I walked one mile instead of two. Brrrr! It was 18F when I left the house. I topped jeans and a sweatshirt with my winter coat for the first time this season. At the stop sign, I did just that. I stopped, turned around, and high-tailed it back home. My nose and mouth had stopped checking in. I didn’t want that to happen to my metal knees! The house felt overly warm for an hour, after which I checked to see if the heat was still on. This is a day to keep moving!
If you are in the northern hemisphere, what are you doing to keep warm? I’m going to make split pea soup and bake some bread. That should keep the kitchen warm.
The first thing I did with this December snow was to wonder at it. We probably don’t have a number big enough to estimate how many flakes fell on our property. It boggles the mind to know each flake is different. I stood outside, picked one flake as high up as I could see, and watched it float down to see where it would land. You could hypnotize yourself doing that. I wanted to ask the old oak tree, “How many snow storms have you seen? What were things like 200 years ago?”
When the snow was almost over, I measured it and tasted it. The green ruler showed we had eight inches on the deck. You need children for snow cream, but I made do with my inner childish self. I piled fresh snow in a bowl and added sugar and vanilla flavoring. I was surprised it became icy and a bit crunchy. It would have been better if I had remembered the recipe and put in a bit of milk. I wondered what would happen if you substituted confectioner’s sugar, honey, or molasses for the sugar. Would adding Coca Cola sweeten and flavor it? Would cardamom and almond flavoring appeal to our Norwegian relatives? I could have sprinkled four spices on it and called it pumpkin spice for daughter Lise. She might have liked it flavored with cranberry/raspberry juice, too. I’ll bet the grandsons would have opted for root beer. Shrimp and cocktail sauce, anyone?
Eight inches
Snow and ingredients
Flavored snow
No snow storm is complete without proof of what you saw. There was a beautiful shot in any direction you turned.
When I tired of having my mind boggled, I ended with laughing at odd sculptures. Even clothes pins had topknots.
This was a most satisfying snow, especially considering we were promised half an inch.
Mountain snow doesn’t mess around. Instead of gradually working up to a good storm, our weather jumped in with inches of snow. I walked Dolly before it hit its stride. The view at the top of our street sent mixed signals – autumn overlay on winter.
I tried to get Albert with snow on his nose, but missed. The dogs were frisking in the snow, and neighbor Marla and I were agreeing about our love of white weather. We made a happy foursome!
John went to play with trains and is missing all this wonderful weather. I’d get out there and wallow in the snow if I thought I could get up gracefully.
I observed this metamorphosis with amazement. People who live above our walking road, removed pumpkins from the tan Halloween hay and sprayed the hay red and green. Santa jumped in with bows and a solar light. Will they recycle again? I’ll watch and let you know.
This was my view while walking Dolly to the stop sign.
John had an appointment, so I took Dolly out alone. She pulled me for a full half hour without choking herself to death.
I said, “Whoa, Dolly! I’m not used to cruising at 90 miles an hour with my brakes on!”
My knees thanked me for turning around when I did. I wish I’d had more stamina for her sake.
I know Dolly, the dog in the photo, is not a bulldog, but today she was my pull-dog. There was a death in neighbor Shawn’s family, so we are walking Dolly while our neighbors are gone.
We were very impressed with the dog’s behavior. I went over as soon as I was dressed and let her outside to pee. She came right back in and went straight to her crate.
“You don’t have to be there,” I said. “Come on, we’ll go for a walk.”
She danced to the front door when she saw the leash and waited for me to hook it to her collar. John joined us, and we set off. We are in the habit of taking a picture of those who walk to the creek with us, so John posed with her. I held the leash going up the steep hill, knowing she would pull forward. John said he’d never seen me go up that hill so fast! I think I need to rent her for the walk EVERY morning. Wouldn’t you agree?
The last few days of daughter Lise’s visit flew by, and my memories became jumbled. The photo file was my go-to memory bank. When son John $ spent a day with us, we went to the Haywood Smokehouse for barbecue. That’s a favorite place for all of us. Lise’s request was for BBQ as often as we could stand it. Despite two Thanksgiving dinners, we managed to have this Southern specialty four times.
Lise had seen the closeup photos of elk at Cataloochee that we took a few weeks ago. She knew we weren’t likely to see that display again, but it was worth trying. We saw a buck lying down, breathing heavily. Further on was a peaceful scene of grazing elk – one buck and a group of females. As humans are wont to do, we made up a story to fit what we saw. We imagined the two males had faced off to duel with their antlers, and the winded stag was the loser.
Prettier than the elk was the stream running through the high valley. I’m a sucker for streams!
The road to Cataloochee was one of the original bladder-bustin’ drives our son took us on when we visited him before moving here. The narrow gravel road wound up and over a mountain, constantly twisting and turning. There was an observation area beside the road that we climbed up to see the mountain vista. On the way back, we spotted it high above us.
Close to home I took a picture as we were descending the mountain. A small ribbon below was I-40.
