Winter-Time Activities

As I sit bundled in my living room, eating my bowl of hot beef stew for lunch, my mind wanders back to my childhood. I wonder if it was any colder then than it is in these later years.  I don't have an answer for that question, but I do know that the cold didn't seem to bother me then the way it does these days.

We kids walked to school from our house, nearly every day, despite the weather. (No, this is not where I'll give some exaggerated tale of walking five miles each way through pelting ice storms and waist tall snow.)  We lived less that two miles from the school, so we weren't eligible to be bus riders.  There were days that were windy and cold, where my lips cracked and any exposed skin was chapped and raw. There a couple of times that I remember when the snow had climbed to thigh-high, and those walks weren't really pleasant, but those were few.

However, on normal winter days,  there might be cold air and maybe a snowfall, and we'd don our warm duds and our boots, and out the door we'd go....by choice rather than force.  The snow awaited creation! There were snow people to birth, forts to construct, a friendly snow ball fight to join in, and maybe even an igloo to attempt to build.  

Sledding was another option. We'd drag our sleds over to the Mott kids home a few streets away, where we'd spend much of the day climbing and sliding down the long hill in their back yard.   Other times we'd be driven to Amagansett to 'the Apple Orchard' where the steep hill was, and half of the towns kids were, as well.

When there was no snowfall, there was often ice on the town ponds.   Sometimes we'd pile into the car with half the neighborhood gang, and head over to the Two Holes of Water. It could be some ragged ice over there, being a natural body of water, with branches that might spike through the ice, or where the wind had blown the water as it was freezing, making it a rather rough experience. I recall seeing through the clear ice in spots, and seeing large coy beneath the ice.  Those goldfish would survive from year to year, growing as they passed through the seasons.

Most of the time, we'd be skating on Town Pond, at the entrance of East Hampton Village.  The volunteer fire department would flood the pond when there was a promise of days of deep freeze ahead. That would give the ice a smooth finish, so long as eager skaters stayed off it until it was 
'ready'.   The boys would gather at the north end of the oval shaped pond for a game of ice hockey, while the rest of us congregated in the center or the south end for skating.  We girls practiced our spins, possibly having our favorite figure skater image in mind. We were wearing our short cordoroy or felt circle skirts and tights, our striped scarves of school colors (some had built-in hoods) and our warm sweaters. The laces of our skates sported tennis ball sized puffs of colored fur, and bells.  It's not that the outfits helped us to skate any better, but we 'had' to have the gear for the games!

These days there's no skating for me. I'm too old and would return with a broken hip,no doubt!  Should there be any snow, I 'might'' do some sledding, but the last time I did that was more than ten years ago on Pierson High School's hill...using a garbage bag for a sled. Take it from me, it wrecks your back to use such a thing!  On second thought, I think I'll just stay bundled, here in my living room, and leave the activities to those in the younger bunch!  Have fun, Kids!

A CHRISTMAS TREASURE HUNT

Dad raised himself from 'his' end of the couch, took his large and empty iced tea glass off the coaster on the side table, and walked to the kitchen.  "It's time to get the Christmas tree" , he said.  Mom went to the coat closet near the front door, while the three of us kids scrambled to get the 'best' seat in the car (a window seat. Nobody liked to sit in the middle on the 'hump'.)

Once in the old Chevy station wagon, we waited for Dad and Mom.  Dad slid into the driver's seat, with Mom as co-pilot. He backed out of the driveway and turned right, heading toward Cedar Street. We were 'off' on our yearly 'treasure hunt' in the Northwest Woods area.

Back then, in the 1950's, the woods in that area was quite thick.  Most of the trees were Oaks, but there were many White Pines and Cedar trees that self-seeded, as is quite often the way of Nature.  Dad would scan the trees as we all had something to say about the ones we were inspecting.  Eventually a decision was made, and Dad wielded his hand saw, and felled the tree. Then it was loaded on to the roof of the car, and tied down.  

Once home, the tree was placed in a bucket of water and left outside until the day, usually a week before Christmas, when it would be brought into the house for decorating.  That was a fun day!  Dad would make a fresh cut to the bottom of the  trunk, trim off the lower branches, and sometimes he had to chisel down the width of the trunk in order to fit it into the green metal stand with the four red legs.

Then the tree would be placed in front of the wide picture window in the living room.  Dad would fight with the strings of  lights, sometimes as he did, the words we heard shouldn't have been heard! We kids went through the boxes of mercury ornaments, choosing our favorites. 

 When the lights were finally untangled and wound around the circumference of the tree, we were given the word that we could begin hanging the balls of red, green, silver and gold on the branches. If we'd chosen a 'Charlie Brown' type of Pine tree, the needles were long and the branches rather flimsy.  They bent beneath even the lightest of decorations.   If it was a Cedar tree, the dense nature of it prevented ornaments from being hung anywhere but on the outside of the branches.  After all the decorations were on, including the strings of aluminum 'icicles', the spire was added to the top and the tree lights were plugged in and turned on!

No matter what the tree looked like in the woods, it was a special treat with a new look once it was in our front window. It mattered not that it was a drooping Pine with sparse branching. We didn't care if it was a dark, full Cedar. It was OUR Christmas tree...and it was special.  It smelled wonderfully fragrant. It glowed in the room. It sheltered the gifts to and from loved ones beneath it, and it did it's job well. 

No matter how often the tree was given water in its stand, it dropped needles all the way through New Year's Day when we took it down again. Mom or I vacuumed the droppings, and the needles always emitted their fragrance as the warm air from the vacuum was exhausting.  The icicles were vacuumed up too, as well as they could be. They were rather 'clingy' though, and would attach themselves to a sleeve or a sock or whatever came near to them.  Mom tried to salvage as many as possible when dismantling the tree, in order to save them for the next year, but we always lost some rebels who wanted to make an escape via the vacuum.

