I was blocking an aisle in the supermarket without realizing it. A human voice behind me said “Beep, beep!”, and I moved aside quickly.
I called to his retreating back, “That’s the first time I’ve heard a horn in here.”
He turned around, and with a twinkle in his eye, said, “I carry it with me.”
The week seemed to evaporate from the time we took grandson Nathaniel to the airport until the day John drove David to New York. A lot of laughs and a few photographs later, the house was totally quiet except for the dripping of faucets. We saw zero on the thermometer and thought keeping water moving through the pipes was a good idea. We did the same thing once before, so we don’t really know if the pipes would freeze or not. They are wrapped but hang down below the house where there is no heat whatsoever.
Sunrise –The sun rose every day, but I took a picture only one time. John and I saw the mountain looking north as the sun hit it. At the same time, the house we were approaching seemed to glow. Only when we turned to look behind us did we see the glory of the sky.
Hush puppy — We discovered a new barbecue place near church the day before Nathaniel went home. He was so full he couldn’t finish his hush puppies, so he brought one home. As we drove toward the airport, he remembered he’d left it sitting on the counter. I assured him we’d take care of it. David had the idea of putting his hand in the picture as a measure of its size. He and I split it for a snack.
Barbecue — John’s cousin Pete and wife Debbi from Illinois came for a few days before going to a gathering of dulcimer players at Lake Junaluska. One of our meals was at Dickey’s, the closest barbecue place that is one of my favorites. I’m not sure how much my rating is influenced by the free soft ice cream to which you help yourself at the end of a meal.
Christmas Pudding — It doesn’t matter how I strive to make a tiny Christmas pudding, we always have leftovers. I begrudge it refrigerator space in January. Thankfully, Debbi and Pete were game for the ritual of flaming it and eating it with brandy hard sauce. Be forewarned: the next guests will probably be subjected to a repeat until the remaining little ones are gone. I know what I should do. I should make signs and put them on the two pudding containers that John loves them and will gladly give them a warm home.
Packing Box Labeled Miscellaneous — In making more room in the closet for David, John opened a box that purported to hold miscellaneous items. I wondered what was in the bottom when he brought out a tray of serving items – little spreading knives, silver sugar cube tongs, Norwegian knives, and various spoons. I had gone to bed when David brought a small stack of books to show me. Yes!!!! My long-lost cookbooks were there! I had mourned them for over two years, and there they were in all their faded glory. I knew I had packed them myself, because John wouldn’t have been near them. David snickered when I said, “I’d get up and hug them if I could make myself sit up.”
Two of the books could have been replaced, but they wouldn’t have been the same. I had notes and comments scattered throughout, as well as a check mark in the index by each recipe I had tried. I considered four of them to be irreplaceable. Of historical significance, there was the sturdy ledger with recipes written in my grandmother’s spidery hand. (She was born in 1880.) There aren’t many entries, making me wonder if she had another book that we never found.
Snow We had about six to eight inches of snow, along with everyone else in the eastern US. I took one photo while the snow was still coming down.
Another picture was taken after the skies had cleared.
I went outside with David, because no child, even a 21-year-old, should have to sled alone. There was no way I would have used a sled, but I could stand in the back yard with him and the old oak tree.
About that time Shawn texted back that Logan (6) would come over. Things really got off the ground when I invited neighbor Joyce to join us. “Really?“ She wanted to know. I wrote, “Look out your back window.” She came, dragging a blue plastic sled. It was one of five that had been left under her house when she bought it. Logan said his run was better, so we trudged across the street where I caught a picture of three of the four generations in attendance. The temperature was in the single digits, so we didn’t last long and soon retreated to our kitchen for hot cocoa.
There is one last photo with train cars on the porch. I figured the snow that had blown in was about in scale with the cars.
