Now that the holidays are calming down a little, and you've had a chance to think about it, did you get what you wanted out of Christmas? Or Chanukkah?
I got to see the smiles of everyone I got a gift for. I sent out almost all the cards I hoped. It seems there's always a few people that I think of after the fact.
I even sent an email card this year. It was really cool. If you haven't seen it, you should go there now...
http://ecard.ashland.edu/2004admission/index.html
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
What Are Your Favorite Tunes?
I am partial to Kenny G's version of the Chanukah song. I really don't think there's enough songs out there Celebrating Hanukkah on mainstream radio. (Unless you count Adam Sandler's version.)
My daughter tells me every year that she just HAS to hear "Chestnuts", the original version by Nat King Cole, or it isn't a good year. She never seems to tire of it, or Paul Mc Cartney's A Wonderful Christmas Time... this one's for Sam...
If one song really makes it for me, is just about any rendition of I'll be Home for Christmas, even though I haven't been able to for over twenty years. But I am a huge Michael Buble fan... enjoy.
Go Fish@ Christmas
There are things that I'm willing to let slide, what you think of immigration, who you want to vote for and whether or not a person's sexual orientation is ordained at birth.
Then December hits and one thing only matters to me. The coming of Christ, His birthday. What he sacrificed so that we could gain.
You want to believe in your God, I want to believe in mine.
You can wish me well in your language and I will wish you well in mine.
I don't have a problem if you want to celebrate your holidays, why do you have a problem with mine?
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS!!
Just in Time for the Holidays
I was able to do an astronomical amount of writing
and I was finally able to finish my novel.
My first ever.
Happy happy Thanksgiving!!!
Kind Words
I'm sure it isn't because the snow is falling that I am already feeling something of the Christmas Spirit hitting me.
I was in the grocery check out line of the Peach Lady this week. I asked her how people were treating her. She said she wasn't getting enough hours at work. She wondered aloud if she ought to be trying to find another job?
"I don't know, I said. "The big three are in big trouble, and if they start letting people go, that's even more people looking for a job. Seems like you got a good thing going here, ya know? People have to eat."
"You think I should stay?"
"We'll just pray to the Good Lord for more hours."
"Wow, you've really helped me," she said. I thought she might be kidding. But she was practically gushing. "I think I just need to adjust my attitude and keep on. Thank you, I'm not even kidding."
"You're welcome. You have a good holiday if I don't get back here before then."
"You too! Have the best day in the world. Really. I mean it."
Wow.
I was in the grocery check out line of the Peach Lady this week. I asked her how people were treating her. She said she wasn't getting enough hours at work. She wondered aloud if she ought to be trying to find another job?
"I don't know, I said. "The big three are in big trouble, and if they start letting people go, that's even more people looking for a job. Seems like you got a good thing going here, ya know? People have to eat."
"You think I should stay?"
"We'll just pray to the Good Lord for more hours."
"Wow, you've really helped me," she said. I thought she might be kidding. But she was practically gushing. "I think I just need to adjust my attitude and keep on. Thank you, I'm not even kidding."
"You're welcome. You have a good holiday if I don't get back here before then."
"You too! Have the best day in the world. Really. I mean it."
Wow.
Grand Finale
On Saturday of Labor Day weekend, I drove into the heart of Columbus for the Greek Festival held at the Orthodox Church. The ticket price covers all four days.
The first time I attended, I didn’t know Loukaniko’s from Loukoumades. Inside, we toured the Cathedral and tried to absorb the history of the church. The breath of Holiness still lingered in the gold -leafed iconography circling the ceiling. Their mosaics were beautiful and stunning.
After perusing craft vendors with blue and white flags, canvas paintings portraying the Mediterranean Sea, sailing, villages replete with window boxes of cascading flowers, domed roofs and narrow climbing stairs. The imported Greek jewelry made with abalone shell, gold and silver, the Greek Key patterns, crosses and the All Seeing Eye. Our first year, we stumbled upon George Skaroulis and bought his CD Sanctuary. Later at the bookstore we bought book marks. This year, in the book store, I found little Angel boxes.
Outside, the sun made a beautiful day feel all the more festive. The Hellenistic Singers performed while the musicians added a celebratory backdrop. The fragrance of charred meat perfumed the air. Some of the Vendors sold the standards: Gyros, Souvlaki, Loukaniko and Keftedes, and others sold delicacies like, Amigdalota, Baklava and Loukoumades.
For lunch, we were tempted by the Greek pizza, a crust topped with tomatoes, olive oil, black olives and feta cheese. But instead I chose the Gyro. We enjoyed listening the vendors speaking their native Greek amongst themselves, a language foreign to me. I felt as though we’d traveled overseas minus the bad airport experience and bumpy flight. Pasta Kok and Pasta Sokolatas were both delicious with coffee and Maria’s bakery offers a little over a dozen selections to pick from. If you enjoy Mediterranean food and you’ve never been to the festival, I recommend it. The church members make much of the food at home, the meat is flame grilled on site and couldn’t be more authentic. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
The first time I attended, I didn’t know Loukaniko’s from Loukoumades. Inside, we toured the Cathedral and tried to absorb the history of the church. The breath of Holiness still lingered in the gold -leafed iconography circling the ceiling. Their mosaics were beautiful and stunning.
