The Reindeer Keeper

  We are in the midst of my favorite month of the year and so far, it could be described as an old-fashion January with lots of snow and wind. Blizzards. Rain. More snow. Perfect January weather. But with such perfect weather comes the need for some best friends. * SOUPS: A favorite soup I make this time of year is a soup my mother used to make & we all enjoyed. Over the years it was nicknamed, "Witch's Brew," because of the little acini di pepe as one of the ingredients resembling something that might be found in a witch's brewing pot of ghoul. The longer the acini di pepe sat in the chicken broth, the better they tasted. * SWEATERS: I love sweaters. The older the better. The more you wear them the warmer and cozier they make you feel. Many years ago, when my hometown had a downtown there was a store called The Surprise Store. It was a department store and with each purchase you earned S & H Green Stamps. It was also the place to go for sweaters. I sti...

I am a Winter Lover.  The more it snows and blows the better. The beauty of the season has always taken my breath away, from sunrises and sunsets to frosty fields and ice-covered landscapes, as well as snowdrifts up to the hips. However, this winter has found me complaining, just a little. You see, where I live in northern New York, the consistent temperature has lingered way below zero for days and nights. By below zero I'm talking 25 to 35+ below zero. The house moans and groans. The furnace goes nonstop, and I continue to try to stay warm. Homemade soups, coffee (more than usual), hot chocolate, more soups and casseroles with homemade breads, long johns, candles, piles of blankets, and turning the heat up all continue to come to my aid. But most soothing, day and night, have been my sweaters. I've always loved sweaters. Before this winter, comfort was most important in a sweater. Now, after the month of January set record below normal temperatures, warmth has taken over as m...

                        My mother always said you spend the summer getting ready for winter. That never made any sense to me when I was growing up. I didn't connect the dots-between the clearing of gardens and washing of windows inside and out and the replacing of screens with storm windows and the fixing up going on-with the changing of the season. I never realized the sheets, along with sweaters washed in Woolite and blankets taken out of cedar chests and anything else that had been packed away in mothballs, were on the clothes line probably for the last time until tulips and daffodils announced the next season's impending arrival. I never questioned the picnic table and enamel chairs disappearing from the back yard as leaves swirled about. I guess I thought boots and mittens, scarves and snowsuits just appeared from nowhere as bikes and rolle...