter of my older brothers and sisters as they went about their tasks. On an extra cold night, after my own few chores were done, I loved nothing better than to curl up in the straw cart in the darkened front alley, drowsing and listening to the sounds of farm life. The cold constantly nipping at the edges receded pleasantly into the distance, until everyone finished and we walked together through the crisp, hard air under a starlit sky toward the yellow glow that called us to house and supper.

  The Wisconsin winters were long and dark, and our old farmhouse was warm and cozy when we came inside after chores, puffing and stamping our snowy feet. 

  Occasionally we came in to find my mom waiting with a freezer full of fresh custard, ready to be churned into homemade ice cream. We would take turns cranking the handle, swapping out as arms succumbed to weariness. Others would bring in fresh snow supplies as it was packed into the outside bucket along with layers of rock salt. There was need to frequently add snow as it melted and ran out the bottom. As the youngest, my job was often to stand on top of the ice cream freezer to add extra weight and stability. As the cranking got harder, staying there got more difficult, with me hanging on to any pipes overhead I could get hold of, the freezer bucking and tipping with the exertions. About the time it seemed as if it would never end, my mom would finally pronounce it done. 

  Now came the lovely payment for our labors, beginning with the privilege of licking the dasher. Many little mouths made short work of that. And last but not least, the little bowls heaped with creamy goodness, disappearing at a speed that spoke more eloquently than words of our appreciation and enjoyment of the fruit of our labors. 

  Our small one room school always had a Christmas program, with recitations and two or three plays put on for our parents,  community members, and other invited friends from the area. Nerves tingling, shivering in excitement, we stood straight and tall and looked out over the crowd, our sometimes-faltering voices  bravely ringing out to the best of our abilities, and the crowd joining  in for the closing song, Stille Nacht. Afterward, the students exchanged gifts with each other and the teachers, wrapping paper tearing and exclamations filling the air, and the parents and onlookers watching bemusedly.

  And who could forget the tables set up downstairs, groaning with food. All manner of finger foods spread out in a vast array, dazzling with the sheer variety and colors. Hungry children filing past, piling plates high with homemade party mix, chocolate turtles, corn flakes and rice crispy candy, finger jello, caramel popcorn, and reluctantly taking the obligatory sandwich as their mothers watched with hawkish eyes. A once-yearly feast fit for a king.

  As I grew older and joined the youth group, slow horse-drawn hayrides in the December dark became a part of my life. Perched on prickly, pungent hay bales, we laughed and jostled and sang and talked our way to the local nursing home to spend an evening caroling for the elderly there. Along the route we briefly serenaded  neighbors with a carol or two before moving on, often being offered cookies or other snacks as we passed through.

  All these things and many more parade through my memory in a colorful never-ending stream as I take another sip of peppermint tea and gaze out the window as the flakes drift down. I pause to breathe a thank you to the Lord for the mosaic of blessings that make up my life, past and present.

      

  

  

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Three: Winter Recipes

         Today we got the snowstorm of my dreams. It started snowing about 9:30 this morning, and has been snowing steadily ever since! 

    Right now, there's about 5 inches, and the forecast says twelve more inches, but who knows. But I'm hoping we get twelve more inches.

    I just got inside from sledding. We were outside for over two hours! We were sledding down the hill on our saucer.

    My sister and I tried to take my baby sister outside, and she hated it. She was trying to pick every single snowflake off herself. 

    Then, we tried to give her a swing ride, but first we had to sweep 3 inches of snow off the swing. Well, the snow contaminated the swing, so she couldn't even think of getting on. 

    The final straw was when the wind blew snow all over her. She burst into tears, so I took her inside. As soon as her coat and boots and hat and mittens were off, and she was nice and warm, she wanted to go outside again.

  So I brought her back outside, and gave her a sled ride, but it flipped over, and she got buried in snow. To make it worse, I couldn't find her mittens. Needless to say, she did not want to come outside again.  

    In honor of our 5" of snow, I am going to share two snow-y recipes with you!

1. SNOW-CREAM

All you need (besides snow!) is:

•1/3 cup granulated sugar

•1 cup milk (you can use any kind of milk)

•a pinch of salt

•1 tsp. Vanilla extract

Whisk the ingredients together in a large mixing bowl until combined. Then pop the bowl in the freezer while you get your snow. You will need approximately 8 cups of clean, fresh snow. Immediately stir into milk mixture until it is fluffy, and you can scoop it. WARNING: This melts quickly, so you better dive in right away! 

1. EGGNOG

You will need:

•Six large eggs

•One cup granulated sugar

•Two cups whole milk

•One cup heavy cream

•Grated nutmeg, for serving

Separate the eggs. Whisk the yolks with the sugar until smooth and creamy. Whisk in the milk and cream. Just before serving, whisk the egg whites on high speed until little peaks form. Fold the whites gently into the egg whites. Serve cold, with nutmeg sprinkled on top. Enjoy!

Well, that's it for today! Don't forget to enter the giveaway!  See ya tomorrow! 

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Three: My Top Five Favorite Christmas Movies

     Wow, it's already day three! Have you entered the giveaway yet? It ends Friday. Today's post is about some of my all-time favorite Christmas movies. Movies are a fun way to spend a chilly evening with your family. So grab some popcorn and hot cider, and let's go!                                

1. Home Alone. This hilarious, family-friendly movie is perfect for a cold snowy winter evening! (1 hr. and 43 min.) It's about a boy named Kevin who accidentally gets left home alone while his family goes to Paris! He outwits the "Wet Bandits" with the help of some very unusual friends.

