A True Confession

Christmas carols make me cry.

They make me bawl. Especially the old old old ones, the ones that have been sung for generations, like Deck the Halls or God rest ye Merry Gentlemen. (My friend Shannon says, "even the Bare-Naked Ladies version?" Gosh yes, the 'star of wonder' part with Sarah McLachlan gets me every time.)

Recently, I got to go to a Christmas concert with friends. Lifelong friends, the kind of friends who it's okay to cry in front of, who've known you for so long that they totally know you're gonna cry, it's just who you are.

And I hung on, without tears, until the third song in the program – I'll Be Home For Christmas. It was sung in that slow sad way, a lovely duet, and dedicated to the gentleman in this choir who had performed it in years past, but who had passed away this year. He always used to dedicate it to the soldiers fighting in our various wars, which of course made us all think about the soldiers who don't come home from our various wars. It was really sad. Everybody cried at that one.

But they all had put away their handkerchiefs by the time the next song started. I kept mine out; for Jingle Bells, for the Robert Frost poem converted to a song, even for the jolly sing–along in the second set.

Now, I am not religious in any sense. (I am spiritual, just not a member of any organized religion.) But these songs get me all the same, and when I cry they're not tears of sadness. They're tears of joy, having as much to do with the beauty of the voices singing together as with the words themselves.

The final song in the concert was the Alleluiah from Handel's Messiah, and the choir did a lovely, lovely job. An odd song for a non-Christian to cry over, you suggest? Maybe. But cry I did; I was thinking about the passion these singers, other singers, and the composer himself all feel for their subject. It was so moving.

My crying over Christmas carols eternally confuses poor Ben, whose childhood didn't prepare him for December in a non-Jewish household. How can I cry about something that isn't even my religion, he wonders? Yet the tears of joy brought forth by the songs of the season make perfect sense to me, because they have everything to do with family, traditions, and love.

And I am lucky enough to have lots of those three crucial blessings.

Soul Restoration, Part Two

Lately, my soul has been feeling kind of scraped up, as if it has taken a few punches. I think it started back in the spring, with the six weeks of rain; since then, every time the sky clouds over, I cringe and worry that it'll be December before we see the sun again.

And, I feel like I didn't get enough summer. I know that sounds whiny, but I find myself unwilling to put on socks, or dig out the winter clothes, or just give in already and let fall come. As if I could single-handedly keep fall at bay, through mental resistance. This is weird, too, because fall is usually my favorite season.

So, arguments with hubby have escalated, disputes with the kids end more often than not with me shouting as my eyes bug out of my head; everything seems a much bigger problem than it would, ordinarily.

And then, there's the food. We spent this summer in the grip of a huge tomato blight, and so many other locally grown favorites had trouble, too: the eggplant, the peppers, the strawberries, the cherry tomatoes, the tomatillos, the basil, the cilantro... and the list goes on.

So, that's been my underlying mindset - worrying, sadness, fear of what's happening to our corner of the world. My soul, the place inside me where joy and light live, has spent these last months with a shadow across it.

Until recently. I think it was right around my brother's wedding that I started feeling better. Also, each day brings rosier, more beautiful trees and weather that has cooled gradually; one week, I can still wear sandals, but I'd better find a sweatshirt. The next, we need another blanket on the bed. The next week, I actually want soup for dinner, with nice warm biscuits served alongside. It's like this gentle, lovely autumn is cosmically trying to make up for the recent abysmal spring.

And, because I am me, food plays a huge part in the restoration of my soul. Eggplant minestrone, our first soup of the fall, cheered me immensely, inside and out; here's the recipe, in case you want to try it.

When one of the hens started laying, that was a big strike against the shadow on my soul.

The egg from our girl is in the lower-left corner; in the House of Worrying, I fretted that the hens weren't getting enough time outside the coop, semi-free-ranging in their chicken tractor, but I don't worry about that now. The egg, alongside those we get from a local farm, is such a happy, bright orange color that it is clear it came from a happy, bright chicken. The shadow recedes a little more!