Christmas trees today are so different.  But that story will wait for another day.

The Bell Ringer

'Jingle, Jingle, Jingle' the bell sounded.  An older, black woman sat on a wheeled walker, at the entrance of the Hobby store, bundled against the gray day and the cold that was unusual for the area at this time of year.  

As people passed by, she faithfully shook the bell,  breaking the sound only as she loudly said, 'Thank you, Baby, for the blessin' as someone dropped a donation into the red bucket.  Someone else walked by pretending not to see her, but she would say, 'Hello, Gorgeous!' as they walked by.  

A customer came from the store, stopping to talk with her as her eyes scanned the parking lot for the friend who would pick her up at the door, once he'd seen her.  The bell ringer continued her appointed job, chatting comfortably with the customer, between her shouts to the people coming and going from the entrance.  They spoke of the chilly weather and how long the woman had been there that day, collecting monies for the Salvation Army.  They discovered that they'd both come from the same state, and they hugged, feeling a kinship in that knowledge.  

"God bless that precious baby," she said to a passing couple with their new family member.  They smiled and let her take a peek at the little face beneath the blanket. "God bless" she said again.   

A man exited the store and lit a cigarette, and he leaned against the building wall nearby. The lady with the bell began speaking with him, as the customer continued to watch the parking lot for her driver.  The three of them had a friendly conversation until the gentleman returned to his job in the store.  The two women chatted as they both waited for the customer's ride to appear.

The bell ringer continued to interrupt their conversation with her friendly shout outs. "Oh, Sister...thank you for your gift!"  and "Congratulations on your blessin', Sweetheart!" she offered to a very pregnant young woman.   The customer thought that her sidewalk companion was the friendliest person she'd seen in a long time, and her impression was that every word was offered in honesty....not because she was looking for a drop in her red bucket.  

The woman bowed her head and rubbed her forehead.  The customer asked if she was alright, as it seemed that the older woman was weary and cold.  She offered to get her some coffee, once her ride arrived. The coffee was declined, but the lady with the bell asked if she might have a hot chocolate instead.  'Of course', replied the customer.  And then the other woman asked if her new friend might get her a hamburger with the two dollars she held out.  

'Please keep your money....I'll get it' said the customer, thinking that two dollars wouldn't buy much of a burger, even at the fast food place at the foot of the hill.  Finally, the car arrived for the customer.  The two women bid one another a farewell, and the car drove off. The customer instructed the driver to go to the drive-through fast food spot, and as she ordered a full meal for the bell ringer, she wondered if the woman at the doorway expected  to really get her beverage and burger.  She found out, in short order, when the car pulled up in front of her, as she huddled against the coming of the darkness.  The customer handed her a brown bag...filled with warm food,  and received a blessing from the hungry and weary woman.  

Little did the friendly and sincere woman know the blessing that was felt  in the heart of the customer that afternoon, having experienced the time with the special bell ringer. 

Home Ain't Home Anymore...

We made a decision, years ago, to move out of my hometown. The place is a tourist area, and an expensive one for both those who visit and those who live there. It's once 'small town' atmosphere has changed, and now it's a playground for the rich and famous and the wish-they-were. The 'regular', small, family homes have been bought up, mowed down, and new, huge, Mcmansions have been built in their place.
What used to be dairy cattle's feeding grounds now are Condo villages and woods and potato fields have sprouted estate properties with pricey tags and big name owners. The cars being driven by the majority are no longer used cars and pick up trucks; they're more likely to be BMW,Lexus, and other status symbol vehicles. The Main Street no longer has the 'affordable' Mom & Pop stores...it looks like Rodeo Drive, with Tiffany's, Ralph Loren and the like.
Those locals who can afford to move, have moved. Those who can't are pitifully trapped.
We have always loved the birds and the beach of that seaside town. You can't hear the birdsong any longer, (or any conversation on the deck behind our house, without shouting!) the traffic sounds are too heavy. You can't see the water (except in Jan or Feb) because the cars are parked 2-3 deep in the parking lot spots for viewing. Forget the sands...if you could find a place to put ONE foot without standing on someone's beach equipment, you'd be lucky. You can't even park at the beach in summer, without a permit...and if you want to find a place to park, you'd have to arrive pretty darned early.
Home ain't home anymore. We've moved to a great, new area, and are excited to be learning about it. It's affordable and friendly, wooded and even a little backward in some of the thinking. It's ok that way...and I'm pleased to sit on our quiet front porch and be able to hear the birds. I'm happy to have a new canvas to plant and a new house to create a home in.
I'm serene. I have not a single regret about moving... and feel pretty lucky to be able to have done so.

Opinions

It's a rare occasion to find me speechless. Usually I can talk to anyone at anytime...and from time to time, I actually know what I'm talking about. But...then, there are other times when I should have worn my peppermint boots, because I find my foot in my mouth.

Well, what can you do? When you're born a Saggitarian? We're pretty well known as 'foot in mouth' folks. We have to practice hard to learn the art of thinking before speaking... and really have to work at developing 'tact'. Know this, though...there's no malice intended. We just speak our minds...sometimes with great force behind our words, but we also are fair enough to give you the right to express your own, even if we don't happen to agree with that opinion.
it's ok...and it's what makes the world interesting.

So...if you've stumbled upon my new blog...share an opinion about something, anything...and don't be afraid to speak your mind. You're welcome to say what you feel, as long as it fits the rules set up by the Powers that Be behind this website.