2. Home Alone 2; Lost in New York. This sequel to Home Alone is 2 hr. 1 min. This time around, he goes to the airport with his family, but gets on the wrong plane by accident, and ends up in New York City, while his family is in Florida to spend the Christmas vacation. Now Kevin has to deal with the Wet Bandits again, only this time they're the "Sticky Bandits." I actually like this one better than the first one.

3. The Nutcracker. A little girl named Marie finds herself having a magical Christmas Eve in the land of the Sugar Plum Fairy, with her prince. (1 hr. 32 min.)

4. Christmas with the Kranks. Based on the book Skipping Christmas by John Grisham, this movie is 1 hour and 39 minutes of hilariousness! A couple decides to skip Christmas, and go on a cruise, and it doesn't end so well. 

5. Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Um, this is like the lamest movie on planet Earth, but it's a tradition for me and my brother and sister to watch it around Christmas. Even though it's lame, I like it for nostalgic reasons. It is 1 hour and 20 minutes. 

    Be sure to come back tomorrow for Day Four! ~Caitlyn 

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day Two: Christmas Music & Snow Update

    Welcome back to day two! Make sure you have entered the giveaway! It closes on Friday, @ 5:30 Eastern Time.

    Well, I got my wish. We got snow this morning. Not a lot, maybe half an inch. But, hey, it was snow! Unfortunately, it's already melting😑 Hopefully, we'll have a white Christmas, though. 

    One of my favorite things about Christmas is Christmas music! Well, I have compiled a list of Christmas songs. 

Come All Ye Faithful, by Jillian Edwards

Carol of the Bells, Original Lyrics

Do you Hear What I Hear, by Bing Crosby

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Traditional Choir

Christmas is Coming, the Goose is Getting Fat

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree, by Brenda Lee

Deck the Halls

The First Noel, by Andy Williams

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, by Michael Bublé

Silent Night, by Michael Bublé

Angels We Have Heard on High,

The Little Drummer Boy

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, by Andy Williams

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, by Michael Bublé

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

Jingle Bells

Let It Snow, by Dean Martin

Mary, Did You Know?

Winter Wonderland, by Michael Bublé

White Christmas, by Bing Crosby

Sleigh Ride

O Come, O Come Emanuel, by The Petersen's

Joy To the World, by The Petersens

O Holy Night

Jingle Bell Rock, by Bobby Helm

I Wish You A Merry Christmas, by Bing Crosby

O, Little Town of Bethlehem

O, Christmas Tree

Okay, that's it for today. Be sure to come back tomorrow for Day Three!

The Twelve Days of Blogmas, Day One: Giveaway & Snow Stories

                                         

              Update: Giveaway is now closed! Thank you, everyone who participated! 

  Well, today's the day. This year, I am going to do the "Twelve Days of Blogmas" challenge, where I will post something Christmas-y, or winter-y every day on the twelve days leading up to Christmas. 

    Tomorrow, we are supposed to get up to 3 inches of snow! It started flurrying back in November, but it didn't stay nearly long enough (I love snow). So I am really excited at the possibility of having a few inches of snow!

The most it has ever snowed here was 2 feet! My brother was so little at the time, he wasn't't allowed to go outside! But that was a long, long time ago, and it hasn't been that deep since.

My little sister has never even seen snow, because last winter she was too tiny to go out, so I'm wondering what her reaction will be.

    Oh, I almost forgot! Not. Because 'tis the season to be jolly, let's end this first day with a giveaway! We've got some awesome prizes, guys! 

My mom and I found a really nice book, that has a mix of a bunch of Christmas stories from different authors. And it's even hardcover, my favorite kind of book!

Treasured Stories of Christmas, compiled by Sarah Anne Stuart.

Treasured Stories of Christmas

And what goes best with a good book on a cold, snowy night? A cup of something hot! So, the prize includes a mug full of freshly roasted coffee, from my dad's coffee roasting business, Bon Aroma Coffee. 

                      

Coffee fresh from the roaster
Bon Aroma Coffee

                              

And of course you're wondering how you can win this stuff. All you have to do is comment! If you comment, I will enter you, unless you specifically say, "I am commenting, but I do not want to enter." (But who in their right mind would do that?)

This contest ends on Friday, December 18th, at 5:30 p.m. Eastern time, and I will announce the winner sometime before lunch on Saturday, the 19th.

That's it for today! Don't forget to come back tomorrow for Day Two!   ~Caitlyn O.

Turkey, Colds and Vinegar Tea

 Hey hey hey!! I have not posted in SO long. My apologies. But I have something fun I want to do for December! We all got a cold from my four-year-old cousin when they were here for Thanksgiving. My aunt told me about something that really helps a sore throat- Vinegar Tea.

                                                    RECIPE:

You will need: Hot water, apple cider vinegar, and honey.

Pour hot water into a mug, and add one and a half tablespoons of apple cider vinegar. Add honey to taste. Stir well, and drink.

This helps SO much! I was shocked! 

My aunt and uncle raised a few turkeys this year, and they brought one along for Thanksgiving.

Guess how much it weighed? Comment and guess! I'll comment and tell the answer after the twentieth comment!

It was delicious!! We also had mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, peas and carrots, sweet potato casserole, ribbon salad, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, mixed berry pie, and ice cream. 

                                                                             

  

Au revoir!

CAITLYN O.