And, my friend Shannon loaned me the best book of bread-making ever, Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. I already loved baking bread, but this book makes it even more fun. My banner is the result of experimenting, with the book as a guide: Brioche au Chocolat, as good as you will ever get in a pastry shop (I know, tooting my own horn... it is THAT good.)

Candles help, too. What is it about candle flame that cheers me all the way through?

I think the shadow finally got gone this weekend, spent apple picking and corn-mazing with friends and relatives. Here are the boys and their cousins at a nearby farm, hamming it up for the camera:

So now, it is with a thankful heart and a restored soul that I look forward to autumn and winter, warmth and love... I hope you're having similar good thoughts and a nice fall, too.

Harvest Time

I've hardly blogged about all the food we've put up for winter, except to lament that there aren't more hours in a day, so I thought I'd share (read: brag) about a few favorite little goodies that we'll be cracking open come January or so.

From summer 09

First up, we've got the quadruple-batch peach salsa. I spent one lovely August day chopping peaches, onions, and peppers into tiny pieces, which took a really long time. But I was left with eleven lovely, lovely pint jars of peach salsa:

From summer 09

Nearly one a month until the peaches come around again! Also, although you probably cannot see it, the jar on the left in front reads 'Canadian Mason' - it's one of a few pint jars I have that my Mom used to use for her canning. When I was a kid, that jar probably held canned cherries, one of the best desserts ever invented. I just love using the same jars that my Mom used, I don't know why. Maybe because it gives me a sense of history, of preparing for winter in the same way that my mother, and hers before, did. I know, what kind of weirdo gets all mushy over a glass jar? ... But I still do.

I think I am kind of weird for the souvenirs I choose as well. Most people going through wine country, as my family and I did this past weekend, might get a bottle of wine, right? Or, perhaps, a t-shirt from Niagara Falls? Nope, not me.

From fall 2009

I got grapes! Ben and I actually came this close to an argument, because I insisted on stopping for grapes and, as we were barely into a ten-hour drive, hubby thought that our time could be used more wisely. Y'know, like to drive the heck home? But fortunately, we found a farm stand at a rest area, which ground the spousal sniping to a standstill. And, I got to make real, yummy, amazing grape jelly:

From fall 2009

It is so darned good. Also, I found that grape juice that is prepared to become grape jelly (as in, the mashed grapes are mixed with a small amount of water, simmered for ten minutes, then put into cheesecloth and hung up over a pot to drain) makes excellent grape juice concentrate. I mixed the half-cup or so that I had left over with some sugar and about three cups of water, and it was all gone by dinnertime. The kids love drinking juice from 'wine grapes,' and eating the few leftover grapes was the icing on their cake.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Simple Living

Years ago, in an Ocean State Job Lot, I found some hilarious "Complete Idiot's Guide" books for sale at $2 a pop. I bought a few of them for my brother, because they seemed so off-the-wall that I couldn't resist - with titles like "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Alien Abduction," who could?

When I got them home, I realized that they are really in-depth books; whatever the subject, they tackle it thoroughly, and seriously. While most of the titles found their way to their intended recipient, I hung onto "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Simple Living" - and boy, am I glad I did.

This book started us on our current path - the vegetable CSA, anti-stuff, homeschooling, guitar-playing, bathroom-remodeling, blogging path. The trajectory of our lives was totally changed, because of a "Complete Idiot's Guide" book. Can you believe it?

I'm re-reading it (packed away for so long in our basement, I'd forgotten I had it), and felt like sharing a few favorite quotes. So, here goes:

"Education is not the filling of a bucket but the starting of a fire." - William Butler Yeats

"I have never let my schooling interfere with my education." - Mark Twain

And finally, from the author Georgene Lockwood: "Simpler living demands that we do many things for ourselves. It's a constant learning process that we can share with our kids and our communities."

I think my family was destined to homeschool from when I first picked this book up, as a gag gift for a relative. It's almost enough to make you believe in Chaos Theory!