Memories

Happy 4^th of July!

My cousins and I were very close growing up. Some of my favorite memories were the backyard cookouts at Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Ray’s on the 4^th of July. These family reunions were quite memorable. All the aunts brought favorite covered dishes and baked goods that over the years became signature.  These gatherings started early in the morning and ended late in the evening, winding up with lots of singing.

Not long after the party started, Uncle Ray entertained us by setting snake sizzlers on fire. It was something to see and we’d all gather around as these sparklers uncoiled into ashes.  There seemed to be an endless supply of delicious food, both inside and out. I can still see Aunt Charlotte carrying huge platters of burgers and bacon-wrapped wieners to be grilled and no party was complete without her strawberry pies and legendary lady lock cookies.

The grand finale was the fireworks.  As soon as it got dark, the cousins raced to claim a seat on one of the steps in the sloping driveway, orange or cherry pop in hand.

Sadly, over the years, as many of the aunts and uncles passed away and cousins grew up and went separate ways, these family reunions became distant memories. But every 4^th of July, I  remember the backyard patio parties at Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Ray’s with a smile. Thanks for the memories.

Have a favorite 4^th of July memory to share? I’d love to hear it.

Countdown to Christmas with Rebecca J. Clark

Hello and welcome to Day 22 of my Countdown to Christmas blog! Today’s featured guest is Rebecca J. Clark. Not only is Becky here to share a Christmas memory with us, but to give some advice often overlooked. With the snow swirling down on the bristly pine needles, the twinkle lights sparkling like jewels, and a log in the hearth, I invite you to come take a listen.

Oliver saunters out, blowing kisses to Becky as he sets the coffee and tea service on the table. Then he slices a huge piece of apple pie and grins his roguish grin.

Sharon: Becky has a very vivid Christmas memory to share with us. Becky, tell us about it.

A Blazing Christmas

One of the most vivid Christmas memories I have is the year our tree caught fire. It was Christmas morning, after all the presents had been opened. I was about four or five years old. I remember sitting in the living room by myself, playing with a new toy. All the grown ups had disappeared to the kitchen--cooking, cleaning or doing whatever it is that adults do on holidays. Something caught my eye and I glanced up to see flames from the fireplace leaping onto the pine garland across our mantle. For a moment, I just watched, fascinated, as if it wasn’t really happening. I remember the flames being really pretty and colorful. I knew I needed to call for help, but for just another moment, I watched those flames jump and dance and climb up the bricks of the fireplace. Finally, the spell broke and I called out to the grownups. They rushed out in a panic and quickly got into a line, filling pots and pans and bowls with water, then tossing it onto the fire. I remember thinking they were all acting a bit crazy. I mean, what was the big deal?

The only lasting damage was to the bricks of the fireplace and to the painting above the mantle. We lived in that house for many more years. We never did replace the painting—the one with scorch marks on the frame. And the bricks surrounding the fireplace remained blackened in areas from the fire. I never thought about it at the time, but maybe my parents kept these reminders in plain site to remind them of how lucky we were. Things could have been so much worse. What if the nearby tree had also caught fire? Yikes.

Now that I’m grown up, every year when we put up our tree, I remember that Christmas, and contemplate how different my life could have been. And I feel truly blessed.

Gentle warning: Please keep your live trees, garlands and wreaths away from open flames. Never leave a lit candle or fire unattended. Keep your tree watered, and take it down as soon as it becomes dry. Or better yet, buy an artificial tree. You can always spray pine-scented aerosol for that wonderful Christmas smell. Stay safe and Merry Christmas!

Oliver comes out with watering can. After unplugging the tree, he waters the tree, double checking for dry branches. Then he checks the fire in the hearth, proud he’d put the tree clear on the other side of the expansive parlor. Grinning at Becky, he steals a kiss under the mistletoe!

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas!

Rebecca J. Clark
BORROWED STILETTOS--February 10, 2010, from The Wild Rose Press
"Sassy and Sexy and Steamy...Oh my!"
RebeccaJClark.com
"Once Written, Twice Shy," a blog for writers who aren't natural extroverts
www.shywriters.blogspot.com

Countdown to Christmas with Cate Masters

Hello and welcome to Day 20 in my Countdown to Christmas Blog! Today’s featured guest is Cate Masters. Cate is here to share a few favorite Christmas memories with us.

Oliver, his heart all a flutter with only a few days left before Christmas, gazes out the window as the snow comes down. He quietly observes the neighboring houses, a warm, fuzzy feeling nestling deep in his gut. He waves a cheery hello to some kids, sled riding, their eyes shimmering with excitement. A man and woman walk hand in hand, smiling at the kids. Twinkle lights sparkle beneath the eaves of homes, snowmen frolic in the yards and doors are decorated with fresh sprigs of holly. When Cate pulls up, he rushes out to greet her, belting out a tune of his favorite song.

