Christmas Collage

*some photos by RCF

Christmas 2009

The annual Nativity with the R's. Always a highlight of Christmas Eve. Especially the Charlie Brown portion, where Dr. R plays the piano and we all dance about like the Peanuts characters. I was photographer this year, so I'm not in the Nativity pictures, but I assure you I was there singing praises and saying my hallelujahs!

dashing through the snow

Last night we took a later than usual for the season jaunt along Christmas Street, strings of lights connecting house-to-house and reindeer prancing off the rooftops. Since you can't be in the Christmas Street neck of the woods and not hit up Bible Street, we headed there next. We took turns reading the signs that announce the arrival of the baby Jesus, skipping some pages completely covered in snow after yesterday's whiteout snowstorm. I'm not sure about my passenger (who may have been a wee bit ill from our supper and perhaps his breakfast and lunch, too) but Christmas isn't Christmas without these two favorite childhood spots. Last night was truly a holiday haut de jour*. After a little coaxing, I got the consent for one last trip: the Christmas window. The "Peas on Earth" display on Michigan probably wasn't the icing on the cake he was hoping for, but it sufficed to sum up the evening before we headed home with our seat heaters on high. I was happy to wake up to more snow this morning, for what is winter without white?

*Reading Eloise every so often isn't cutting it. My French grammar is abysmal. L'aidez-moi, s'il vous plait.

Astronauts Anonymous

In elementary school I had a crush on a boy who went to space camp. It wasn't his affinity for astrology that made me fond of him. I remember being terribly embarrassed about his absence from school for a week in Florida to pretend to defy gravity and squint through telescopes. The only positive thing I could think of was the possibility of eating space ice cream, which to me, is delicious, especially the Neapolitan. Other than that, the thought of him following in the footsteps of Neil Armstrong was a bit...out there.

However, as the years have rolled on, I've found myself wanting to recant my space camp chides. There have been many a sweet night's sleep on the deck at the cabin, the prelude to which have been Dad pointing out constellations as we stare at the Milky Way, visible from the spot Grandpa plotted so many years ago. I spent a memorable summer night with a few girl cousins outside the teen bunkhouse on a ranch in Antimony, UT and witnessed what was the most spectacular star show I've seen to date. Year in and year out there have been August nights with E and O, comforters spread across us on the front lawn when we've looked up at the endless heavens, stared off into the darkness and planned our futures (none of which included space camp, but perhaps they should have?)

The truth is, as much as I didn't want to be into space, I am. So, the other night when I had the chance to look through D Man's new telescope, I bundled up and bounded out. I took one giant leap for woman kind and was out on the driveway squinting into a telescope and studying the moon. Dad not wanting to give up the opportunity either, was right behind me. His reaction was probably the most priceless: "Oh my stars!" he gasped, eyes as wide as flying saucers. (Even with his naturally punny tendencies, he didn't realize he'd said it.) We all took turns, all in disbelief at what we could see. The moon seemed touchable, all craters and textures. Mountains and valleys. I resisted the urge to usher all on-lookers inside to watch October Sky, although it might have to be our next neighborhood cinema screening sometime soon. Perhaps in my free time this summer I'll look into Space Camp. Apparently all the cool kids are going. (N and O, I'll make sure there's a spot for three.)

The Lot: a History

Each Christmas I'm excited by the amount of new good literature I get to add to my bookshelves. This year mom commented we're nearly out of room in the house, book bindings on colorful display in nearly every room. Late last night I rearranged a few things to make room for the books which now belong to my personal library. A big red-spined art book took its place prominently on the shelves in my bedroom. I'm pleased with its position alongside the thick green Robert A.M. Stern book that I received in 2004.

