For the past couple of days I’ve been enjoying my seasonal job as a volunteer Christmas cookie taste tester elf. So far I haven’t had to put in any overtime, but I’m willing to if the job calls for it. We’ve checked chocolate cookies, frosted sugar cookies, raspberry thumbprint cookies, madeleines, orange flavored cookies and maybe one or two more. No wonder I’m tired, and bloated. Fortunately, so far they’ve all passed the taste test. None have had to be returned to the baker for further work. Several packages have been shipped to their ultimate recipients to take some of the load off of Santa’s sleigh.
sparkly, frosted Christmas cookies
Photo by J. Harrington
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The forecast high temperature on Winter Solstice is in the low 40’s. Christmas Eve and Day we’re expecting rain showers and more 40’s. I suspect there’s going to be lots of kids worried about how Santa will get around without snow. Maybe we can tell them Santa has always got around Hawaii and they (almost?) never have snow there. This isn’t our grandparents world or winter anymore.
Perhaps it’s time to look for seasonal events that are more stable than the idea of a white Christmas, with apollogies to Irving Berlin, Bing Crosby and Vermont Inns. Children crave security and familiarity. Each year, daylight shortens until the solstice, whether or not it snows. There are other seasonal traditions we can emphasize other than Santa’s visit. We might even consider being radical and emphasize the “wise" in three wise men rather than the presents they brought. Could gold, frankincense and myrrh be traded for Epiphany cookies? Would that be wise?
White-Eyes
By Mary Oliver
In winterall the singing is inthe tops of the treeswhere the wind-birdwith its white eyesshoves and pushesamong the branches.Like any of ushe wants to go to sleep,but he's restless—he has an idea,and slowly it unfoldsfrom under his beating wingsas long as he stays awake.But his big, round music, after all,is too breathy to last.So, it's over.In the pine-crownhe makes his nest,he's done all he can.I don't know the name of this bird,I only imagine his glittering beaktucked in a white wingwhile the clouds—which he has summonedfrom the north—which he has taughtto be mild, and silent—thicken, and begin to fallinto the world belowlike stars, or the feathersof some unimaginable birdthat loves us,that is asleep now, and silent—that has turned itselfinto snow.
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Hey! This is my first visit to your blog! We
ReplyDeleteare a collection of volunteers and starting a
new initiative in a community in the same niche. Your blog provided us useful information to
work on. You have done a wonderful job!