Ideal Conditions

The family was taking a Christmas vacation walk to a nearby market yesterday when I found myself in step with 11-year-old Richard. He is just about the same age as many of my students, and without thinking I posed a question to initiate conversation. A warm December breeze swept over the skyline of Atlanta to our right. His parents had moved here when he was two, and I knew he considered this town his home.

"So where do you think you might live when you grow up?" I asked him. 

He shrugged.

"Here? New York?" I named the town where he was born. "Washington where we and Nanny live? California? Arizona? Minnesota?"

"Maybe here," he answered, "or Bermuda." 

I knew he had been there on a vacation a few years back and loved it.

"Some place warm, but not too hot," he continued.

"What about snow?" I asked.

"I like it," he agreed. 

I considered the parameters. "Maybe you would like living in Colorado," I suggested. " They have a little bit of everything that you want-- warm in the summer, snow in the mountains."

He nodded, and then his eyes lit up.  "Yeah! Maybe I'll find a little hole in the mountains and dig it out! Then I'll cut some trees for hardwood floors and build a fireplace. I think I'll live in a cave in the woods!"

I smiled and nodded and listened the rest of the way as he elaborated with evermore enthusiasm and detail on the concept of his cozy little cavern.

Even after 23 (and a half!) years of teaching sixth grade, I will never tire of that whimsical mashup of faith, fiction, and fact that most of us bring to the threshold of eleven and the rest of our lives. How revitalizing it is to spend time with people who believe that anything really is possible.

Holiday Hijinks

We crammed a single round of one last game in this morning before the first of our Christmas company went their separate way. Based on the phenomena of "Spoonerisms" Splickety Lit requires competitors to not only answer questions but also transpose the initial consonants in every response. So, for example, the author of Ate Grexpaectations would be none other than Darls Chickens.

In keeping with the spirit of the rules, the game pieces are tiny wooden pame geeses, and the player who goes first is determined by whose name makes the funniest spoonerism. In our group that was unquestionably Shictor, but only because Bichard wasn't playing.

Too soon, though, the fun was cut short, because Fepardson Shamily had to rit the hoad.

If the Fates Allow

It was already 5:20 this evening when the frozen beef bones clattered onto the sheet pan. A little oil, some salt and pepper and a few carrots later they were in the rapidly heating oven to brown for stock which was destined to be gravy for our Christmas feast. Across the kitchen asparagus snapped, arugula tossed into a bowl and the rib roast seasoned so that we might eat sometime before midnight.

A few hours later Christmas crackers were snapping as dinner was served and although it might have been a tad late, none of the crowned diners seemed to mind a bit.

Everlasting Light

It was dark when the alarm went off this morning, dark when we wheeled our suitcases down the driveway to the waiting cab, dark when the airport doors whooshed open in a rush of warm air, dark when we took our seats on the plane, and dark as rocketed down the runway and into the dark sky.

There was a confusing moment of light as the plane punched up and through the low cloud layer, its powerful beams illuminating the mist around us, but it was so dark when at last we flew out and above them into the moonless sky. In deference to the early hour, the cabin lights stayed off, and the flight attendants wielded their heavy cart expertly through the gloom, offering beverage service in hushed tones to their sleepy and slumbering passengers.

As the silent stars slid by I dropped into a dreamless sleep, and when I woke a little later, the sun rising off our starboard side cast halos of bright orange like portholes of light along the bulkhead of the plane.

Christmas day had dawned.

Give Us a Little Quiche

Heidi's brother makes the same Christmas request each year: six sweet potato pie kits from a local soul food place famous for it. His plan is to take the six gallons of frozen filling to Florida and enjoy it a little at a time. He's picky though, and no crust is necessary for him, so we always place the order hold the pie shells and then haul the 20 pounds of mashed sweet potatoes, butter, brown sugar, spices, and eggs, to Buffalo.

This year they got it wrong at the restaurant and so we ended up with the empty shells after all. No worries, though, this morning I made quiche for the first time in at least 10 years, and it was amazingly easy when you already have a quality crust!

Bon apetite!

Christmas Calculus

   1 driveway full of frozen slush
+ 1 snow pusher
+ 1 metal ice scraper
----------------------------------
    3 Christmas cookies

Silver Bells

City sidewalks

Snow banks lined the side of Elmwood Avenue in downtown Buffalo

busy sidewalks

this afternoon as we searched for a parking spot.

dressed in holiday style

Garland, funky trees, wreathes and reindeer festooned the hip little shop windows

in the air there's the feeling of Christmas.

and carols played on the radio.

Children laughing

We found a spot right across from the toy store

people passing

and headed into the throng

meeting smile after smile

of happy shoppers

and on every street corner you hear

and across the avenue

silver bells

past the tiny chimes ring-a-ling-ing

silver bells

to a gallery featuring the work of local artisans

It's Christmas time in the city.

Strings of street lights, even stoplights

Mid-winter dark cloaked the late afternoon as we headed home

Blinkin' bright red and green

through stop and go traffic

As the shoppers rush home with their treasures

with a trunk full of shopping bags.

Soon it will be Christmas Day.