i'll drink to that

Tonight was the annual Hires Sunday dinner, this year's Sunday Shake-up. Our lucky behind-the-counter evening with our favorite BH. When the burgers were plated and ready to go, I took the chance to fulfill my 7 year-old dream of being a Hires waitress by delivering them to the lovely ladies at the table. As usual with this bunch, the conversation was hilarious, and updates were given by all. Here's to lovely dudes, things landing on top of other things, missing jackets at 5 am, not being brothers and sisters with some people, Big H's in abundance and bottomless fry sauce. Here's to K's new house and to MMF for being our inspiration. And last, but most definitely not least, here's to the H's, the O's, and the R's for making it happen. Peace, love and french fry grease.

*Oh, and to those who have asked for pictures of my turtle shell, there you go. Perhaps in the near future I'll post another less-disguised one. Perhaps. Forgive me, I'm still in shell-shock.

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!

wish i was here

I know I promised pictures of Southern CA. I can't find my camera cord. I'm going to have to buy a card reader Monday. Speaking of photographs...

I logged onto flickr the other day and found out that one of my photos from our Nantucket vacation (four summers ago! Family, can you believe it?) has been nominated for a contest. I'm shocked. Truly. I don't consider myself a photographer at all, (especially with such a mediocre camera). Scrolling through my Nantucket album made me quite nostalgic, though.

I just so happened to check Urban Grace today. I've included some of her lovely photos, taken the same time of year (with a much better camera). All the photos below are from Urban Grace. Go to her blog to see more photos from her trip with her husband and to read what she has to say about Nantucket.

Check out that sun room.

I love the festoons and the nautical flags.

Roses on the rooftop?! This place is pure magic, people.

Christmas Catch-up

Behind on my Christmas report. I'll blame my nose. It only seems fair. Here's goes.

Swedish Christmas Eve. Mom's Dup: divine. Being with just the CBF's for such a feast, a first.
Rice Pudding and poems: with the R's this year.
O's poem: free verse and hysterical, in the deepest of ways. (Something about a voice in the forest?) Luckily, we had the camcorder. All of the poems were noteworthy.
Charlie Brown Nativity: a delight as always, with new Lamby from the R's to make the shepherds watching their flocks by night even more realistic and ever so dear.
Mary Cassatt for sister and me on Christmas morning: framed and ready for hanging. Where? I'm not quite sure yet.
Mekki: Dad's nickname in Germany and what was found in chocolate form in his stocking.
(Thanks to Rich helping the Elves this year I got 8-legged chocolate creatures in my sock. The Elves know me so well!)
Breakfast and tea rings with Grandma H. Missed the W's this year most definitely.
Children in utter package-opening pandemonium at Uncle R's round their tannenbaum at noon, wide-eyes galore.
Homemade cinnamon rolls from Heidi wrapped up for the ride home. We made it all of three blocks before they were devoured. Delish!
Snow: all evening long.
White Christmas: fulfilled.
Yale Avenue: desolate at 9 p.m. Christmas Night as we bundled up and slid about the empty streets in a foot of freshly fallen snow on our OME walk past the Magic House. It's documented and dialogued forever, thanks to E. Rescue by our knight in white before we nearly froze to death, thanks to Daddah. See E's post for a much better synopsis slash proof slash pictures.

Sunday Shakeup

Tonight, we had the place to ourselves. We shaked our own shakes, (K's recipe proved to be the biggest hit: chocolate, peanut butter, marshmallow, banana) mixed our own limeades, and took lots of pictures. We moon walked on the kitchen floor, helped ourselves to free refills and pulled the tables together. BH gave advice on Life and Love and Lessons to be learned, now and in the future, whenever that may be. We laughed about quirks and red crayola crayons. E raised a glass and toasted to togetherness. Tonight, over Big H's and fries a la the B, we all shouted, "Hear! Hear!" Here's to more nights out, more nights in, more of the same...more good things on the horizon. I feel lucky to get to hang out with such an outstanding crowd of women. Hats off and three cheers to the H Family for the best "home cooked" Sunday dinner in a long time.

