Summing Up

The year 2010 has been one of those years that will stand out in my memory forever.

The birth of my grandson. The death of my mother. The marriage of a son. The first full year of a new job. Trips to Kentucky and New Mexico. Managing my mother’s estate, managing my own complicated life. Decisions made about the future.

But all that is behind me now, for the most part. I know we have no way to foresee the future, so every plan I make for 2011 is a wish, a hope and a prayer. Here’s what I pray for:
• Calm
• Peace
• No changes

That’s not asking a lot, is it?

Christmas Baking

My daughter, Sloan, is baking today. Last night she sorted through all my mother's old recipes, written by hand on little recipe cards and stored in a large baggie. Even without remembering the cookies themselves, we could tell which ones were her favorites by the condition of the cards. The more stained and crusty, the better!

My mother loved to bake Christmas cookies. For many years I would join her for a full day of baking which seemed to me, the unenthusiastic cook, to be excessive. She couldn't just make three or four different types of cookies, she had to make about a dozen, and carmel corn, and fudge and sometimes peanut brittle.

It is the strongest Christmas memory I have of my mother. Now my daughter, who is an enthusiastic cook, is baking from these same recipes. In this first Christmas season of not having mom with us, I will get to taste her cookies once again. It's one of the best presents Sloan could give me.

The Iridescent Peacock

Enter the front door of the Morton House and climb the narrow birds-eye maple staircase, covered with a carpet runner specially ordered from Marshal Field’s in Chicago, and you’ll find a display case. Surrounded by peacock feathers and beaded bags and hats from the 1920’s, you’ll see my great-grandmother’s peacock carnivalware bowl. I have loaned it to this small museum for their Christmas display and it is the first time in 20 years it has seen the light of day.

It is a particular orange color called “marigold” with the characteristic iridescent sheen and the peacock spreads its tail feathers to fill up the dish with its finery. The bowl was first owned by my great-grandmother, Addie, and then passed to my grandmother, Rozella, then to my mother, Delores, and now, with my mother’s passing, to me. When the time comes, I will give it to my own daughter, Sloan, to continue the five generation chain.

I never met my great-grandmother, but I know she was a simple farm woman, as was my grandmother. It must have been a fabulous treasure for Addie, who struggled her whole life just to keep a roof over her head. I don’t know how or where she got it, but I’m betting that she never actually used it, as neither my grandmother nor my mother did, since it has survived these 80 years in pristine condition. It was probably enough for Addie just to know she owned something so glorious.

That dish inspired my mother to collect marigold-color carnivalware and in her typical fashion she was able to amass about 40 additional pieces. But, 20 years ago she remodeled her kitchen and the dishes were packed away for safe-keeping. When she built a new house 10 years ago, that old-fashioned glassware didn’t seem to fit with her décor, so they remained in their storage box.

Now it is up to me to decide where they must go. Among her many things that I have distributed, this collection is one that has stymied me. I know it was something she loved, but she also has not unpacked them for two decades! In the end, I have decided to donate the collection to the Morton House and many of the pieces will probably be sold for its benefit. I will keep one raspberry-patterned candy dish that is my favorite and the rare red bowl Tom and I bought for her in Durango, Colorado. Sloan will keep the 7-piece fruit dish set.

And of course the peacock bowl. Even though each generation of the women in our family has become more comfortable, more educated, worldlier; it is still, perhaps, a dish too glamorous for any of us. I can’t picture it in my house. Where could it be kept safe from curious cats and the rambunctious grandchildren we are just beginning to have?

But I am a sentimental woman and I know that some things you do and some things you say and some things you keep, just because it’s right. Great-grandma Addie can count on me.

Christmas Carols

So far my Christmas season has been full of singing. Last Saturday Tom and I sat at the Box Factory for the Arts, a 100+ year old building renovated into a haven for artists. Four cabaret singers from Chicago, two men and two women, made the journey around the lake to come and sing for us. It was a soup supper with wonderful cheese and bread and pasteries for dessert.

As I sat there listening to their Christmas songs, I thought again about how the walls of this old building would feel - if they could feel. In its early days of serving as a factory, Saturday evenings were dark and quiet. Now music and creativity echo around its old wooden beams and the building feels warm and happy.

A week later, last night, Tom and I went to University of Notre Dame to attend a performance of the Men's Glee Club. First we had a delicious dinner at the Inn on campus and then we made our way to the theater. It was the first time I had attended an event in this relatively new performance building. It was cold and raining and it felt good to sit in this remarkable building and listen to these young men sing so beautifully while the storm raged outside.

This morning I went to church and listened to a visiting choir sing Handel's "Messiah". It was a small group in a modest church - but the sound was incredible. Tears ran down my face during the "Hallelujah" chorus - it was just so beautiful.

I love to sing, but have put it aside for the last few years while I dealt with difficult personal times. Perhaps it is time to take it up again in some way.