This story about airplanes begins years ago, probably in the early 1950s. Flying was not something ordinary people did in those days. John’s family usually drove from New York to Tennessee to see his aunt for Easter. For some reason, maybe time pressure, they decided to fly for the first time. John was a know-almost-everything preteen at the time. They took off in the rain and were soon at cruising altitude, with water still streaming down the small windows. John’s dad had a window seat, and John was next to him. The stewardess handed out lunch trays, which had cold meals covered with plastic wrap.
John’s dad said to him quietly, “Don’t tell anyone, but the plane is leaking.”
He replied, “The plane can’t leak, Dad.”
“It is leaking. There is cold water running down my leg.
“There is no way this plane is leaking. The cabin is pressurized.”
I don’t know how long this went on, but they finally found the leak. There was condensation on the plastic wrap over the lunch, and when Dad laid it back, the drops ran down his leg. Obviously, for me to know the story, it became part of family lore and was trotted out frequently. All you had to say was, “The plane is leaking,” and everyone laughed.
Fast forward to 2016 when Lise and her English friend Chris were traveling. One of their connecting flights had a tiny airplane. Chris took one look at it, called it a daft plane, and wondered if it could fly. There were propellers instead of jets. Lise reassured him that it could indeed fly. Using her hands to demonstrate, she said because of the placement of the engines, it might go through the air at an angle like this. Not only that, she said, “The seats are two and one, so it will probably list to the heavier side and move through the sky lopsided.” You can count on Lise to be sarcastically comforting. From the telling of the story, it was hard to tell how serious Chris’ reservations about the aircraft were. I’m sure both sides were hyped by the time I heard it. In any case, our family now frequently refers to daft airplanes. Thank you, Chris.
Nathaniel (16) flew here for Christmas from a small airport on Long Island. He said, “I had a suspicion that something was not quite right when we walked out of the terminal on the ground floor instead of a normal gate. Are they serious? Will this tiny plane get us to Philadelphia? The side of the plane opened downward, and that’s where the stairs were. There were propellers on the thing! The 24 seats were two on one side and one on the other. What on earth am I doing here? Why did Aunt Lise and GP (Grandpa) book me on this thing? Guess I’d better sit down and buckle up. Oh my goodness! I’m in the back seat, and look at the people ahead of me, bouncing up and down! They look like people in old movies riding in a rickety bus. I should have taken a video of that.”
Once Nathaniel related his story, we shared Chris’ tale with him. He was pretty sure he’d get another daft plane on the way back home. John and I drove him to Charlotte for the return flight. We stood watching him go through security until he walked toward the gate and disappeared from our sight. As we drove along, I kept texting Nathaniel so that he’d know we were ready to turn around if there were any problem. Wait! I can tell the story in his exact words
N: Try to take a nap so you will be refreshed.
Me: Not until you are in the air. I’m the communication link, you know. We’re with you, just not next to you.
N: Yes, I understand.
Me: Does anyone ever overstand?
N: Depends on your height.
A couple of hours later I wrote, “We just got home.”
Everything went well on the large plane, and before long he texted that he had landed in Philadelphia.
We pick up the narrative again there.
Me: GP says the layover is not too long.
N: Yeah, luckily I’m at my gate.
Me: Is the flight on time?
N: Yes. Watching the daft plane pull in now. I just texted Aunt Lise a picture of it.
The story was paused while Nathaniel boarded the little plane. His next message was in all caps.
OMG. THE PLANE IS ACTUALLY LEAKING!!
Me: Aauuuugggghhhh!
N: They’re using napkins to stop it. We’re stuck here until they fix it. Tell Grandpa if it’s here, it can obviously fly (sarcasm).
The next message from Nathaniel was short and to the point: “I am home.”
Nathaniel had survived a week with us and two flights on a daft airplane.
Grandson Nathaniel (16) loves to cook. When he first comes to visit, I do the grandmother thing and try to prepare the dishes I think he likes. One of these times, I’ll learn to offer him the use of the kitchen earlier. Actually, I think I did this time, but maybe I didn’t use the right combination of words. He offered to prepare breakfast two days before he was due to leave. We jumped at it. He likes to have the kitchen to himself, so he cooked while we walked to the creek. It’s amazing to me that he always finds the ingredients and the utensils he needs.
