These Nandina (also known as “heavenly bamboo”) berries greet me as I arrive at my front door.

The gray days of January have arrived. It’s wintery and cold here in the Sacramento Valley, but not snowing. It just doesn’t snow here (except for short-lived, freakish occasions), so the world takes on a dreary, muddy, gray quality for a few weeks. The sky is white or gray, trees are bare, brown and black leaves rot on the ground. Sometimes all we can see is gray fog rolling in or squatting to sit with us awhile.

I sometimes feel down during this time of year. The exciting holidays are over but we still have most of winter ahead of us, with spring a long-off promise.

I decided it would be fun to go looking for some color around my home.

Painting by Lucas. Feliz Navidad!

Our first batch of plum jam was made on December 4th with Papa. Last night we made another big batch and we’ll have to see later tonight whether it’s gelled properly. The jam is low in sugar, sweet-tart, and full of pulpy goodness. I hope it’s delicious.

The plums we used were frozen from last year’s harvest, when Dad and I picked way more than we could process in three jam-making sessions. It was a difficult time then, full of anxiety (and flat-out fear on my part) about Dad’s upcoming heart surgery, and making jam together was our bonding activity. It was special and sweet, the first time we had ever made jam together, and laced with uncomfortable overtones of, “what if.”

The jamming has been different this year. More of a celebration. More an act of thanksgiving for me. Dad is well, perhaps not fully recovered, but nevertheless doing great despite a lot of stress and caring for his 89-year-old mother and 96-year-old  aunt. He would say he’s all better now. I know he still tires easily.

I would be very pleased if I could be making plum jam with my dad for another 15 years.

I’m working on being both reasonable and flexible this holiday season—reasonable about what I can accomplish and flexible when circumstances change and obstacles arise.

I had high hopes that we could go up to the foothills this year to hunt for our Christmas tree, but the rainy weather on Saturday and limited time made the trip impossible. We always have such fun visiting the craft fairs and enjoying a slice of apple pie. Instead, we went to Lucas’s school and bought a beautiful tree. Our money will help the school and a group of girls who have formed a eurhythmy troop. We were back home with our tree in less than 30 minutes, which meant that we got the whole thing decorated in a day, instead of it taking all weekend (a day in the foothills, and a day to decorate the tree).

It’s wacky that so many of our ornaments have memories attached to them. I often know where they came from—who gave this one to us, what year I bought that one, which ones are handmade, where Mom and Dad were traveling when they picked up those two, what this one meant to me when I received it. I have ornaments that have been on my family’s Christmas tree since I was in preschool. And if that’s not sentimental, I don’t know what is.

Gorgeous persimmons are ripening on my kitchen counter top. Last Friday the B children came over after school and we made a batch of cookies with the couple of persimmons that were ripe enough.

I’m really enjoying spending time with Snow in the kitchen; she has greater follow-through than my boys do. I seem to have hit on the magic formula: Every child measures and pours an ingredient into the bowl, taking turns until everything is in. Everybody mixes, counting their strokes. Eventually, the littler ones drift away to do something else and Snow and I spoon the cookie dough onto the pan. Then, she’s off to play with the others and I get the job of waiting for the oven buzzer, switching out pans, and cleaning up—the boring parts.

I’m learning to recognize (sometimes) when I have a need or expectation for a holiday. To me, it wouldn’t be Christmas time if we didn’t bake cookies. My kiddos didn’t think to ask to do this. But I realized it was something I needed to do. So, I set it up, carved out a moment, and made it happen. Of course, the boys are overjoyed at the opportunity to eat cookies. And, really, who wouldn’t be?

I should add another observation. Besides the script in my mind that says, “good moms bake cookies for Christmas,” there is another script running: “Sexy moms don’t eat cookies.” A little conflict there, perhaps.

Work continues at a much more relaxed pace this month. I’m reviewing second pages now of my textbook, making sure all the intense and involved changes we asked for last month were made. It’s looking good and I’m happy that the people down the line were able to do it. This one is not exactly easy for them, I’m sure, even though I’ve done everything I can to make it as painless as possible.

With some professional coaching, I have managed to change my banner image on my blog to my own wintry photograph. I’ve also added a caching plug-in, so now my site will be faster. And that’s just plain nifty!

Lucas, after the Santa Lucia walk through 11 grades and the school office. The children braved the cold and rain to deliver their message of light and the coming of Christmas, and buns for everyone!

As the youngest boy in the class, he carried a lantern and wore a special outfit, including grandma’s sweater and a hat I made.

When I told Lucas the other day that his name and Lucia both mean light, he smiled really big.

Yesterday morning we woke to find  S N O W !

It hardly ever snows here in the Sacramento Valley. I think the last time was many years ago—probably more than 10—I cannot remember snow falling in all the time we’ve lived in this home.

It was gorgeous and light, just a dusting, and so, so fleeting! It was gone before 9:00 a.m.

The snow was a lovely accompaniment to St. Nicholas Day, which came on the 7th for us. The boys woke to find goodies in their shoes—oranges, chocolates, peppermints, and little Star Babies to cuddle and keep in their pockets. (Alas, Asher could not have cared less about the Star Baby, even though it looks just like him.)

We are deep in the festival season now, a time when it seems there is a new festival to be celebrated every other day. The season kicks off with Michaelmas in September, then moseys on to Halloween. After that, it picks up speed, rushing quickly through Martinmas, Thanksgiving, and St. Nicholas’s Day. You might say it’s snowballing, rushing through Advent downhill toward Christmas and the year’s end. I admit I’ve had fewer cycles to give to all of this celebrating because of work, and that is disappointing to me. But one of my daily lessons in life and parenting is I must do what I can, and that is all I can do. It is enough. (I tend to fight this lesson a lot.)

Before Thanksgiving, we went to a St. Martin’s Lantern Walk at Lucas’s school. The children in second grade made their own beautiful lanterns from milk cartons. They whitewashed, painted, and created tissue-paper windows in their lanterns before the big event. On Friday, November 13, about a hundred people gathered in the darkness at school and walked a lovely path through the woods. We came upon a beggar man and St. Martin on his brave charger (a real horse!) in the night. Silently we watched Martin give the beggar a cloak to wear and a sack of food, for Martin is a generous man. The children sang their lantern songs, and carefully carried the lighted lanterns dangling from a stick.

About a half-hour before it was time to go to this festival, I realized that Asher would be sorely disappointed not to have a lantern to carry, too. So I whipped up this one, using a plastic jar and leaves and tissue paper. I was drying it with a hair-dryer just before we walked out the door. Instead of fire, I placed a few glow bracelets inside the lantern and sealed it up tight. The lantern glowed nicely—and safely—which was just as I had hoped. It got bounced around an awful lot!

Now, nearly a month later, the lantern is looking a little worse for wear. If I had had more time, I would have covered the top with a pretty fabric.

Asher's 30-Minute Martinmas Lantern

I’m breaking radio silence briefly to say,

Aaaahhh.

It’s so wonderful to relax. Perspective is a beautiful thing. I think I’ve found some of it again, now that I’ve had two whole days with minimal work and lots of lovey time with my family. We are enjoying ourselves tremendously. We even had a special Thanksgiving dinner today (thanks to Chez Safeway) that we ate in this glorious spot in the backyard of our rented vacation house, overlooking the rolling waves and frolicking surfers.

Life is beautiful.