Another day we picked up a package, making a day of it. Lise ordered an electronic gadget for a friend in Denmark, and the only one available was an hour and a half away in Knoxville. We drove over quickly on the interstate and came home on small roads, going through Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. I asked Lise and John to pose for a photo in the restaurant at Carver’s Apple Orchard. As soon as we ordered, the waitress brought apple fritters, applesauce, and glasses of apple cider to the table. Yummy. The menu featured chicken – fried, dumplinged, and pot pied. We could have also had ham, cat fish, or a hamburger. This was good ole Southern cooking at its best.
The apple orchard is outside the window
One shopping trip to Asheville was enough to complete Lise’s list of things to take back. We nearly split a rib in the dressing room. Lise asked me to sit there with her, turning this mom into a ladies’ maid. It was my job to hang up the garments after she tried them on. I was rehanging a blouse when I heard her make a funny noise. I looked up and saw the sleeves flapping about. The garment was one of those new-fashioned ones with breaks at the shoulder. Her arms had gone through at the shoulder, and she was shaking with laughter. I said I should take her photo, and she said, “Do it!”
Before heading to the airport, Lise fed apples to the horses. I was writing this on the way home and couldn’t look at the photos. She had picked out several shots she liked, and I presume one of them will appear here.
Those two weeks flew by in a flash. A year is a long time to wait for her to come again, but meanwhile we have lovely memories to savor.
Our days with daughter Lise have been full. We’ve done a year’s worth of shopping for things she can’t get in Denmark. Constant talking filled the gaps.
We were in Cherokee long enough to get a picture of one of the street signs. The name is written in English and in Cherokee. For those who don’t know, the Eastern Band of Cherokees have a reservation here. You first notice the enormous gambling casino and touristy shops selling trinkets. Search further, and you will find a museum and an outdoor presentation of Indian culture and crafts. We haven’t seen it in years, but the drama Unto These Hills still plays to crowds in the summer.
On the way home, we detoured onto the Blue Ridge Parkway and enjoyed a sunset as we drove.
The light gradually faded, leaving bands of pink and blue on the horizon.
We enjoyed the lavish Christmas decorations at the Biltmore Estate. To the right of the front door was the glass-roofed winter garden, filled with plants and flowers. The main Christmas tree was in its usual place in the dining hall. Every year they have that tree decorated before Thanksgiving and replace it halfway through the season with another one, erected and decorated in one night. According to a guide, there were 53 Christmas trees in the house this year. Reason tells me the Vanderbilts did not have that many trees in the house when they lived there.
We ate lunch at the Moose Cafe and walked through half the farmers’ market where we were tempted by the photo station.
John, daughter Lise, and I began Thanksgiving Day doing something we’ve never done before. We took our morning walk. There were very few people driving about, and even the cafe was closed. The regulars were not there to give us credit for our laudable exercising. When we returned and opened the front door, baking turkey aroma surrounded us. The 20-pound bird was the largest I’d ever wrestled into the oven. I was nervous enough to have a ham in the refrigerator as a backup.
Brother Bob, wife Beth, daughter Julie, and house-mate Patty arrived mid-morning from Winston Salem. The fun began in earnest. A bit later, neighbors Connie and Marla and our son John $ completed the circle. We were sorry Connie’s husband Dave had the flu and couldn’t come. Before we sat down to eat, Marla took a loaded plate to him. We had not yet gone into a food coma when I took a photo of everyone at the table.
$, Lise, Julie, Patty, John, Beth, Bob, Connie, and Marla
For those with food curiosity, our menu included the obligatory turkey, dressing, gravy, and cranberry sauce. We also had Connie’s home-grown green beans in a delicious sauce, which everyone raved about. I had prepared mashed potatoes, creamed corn, homemade dinner rolls, and the Mehrling frozen cranberry salad. After the main meal, we stacked the plates and moved to the living room while John loaded the dishwasher. We needed a break from our hard dining chairs. It would be almost impossible for anyone to fall asleep sitting on one of them. Desserts were cranberry-mince pie, Connie’s pumpkin roll, and pumpkin cheesecake left over from our pre-Thanksgiving meal four days earlier in Winston Salem.
Neighbors Shawn, Bob, and Logan had their big gathering at their son’s home. They came over to visit us for a short while. I was so glad they had a chance to meet Beth and Bob. We bought a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle for Logan to work here and gave it to him. He had enough time to assemble the edge pieces before they left. We asked him to come back the next day to finish working it. When he came on Friday, I asked if he wanted to sit with us at the table or go straight to the puzzle. At that instant I should have texted Shawn to see if he could eat with us, but I didn’t think of it. He got a drink, and I set a plate next to John for him. Beth helped him to a slice of ham.
He ate the meat nicely, chatted for a bit, and asked if we were leaving the table. We said no, but he could be excused to work the puzzle. When we finally finished our late lunch, Logan proudly showed Beth the finished puzzle.
It had been an excellent week of giving thanks, from the family gathering in Winston Salem through our holiday meal in the mountains. I was very happy that Lise had another full week here after everyone left. If all the people had gone at once, I’m sure our spirits would have looked like shriveled balloons.