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks,
Dressed in holiday style
In the air
There’s a feeling
Of Christmas
Children laughing,
People passing
Meeting smile after smile
And on every street corner you’ll hear
Silver bells
Silver bells
It’s Christmas time in the city

Sharon: (rushes to embrace Cate and wish her holiday greetings) Welcome, Cate! Have a seat around the roaring fire and Oliver will bring refreshments.

Awe struck, Oliver stares at Cate, totally unabashed, mouth agape. Hearing his command, he takes off, but not before flexing his biceps with a wicked wink.

Sharon: One of these days I’ll trade him in. LOL But not today. As you know, I love to chat about favorite Christmas memories and traditions. Do you have a favorite memory to share?

Cate: When I was little, my dad was a rural mailman. Christmas time meant tons of goodies from
the people on his route! We couldn’t wait till my dad came home each day to see what
yummies he had. Although the USPS probably frowns on it, I continue the tradition
by leaving cookies for our own mailperson each holiday season.
Being the youngest of seven kids, every meal was an occasion in our household!

Oliver swaggers out, pushing a caddy full of coffee, te, hot cocoa and oven fresh chocolate chips. Humming away to Silver Bells, pours into Santa mugs.

Sharon: Thank you, Oliver. That will be all. Cate, what lovely memories those are. Now do you have a favorite tradition, and if so, why?

Cate: Every year since my kids were little, I’d buy a new ornament for each one. Once they
start families of their own, they’ll have a good start on their own Christmas trees,
and hopefully some happy memories to share with their future kids! That, and decorating
our house to the hilt. Every nook and corner contains a decoration to make the season
special. It takes awhile to finish, but is well worth the effort!

Sharon: I agree. I love to decorate and dress up the home. What fun. Do you have a story about your child or your pet at Christmas that will always
make you smile?

Cate: My husband and I loved to take our kids to Santa events when they were little. When
my son Chris was five, he made the local newspaper during a train ride with Santa
when he gave the Jolly Old Elf a big smooch. By the time Becca, my third and youngest,
was born, breakfasts with Santa were already a tradition. All my kids share a love
of music, but at one such breakfast, three-year-old Becca cut loose dancing to Christmas
tunes. I snapped a photo, and it still makes me laugh to see her exuberant smile
while she’s dancing away all by herself.

Sharon: How funny. A star is born! Did you ever give a gift to a child that would make his or her Christmas wish
come true?

Cate: Other than trying to fulfill my three kids’ wish lists, I also tried to
instill in them a desire to help others. They always helped me pick out stuffed animals
to donate to Toys for Tots, and we’ve donated clothing and other necessities to families
in need. I wanted my kids to realize the joy of giving can be greater than getting.

Sharon: And that’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it. Sad but true, there are a lot of children, adults and pets out there without a home or tree or anyone to care about them. Let’s all spread the cheer this season!

Oliver presents Cate with an apron as they go into the kitchen to bake. Cate has agreed to share her favorite cookie recipe with Oliver and he is overjoyed.

CHRISTMAS RECIPES
These little cookies are bite-sized, tasty and with their colorful sprinkles, add
a festive touch to any table. My Mom’s maiden name was Narducci, so as you might
have guessed, we grew up on Italian food. My sister Claudia makes these the best
(she was blessed with all the cooking genes in our family!).
Italian Anise Cookies a la Claudia
2 ½ cups flour
1 tblsp baking powder
¼ cup softened butter
3 tblsp. Oil
½ cup sugar
3 eggs
1 tsp grated lemon rind
½ tsp anise extract
Small pinch of salt
Stir together flour, baking powder and salt. In a separate bowl, beat butter and
oil. Add sugar and beat thoroughly. Beat in eggs one at a time. Add lemon rind and
anise. Add flour mixture, mixing well. Chill to handle easily.
Form into balls. Bake on ungreased cookie sheets for 12 minutes at 400 degrees. Makes
about 40.
Glaze: Mix 2 tblsp. Butter with confectioner’s sugar. Add a small amount of milk

Cate Masters writes fantasy/dark fantasy, historical, contemporary and speculative
fiction, described by reviewers as “so compelling I I did not want to put it down,”
“such romantic tales that really touch your soul,” “filled with action scenes which
made it a riveting story,” and “the
author weaves a great tale with a creative way of using words that makes the story
refreshing to read.”

The proud mom of three adult children, she currently lives in central Pennsylvania
with her husband, Lily the dog, their dictator-like cat, Chairman Maiow, and dozens
of characters inhabiting her imagination.
Visit Cate online at
www.catemasters.com
http://catemasters.blogspot.com
or follow her on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks so much
www.twitter.com/CateMasters
www.facebook.com/pages/Cate-Masters/89969413736?ref=ts

Oliver walks Cate to the door, but not before stealing a kiss under the mistletoe!

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas!