Perhaps of greatest literary treasure of late though, is the nine page piece penned by Grandpa some 22 years ago this Christmas simply titled, "The Lot." It outlines in greater detail than any other account (written or audible of which I'm aware) the acquisition and construction of one of my favorite places on the earth, a 3/4 acre of land up Weber Canyon. I've read it three times now, going over and over certain spots where Grandpa's writing seems to sing, his lyrics matching the mood of mornings spent in those mountains. I can still hear him whistle to the grandchildren down in the meadow by the swings, ushering us back up the hill for supper around the campfire. Of this spot he wrote:

"The carved wooden sign hangs on an inside wall of our cabin, in the canyon of the Upper Weber River in Summit County, Utah. In 'Spencerian Script,' or 'cursive' as the kids say, it reads simply, The Lot. You might think that such a sign should be on a tree or a post somewhere outside the cabin. But there it is, on the wall above the old green desk, under the open stairs to the lower loft. It reminds us that once there wasn't any cabin -- only The Lot.

"The ground there lies in a gentle slope, covered with a hundred or so quaking aspen, whose green, heart-shaped leaves tremble in the spring and summer breezes, until the autumn chill turns them to shimmering gold. Under the low winter sun, the tall, slender, gray-green trunks cast silent shadows across deepening snow. A few spruce and fir trees provide contrasting greenery during the shorter daylight hours from November 'til March. The night falls early; the darkness dispersed only when the sky is clear and the moon is up, or if one gazes upward to the myriad stars. April and springtime bring back the green of the trees and meadow and the longer hours of the sunshine, and the cycle of the seasons stars all over again...

"It is The Lot that stimulates the mind and refreshes the spirit. Sitting inside, it is the view to the outside that makes the sitting pleasurable. A fire in the evening and a good bed for sleeping afford comfort through the night. But in the morning, dawn brings the beautiful, graceful deer, quietly moving through the mountains and hillsides over across the valley, then the windows and walls on the north side of the cabin and finally floods The Lot with warmth and light.

There are from time to time mornings, both in summer and in
winter, when especially the world seems to begin anew...
The world has been visibly recreated in the night. Mornings
of creation I call them. (Henry David Thoreau, January 26, 1853)

"To experience the delight and the wonder of such a morning at The Lot is to know a special kind of personal re-creation. It is justification for ownership of such a place and vindication of all the work of fifteen years past -- and others yet to come."

Richard Forsberg Haglund, December 1987
photo by RCF, November 2009

on hiccups

My sister gets the hiccups. Bad. And there is absolutely no curing them. She sounds more like a sick donkey than a human with excess air in her chest. "Hee-ahh! Hee-ahh!" In 8th grade, she used to get kicked out of choir class because her hiccups were so disruptive. Completely unappreciative of my sister's impromptu percussion, Mrs. W. would hand over the larger-than-necessary bright red plastic Hall Pass and tell her to come back when her Heehaw hiccups were gone. The eighth grader with the killer jump shot and the horrible hiccups. Yup, that's my sister.

In sixth grade, my teacher kept sugar packets in her desk for students who got a heavy case of the hiccups. If ever I got the hiccups during a violin lesson (which happened more often than one would think) Judi (my teacher who wore mumus more often than one would think) marched me into the kitchen and filled a glass of water full, full, full. I was to bend over and drink upside-down, from the opposite side of the cup, a hic-trick that no matter how many times I'd seen her do it, she would proceed to demonstrate. It usually worked.

This morning I got into an elevator with nearly one hundred people (I'm only slightly exaggerating) and a hospital bed (which, gratefully, I was not in). It was quite roomy in that shaft until an orderly arrived. Rather than wait for the next go-round, he decided to join us for our joy ride. Taking note of the space situation, he ordered us to pick a side. His game plan (which he described, hand motions and all): To cram the awkward thing right betwixt us, and then heave-ho it straight out the opposite end of the lift. Like sardines bound by a border order, we stuck to our sides, smashed and smooshed, while that orderly had space for a small parade in front of and behind him. All the while, I was in the corner going, "Hic. Hic. Hic." It was only slightly embarrassing. Much less so than sounding like a sick donkey.

winter wonderland

happy weekend.

