Rooftops Rimmed With Rubies

In a search for beauty during this week of personal and national heartbreak, I have picked up one after another of my old beloved Christmas books. Wise Marjorie Holmes always saw beauty in the ordinary things of life. In At Christmas the Heart Goes Home, she wrote of the beauty we find in the yards of even modest neighborhoods during the Christmas season:

"The brilliant colors of Christmas that begin to blaze at dusk."

"Whole neighborhoods, so ordinary, taken for granted, suddenly assume

a gay and profligate identity of light."

"Rooftops rimmed with rubies, doorways are diamond-decked."

"No sultan's palace could surpass their splendor that spills even on to 

the shrubs and hedges and trees in the yard; such

gaudy necklaces, such garlands of brilliance--

all clamoring 'Look at me!'"

"Were these ever simply familiar houses and yards?"

"Will they ever be again?"

"No matter--for now, right now, you live in Fairyland!"

Recently I showed our son Gurn pictures from two blogs of front porches dressed for Christmas and asked him if he could take it from there and see what could be done with my front porch. Our nice son first gave the old porch the scrubbing of its life and then combed the barn, smokehouse, and picnic shelter for old objects similar to those that Pat of On Crooked Creek (at www.oncrookedcreekct.blogspot.com) and Holly of Down to Earth Style (at www.downtoearthstyle.blogspot.com) showed on their beautiful blogs. After Gurn finished by hanging the box of Christmas lights, he called for me to come outside to look at what he had done. I could not believe my eyes!

Don't you think he did a wonderful job, using mostly old, found objects?

And at dusk, when the lights are turned on, I think it becomes magical. My only contribution was carrying out a red and black Pendleton jacket, a black and white checked Ralph Lauren throw, and R.H.'s Polo scarf to drape over the rocking chairs, and a beautiful red and white Woolrich blanket to drape over the swing. (All but the black and white checked throw were Goodwill finds.)

I knew that Gurn was a genius at restoring old T-birds and tractors but I never guessed he could have such talent as a decorator! I go outside ever chance I get to admire the job he did. Katie, the Jack Russell seems to like posing there, and even big Brown Eyes, the dog who found us, walking up our driveway skin and bones a couple of years ago, seems to like visiting the Christmas porch too.

Instead of posing front and center like Katie, he goes over to modestly hide near the swing. Can you spot him?

I do love to drive through expensive neighborhoods at Christmas to see the gorgeous Christmas decorations, but I also got a warm fuzzy feeling when I used to pass a certain tiny house on the backroads to the grocery store where someone had taken the time to hang hundreds of tiny red yarn bows on the lower branches of the trees in the front yard. I always applauded their effort. I knew Christmas was near when I passed that little cottage. One year there were no more red bows and I miss them still.

"Even the poorest cottage welcomed the festive season with green decorations

of bay and holly."

From Christmas by Washington Irving (1819)

I wish I could take a peek into all the many houses decorated for Christmas, whether modest of magnificent. Here are a couple of window-looks into ours here at Valley View.

Before saying goodbye for today, R.H. and I want to thank everyone who left such sweet comments yesterday about our sweet little Penelope. Your compassion meant so much to us and we cried reading each one. I have tried to leave personal messages back to everyone by email. We send an extra hug to Nita at ModVintage Life for the beautiful personal message to us on FaceBook. She knows only too well what it is like to lose these sweet little weenies.

"You will forever be young and beautiful to your dog,

you will be wise, you will be marvelous,

you are the main reason for existence.

Whatever you do you are never wrong, or petty or dull.

There you are, you wonderful, heavenly being,

you fragment of divinity on earth!"

From the incomparable Connecticut writer Gladys Taber in Especially Spaniels

Precious

"The world, as we live in it, is like a shop window in which some mischievous person has got in overnight and shifted all the price labels round,

so that the cheap things have the high-price labels on them

and the really precious things are priced low."