As soon as we stepped inside the front door, I knew we were having maple sausage. He cooked sausage for himself and me and bacon for Grandpa and David. There were fluffy scrambled eggs and biscuits brushed with honey butter. He had also set the table with dishes, cutlery, and condiments. He was totally ready, and so were we.
He posed for the presentation of the biscuits. He almost burned his hands, having just taken the dish out of the oven where it had been keeping warm.
After I buttered my mine, I took a photo before digging in. Everything tasted as good as it looked. What a treat!
Nathaniel’s talents are not one-dimensional. He offered to help clean, so John asked him to do a giraffe job, dusting the ceiling fans. There are six inside the house, and he had them done in short order. It certainly helps that he didn’t need to carry around a step stool.
Yes, the house is going to seem very empty when he leaves. At least we’ll still have grandson David here for another week before he has to go back to college.
Christmas was not complete until we had a visit from neighbor Logan. He had been busy all during the holidays with his siblings. His oldest sister moved back here from Turkey, and the younger of the two sisters visited from the coast for several days. His brother lives nearby. I can only imagine the jumble of adults, children and dogs tumbling over themselves when they all were together. Their house did not appear to bulge at the seams, but I’m sure they made use of every square inch.
Logan presented his beaming self at our front door, and the fun began. John started a game of checkers with him, which Nathaniel continued.
Then came the familiar announcement, “I’m hungry.” Logan isn’t allowed chocolate or sweets, the rule from home. Can you guess his snack of choice? He suggested apple slices with peanut butter, first crunchy, then smooth. He and I played three games of Pegity, my favorite game, the object being to get five pegs in a row. He was satisfied after he won two to my one. I wasn’t thinking and didn’t get anyone to take a photo of us.
We bought a gift for Logan well before the edict of no toys for Christmas. Don’t judge Shawn and Bob on this; they had good reason for their decision. When Logan came in, I texted them, asking permission to give him the game. I suggested he open it and keep it here to play with us. Whew! They agreed! John led him to the tree where he found the little present. There were only two others there, the ones I forgot to give our son!
Logan opened the magnetic Hangman, stating he already knew how to play. I should have paid more attention to that. It was decided he would choose a word for me to guess, and I asked that he run it by Nathaniel. He is only six years old, after all. What if he had me guessing a misspelled word? I failed to grasp another clue as they conferred, Nathaniel’s groan. Can you believe what that little wizard had me guessing? Photograph!!!! I lost.
Logan read the spines of our small collection of holiday DVDs and picked out Polar Express to watch. Nathaniel loaded it, and John sat with the boy to watch it. Before they got very far, Bob came over to retrieve his son. We hadn’t had him long, but it was a most satisfying visit.
While writing this, I watched a Junco hopping around under the feeder on the deck just beyond my computer screen. I named him Pogo Junco. He hopped over and under the frame, all on one leg. The other was pulled up so that only the useless foot showed. He was matter-of-fact about his disability, asking for food, not sympathy.
Nathaniel was the grandson that went to the creek with us on the fourth day of Christmas. We chatted and laughed all the way. I saw something unfold that I would give my eyeteeth to have recorded. We were in the middle of the road approaching the four-lane divided highway. There was a double yellow line which split to go around the stop sign. Nathaniel, in his size 14 shoes, lurched from side to side as the left shoe stayed on the outer-left line, and the right followed its line. The further he went, the wider apart his feet were. He switched to the inner set of lines and went a few more feet. By then he was about my height, not his usual 6’5”, when he could go no further without falling. It was hilarious.
The rest is history. I say that because the following paragraphs have to do with the remainder of our day spent in a museum. If you are in a hurry, you can skip this and not miss anything. It’s rather dry and dusty.
