FROZEN MOONLIGHT

Glittering flakes:
The wind is breaking
Frozen moonlight.

Horiuchi Toshimi

I couldn’t find the perfect picture, or even a semi perfect picture to go with this poem. So much isn’t said in a haiku. A dark night, a cold night, dark evergreen trees perhaps, no lights beyond a house or courtyard, it’s snowing, perhaps a break in the clouds that allows a sliver of moonlight to join the dancing flakes. A blink, a breath and it’s gone.

WINTER HAIKU

I was trying to rearrange the book shelves yesterday and stumbled across a little zen book with some seasonal poems. Each of those fuzzy clusters is a galaxy. Millions of stars in a tiny picture. Five hundred million years of time captured in a well.

I've got the buckets, but I don't think I'm going to see any stars around here for awhile.

CHIRSTMAS PAST

Well, Christmas is over for 2009. I have to admit that it was harder than usual to get in the mood this year. But, the more lights we got up, the happier I got. We’ve had so much fog the last couple of weeks or so. Dark, chilly, and clammy. Just what you need to get in the mood for the season. So not.

The eastern Oregon sister and her family made it over for the first time in a couple of years. Things could have gone a little better in a lot of ways. They both teach and they were so darn tired that I was almost, almost, sorry they made the trip. Between the exhaustion and her inlaws she was just worn out by the time they left for home Monday morning. Sis so needed her own bed. It was good to see them though. Mom took sis shopping at Michael’s with her Christmas and birthday (poor kid was almost a Christmas baby) money. Turned her loose in the beading department and almost didn’t get her out before closing. 

Portland wasn’t coming and then they were coming after all. Good thing we’d already planned on roasting two nice big chickens in the first place. Just didn’t have quite as many leftovers as we anticipated and thank heaven Fred’s wasn’t as busy as I thought they’d be for the last minute last minute shopping. Turned out my last minute shopping was really the next to the last minute shopping. Chalk up the last paragraph to post Christmas delirium.

Still didn’t have everybody in the same zip code. About the time we were putting the chickens in the oven, the freshman Duck was heading for LA and the Rose Bowl. What the heck, we fed him turkey soup and fresh bread the Sunday before. Merry sort of Christmas kid.

We did do a fair amount of baking for the holiday and in the part I like best, proceeded to send almost all of it out the door. Guess I knew deep down that we’d have twice as many people as we thought were coming.

Found a recipe for what turned out to be absolutely fantastic brownies. You can cut these really small and you don’t need to make fudge. Unless you really, really want to.

ULITMATE BROWNIES

Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 40 minutes
Ingredients:
• 8- 1 ounce squares of unsweetened chocolate
• 1 cup butter
• 5 eggs
• 3 cups sugar
• 1 tablespoon vanilla
• 1-1/2 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2-1/2 cups chopped pecans or walnuts, toasted
Preparation:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Grease and flour a 9 x 13 pan.
Melt chocolate and butter in a saucepan over low heat; set aside. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs, sugar and vanilla at high speed for 10 minutes**. Blend in chocolate mixture, flour and salt until just mixed. Stir in the nuts. Pour into prepared pan.
Bake for 35-40 minutes. (Don't overbake.) Cool and frost if desired, but that is not necessary.
** It's not required, but this is when it's very nice to own a stand mixer.

Found this on the internet and the poster is right, these brownies are the absolute ultimate for chocoholics. The author said she got two dozen out of the recipe. We cut ours more like one inch squares. A little went a long way.

HAPPY SOLSTICE

GREETING TO THE WINTER SOLSTICE

Brightener of darkness, hail!
Keeper of Clearness,
Opener of depths.
Gifts of plenty are arising,
Winter wonders, white snows fall.
Joyful be the heart within us,
Open wide the guesting door,
Wisdom waken in abundance,
Warm our beings to the core.

Caitlin Matthews

Happy Solstice, God Yule, Happy Shortest Day of the Year, whatever floats your boat. Now the sun starts moving back up the sky. At this time of year the rises behind the cedar trees in the next block and thanks to the hill behind the house we are in the shade by 1:30 in the afternoon. At the latest. Even with the half day of sun the untrimmed roses are trying to put out new branches and clover we planted in the garden spot is blissfully green. On the rare evenings when the sun is out at sunset it hits the top of another cedar tree. At least a block to the east of us.

So, here’s to the sun. Long may it shine. And it looks like we’ll have some fairly dry, if chilly weather for Christmas. Which means that the Umatilla contingent will make it safely through the Great Northwest Wind Tunnel. And hopefully the Portlanders will have a safe drive to Pasadena next week. They scored tickets to the Rose Bowl and I’m not quite sure how it works, but either the athletic department or the university have an arrangement with some of hotels to give the players families special rates. So they get to head south and watch my nephew warm the bench. Go Ducks.