Archbishop Temple to students of Oxford University

One week ago today I last posted that our dear 15-year-old dachshund Penelope was undergoing four days of IV fluids as we had just learned that the reason for her illness was advanced kidney failure. We hoped the fluids would let her stay with us through Christmas at least, and until then I would be focusing on her. We were able to bring her home Monday night and she was so happy to be home with us and to be in her own bed, my bed, that night. Coaxing her to eat was a struggle but we managed by fixing every imaginable recipe for her condition. R.H. and I had three really precious days and nights with her where she was happy and alert. Then on Thursday evening she had what the vet said was probably a stroke and seemed totally blind, unable to walk without falling over, and would not eat. I held her all night long to sooth her into sleeping and most of yesterday until we took her to her doctor for the last time. 

We had 15 wonderful years with Penelope and our hurt is tremendous but somehow magnified by knowing that she left this earth on the same day that these precious innocent children were senselessly murdered in cold blood. While we cannot imagine a Christmas without Penelope, we cannot even begin to comprehend what those families face forever. As we buried Penelope this morning with the corgis, in the stout, tight wood coffin that R.H. and Gurn built for her, I felt so hurt but humbled that she shared Friday's date with these precious, precious ones. 

We've had many sweet texts and calls from our children all day but one from Zack blessed me so much. He said that last night he pictured Penelope there in heaven playing with all those little children. [I don't want to hear anyone's viewpoint on our Penelope not being in heaven with those children, please.] 

Below are a few more pictures of Penelope at Cape San Blas with Katie. Katie, a Katrina refugee, was not in love with the ocean and was content to stay in the dry sand. Penelope was head over heels in love with the beach and ocean. We had to watch to be sure she didn't float out into the Gulf. She chased balls, she chased the badminton birdie, and she fetched sticks. Cleaning the sand from her was almost impossible for the plump wriggling little long-haired red girl. She just wanted to go back again. 

Here is her final picture on Thursday afternoon, shortly before she suffered the stroke, in one of their many nests spread throughout the house, with Katie. 

After today I am going to try to spend this last week before Christmas letting the beauty of the season comfort me. I will listen to my quieter Christmas music, enjoy the Christmas tree that Penelope got to see, even try to bake the cookies that our children love, and wait for next weekend when a new granddaughter comes to visit Mimi and Pawpaw for the first time. I will blog and visit the beauty of Christmas at my blog friends houses. I will remember Penelope the rest of my life. And I will not forget schoolchildren everywhere.

I will try to put the right value on the right things and find comfort from them.

Plan B

Plan B is something we all face. Those who have had to go to Plan B because a child or grandchild needs them, those who face serious health problems themselves or with their spouse are forced to Plan B. Our Plan B can't be classified as important as those needs, but to us it is because we learned that our 15-year-old dachshund Penelope is in advanced stage of kidney failure. It has been back and forth to the veterinarian with her for IV fluids and this afternoon we followed her doctor's advice and left her at the pet emergency clinic so she can have round the clock fluids and her lab work be monitored. So this is a time when blogging needs to be put on hold. I'll try to keep visiting my blog friends at night and just wait for the time when I feel I can post here. Just wanted to let any readers know why I am absent. Right now my thoughts are with my little shadow instead of blogging. Thank you.

Tell Me You're Not

Please tell me you're not planning on having a perfect Christmas? You are, aren't you? Somehow I just knew it. Oh dear, so am I.

Does your Christmas look something like the one I read about years ago in a long forgotten book?

It is Christmas Eve and you are ready. That just about says it all and I could quit right now, but I'll continue so you will think I can read your mind.

Your cozy home in the country is full of charm, the oyster stew is keeping warm on the stove beside a pot of hot chocolate awaiting the return of your husband and children who are out delivering beautiful tins of your homemade goodies to friends.

Your house is tastefully decorated, and carefully chosen gifts are wrapped and under the tree cut from your own land. The table is set with your best china on a tablecloth that is a family heirloom. Christmas carols are playing softly, and the Christmas feast is ready to be served as soon as your family returns rosy-cheeked from delivering the cookies and putting the matching Clydesdale horses up in the red barn.

Grandparents will be arriving any minute now with their bundle of educational toys and books to put under the Christmas tree for the children.

You have just enough time to take a bubble bath before slipping into that slinky new dress from the quirky little boutique you discovered.

Ahhhh.............

Excuse me, wake up! You're dreaming!

