Thanksgiving Archives - A Lovely Inconsequence

Tales of November

A Lovely Inconsequence — Tue, 21 Nov 2017 13:02:00 +0000

Wild is the music of autumnal winds amongst the faded woods. ~ William Wordsworth I love this sweet scene of a young mother reading to her children before a warming fire. And I love that the calendar on the wall in this illustration says November 10. But I want to talk about November 11th. Of course, it was Veteran’s Day, a special 24 hours when we honor servicemen for serving. A few weeks ago, I made a small donation at my grocery store and received a bright poppy in return, a paean to In Flander’s Field, the poignant poem by Lt. John McCrae. I believe McCrae and our servicemen make scenes like the one above possible. My November 11th tale below, though poignant too, is a childish one and a little sad. But I don’t think you’ll mind. I begin: I used to accompany my best friend to our church’s cemetery so that her mother could plant flowers on their relatives’ graves. I had never been to a cemetery before so I thought it was both eerie and fascinating. While my friend’s mother tended to flowers, we would wander off reading headstones. Often we would find the names of classmates’ grandparents but one day our hearts suddenly stopped cold. Etched on a large white marble statue of a larger-than-life angel, was my name, Donna Marie. Buried there was a young girl who died at an age just one year older than I. My friend and I stared and blinked at one another and being childish and foolish and prone to imaginings, we wondered if this was an omen. I sensed that whatever had befallen Donna Marie must have been very tragic indeed because her statuary eclipsed all other stones in the cemetery. I was in deep thought and nearly trembling as we drove home that day and both my friend and I turned to watch the large stone become smaller and smaller in the rear window. It was almost as though the angel were nodding goodbye to us with its diminishing height. That was the last visit to the cemetery that summer but my chum and I devised a fanciful tale in our heads. Perhaps I would die, as Donna Marie did, in my eleventh year, but for me, it would be on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour. We both knew this was just a fairy tale but we made preparations just the same. As luck would have it, November 11th that year was on a Saturday and my grandmother would be babysitting me. My friend tagged along “just to see” and we spent the night waiting for the appointed hour playing games in the family room. We both tried to be very good, letting one another win at Hearts and Monopoly. My grandmother never knew what was going on. We put on our pajamas and tried ever-so-hard to stay awake until 11:00 pm. But the hour passed with both of us out cold on the sleeper couch from too much popcorn and ice cream and we didn’t stir again until 7:00 am. Barely a word was spoken about our delusion but the following spring when we visited the cemetery again, we went straight to Donna Marie’s grave. But now we felt an unexpected tender thread connecting us to the little girl who had an angel standing solemn over her. We began to lay wildflowers and found pinecones for her grave. We marveled at how we didn’t recognize the family name and without the internet, we didn’t even think about finding out who she was. But we loved her and took care of her and every time we drove by the cemetery, we both looked over our shoulders to catch a glimpse of her receding angel guardian. I went back there a few years ago and noticed that Donna Marie’s mother had joined her and I felt very comforted about that. Recently, thanks to the internet, I posted a query to a group of neighbors and friends who still reside in my hometown. Within a few minutes, Donna Marie’s niece responded. “That is my family”, she wrote, “She was my father’s younger sister and she was hit by a car after picking apples for her horse one day. My grandmother missed her until they day she herself died”. I learned a little bit more too. But it doesn’t really matter here… Just know that Donna Marie’s niece said her grandmother cursed with tears in her eyes the day she noticed vandals had stolen the angel’s hands. And she told me that her grandmother would have loved knowing that two little girls thought enough of her daughter to glorify her grave and memory will small childish tokens that were given with only the purest reverence. And so now…on to other November tales. This year more than ever before, I noticed that my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, is being shown the door. With Christmas displays edging out autumnal beauty, it’s a case of “Here’s your hat – what’s your hurry?” Or, as soon as our chairs are pulled up to our bountiful tables, the cornucopia is whisked away and replaced by a Christmas tree before our very eyes. A friend seemed sad at work the other day and when I asked her why, she blurt out that Christmas is coming at her full force. With a mother-in-law living with her and small children, she already feels the thrust of the Christmas train racing down the track toward her. But it doesn’t have to be this way. I’ve turned off the TV and therefore the endlessly looping jewelry store ads. I also don’t listen to commercial radio on the way to work. Soothing CD’s accompany my reveries. I will let Christmas in when I am ready. For now, I’m doing November. As well, it helps to have more moments like the reading mother above. I’m sure she’s not thinking about the color of her Christmas wrapping paper and ribbons yet. Let’s all take a breather and cherish the precious holiday of gratitude first. I plan on spending it with those who love me, those who know me, those who see me. My lists will get written I’m sure. But not in November. That month is for telling tales of long-gone yet still thought-of little girls, for the soldiers who fought so we could continue to read to our children. And it’s for Thanksgiving…the holiday that reminds us how lucky we really are. *** ~And for your Thanksgiving Table, my favorite side dish for bringing: Carrot Souffle 1 pound carrots, sliced and cooked 1/2 cup milk 1/2 cup soft butter 3 eggs 1 cup sugar 3 tablespoons flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/4 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon vanilla 1/8 teaspoon cinnamon In blender, combine butter, milk. Add eggs, sugar. Blend until smooth. Add cooked carrots little by little Add flour, baking powder, salt, vanilla, cinnamon. Blend until smooth. Grease 1-1/2 quart casserole. Bake 350 degrees F 45 minutes to 1 hour or until no jiggle! Happy Thanksgiving! ~ PS: Every comment was read and cherished on my previous post. I’m grateful for you all.

