Merry Christmas. Happy Boxing Day

Snow Angel

When my family spent a year in Kenya we became acquainted with the British (and post-British colonial) holiday known as Boxing Day. Boxing Day, December 26, (also known as St. Stephen's Day) was originally a day for charity. One can almost see a high-minded British lord giving his servants a special hamper of meats and sweets on Boxing Day. But despite the wonderful tradition, I have now seen another side of Boxing Day also fitting of the moniker. In this era of internet shopping and shipping at the holidays, my Boxing Day was full of breaking down the mountain of cardboard in my kitchen and making repeated trips to the car to pile the recycling. I am happy to report that my kitchen is mostly cardboard free. And now I have only to figure out what St. Stephen would have had to say about it.

We had a wonderful white Christmas complete with snow falling through out the day. The boys were appropriately giddy in the morning and spent most of the rest of the day (post gift opening) laying about amid the assorted fragments of ribbons and packaging and wrapping paper, playing with a few new toys. In the late afternoon our neighbor, Leslie, came over and we all went sledding, flying down the hill farther with each trip as we wore a track through the knee high cover. In the evening, Tim and I took the boys to our friend Ruth's who was celebrating her hundredth Christmas. Together the five of us had dinner, eating from Ruth's beautiful Christmas china, and enjoying the 97 year age span. It was a great end to Christmas day, celebratory and warmly full. I hope you each had a holiday that was warm and bright and truly merry.

Snow Walk on Monday

Happy Boys


Opening Presents


Ruth with her Christmas china

Earth stood hard as iron

While the rest of the northern half of the country has been being socked with massive snowfall, we have been cold cold cold but relatively snow-less. The boys have been making due with the drifts that cover the ground, but their snow angels are poor specimens with bits of grass peeking through.

Tonight however, upon leaving church after the advent program, Lessons and Carols, we walked outside to find we were being snowed upon with large lacy flakes, the kind which meander down, twirling. It was a wonderful sight; the car was blanketed in the hour we'd been away from it, the trees reaching with full arms. Tomorrow I will take the boys sledding, we will have cold noses, we will pack snowballs and make hearty, grassless angels.

Lessons and Carols is one of my favorite services of the church year. Year to year it is the same: nine readings interspersed with carols. We sing some of the most beautiful hymns in the book, the ancient "Of the Father's Love Begotten" written by Marcus Aurelius Clemens Prudentius (348-410), the modern "A Stable Lamp is Lighted" written by Richard Wilbur (b. 1921), a former US poet laureate, a 15th C. German carol, "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" and the 19th C. "In the Bleak MidWinter" written by poet, Christina Rossetti.

There is something about each of these, a line or phrase, that keeps me coming back to them. In the Rossetti poem it is the whole of the first stanza "In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, in the bleak midwinter, long ago." In the German carol it is the repetition of the words, "when half spent was the night." In "Of the Father's Love Begotten," I love the words "he the source, the ending he." And in the Wilbur poem it is the beginning of the final stanza: "But now, as at the ending, the low is lifted high." There is such richness to these words, I could walk the hard freeze of my winter landscape all day and never wear through Rossetti's image: "frosty wind may moan, earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone."

We have been busy this week with holiday things: Botanie's christmas party (our first year with enough employees to warrant a party!), our friends' annual white elephant exchange (we got a pocket screwdriver set, but missed the yodeling pickle) and several trips to the post office to mail off packages. The boys slept by the tree with Tim on Friday evening, a special holiday tradition that I remember seemed so magical, so wonder-full when I was a child, cozy in my sleeping bag by our glowing tree. This year, it was fun to come down to make my tea in the morning and find all three of my boys still fast asleep around our beautiful fir.

And in case you were hoping, as I was, that the Montana Grizzlies would come up with a National Championship, it was not to be. They lost (badly) to the U. of Richmond Spiders, who wrapped them up 24-7. The restaurant where we watched the game was not so jovial as last week when the Griz took the semi-finals. This time the cheering was replaced, for the most part, by groaning and other noises of exasperation. And Corin was duly pleased with the change in the decibel level.

Only a few days until Christmas, the snow continues to twirl and drift outside, and I wish you each a season that is full and bright. I'll leave off with the first stanza of the Wilbur poem:

A stable lamp is lighted Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, and straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven. A stall become a shrine.