Hopefully, you're not having this nightmare.............

You're scraping the dried up spillover of fudge off the stove with a razor blade when your husband and children return bearing paper plates still full of store-bought cookies. Just as you're ready to jump all over them for not delivering them all, one plate slips out of your husband's hand and a dozen cookies covered in powdered sugar bounce on the floor. At the same time your husband's younger brother yells from the den where he's watching Wrestle Mania that he needs another beer if it's not too much trouble, and the doorbell rings stridently.

Your mother-in-law bursts into the kitchen squealing, "Come here, kiddies! Come see what I bought you." Despite your protesting that it will ruin their appetite, she immediately gives them each a foot-long candy cane before spilling out a mountain of toys on the floor. You know without looking that each will have at least a dozen tiny parts and that batteries needed will not be included. You decide to overlook it and go ladle up the oyster stew, which has scorched by now. You dish it up anyway and carry the plate of cold cuts, Jello salad and potato chips to the table. You yell, "Dinners ready."

Nobody comes.

Ha! Which Christmas Eve would you choose?

We have 18 more days to pull it all off. I'll race you.

Once Upon A Time, Continued

The day came when Mr. Christmas Tree yearned for year round sunshine and orange groves and a Meyer lemon tree in his own backyard. He heard the siren call of surf fishing. His green thumbs wiggled in excitement at the thought of planting gardens not only in spring but in autumn too. He called his Councilors together and presented them with The Plan, the plan to migrate to Sunny Florida. His Councilor of the Household Keys agreed. She was a Sensible Woman and knew that Mr. Christmas Tree needed to expand his Horizons. His Counselor of Daughterhood agreed. She knew that a wardrobe of bikinis would be a lark. They bid two daughters' families farewell and kissed their third daughter goodbye in the halls of higher learning called College and moved far away to the Sunshine State.

Before he left, Mr. Christmas Tree turned over the Keys to the Magical Garden Center to Son-in-law and Son-in-law's Wise Elder Brother.

Son-in-law longed to become known as Mr. Christmas Tree himself. Had not he loved the Christmas Tree business from the first scent of essence of Canadian Balsam that flooded his nostrils when he accompanied his father-in-law to the railroad track where the large railroad car from Canada awaited only the railroad official's cutting of the seal to release the fragrance that could never be bottled?

Had he not spent hours in Avery County, North Carolina tagging Frazier Firs so that Customers would have prime Christmas trees? Served out his time as a Serf doing the lowly jobs such as cleaning out the garden center early in November to make way for the trees, building a flock room inside? Had he not learned from his father-in-law that a truly excellent flocked ChristmasTree could never be flocked in a tent but required a dry room, else it droop despairingly?

Had he not learned that the Customer is always right?

Had he not served out his serfdom hand-turning the Turntable for Mr. Christmas Tree to magically transform a tree from green to white, sometimes, rarely, even to blue?

Had he not bagged hundreds of Christmas trees?

Had he not at last been given the opportunity to use the magic Flock Machine himself?

Now the time had come to start up the Flock Machine for the first time himself in the wee hours of the morning. He took a deep breath, put on his mask, and began. He saw the White Christmas Trees in the showroom grow from two to three to four.

Suddenly, before he could believe his own eyes, and before the Wise Elder Brother could believe his, there appeared before them a Winter Wonderland of White Christmas Trees.

A tingle ran up the spine of the son-in-law as he saw the forest grow and felt himself becoming....

Mr. Christmas Tree!

The Wise Elder Brother felt himself becoming even Wiser.

The weather turned from sunny and warm to cold and drizzly inducing many Customers to venture forth for their Christmas Trees. Other Serfs now waited on the Ladies-in-Waiting who came from throughout the Kingdom to choose their Christmas trees while their Knights in Shining Armor warmed their hands outside by the Burn Barrel.

Hours were long and the bodies of Serfs and Wise Elder Brother and Mr. Christmas Tree grew tired.

But Wise Elder Brother and Mr. Christmas Tree's mother brought goodies from her kitchen for all to consume, and Christmas music played, and soon energy grew strong for another day.