Nathaniel suggested our destination, the Henderson County Heritage Museum. It was housed in the county courthouse right on Main Street. Two delightful volunteers chatted with us from time to time. One was a native of Hendersonville, and the other had grown up in Oxford, Mississippi. I’d say their accents were good examples from their areas. We found out that the Mississippi woman had been married to a serviceman and moved all over the country. Her favorite place to live was Governor’s Island just across from Manhattan. She lived there with her husband and children when John was in high school.
We spent two hours going through the small museum. John and David read every word of the display about railroads in the area. I took a long time in the room set up as a general store, and Nathaniel read the things the rest of us didn’t. There was a long interview with a veteran from World War II that was played in the war room. I had glanced at the pictures of many locals who died in various wars and found a chair to sit on while the others read. Because I wasn’t reading, I listened to that interview. The man was one of ten children. The six men were all in the service, and all survived the war. He was 90 at the time of the interview, and one sister was the only other living sibling. I was impressed at the boys’ deliberate pace and attention to details. No one pushed to go faster or skip a display.
One of the things that caught my attention was a quilt that showed various things about the county. I wondered if my blogger friend Carole ,who lives in Hendersonville, had anything to do with it. She designs quilts and posts them on her blog. Carole’s blog is here.
We had a very late lunch in a place that billed itself as a soda fountain. Vintage dishes and Coke bottles lined the walls. There were three machines for making milkshakes, each with about five mixing arms.
We enjoyed walking up and down Main Street, watching other tourists and peering in shop windows. Both boys said they would love to live in that town! Without the mountains? Yes, they could always drive up to see us and use our mountain views.
A thrift shop was a strange magnet. We had to tear ourselves away because Christmas items were half price. We bought a ceramic church, an angel candle holder, and three mugs. I’m sure we could stock a Christmas store with all the seasonal items we own. John will be sorry he turned us loose when he has to pack up everything after Epiphany.
We opened gifts on the 26th after grandson Nathaniel walked to the creek with us and ate breakfast. It was wonderful to be in no rush. I took one photo of my heroes as they were admiring some of the Danish gifts their Aunt Lise had left for them. You’ll note Nathaniel was wearing a trench coat and had not yet gone in the phone booth to change into his super guy outfit. Grandson David had already donned his blue cape and was ready to fly to someone’s rescue.
On the third day of Christmas, David walked with us while Nathaniel stayed home. Since we are still in a drought stage, there was very little water coming down the mountain in the tiny stream called Park Branch. David got as close as he could to listen for some telltale gurgle.
A few steps later we were looking at a rainbow that ended at Joyce’s house.
When I sent the photo to her that afternoon, I said, “Guess where the pot of gold was. Too bad you weren’t home.”
She replied, “Oh! I’ll have to dig in the yard! Maybe it’s still there. Thanks for the pic!”
“Need help digging?” I offered.
Her comeback was quick, “No thanks. I can do it myself.”
You can’t beat having neighbors with a sense of humor!
The boys went with us to shop at the supermarket, and then we had barbecue for lunch. They were not always fans of this Southern fare, but they are converts now. Nathaniel likes walking about picturesque towns, so we drove to Dillsboro. The boys posed with a big tree outside an empty shop and hopped on an old shoeshine stand on a porch.
We enjoyed going to the chocolate factory, a gift shop, and a junk shop. The one who was feeling ill enjoyed the public restroom. Coming back through Sylva, we looked for neighbor Marla’s bike shop and popped in to say hello. I should have taken a picture, because the shop was most impressive. There were bikes and gear filling the large space. I commented on the new bike smell, which is mostly made up of rubber. Marla doesn’t smell it any more unless she has been away from it for a few days. It is not quite as expensive as the smell of a new car.
We did quite well on a rainy day, I thought. We still have our souvenirs from the chocolate factory to look forward to.
Chicken and Stuffing
From the Norwegian Cooks at Gotaas-Larsen — 1978
4 chicken breasts or 2 whole chickens – boil and remove meat from bones
1 pint sour cream
1 can cream of mushroom soup (I use either mushroom or cream of chicken soup, preferring chicken)
1 can of mushrooms or fresh ones (Optional)
1 small bag Pepperidge Farm Herb Stuffing Mix
1 stick butter (usually half that)
1 cup chicken broth from first step
Grease a 9×13 inch pan. Mix cooked chicken with sour cream, mushroom soup and optional mushrooms and put in greased pan. Top with mixture of stuffing mix, butter and chicken broth.
