Holiday Joy

Christmas 1971. Soon we would be headed north for some serious fun.

When we were children, we approached the holidays with such impatience–it seemed like school would never end. The school bus continued to pick us up and drop us off, the presents began to appear under the tree, and our mother’s cookie baking and candy making began. Christmas and the holidays meant many things to us: gifts, special foods, free time, snow. But by far, the best part of the holidays was traveling north to spend time after Christmas with our cousins in Gaylord. 

We cousins are all close in age, and our times together have always been concentrated, special, and full of activities. There are nine of us total–all within ten years of each other. And while we do have cousins in our area, and we did enjoy spending time with them, it never involved overnights or long weekends together. This type of uninterrupted time encourages a closeness, built from common memories of people and places.  

So after the Christmas commotion settled at our house, we packed up the old station wagon and headed nearly straight north, our excitement growing with each mile. The old Mercury was stuffed with sleeping bags, winter boots, snowmobile suits, hats and gloves, special  gifts, the five of us kids, a grandmother, and all kinds of energy. Dad piloted slippery roads, drifted roads, or even icy roads until we spilled out of the car, tumbling into the warmth and love of our aunt and uncle’s house. From then on it was full-speed fun. 

Our Auntie Bea and Uncle Henry at a family wedding in Gaylord. They always, always, always opened their home to us and cared for us as if we were their own children.

My Uncle Henry promoted activity. We always needed to be busy–or at least look busy–and all of us were expected to participate in whatever he had in mind. His winter ideas usually involved snowmobiling, sledding, and, of course, my least favorite–hockey. Hockey was fun when we were little, but as our brothers grew larger and larger, the speed and collisions became more and more treacherous. (And of course there were no helmets or pads back in the 1970s.) Jennifer, Amy, and I eventually began to quietly slip away to the girls’ bedroom when we anticipated an approaching game, but Uncle Henry would call us by name and insist we come ou t. “Jennifer! Amy! Kathy! Come on! Get your skates on. Everybody out!!

I don’t recall I suffered any serious injuries, but as the play became more and more intense, we girls retreated to the sides, retrieving the puck or passing it back into play as needed. 

Our Auntie Bea and my mother were free of any sporting drafts, and they cooked, washed dishes, drank pots of coffee, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

How wonderful these times were, how quickly they passed,  and how I miss the innocence of those days.

My father and uncle are no longer physically among us, but our memories of their love and this time together is a legacy that continues in all of us.

My heart is full.

It’s a Fine Life.

By Kathleen Oswalt-Forsythe © December 29, 2019

Snowstorm Sanity: A Blizzard Box

Photo by Brooke Lewis from Pexels

As long as the people I love are safely off any hazardous roads (and we have and keep our power), I love a heavy winter snow. Usually, we know in advance of an incoming storm and the meteorologists’ predicted precipitation levels. (Okay, sometimes we get all excited and the anticipated snowfall goes north or south of us, so I do understand some level of skepticism.)

But, when we do have a blizzard in Southwest Michigan, we are generally snowed in for at least two days. Schools are closed, our neighborhood road is plugged, and we are home with a wonderful gift of time.

Once the storms and winds subside, there is lots of shoveling and clearing work to be done. My husband likes to remind me of this when I am hoping–and sometimes even praying--for a snow day. I don’t worry about that inconvenience as he does his own planning by filling the snowblower’s gas tank, checking the generator, and salting the sidewalks.

When we were children, our mother listened to WKZO radio, following carefully the lists of school cancellations. Often we were getting ready for school before the district closing was announced. She would call upstairs to us, “Hey kids, school is closed! Come on down!” I think she was always as excited as we were on those wonderful days.

When our children were young, we loved those days, too. The kids stayed in their pajamas, played games, and watched movies. I usually put a pot of soup together, and we often napped and relaxed. We were able to slow down and simply enjoy the time together.

My friend Annette and I started this “Blizzard Box” tradition probably five years ago. I think we were trying to turn our winter blues into something more positive. This weekend, I’m planning ahead for an inevitable snowstorm and assembling another box. I recommend it, and here’s what we do:

Fill the box with treats and ways to pamper yourself.

First, plan and purchase items well before a storm appears on Doppler radar. Find a box and fill it with special indulgences: chocolates, coffee, a bottle of good wine (or spirits), a recommended book, a new nail color and file, a DVD, a scented candle–you get the idea. These should be things that help you feel like you are pampering yourself. We found a boot box is a good size, but as my husband suggests, the bigger the container, the more goodies you can fill it with. (Gosh, he is a smart guy!) Put it somewhere safe BUT easily accessible to you. (You need to remember where you put it–more and more challenging for me, especially during the busy holiday season!)

Then when the storm hits, you can smile, let some stew bubble away, and open your Blizzard Box.

And you might just find you will look forward to the next winter storm!

It’s a Fine Life

By Kathleen Oswalt-Forsythe © December 7, 2019