Mr. Christmas Tree bravely, into the wee hours of the morning, climbed a 10-ft ladder to create a myriad of White Christmas Trees. For one tree he allowed the snow to fall lightly, green branches showing underneath.

For Snowdrift Trees the snow fell lightly on one side, much heavier on another side.

And there were wondrous Ice Trees where the snow fell lightly, then, while still wet, the branches were sprinkled with glittery diamonds from a bag labelled Mica Glitter.

The rarest tree of all, the most costly in the Kingdom, was the Candlestick Tree. It was so rare that it was camera shy; you must take Mr. Christmas Tree's solemn word that in every year's bounty of trees there would be one or two where the Pinecones grew proudly straight up, reaching for the sky, and shed their little Cone Petals. After their time on the Turntable with Mr. Christmas Tree they emerged appearing as if covered in Miniature Candles. It is reported that Emeralds changed hands for the purchase of such a Candlestick Tree.

Lest it be thought that only Aristocracy of the Kingdom were fortunate enough to procure a Christmas Tree from the Magical Garden Center, the two Brothers sought never to let a True Christmas Tree Lover leave without a Christmas Tree.

Congressmen, State Senators, Judges, and Mayors of the Kingdom made yearly visits to choose their trees. Floyd Crammer and Conway Twitty visited the Magical Garden Center for their Trees. The Man in Black himself, Mr. Johnny Cash, leaned his long body up against the Seed Bin while Sweet Miss June chose their yearly tree. But each year a Christmas Tree would find it way to the Schoolyard to become The Bird's Christmas Tree decorated by Schoolchildren, more would find their way into churches for Christmas Programs, and more found homes in Modest Houses of the Kingdom that lacked only a Christmas Tree for the Christmas Spirit to be complete.

Mr. Christmas Tree wishes to thank all of the Faithful Salesforce who were part of those wonderful years. And he wishes to thank his son Gurn who worked after school and on weekends at the Magic Garden Center as a Child Serf and actually sold this Pitiful Charlie Brown Christmas Tree......

Sold it for $25 to a very discerning Customer.

Your Storyteller attempted to include the following sweet memories from Mr. Christmas Tree's Only Daughter but could not do justice to her words. Therefore, here it is in her Own Words all the way from Sunny Florida:

I remember going to the garden center after school one day in the third grade and walking among what seemed like giant flocked Christmas trees, and Grandma saying, this one belonged to Mayor Fulton, that one to Conway Twitty, and feeling proud that my dad was the one they came to for the most perfect Christmas trees. Back then getting the right tree was like choosing the right piece of art for a special wall in your home. It had to be perfect, it HAD to be better than the year before! There were trees of every height sparkling in fresh soft white snow in every direction I looked. Christmas music was playing. I can still hear the soft ballad of Robert Goulet singing, "This Christmas I Spend With You" and getting goosebumps and butterflies while he sang. 

I can remember hearing customers saying, "Well, he's the best in town" and "He's expensive but worth every penny." Finally, I found Dad and he had on a funny dark green jumpsuit and a hat that covered his ears, and goggles on. I always ran to him knowing he would catch me in midair as I sprang into his arms. He said to me, "Look over there," pointing at little tiny trees against a wall. "Pick one." I pointed to one that reminded me of the perfect little tree in the animated Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer television movie special. "I'll bring it home," he said and he did, stringing lights on the branches, blue lights, ad then he flocked the tree to perfection on its own tiny tree stand. I remember Mom placing it on a chest in front of the big window in my bedroom. WOW! It was stunning!

Many times I've wished for Dad to be able to flock a tree for me again. I was putting up my own tree today, a 10' Frasier fir, listening to Christmas music on our cable seasonal music channel when that old but very familiar Robert Goulet song came on..."This Christmas I Spend With You." I found myself back in 1976 with butterflies in my stomach, wondering what magical memories will be made this year!

This is The End, but if you're wondering if there is still a Magical Garden Center, alas it is no more. In every fairy tale there has to be an ogre, and the Magical Garden Center, as did many other Mom & Pop garden centers, found it difficult to remain in business once ____ _____ and ______ moved into the Kingdom. However, bags of flock and the flocking equipment are somewhere in the barn. How we all wish for just one more tree from Mr. Christmas Tree. Perhaps there will be another story someday from the folks here at Valley View about Mr. Christmas Tree.

