The Reindeer Keeper

There’s a particular tree out behind the barn whose leaves are the first to turn when summer fades to fall. I took a few pictures as that process began again and as I did I found myself looking at that magnificent tree with even greater wonder. I’m not sure why. It could have been the softness of the sun or the quiet of the small meadow where the tree stands tall reaching to the heavens with late season wildflowers spreading about in the tall grass. As September rolled on, the tree kept pulling me back to take more pictures as its leaves became drenched in vibrant colors and the scents of pumpkins and apples told the story of a most magical season evolving into the next. When I went out back one day this past week I found the tree about barren. It looked tired in October’s shadows. I couldn’t figure out how that had happened. It seemed like only yesterday that its branches were dressed in leaves of oranges and reds. Its spirit seemed strong no matter how hard the wind blew or...

My mother was a RN. When I was very young she worked nights at our local hospital, eventually becoming Charge Nurse in the ER. She worked nights so my father could be home with me and my older brother. On the nights she had to work my mother would feed us early. Then she’d give us our baths; put us in our pajamas and with what time was left, she’d get herself ready. I loved watching my mother as she transformed from mother to a professional; dressed in a flawless white, crisp uniform with white nylons and white polished duty shoes. Her hair was out of the pin curls she’d had in place most of the day. Once she styled her hair, my mother would take bobby pins and secure her starched white cap with a black ribbon around the bottom in place while not messing up her hairdo. On cold nights she’d wear her nurse’s cape. It was navy blue with the initials of the hospital on the turned-up collar. As soon as my father arrived I was carried to the car and put in the back seat with my brothe...

I don't remember people going to gyms when I was growing up. Oh we had gym class in school when I hit the 7th grade. I've included a photo of what our gym suits resembled although we weren't quite as sophisticated looking in them as the mannequin with her red lipstick! I never liked gym class; especially going into the locker room and changing into my gym suit. It was embarrassing at that age to change clothes in front of your peers when you hardly knew most of them. As far as gyms go I really don't recall any gyms where you'd join to go work out. But you never miss what you never had. Growing up in the country was like owning our own private gym open twenty four hours a day seven days a week free of charge; free of dealing with strangers in your space. There was no waiting; that is if parents allowed us being outside day and night. They most always did. When I think about it me and my cousins and siblings  were working out all the time just by running, jumpin...

"If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like Sunbeams & you will always look lovely" (Roald Dahl's, "The Truth".) My now 8-year old granddaughter recently accompanied me on a book signing held in a children's school library. While waiting between groups coming in and out, we went on an adventure-pulling some books off shelves and checking them out. Being an avid reader, my granddaughter took time to read a few. Problem was there were so many books and so little time as well as shelves full of plush animal puppets. She loves plush animals. Especially puppies. And of course, there was a plush puppy puppet-a rather large one. So soft. So huggable. Later that night, and I don't know why-maybe because I'd watched her earlier when surrounded by books; her imagination on overload, that I found myself thinking about the above quote that I've always loved written by British novelist Roald Dahl. And as I thought about ...

Linus didn't invent being attached to a blanket. A little one becoming attached to a favorite baby blanket is nothing new. Whatever the reason why one particular blanket over another is the chosen blanket is anyone's guess. It could be the smell or feel of the blanket. It could be the color or a graphic sewn into the blanket. Whatever it is, the bond that forms between a child and his or her blanket is real. The bond is a close one. When everything else fails that blanket when given to a tired child will soothe that child more than a toy or a cookie or even a mother. That blanket is magic when magic is needed. And it can become a bargaining tool when the child is a little older and misbehaving. Favorite blankets come in all sorts of colors. Some are finished in satin trim. Some have teddy bears or rainbows or puppy dogs and kitten graphics. Some are handsewn. My grandmother was in the process of making my youngest a baby blanket but she passed away before finishing it....

I've written before about my grandmother's skills when baking pies. Her recipes featured measurements such as a pinch-a dash-and a sprinkle. This time of year she'd be on overload making her pies. Many would be berry pies because of the abundance of wild berries in the fields surrounding the farm. From raspberries to blackberries and strawberries, berry pies were created and enjoyed one right after another. But one pie didn't contain any berries; no apples or pumpkins. The main ingredient in that pie was lemons. And on the days when she made her mouthwatering lemon meringue pies, my grandmother's  kitchen was bustling. The process began with her creating the most flaky pie crust I've ever tasted. Her pie crusts were perfect every time she made them. Every pie crust offered the same consistency, the same flavor, look and smell as previous pie crusts. She'd measure the flour, salt, water and lard together. Then divide the dough into two balls if it was a t...

When my grandparents lived in their farmhouse, many times during the winter my grandfather worked on projects in the kitchen. In the evening he’d shut the door leading to the dining room and get busy. He’d do it all in that kitchen-from sawing to nailing to finishing. The end results became keepsakes to those lucky enough to be given one. I’ve written before about the pine desk my grandfather made me. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it on Christmas morning when I was 8 years old. Smelling of shellac, it came with a stool and a single drawer. Inside that drawer was a pad of paper with a sharpened #2 pencil. My mother was another recipient of one of my grandfather’s wooden heirlooms. Hers was a bookcase made of pine with three shelves. The bookcase was the perfect gift for my mother as she was an avid reader. Her favorite books were mostly novels set in the South during the Civil War; the era of Rhett and Scarlett and big hoop dresses and sprawling plantations. I re...