Day 6 in Countdown to Christmas

In keeping with nostalgic memories of Christmases past, I would like to share a story from my childhood with you today. As with most children, the spirit of giving was lost on me. But like most things in life, a traumatic incident will occur, embedding itself in our memories forevermore. It happened to me when I was eleven years old.

“I can’t wait for Christmas morning,” I twirled about the kitchen like a sugar plum fairy while my mother rolled gingersnaps. The house smelled wonderful, sugar and spice and everything nice. And from the living room, the heady scent of fresh pine drifted, making me delirious with delight. Outside, snow blanketed the ground, flurries swirling down on the pine branches like spools of angel hair. A white Christmas, I rubbed my hands together with glee, snatching up a cookie on the pan. The spices melted on my tongue, causing me to twirl all the faster.
“You know,” my mom looked up, her cheeks rosy from the oven, flour coating her blue apron. “Christmas isn’t all about presents under the tree. It’s about the spirit of giving and the birth of Baby Jesus. Didn’t you hear Father John’s sermon on Sunday, saying it’s better to give than receive?”
“I heard him,” I said, stealing another peek out the window to see how much snow had fallen. “It’s the same one he gives every year.”
Hearing the mailman, I ran to the door and opened it. A cold gush of air blew in, the howling wind swishing through the towering pines. The mailman handed me a stack of mail and bid me a Merry Christmas. “You too,” I all but slammed the door in his face, noticing the first letter in the stack had my name on it. Running off into the house, belting out a verse or two of Deck the Halls, I ripped the red envelope. It was from my aunt. Shaking out the card, not even bothering to read the verse, I frowned, turning it upside down. “No money, no green stuff to buy a gift,” I tossed the card on the table.
Entering the kitchen, my mom was pulling out another tray of cookies. Snatching one up, burning my fingers, I was too excited to feel the blister. Dashing off, I popped it into my mouth after waving it in the air to cool. Putting on my coat and scarf, gloves and boots, I yelled into the kitchen, “I’m going outside to see how deep the snow is. Be back in a few minutes.”
The snow was really coming down, causing my spirits to soar. A bright red cardinal perched in the fleecy pine tree, pretty as you please. I smiled, my mind on how many gifts I’d find under the tree come Christmas morning. Excitement mounted. But suddenly, I heard a door creak from across the street. Looking up, snapping out of my revelry, I noticed the old lady that lived in the house on the terrace, all stooped over with age, her gnarled fingers probing to get her mail out of the box. She wore a black cardigan sweater over her bony shoulders, her unkempt hair as white as the snow. I shuddered, thinking she looked like a witch. Feeling cold, I went back inside, the scent of cinnamon and spices wafting through the house. Try as I might, the image of the old woman next door flashed through my head. Did anyone care about her? Did anyone bake cookies for her or buy her a Christmas gift? Her husband had died years ago and no one ever came to visit. Something struck me and an idea blossomed in my head. Shedding off my coat and snow gear, I tore into the kitchen.
“I want to bake some cookies for old lady Thomas,” I said, my heart all a flutter. “I want to give her a present for Christmas.”
“That’s the spirit,” my mom said, her lips puckering into a pout. “But don’t call her old lady Thomas. That’s not nice. Her name is Mrs. Thomas.”
“Whatever,” I said, my mind on my mission.

An hour later, bundled once more in my winter snow gear, gingersnaps neatly packed on a paper plate, garnished with foil wrapping and green and red ribbons, I gingerly walked across the cobblestone street to my neighbor’s house on the hill. Taking the steps slowly, hanging onto the railing for dear life with my free hand, I got to the door and rang the bell. A smile teased my lips, anticipating her look of surprise.
The door creaked open and there she stood, hand on her hip, looking anything like what I’d imagined. Her mouth curled in an ugly frown. “What do you want, little girl? Can’t you read the sign? It says no trespassing, and that means you.”
“But…” I stammered, my heart in my throat. “I’m not selling anything, honestly. I live across the street and baked these cookies for you for a Christmas gift. I…”
My words were cut off by the cold banging of the door. I stood there, the tears spilling down my cheek. Turning on my heels, I started down her front steps. But not really watching where I was going, I missed the last step, tripped flat on my face in the snow and landed on my cookies. I heard them crunch. The foil ripped and they were all askew in the snow, bits and pieces of broken cookies along with my broken heart.

An hour later, after a hot cocoa and a good cry, my mom went to the window and looked out and gasped. “Come quick! Hurry!
“What?” I looked, following her gaze to old lady Thomas’s house.
“Don’t you see it?”
“I saw nothing. The snow had stopped falling and looking at that house on the hill made my stomach hurt. “I don’t see anything.” I turned on my heels.
My mother stopped me. “Right there where you fell. See?”
“I looked but saw nothing to get excited about. I shrugged. “What do you see?”
“Your imprint in the snow, the image of an angel.”