This post is lovingly dedicated to the memory of a lovely lady who now celebrates

Christmas with the King.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time a young man and a young woman with stars in their eyes met in the mountains of North Carolina, fell in love and married. The year was 1942. In 1943 the young husband put on an Air Force uniform, kissed his wife and baby daughter goodbye and, after basic training, was sent in November to Latrobe, Pennsylvania for college training at St. Vincent College. He spent his nights in a dormitory surrounded by men but dreamt of finding a home in Latrobe where his family could stay and be with him on Sundays. His big brother begged the ration board for tires (retreads) and gas coupons and drove the young mother and daughter from North Carolina to Pennsylvania. There among the snow-covered trees of Latrobe the young parents celebrated their first Christmas with their firstborn.

After the terrible war ended, the little girl went back to the mountains of North Carolina with her mama and daddy to spend the next two Christmases with uncles and aunts and a cousin nearby.

Christmas of 1947 found the young couple moving to Tennessee to live in a mansion--the two bedroom, one bath, newly built cottage was a mansion to the husband and his wife, their little girl and her baby sister. On each Christmas thereafter the little cottage held the freshest, largest Christmas tree that would fit in the corner of the living room because the girls' daddy had a magical job. Eleven months of the year he was an average American man working for the Kroger company buying produce for stores in their city. But come December he turned into Mr. Christmas Tree and met the railroad cars that traveled from as far away as Canada to bring Christmas trees to the Kroger grocery stores.

At first there were the two little girls to help decorate the Christmas tree, the older one with brown curly hair and the younger one with brown wavy hair. Always their were aunts and uncles and cousins around.

Then came the Christmas that there was a third little daughter, this one with blonde hair, and the year after that she was old enough to help her sisters decorate the Christmas tree, or the lower branches anyway. Santa Claus must have brought her a baby doll, probably a girl baby doll, not a boy doll named Joe like her oldest sister had asked Santa to bring.

The three little girls grew and the Christmas trees grew with them, as large as the living room would hold, finally in a new house with three bedrooms and a bath and a half. No longer did uncles have to sleep in the bathtub. But one wonderful uncle came the week before Christmas each year and took the three sisters away in his magic sleigh to visit another uncle and aunt for three magical days of cookie baking and crafts and spoiling by the two uncles and a darling, darling aunt. One year the magic sleigh was a small airplane that hurt the sisters' ears, but most of the time it was a magic train that chugged out of Union Station with the sisters and their uncle aboard, laden with wrapped packages.

Then came the year that a fourth child was born......a daughter, a second blonde just a few weeks old at Christmas. The next Christmas it was her turn to get a baby doll and see the biggest, freshest Christmas tree ever.

Four daughters! What's a father to do? Pretty soon it would become time to begin saying his goodbyes to daughters and welcoming sons-in-law, or at least to become resigned to them.

One thing the father could do was begin a new career. He could stop buying Christmas trees for the Kroger Company and begin buying them for his own garden center. Eleven months of the year he was an average American man who sold bushes and trees and mulch and fertilizer. But, oh, in the month of December he became once again Mr. Christmas Tree. This time customers not only had the choice of every green Christmas tree from Canadian balsams to Scotch pines and white pines (North Carolina Frazier Firs did not come unto later years), but they also had a choice of a fairyland of breathtaking snow-flocked Christmas trees.

A new grove of white Christmas trees appeared magically every morning, having been created by a master's touch during the night.

Ladies-in-Waiting throughout the kingdom brought their lights in for the tree of their choice, to be put on before the magician snow brushed the Christmas trees in white--blue lights, white lights, colored lights.

Tall threes, short trees, skinny trees, fat trees.

Snow-covered trees for everyone except for the four sisters. They were their father's daughters. They loved for their Christmas trees to be as green as the field from which they were cut. But, oh, the wonder of visiting and playing in the garden center full of lovely sparkly Christmas trees.

And that first son-in-law welcomed into the family of four daughters? He was busy learning to flock Christmas trees, learning it from the artist's hand.

To be continued.

Have a very merry December!