A Christmas Without

The table seemed empty, yet we had to cozy up to fit around the two tables, over-flowing into the living room. We were snug, on new dining chairs amidst Swedish food galore, a tradition which, after 100 years in the Haglund family, is still going strong. The J.H. Haglund boys are still going strong, too. Steven is nearly as tall as Michael (something J.J. is a bit upset about. And, I won't even start on Phillip, who boasts that, despite his lesser stature (he's still above 6'0"), his biceps are thicker than all of his brother's necks. He's right). J.J., Phil, Rich and I rounded out the end of the dining room table, leaving the adults to themselves in the living room. We talked of frat bros, studying abroad, girls, boys, and moving out (real grown-up stuff) as we munched on dup (traditional Swedish roast with sausage and gravy - delectable, if you ask me), goat cheese, flat bread, veggies galore and mashed potatoes to die for, each grabbing second and third plates.
Grandpa's spot sat empty, his patriarchal presence was all but unnoticed, yet we continued on with the rice pudding. R. called the boys in from the football game so we could dish up the rice and dish out the free verse. He was the right man for the job - four boys magically reappeared back at the dinner tables, ready for the rice. Dad and R. stole the show, as they always do, reciting the best on-the-spot poetry. Second place most definitely going to O, K and J, who gave the most darling of performances. Mine was short and sweet. Not even worth recording, but I think RCF got it on video nonetheless.
I love knowing that all over the country - from Chicago to Tennessee, from Irvine to Texas, Boston to Virginia, we all eat the same meal and we all participate in the same traditions: dup and potatoes, and no rice before impromptu poetry. So the years continue, as we think of Grandpa with fondness - He the one who fostered it all, carrying on from previous generations, Grandma at his side, mixing and mashing, spreading the table full of delicious Swedish food and wonderful decorations. God Jul!

by the chimney with chairs

The most cherished gifts are the little ones. And who can resist a miniature? I know exactly who would adore these. And how adorable are they? Love. (I found these on a cup of joe. Here's the link).

In my attempt to become just like S & E, I've taken up collecting little chairs - S added one to my birthday package this year, rounding out E's unbelievably thoughtful gift. The chair is wonderfully geometric and shiny white. It now sits proudly in front of my chair bookends bought on my trip to Chicago in '99. Karli and I took The Windy City by storm. Well, it took us, actually. K, in her sandals and a hooded sweatshirt, (in January, no less) was begging for a blizzard. On our Michigan Avenue shopping spree, she spent her money on mittens and socks (and Frango mints at Marshall Fields, which I proudly partook of. It is, after all, tradition). I bought some adorable chair bookends at a store on Michigan Avenue, the inaugural chair set for my miniature chair collection. Then, to escape the absolute blizzard we found ourselves in, we rode the escalator up to the fifth floor of Borders, with stacks of books and magazines and watched the snow squall roll in off Lake Michigan. K and I make the best of travel companions. I can't wait until she comes home. Less than ten days. We'll sit by the fireplace, in the chairs here on Bryan - last night I stayed up too late making wreathes to attach to the back of each of them - and laugh into the night, digesting the Frango's that are bound to be at Grandma's by Christmas Eve. Can't wait, K. Bring your mittens. It's cold outside.

Sankt Nikolaus

We spent family night at Grandma's last night. Mom had us play our instruments. Every time I get out my violin these days, I fall ever so quickly back in love with it. The chance to play anything with my sister (she plays cello) is highly entertaining (leave that to me and, what my formal teacher used to call my "creative counting.") My sister and I grew up playing duets together and spent many Christmases in a quartet, ("Vivace," as we called ourselves) playing for various Christmas parties and holiday wedding receptions. Libby always laughs at me, and says something to the exasperated effect of, "Martha! (rubbing her eyes with her bow-in-hand like she really can't believe her eyes, or her ears) Why can't you count?!" Then she erupts into a mini fit of laughter. I stand up for myself and find some brilliant excuse for my unique counting ways and we start again at the pick-up note to measure whatever.
I am happy to report that after a quick run-through session pre-performance at Grandma's, we came through a shining success, leaving Grandma clapping her hands, crossing them over her chest and saying in her ever-happy manner, "Wonderful! How thrilling!" Take that, sister! Just kidding. I couldn't do it without her, nor would I want to.
Being up at Grandma's during Christmas always makes me think of Dad's time with Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Robert as a boy in Germany. Dad and I were remarking tonight that we missed St. Nicholas Eve this past week. It came and went, with no hay-filled shoes by the door, no nipped-at carrots in the morning or a new Christmas book. We're all so busy this year, we mentioned. But, I think he and I both regret not taking the time to participate in that long-standing tradition. I was reading Marta today and found this. And this. I love Marta, and not just because her name is so much like mine, and what I would choose mine to be, if it weren't for my great-grandmother, Martha, hailing from Germany, herself. Either way, with or without the "h," I'm grateful for my German heritage, for the tradition of a little on-the-spot recital at Grandma's and wonderful Christmas observances which delight and thrill as the years march on.