The post Tales of November appeared first on A Lovely Inconsequence.

My Favorite Holiday

A Lovely Inconsequence — Thu, 27 Nov 2014 05:09:00 +0000

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Except for cooking and entertaining, it asks nothing of us except to love one another. I could list here all the things I am grateful for but it would be a cliché. So instead, I offer you some of my favorite things…both big and small. And this Thanksgiving, while we spend it with people we love, can we touch hands and not phones? Some of my favorite things: My Kindle which is the repository for all the books that would have stolen space on my already overcrowded bookshelves. The set of Italian cookware I bought piecemeal over a period of ten years. They’ve served me well and were worth every penny. Orchids. They are graceful, lovely, last months and are inexpensive. The small basket hanging beside my front door. Many a pair of glasses have been dropped in them. The ones I lost in the couch at someone’s house, and the ones that someone is coming to fetch because they lost them in my couch. Tea. With milk and one sugar. Anyday. Anytime. Leopard print. It’s fun and it makes me smile. Especially with a swipe of red lipstick. The Ballet. I plan on seeing more of it. My car starter. It came with the car and I couldn’t say no. My patchwork cut-off shorts. I’ll never wear them again. But they tell me about the girl I used to be. She looked great in them but she wasn’t as smart as I am. My pearl earrings. Even though they’re from my ex, I’ll never forget that he pierced them through the ears of a little teddy bear as part of the gift. It’s ok. The bear forgives him. A sparkly Christmas card my grandparents gave me. It had $50 in it and read, “Now you can start your dishes”. My mother’s pink and yellow enamel bracelet. It slid off her wrist and right onto mine one warm afternoon. Summer doesn’t begin until I dig it out. My day job. It pays the bills. Grateful for but not a true favorite. Enough said. Bobbi Brown lip gloss in Kir Shimmer. Without it, I’m nothing. ~ Ah friends, dear friends, as years go by and heads grow gray, how fast the guests do go. Touch hands, touch hands with those that stay. Strong hands to weak, old hands to young, around the Christmas board…touch hands. The false forget, the foe forgive. For every guest will go… Forget! Forgive! For who may say that Christmas Day may ever come to host or guest again? Touch hands! Touch hands! ~ James Patrick Erdman

The post My Favorite Holiday appeared first on A Lovely Inconsequence.

What dreams may come…

A Lovely Inconsequence — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 21:06:00 +0000

A man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened. ~Albert Camus My dear friend Kay sent me this quote and then we experimented to see which early memories have shaped our lives. I adored one of hers: quietly studying her parents from beneath the dining room table as they washed dishes together in companionable rhythm. One of mine was seeing the long stretch of our backyard in the moonlight with deep crusty snow sprinkled over with snow dust as our car pulled into the dark driveway late on a winter night. These are very early memories that become rooted in our hearts and may explain why just one picture on Pinterest will find us softly gasping or sighing with sudden emotion, even if we are not sure why. My sister played along later and I discovered some images of hers I had forgotten. We both recollected the snow dust vista – which speaks to the power and beauty of that image in both our lives. I love the idea of my heart opening to things now because I bore witness to them once upon a time. Here are a few more images from both Kay, my sister and I: A lamp in my parent’s bedroom depicting an 18th century couple (Kay’s passion for the American Revolution) Rubbing my finger across black-as-midnight, velvet Maryjane’s (my sister’s love of texture and design) The Barbie doll box with heart-stopping illustrations of mid-1950’s outfits (Kay’s work as a costumer and image consultant) The top of my grandmother’s dresser, a jumble of pearls, beads, perfume bottles, handkerchiefs, and gloves (my constant appetite for all things feminine and pretty) Stained glass windows in church lit from the outside by the sun (my sister’s fever for bright colors and light) As we draw close to Thanksgiving, recall the images that first opened your heart and please share them in a comment or two.

The post What dreams may come… appeared first on A Lovely Inconsequence.