After perusing craft vendors with blue and white flags, canvas paintings portraying the Mediterranean Sea, sailing, villages replete with window boxes of cascading flowers, domed roofs and narrow climbing stairs. The imported Greek jewelry made with abalone shell, gold and silver, the Greek Key patterns, crosses and the All Seeing Eye. Our first year, we stumbled upon George Skaroulis and bought his CD Sanctuary. Later at the bookstore we bought book marks. This year, in the book store, I found little Angel boxes.
Outside, the sun made a beautiful day feel all the more festive. The Hellenistic Singers performed while the musicians added a celebratory backdrop. The fragrance of charred meat perfumed the air. Some of the Vendors sold the standards: Gyros, Souvlaki, Loukaniko and Keftedes, and others sold delicacies like, Amigdalota, Baklava and Loukoumades.
For lunch, we were tempted by the Greek pizza, a crust topped with tomatoes, olive oil, black olives and feta cheese. But instead I chose the Gyro. We enjoyed listening the vendors speaking their native Greek amongst themselves, a language foreign to me. I felt as though we’d traveled overseas minus the bad airport experience and bumpy flight. Pasta Kok and Pasta Sokolatas were both delicious with coffee and Maria’s bakery offers a little over a dozen selections to pick from. If you enjoy Mediterranean food and you’ve never been to the festival, I recommend it. The church members make much of the food at home, the meat is flame grilled on site and couldn’t be more authentic. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
Friends
Pink is not my favorite color. And Easter pink might be pretty far down the chart on my color choices. Pink is usually not a good food choice.
Except when nothing in the world sounds good to eat and the effort of cooking seems overwhelming.
Bright pink became my friend today, like orange did yesterday, for the same reason. A pink egg became my salvation. It peeled like a dream, the yolk a perfect shade of butter and I knew they were cooked and colored with love.
Dear friends, a playwright and his lovely wife, accepted our invitation to enjoy a casual Easter dinner at our family table. I love to cook for the holidays and as my family of origin consisted of eight, I’m still learning how (and failing more often than not) to cook in small quantities.
When I greeted our friends at the door, the missus carried an apple pie and a small oblong casserole dish full of brightly colored boiled eggs.
In a flashback, I’m standing in the oak surround kitchen my father built, red-orange print carpet under my feet, harvest gold counters. It’s Easter Sunday 1970 something. My paternal Grandmother who might have been slightly over four foot six on her tippy toes, smiles wryly. The rainbow basket she brought only on Easter contained the waxy green shredded paper serving as "grass" and about a dozen brightly colored duck eggs.
I feel my face smile and it feels like the sun peeking out from rainclouds.
Condolences were offered and accepted regarding the recent loss of my dad (who incidentally was a big fan of egg yolks.) The holiday seemed all the richer for starting our visit with such a bright memory.
We ate and talked and laughed over dinner. With dessert, Jack and I discussed details of the play two of us had spent months working on. When our friends departed, I'm sad to see them go but glad for the meal, the memories and a bowl of eggs.
I think I’ll go make friends with that blue one…
Except when nothing in the world sounds good to eat and the effort of cooking seems overwhelming.
Bright pink became my friend today, like orange did yesterday, for the same reason. A pink egg became my salvation. It peeled like a dream, the yolk a perfect shade of butter and I knew they were cooked and colored with love.
Dear friends, a playwright and his lovely wife, accepted our invitation to enjoy a casual Easter dinner at our family table. I love to cook for the holidays and as my family of origin consisted of eight, I’m still learning how (and failing more often than not) to cook in small quantities.
When I greeted our friends at the door, the missus carried an apple pie and a small oblong casserole dish full of brightly colored boiled eggs.
In a flashback, I’m standing in the oak surround kitchen my father built, red-orange print carpet under my feet, harvest gold counters. It’s Easter Sunday 1970 something. My paternal Grandmother who might have been slightly over four foot six on her tippy toes, smiles wryly. The rainbow basket she brought only on Easter contained the waxy green shredded paper serving as "grass" and about a dozen brightly colored duck eggs.
I feel my face smile and it feels like the sun peeking out from rainclouds.
Condolences were offered and accepted regarding the recent loss of my dad (who incidentally was a big fan of egg yolks.) The holiday seemed all the richer for starting our visit with such a bright memory.
We ate and talked and laughed over dinner. With dessert, Jack and I discussed details of the play two of us had spent months working on. When our friends departed, I'm sad to see them go but glad for the meal, the memories and a bowl of eggs.
I think I’ll go make friends with that blue one…
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