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sugarhouses in the sugarhood

Yesterday Grace greeted me at the door and took me straight into the kitchen to show me her gingerbread house from preschool: a green frosted tree, (made out of a cone) covered in Fruitloops, Cheerios and Teddy Grahams. It was all very orderly for a three year old.

We made gingerbread houses tonight at The Nook. Steph made the royal icing, the kind that's like glue and makes all the candy stick. We all sat at a long table in the front room and shared chairs when there were more people than seats. The middle of the table was topped with treats of all varieties, even black beans, thanks to Larrie. And, thanks to Mern, I got to hear "Susie Snowflake" on repeat. I don't know that I've ever loved her more.

I surveyed the landscape that was my paper plate and made a site plan in my head. I started with a miniature forest, a la Grace. My winter scene ended up looking more like a tiny campground, two tents pitched one right next to the other. Steph's house was tall tall tall, with candy canes all about the eaves. Mern covered her roof in Pez shingles and Whit's had candy ribbon landscaping. The menfolk took post as the judges. BJ said my house was the winner. However, with Santa making his list and checking it twice, (finding out who's naughty and nice, etc., etc.) I think he was being extra generous with his niceness. I thanked him all the same. It would have been naughty not to.

When the frosting bags ran empty, we took pictures of our little sugar-housed neighborhood, standing on stools for the birds-eye-view. Like passengers in Santa's sleigh we gazed down on our candy town creation, snapping shots from above.

dressed in holiday style

Tonight we bundled up and headed out on the town. Cousin K from the Big City, Miss A and I ate pizza at a new-ish restaurant in town. We were celebrating our three glorious births and enjoying togetherness without the rest of the family around (not that we don't adore them, because 'trilly we do.) K showed up looking oh so City Chic: a fur stole*, black leather gloves, and hair to die for. (I'm not quite sure how we're related.) We dipped our wood fired gourmet pizza in olive oil and fresh Parmesan and followed up on seasonal goals set this time last year. I made everyone look in the bathroom at the fantastic interior design. (It's really top-notch. I can't wait to go back to show N.) K brought mini red velvet cake to share which we ate at Miss A's afterward. We took pictures by the Christmas tree, mostly silly in nature, and listened to Harry for the Holidays. Oh, how I love my dear cousins.

*Imitation, people.

the season turns slowly

I haven't really stopped to let Christmas sink in, even though we're officially a week into December. This isn't a good thing for a girl who likes to soak up the season with every sense. Miss D and I took an all-too-quick glance at the lights on Temple Square the other night, giving into the chill and running across the sidewalk to the car, all the lights to our backs. I didn't mean to dismiss Christmas, but I'd rather gobble it all up this weekend on Temple Square than take little nibbles from the edge of the plaza on the way out.

After some much-needed nudging from my dear mother, I got to sorting my in basket today. (Can it be called an in basket if nothing ever goes out?) I got a fourth of the way through and then joined my sister at the table for dinner. It's been a long time since it's been just the two of us at the round table. Tonight I needed her. She came in the front door with warm soup and a salad full of the colors of the season: reds on the greens. For dessert, I had a slice of chocolate orange, which is undoubtedly my brother's. (Thanks, R.) It tasted like Christmas.

I officially stopped living my life on post-it notes, finally inking in all the holiday-ing on my calendar today. I stayed up late last night wrapping ribbons and jotting little notes on a package to be sent far far away. My drafting desk is covered in the Holiday Craze; red and green slowly crept and settled in this week - all paper and ribbon and colored pens. I fear it will only get worse as I've been sketching card designs this afternoon. Tonight we made popcorn balls at The Nook and wrapped the tree in shades of red and green, from bottom to top. It looks lovely all lit up in the corner.

I feel a bit more Christmas-y after an evening of soup with my sister, followed by much merriment and dancing at The Nook. The forecast says snow four of the next six days. I can't wait for all that white. It's just the thing to add to all the red and green that has taken up residence on my drafting table, a manifestation of both merriment and mayhem. I'll cue the Vince Guaraldi Trio tonight and continue to let the season sink in.

red + white

happy weekend.
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