Winter Finally Arrives

Until Friday evening, our Missoula winter had yet to arrive. Last week when we cut our Christmas tree, the day was 50 degrees and we were shedding coats, the children pulling their sled through mud. On Friday night, however, the weather finally caught up with us and the thermometer has since been hovering around zero with a wind chill far into the negative twenties. We woke on Saturday morning to our first snow of the season and shoveled our walks only to have them covered again by blowing drifts.

I guess the season of wet boots, soggy mittens, piled snow pants, and snowy hats littered around the door has officially begun. Though we bundled the kids and ourselves and tromped around the yard, making several snow angels and eating a few handfuls of powder, we didn't last out-of-doors for long. The wind was too blustery and the cold far too biting for any prolonged enjoyment of our first snow of the year. Instead we turned to the old indoor standby of the holiday season: cookie baking.

Our friend Mayumi was with us for a day before heading back to Japan for the winter break. She and the boys decorated Christmas trees, stars, bells, and candy cane cutouts.

The boys ate more frosting than they decorated with:

Our weather for the coming week looks like a prescription for more hunkering down:

Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday
-1° F | -15° F -18° C | -26° C	2° F | -13° F -17° C | -25° C	9° F | 0° F -13° C | -18° C	11° F | 0° F -12° C | -18° C	11° F | -6° F -12° C | -21° C

With a high of -1 tomorrow, I think the boys and I will be doing all our Christmas baking in the next few days. And, hopefully, finding less sugary ways to beat cabin fever.

On another note altogether... some of you may know that I have a sort-of-secret love of football and am thus pleased to say that the Montana Grizzlies are headed to the National Championship (Division 1-AA) after a big win over JMU (for you few VA folk that might be reading this). Tim and the boys and I joined my cousins and our friend Elsa at a local restaurant to watch the game and found ourselves along with the entire population of diners and drinkers yelling and giving high-fives to everyone around. The only person not enjoying the win was Corin who thought the whole thing was "too loud" and in general doesn't like it when adults are acting atypical - which for us watching televised sports, much less yelling loudly in public places, certainly qualifies.

And on a final note, Seth has been donning his Santa hat and walking around crouched and growling, like a T-Rex. We couldn't figure out what he was doing until he started repeating: "Santa Claus" (growl) "Santa Claus" (growl). It was then we realized he had confused "Claus" and "claws" and was acting in accordance with how he thinks Santa Claws would act. Sort of makes for an interesting twist on the old guy, don't you think? Sounds like a scary movie trailer: Better watch out, better not cry, better not shout I'm telling you why. Santa Claws is coming to town.....rrrrr.....

O Tannenbaum!

The tree is up. And beautiful.

Kara and Than helping the boys decorate

Tim trimming the top


Seth snitching Tim's tea

A Winter Outing

Since moving to Montana, Tim and I have grown a fondness for wispy, wild-harvest, Christmas trees. While some might call them (as several members of our family have) Charlie Brown trees, our love of them grows every year and their tree farm counterparts have begun to seem a bit overdone. I mean no slight on those tree-lot types as I've spent a good many cheery Christmases huddled around them, its just to say that our sensibilities have migrated during our years in the west. When we lived in Arlee, Tim and I would walk out our back gate and slip into the hills behind our house to trim a small scraggly bit of fir. We never knew whose land it was and never once saw another person tramping around back there.

Since we've been in Missoula, we've just selected a tree from one of the many tree-kiosks that spring to life in parking lots across town. The boys and I have waited coldly stamping our feet and blowing into our hands, while Tim has stood up one tree after another for our appraisal. This year, however, we decided to do it right.

On Thursday, the boys and I drove to the Lolo National Forest headquarters to buy a permit ($5) which entitled us to cut one tree (under twelve feet) from anywhere in the forest, save designated recreation or wilderness areas. Today, the four of us, met up with our good friends the Earnests, and bundled off to the Lee Creek drainage just beyond Lolo Hot Springs. The year has been remarkable for its lack of snow and unseasonably warm temperatures. Our friends have a tradition of harvesting their Christmas tree up Lee Creek and usually have to snowshoe in some distance beyond where the road is closed, but as there was no snow this year we drove up, parked to one side of the narrow two-track, and jumped across the small creek. Ally and I set up a winter picnic: oranges, pumpkin pie and almonds, hot chocolate and peppermint tea. The kids got down to the business of munching and climbing over logs while the dads scouted out trees. In a few minutes each family had a beautiful fir and plenty of extra greenery for door swags. The sky pitched gloriously blue above the ridge and we sat enjoying the sunshine, the winter light, the sound of the creek shuttling by. I have loved every Christmas tree that has ever graced my life, but this one stands alone for its memorable retrieval.