PROTECTOR

Brighid was an Irish goddess, in many stories she was three sisters, all named Brighid. When the Christians came to the Isles Brighid became St. Brighid but her special care was still given to poets, healers, smiths, and crafters. An odd combination, but it does cover just about everything.

One special responsibility of the women of the house included putting the hearth fire to bed at night and rekindling it in the morning. Wonderful imagery in this poem. These women were traditional in every way but they were also very powerful in their own special way.

Brighid of the mantle, encompass us,
Lady of the lambs, protect us,
Keeper of the Hearth, kindle us,
Beneath your mantle gather us,
And restore us to memory.

Mothers of our mother,
Foremothers strong,
Guide our hands in yours.
Remind us how
To kindle the hearth,
To keep us bright,
To preserve the flame,
Your hands upon ours,
Our hands within yours,
To kindle the light
Both day and night.

The mantle of Brighid about us,
The memory of Brighid within us,
The protection of Brighid keeping us
From harm, from ignorance, from heartlessness,
This day and night,
From dawn till dark,
From dark till dawn.

Poem by Caitlin Matthews

MEDITATION-POINT OF VIEW

Tom Cowan tells a story that echoes the old Irish tale of the voyage of King Bran. As the coracles of Bran and his men sail into the west they are met by a strange vision a chariot and driver are speeding west over the waves. The driver is Mannanan son of Lir one of the Irish gods of the sea. Where the sailors see ocean and dolphins Mannanan sees a field covered with grass and flowers.

Cowan’s tells the tale of two Irish hermits. The first leaves his hut by a lake to catch a fine, fat fish for his breakfast. As he casts his line he spots his neighbor hermit from across the lake. His neighbor is calmly walking across the water. Hailed by the curious boatman he tells him he is seeking flowers for his alter and what is his neighbor doing in a boat in the middle of a flower filled meadow. The confused fisherman tells him he’s looking for breakfast. “The fish are biting over by those foxgloves” says the second hermit and so they are. Each returns to his hut, one with breakfast, the other with his flowers.

Perhaps the difference between paradise and a desert depends on your point of view. And your ability to find a fine, fat fish swimming over by the foxgloves.

A LITTLE GREEN

Out of the deepfreeze and into the shower. But, before the tap was turned on last night we had a nice sunny morning and the birds were singing there little hearts out. I saw a hopeful pussy willow shrub with its soft, grey “blooms.” The irises we trimmed are showing new green and one of the daylilies never stops. All the others pull back and almost disappear, but Lady Scarlett soldiers on. She’s a little ragged around the edges, but she is GREEN. That’s a rare commodity right now.

I haven’t seen any crocus leaves peaking through yet. The foliage is so fine, I always imagine the first tip pushing through and testing the air so to speak. “Is it safe to come out yet?” Not sure little crocus fairy, not sure. Better wait for January.

AT LEAST THE SUN IS SHINING

I'm thankful that at least the sun is shining this morning. 'Cause otherwise it's colder than all get out. We don't usually wake up to eight degree mornings in this part of the country. That's why we live here, for cryin' out loud.

Although the Weather Channel has just informed me that the record low for the this date was set in 1972. It was minus five. I guess I can be triply thankful today. The sun is shining, we didn't set a record last night and I don't live where the snow is drifting to six to eight feet with some really powerful winds. Western Oregon looks really good right now even if it is twenty two degrees right now.

86,400 SECONDS

Found in the “Mutts” comic strip this morning. It runs something like this;

Today God gave you the gift of 86,400 seconds. Have you used one of them to say thank you?

William A. Ward

On a personal note. Unless you’re doing a universal all inclusive thank you, this may take longer than one second. Especially if hugs and cuddles are included. Hugs for mom, cuddles for two of the cats and ear skritches for the one that prefers not to be cuddled. On chilly Fall evenings I’m especially thankful for furry, purry lap warmers.

MONDAY

I was right about Oregon football. This year is the 113th so called Civil War game. And it's the first time that Ducks and the Beavers have been one and two in the league standings. It's probably a good thing that the game is a night game during the week or the whole state would be tilted towards Autzen stadium if it was a weekend game.

On another note. I'm thankful for our garden; leafless as it is right now. Joseph Campbell claimed in an interview during the eighties that "if you can't find holy ground where you are, you won't find it somewhere else." Or words to that effect. So our little patch of leaf littered, somewhat soggy holy ground is right outside the door.

Word picture. There is dining room chair that needs some TLC so we can use it Thursday. Mom put it on the table, top of the seat side down. The "seat" of the upside down chair is currently occupied by Bandit, the twenty pound wonder with her patented "I'm not the table, I'm on the........." totally innocent look.