Bake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes.
When everything goes smoothly, what is there to write about? This does not mean I am asking for trouble. Christmas was delightful, but wouldn’t you be eager to read more if I said the oven caught fire?
Our son John $ and neighbors Dawn and Jeff had Christmas dinner with us. From long experience, we planned a fail-safe menu. In past years almost everyone in the family sang in the choir on Christmas Day, and we were hosts for the family gathering. Since 1978 we have served a casserole called Chicken and Stuffing which could be done ahead of time. The other permanent item is my American variation of an English Christmas pudding based on Gillian’s recipe. Gillian was a dear friend who gave me her recipe in 1982 when we moved back to the US after living in England for two years. Today we also had frozen cranberry salad, spinach casserole, and a sweet potato casserole. I enjoyed our conversations, but I didn’t ask for permission to share. Dawn knows I have a blog ,which does not constitute permission. I jumped the gun recently on sharing a message and do not want to do that again.
Gifts? Do you want to know about exchanging presents? We didn’t. Well, not yet. There wasn’t time. We quickly cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, and then it was time for John and David to go to Charlotte to pick up grandson Nathaniel at the airport. The round trip will take four to six hours. That’s why I am alone in the house and free to write. There won’t be much quiet left after I finish soaking it up. We may wait until tomorrow to open gifts, depending on how tired the fellows are when they get here. Nathaniel flew from Long Island to Philadelphia and had over three hours to wait for the next flight. Christmas will be continued later.
Meanwhile, our tree waits patiently to share the gifts beneath the branches.
Wake Up! That was not my alarm saying that. It was the devotional for Christmas Day. I went to bed at 2 am after going to church, woke at 6, opened the devotional book as usual before my mind could race to anything else, and there was the title. Wake up! No! No! I need twice that amount of sleep, not that I ever get it.
When the alarm went off for real, I jumped out of bed and ran to the closet to see if I had wrapped that last gift. I hadn’t. It was a little gift for David. As a small child, he was the most obedient boy you could imagine. If he were offered candy, he’d say, “I’ll ask Mom if I can have that.” He is 21 years old now, and it took me by surprise that he was a gift snoop. It didn’t fit his personality. He announced the other day that he knew what was in every gift for him under the tree. I’m positive he did not disturb the wrappings. He didn’t need to. A soft, cuddly roll had to be a throw, and that tell-tale box was candy. I had warned him not to touch one thing, because he would likely have mashed it in the wrong place and torn the paper. There should be one surprise on Christmas morning! Last gift was hastily wrapped.
Already behind schedule, I rushed to the bathroom and indulged in a bit of involuntary crying. Shampoo in the eyes will do that. Warning to self: you are evidently in your second childhood. Must be time to buy baby shampoo.
I faced the mystery of the missing hose. Another bow to old age: I wear compression hose and wash them every morning. A pair was missing, not hanging in the shower where I’d put them to drip dry. They appeared when I pulled my towel from the heated towel rack. John had taken a shower, in so doing soaking the hose, so he hung them up in an alternate place. I’m used to a husband who showers regularly in the morning, not halfway through the day. I’ve had this husband for 52.5 years as of December 14, and I will never get used to unscheduled ablutions.
John and I had a quick sit-down breakfast of German Stollen, sent by our dear friend who treats us like royalty every year. It takes David several hours to become human. We let him sleep, then woke him up and pushed breakfast in his face in the car. He didn’t appear to be suffering.
We are now home from church, and the casseroles are in the oven. On to Christmas Day!
On this wonderful day, I’m praying for the peace and joy of Christmas to fill your heart.
I’d love to hear about your day if you have time to share.
Merry Christmas!
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