From the bedroom, I shouted to John in his office, “Did anyone say anything nice about me yesterday?”
I’m going to be sexist here, but wasn’t that a stereotypical female question that brings the deer-in-the-headlight expression on a man’s face? He knows he’s doomed, no matter what he answers. Playing for time, he asked me to repeat my question.
From the next room, “Hmmm. Yes. All the time. Why?”
I answered, “I can’t get my head through through this sweatshirt! I must have gotten a swelled head from something!”
We were laughing, not respecting daughter Lise’s visiting right to quiet at dawn. My head finally poked through the neck. I should have quit when I was ahead. No, I pushed on, trying to thrust my left arm where it belonged.
“I’M STUCK!!!” I wailed.
John asked, “Where is a camera when you need one?”
“Use your phone!”
“I don’t know how to take a picture with my phone.”
“Come in here and use my phone!” I shouted.
“I don’t know how to take a picture with a phone.”
I said, “Now is the time to learn. Come on!”
Footsteps came pounding down the hall, and Lise asked, “What is all the laughing about? What am I missing?”
I explained, “I’m stuck, and I’m making Dad take a picture of me.”
John, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Touch the button.”
“What button?”
“Lise, you take it. No! Don’t! He’s got to learn to do it. Touch here, John.”
I didn’t hear the click, so John tried again before handing the phone to Lise. My deranged hair was hanging in front of my face, and I was wearing a goofy expression while waiting. It didn’t help that we were all laughing. In the end, we had three photos to show for our efforts.
“Somebody please help me get my arm through.” I couldn’t imagine myself making a pie with only one arm in play, not to mention walking to the creek in that position.
Lise asked, “How did you get so tangled up? Here, I’ll pull the back down. There! How’s that?”
We had a most delightful turkey dinner at my brother’s home on Saturday, a Thanksgiving feast for relatives on several sides. I was delighted to meet Beth’s brother Don and his wife Martha. I’d heard about them for many, many years and had never met this vibrant couple. Bob and Beth’s three children and three grandchildren were there, as well as Bob’s two brothers-in-law from his first marriage. I missed getting a photo of Patty, Julie’s house-mate.
As I looked around at the 18 people, I grouped them by relationship. Married couples included Beth and Bob, Martha and Don, as well as Christie and Hunter.
We had whole families – Kathie and John with son Max and Susan and Bill with children Sam and Kate.
For siblings we had Beth with her brother Don, brothers Rick and Hunter, and sisters Susan, Lise (treated as a sister), Kathie, and Julie.
In memory of my mother, who loved generational photos, I took the three-generation picture of Susan with her mother Beth and daughter Kate. Note to Rhodes graduates: Susan Ramsuer’s brothers are Rick and Hunter.
Rick often does a magic trick or two at family gatherings. This time he astonished everyone when he brought in a large saucer-shaped bag and unpacked what looked a bit like a charcoal grill. Lise recognized it as a hang or hang pan, which she had seen played in Europe. It was invented in Switzerland. Rick collects musical instruments and has many from around the world. He had had his hang only three weeks and was trying it out on us. We were amazed.
The original craftsman was no longer making them, but he found someone in Asheville who did. This one was tuned to the key of D minor. Several responded to his invitation to try their hand at it.
Bob’s first wife Susan (cancer victim) and her brothers Rick and Hunter came from a musical family. Their mother played the piano, and their father played the musical saw. It was not unusual for them to give a gift of performance. If you learned a new piece, you could play it for someone for a birthday or Christmas gift. On the way to our pre-Thanksgiving dinner, Christie reminded Hunter that he hadn’t written the song he intended to. They were going to have lunch with Christie’s aunt the next day, so he wrote the words to honor the aunt as they traveled in the car. Just before they left, Hunter typed the words on Bob’s computer and printed it out. He whipped out his guitar and gave us the premier performance.
Avoiding names, let’s just say a volunteer offered to ask the blessing for breakfast on Sunday. He prayed for several things, ending with earthquake victims in Iran and (pause) cataclysmic (break to fish for the right word) eruptions. I smiled, but I lost control when Beth began to giggle. After cataclysmic eruptions , he paused and said “or whatever”. Lise lost it at “whatever”, and the whole table laughed. Hunter wiped laughter tears from his eyes as Lise and I did the same. Were we rude? Absolutely! The praying man took the mirth and ribbing gracefully and laughed at himself. He had been going at such a great rate and then came to a complete stop to get the right words which were over the top.
Hunter got the loudest laughter with his eagle pose. He and his brother Rick talked about yoga poses. Hunter, wearing his hat, said he’d show us something funny and assumed a rather tortured pose. He stated, “This is an eagle.” We waited for a punch line.
Flicking off his hat, he said, “This is a bald eagle.” The visual impact on us was most amusing, and we could not control our laughter.
Our periods of catching up with news were punctuated with puns, funny stories, and lots of laughter. We have so very much to be thankful for.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 