Winter Picnic

The boys


Corin, Seth, Ella, Margaux


Lindsay and Ally


Ice on Lee Creek

December Opening

On Sunday, Corin and I built an Advent wreath, pinning evergreen clippings around four tall tapers. Each time we pulled a fir branch out of the pile of pine, spruce and cedar clippings, Corin exclaimed, as if recognizing an old friend, "Doug Fir!"

We lit our first Advent candle last night, watched the flame flick on just one long purple candle while the others sat dark, waiting. There is an asymmetry to this that is somehow compelling...

These days are short on light. The sun rises just a little east of south and draws a shallow arc across the valley before setting again. While the daytime skies have been a little flat and gray, the night skies have been incredible. At this time of year, I am always happy to see the return of the winter constellations; I love seeing Orion back in the sky, I love catching sight of the Pleiades (my knowledge of the star groupings is minimal, so I feel a bit like Corin yelling "Doug Fir"- any familiarity pleases me). Last night the moon, Jupiter and Venus looked close to each other, though as Tim explained to the boys, while holding several tennis balls aloft in demonstration, theirs is a closeness of perspective not a closeness of distance. All the same, the convergence was beautiful on a clear December night - and well worth tramping into the dark street for the view.

Today, the boys and my cousin, Kara, and I walked the gulch trail behind the ridge close to our house. There is something wonderful about this trail- it is just a pitch of the hill away from downtown and yet seems a completely separate, nestled world. Corin skipped ahead of us wearing his father christmas hat (with'Lindsay' written in sparkles across the fold) over top of the green stocking cap Kara knit him for his birthday. I love watching Corin move through life, still so much at ease with himself, still innocent of the self-censure that is sure to come before long. Who knows if next year he will still think wearing his mother's old Christmas cap atop another hat while skipping up the trail is a good thing to do? But for now, while it lasts, I mark it with gratitude and try to keep up as my two boys step sure-footed down the trail ahead of me.

Pictures from the gulch:
Corin in his caps

Seth

Kara and a red-berried Mountain Ash


Cloudscape above the ridge

Visitors

On Friday evening as I was closing the shades, I looked out the window and saw two small puppies huddled outside, looking forlorn, dirty, and lost. Tim and the boys went outside and brought them in, fed them some leftover turkey, and got them warm. They settled happily into life here, and the boys cherished great hopes of adding them to our family. Tim and I were up with the dogs three times through the night, cementing the decision we had made before they were even in the house, that they would not be staying. There were moments of wavering... however, the pups went to find other homes yesterday evening. Just in time for Christmas.

The Visitors

Boys and Dogs

Happy Thanksgiving

A good thanksgiving day Thursday...

On Tuesday evening, Tim and I made pumpkin rolls, a favorite Thanksgiving tradition we inherited from his mom. This is a time consuming, though ultimately tasty process. It involves mixing and baking the rolls, then rolling them in floured towels while they cool, then unrolling them the next day and spreading the cream cheese frosting inside, then re-rolling, dusting with powder sugar, serving and eating! Here is Tim mid-process.


On Wednesday, the boys and I brought one of our pumpkin rolls up to our neighbors in Arlee, another special part of our Montana Thanksgiving tradition - and likely the thing we do that most closely parallels the traditional, though highly-revised, Thanksgiving story: The west-arriving settlers appreciate what they've learned from Native Americans regarding how to live in the New World. Every Thanksgiving, we too are reminded of our own gratitude toward our first Montana friends, Snuse and Christine McClure, who are native, and who taught us a good deal about what it is to live in the West.

Thanksgiving was a bright clear day and full of friends. Our good buddy, Steve, flew in from Vancouver to celebrate the holiday with us. There were 12 here for dinner, though, I think, we must have had food for 30. A warm, abundant, time, just as Thanksgiving should be.

A brisk walk along the creek on Friday (and a last piece of pumpkin roll) rounded out the holiday festivities, just in time for Advent to open before us.

Steve and Corin: Tree Climbers

Along the Creek

While Away

Last night, I returned from four days in Portland, OR. It was a perfect trip starting and ending with three hours of driving between Missoula and Spokane (from where I flew the rest of the way). Three hours of silence and solo time are a rarity in life and I was grateful for the time to be alone driving through the spare winter landscape of western Montana and the Idaho panhandle.