SUNDAY

Today I’m thankful for football overtimes. Two of them to be exact. I think the collective hearts of Oregon fans have started to beat again. Talk about taking it to the last second. Looked at the PAC 10 stats this morning. I never thought I would see both Oregon teams set to play for the Roses. The Ducks and the Beavers meet December 3, in Eugene to play for all the marbles. Duck that I am, I may just root for the Beavers. OSU hasn’t played in a Rose Bowl since 1965. Go for it and may the best species win.

The sun is playing hide and seek this morning; the better to see the results of Mother Nature’s housecleaning. Trouble is she only drops the leaves and little branches. Somehow she sort of forgets the broom. We do though. LOL

MORNING

November morning. Even the sky looks chilly. It's that clean, light blue that comes after the rain, before the chimney smoke can blur it. Water droplet diamonds on the bare dogwood branches. First to leaf out, first to bare it all to the storm winds. Down the street the whatever it is tree that was the last to leaf out is still mostly green. It's a bright, chilly washed clean morning. One of those it's just good to be alive mornings.

WHAT MAKES A MOTHER......AND A FATHER

Advent it coming on in a couple of weeks; I discovered this lying around. I printed off a shorter version a few years ago.

While John Paul II was enduring his last illness, there were a great many posts about his beliefs (or perceived beliefs). John Paul did have a special devotion to Mary; something he shared with his fellow Poles. There were a great many posts in J land or the message boards arguing back and forth whether Mary was actually Jesus's mother-in the physical sense.

The sense of a lot of the posts made Mary at best a surrogate mother and at worst, an incubator. This has been percolating since then, so here goes.
Many of my fellow J landers are parents. I don't have kids, but I have five nephews, I've changed a lot of diapers over the years. Actually getting the child into the world is just the beginning.

I suspect that many of the posters didn't really think through what they were saying. Think of all the foster parents, friends, aunts, uncles, grandparents, step-parents, and adoptive parents. They become parents for reasons that transcend physical birth. Other family members die leaving small children behind. They adopt a child someone else can’t raise. The man I called grandpa promised his best friend that he’d look after his family. And he did it very well, thank you very much.

When a child comes into the world it’s just the beginning. Imagine God as a totally helpless baby. It has to be fed, changed, and bathed. Parents walk miles when that little one has the colic or starts cutting teeth. I suspect that little ones came down with colds and needed their noses wiped as often two thousand years ago as they do now.


When a toddler discovers what those little hands and feet are for, it has to be watched over to make sure that curiosity doesn’t lead those little hands and feet into danger. It had to be almost impossible to baby proof a house with an open hearth, bake oven, looms and carpentry tools. Someone's hands have to be there for those little hands to hang onto when the baby learns to walk. Someone’s voice helps the baby to learn to talk. The parents have to be there to teach the baby to love and be loved. That little boy, all little boys need loving parents to teach them how to love and how to be a man.

God couldn't be there to do these things for that baby. So he sent Mary and Joseph. They were His mother and father in every way that counts.
Imagine things from the Creators' point of view. Think about God watching someone else cuddle that baby. Watch someone else hold out their hands for those first faltering steps. Watch someone else encourage those first lisping sounds. Someone else offer comfort in the dark hours of the night when the child was sick. Watch someone else offer comfort when knees get skinned. Listen while that child calls someone else mother or father.
It's hard to imagine God as sacrificing, but I can't imagine a greater sacrifice than allowing someone else to raise your child.

Cross posted in Green Woman.

THE WHEEL TURNS

Tonight the Winter season for many in the Celtic traditions begins. This is the dark half of the year. The last of the harvest is in. The cold times are at hand. In lands with few cities candle or lamplight glimmering through the cottage windows would have been a welcome sight indeed.

In the past when our ancestors had to rely on the bounty their lands provided it could be a time of mixed blessings. Yes, it was a time to give thanks for the harvest. But, it was also an anxious time. Would this years’ harvest last until the first crops of spring came in? Could enough breeding stock be carried through the dark times to replenish the herds in the spring? Women in the coastal villages would have to wonder how many of their men folk would go out for the fishing, never to return. The spring bonfires of Beltane must have looked very far away.

But, the wheel turns and it is right to give thanks for the year that is passing. It is also time to think about what went right with the year, what we learned and how we might do things differently in the new year that is beginning. It’s also a time to remember those friends and family that are far away, even if they are just around the corner.

Song of Samhain

I am the hallow-tide of all souls passing.
I am the bright releaser of all pain.
I am the quickener of fallen seed case.
I am the glance of snow, the strike of rain.
I am the hollow of the winter twilight.
I am the hearth fire and the welcome bread.
I am the curtained awning of the pillow.
I am unending wisdom’s golden thread.

Caitlin Matthews.