In Portland, I attended my cousin's sweet-heartfelt-joyous-fun-memorable wedding; huddled around a bistro table with my mother and Auntie Jill eating croissants; watched the mist rise on the Clackamas river; talked talked talked with far-flung family; attended church with my cousin Lukas and friend Suzy; walked around under arching empty trees with great black branches.

Tim and the boys held down the fort in Missoula. Their boy-time ran to more frozen pizzas and rootbeer floats than was strictly necessary, but, high fructose corn syrup aside, the boys had a wonderful time palling around with their dad. Tim and Than took them hiking up Mt. Jumbo on Sunday, which was deeply blue-skied, and at the house the boys invented games to keep them well occupied.

Hiking on Jumbo

"We don't have a fire truck, but that's ok because we have a fire bike."


Fresh and Clean Menagerie

According to the church calendar, this past Sunday marked the close of the year. Advent, which begins next week, is the opening of the church year. Somehow my trip to Portland seemed a fitting end - a restful space - to close out the year and get ready to begin all things again.

Time and the way it bends

Recently, Corin has grown an interest in all things outer-space. The recipient of a closet cleaning, the dramatic play area of his classroom acquired several old computer screens, calculators and switch boards - enough to launch the boys' rocket ship fantasies (so to speak). As a result, along with a healthy dose of imaginary adventures to distant planets, Corin has a sudden and real interest in the workings of the solar system, the concept of living on a planet, the idea of the sun being one among billions of stars in a single galaxy among billions of galaxies. As someone with little knowledge of astronomy, I have turned to that ever-ready source of good information: youtube, in order to help my son (and me!) have a better appreciation of the universe and, as the Book of Common Prayer would call it, "this fragile Earth, our island home."

Here are two great videos to help put things into perspective. Or, if you are like me and rather prone to feel your sense of proportion and place go a bit wobbly when you start thinking beyond the planet, then these may serve to blow things right out of perspective.

Planets and stars in scale: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tfs1t-2rrOM
Journey to the edge of the universe: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zr7wNQw12l8

Annie Dillard writes in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek: "We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what is going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise."

I had not thought of that quote in quite awhile and found it coming to mind after this little space odyssey that has been opening up before us. The thing is, the swaddling band is not dark but light - filled with stars and galaxies beyond counting - and somehow it seems like it would be easier to comprehend if it were pared down considerably: wonder gets a little dizzying when you start adding zeros.

However, taking the wider view does not necessarily demand astronomical forays. This very place is stocked with wonder enough. On a recent rainy Saturday, I took a small personal retreat with the Montana Natural History Center to go on a Glacial Lake Missoula field trip. During the last ice age, a large lobe of the Purcell Glacier impounded a vast lake behind it filling much of western Montana with water. This lake, known as Glacial Lake Missoula, contained more than 500 cubic miles of water which, when the ice dam broke, rushed to the Pacific, scouring and chaneling Washington and Oregon on its way. I do not understand the geology of all this, but am told that this happened many times over. Geologists dispute the numbers of fillings and emptyings of the lake, but agree that it happened dozens of times (I believe a conservative estimate is in the 40s). The land on which I walk about, I take my sons' hands to cross the street, I have made my home, this land was under more than 950 feet of water.

We walk about on an old and vast lake bottom. Perhaps, this is nothing so very wonderful, the world has long been changing and will continue to do so given the arc of time. But somehow, when I take my boys up on the surrounding mountains where the lake surface used to lap and when we run our fingers over the rocks, ridged and rippled by that long ago water, the place stretches me, even as it destabilizies my capacity to "look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what is going on here."

Whether wondering at a landscape that was filled and formed by water, or losing my senses to the vastness of our solar system, (...much less our galaxy, ...much less our universe), I feel the stretch and bend of things that extend so endlessly beyond my small concerns, and somehow through this I meet again, as if for the first time, the here-now of my own life and home.

Rainy Day

It has been a blustery day here, one in a string of several we've been experiencing. The wind has been pulling the last few leaves from our apple tree though a handful of apples continue to cling. A pileated woodpecker visited our tree again today. The boys and I sat watching him, our elbows resting on the low sill. His bright red head flashed amid the gray branches and gray sky, a welcome visitor, surely.

Here are a few recent pictures.

The boys looking very serious.

The four of us at Rob and Becky's wedding last month.

Corin and I enjoyed canoeing in New Hampshire.