The “Christmas Trees For Sale” sign in the store front window caught my attention. Fresh pine scent, the friendly “howdy” greeting, footsteps on the squeaky wood-planked floor, and the jingle of the door bells as I enter and close the door into the little gift shop … each liven my senses … bring me to back when. A little pony-tailed blonde-haired girl. Cannot wait for the holiday season, Thanksgiving, Christmas Day, and New Years. But all the events leading to those wonder-filled holidays. Baking, decorating, crafting, wrapping, and for me living on a tree farm, setting up the pine trees to sell. Always Thanksgiving weekend my Dad and Grandpa brought in a truck and trailer overflowed with fresh cut Christmas trees. Scotch pine, white pine, and spruce trees planted, trimmed, and cared for by Dad, and any family members looking for some extra $$ pitched in. My siblings and I included. We would play hide-n-seek in the pile of cut trees until there were no more to set-up. Snow, ice, or rain, it did not matter. Wholesome fun. We had the time of our lives back when.
A weekend away in Branson, Missouri for early Christmas shopping and a membership inquiry with a vacation club for more of these empty nest long weekends and longer week dream vacations. Dean and I are local shoppers, whether in our home town of St. Charles, Missouri or while on vacation. There is something down-to-earth about brick & mortar and mom & pop shops. Branson has the downtown landing and tourist attractions, but take us where the locals shop, eat, and play, please! Nostalgic Dicks 5 & 10, Main Street Flea Market, the Classy Flea, and the Farmhouse Restaurant … Back when the Nativity was in every shop, home, and city hall. The holidays included real pine rope trimmings with bright red velvet bow wreaths and pine cones. Back when that fresh field-cut Charlie Brown tree was dressed with hand-sewn ornaments, Shiny Brite glass balls, and a collection of heirloom from Germany or England, wherever your family originated from. Back when home-baked breads were served at every meal with a home-jarred fruit preserves, and your favorite sugar cookies piled on a plate or in a large jar for the eating any time. But not too close to your mother’s or grandmother’s home-cooked dinner, “not to spoil your appetite”. The house smelled of a fresh pot of chicken & dumplings. I imagine my father’s Christmases in the 1940’s. Filled with joy to have his father, my Grandpa Earl back home from the war. Grandma Anna doting over the menu preparations. Two or three simply wrapped presents with his name “Marty” on the tags under the tinseled Christmas tree. Back when is close to my heart at this present moment in the guest bedroom of our 1940’s house. My family has been blessed with fond memories and we will make more.
In a world with ever changing values and technology, some things remain the same. Kinship, old mountain towns, and summer lakes. Most of the time you can depend on all three. Family is family. Most of us are connected if not by blood, in some other fashion to each other no more than 3 times removed. We connected to Joe, owner of this small town bar & grill and a new eatery called the Galloping Goose Cafe while in Rico, Colorado. He is a visionary for this town. Not sure if I could go back 4 decades, but the brief week we had in the old mountain town cabin took Dean and I to the simplicity of our childhood years. And we loved it. In search for WiFi a couple of times to get connected to our urban civilization to post photos and reserve a hotel room for our travels back home, other than that we lived without any electronics and screens. Dean and I resorted to reading, writing, napping, cooking, bird watching, photography, and walks. We return to our full-time employment with government entities that overwhelm with procedures, projects, policies, and politics. Cannot escape it in the evening with the political conventions being aired. So here is to wonderful July 2016 memories with family in the old mountain town and near the summer lake. I will keep reading, writing, … making more memories and connections.
My husband, Dean called me “vintage trouble” yesterday morning while in route to work. The word “vintage” suggests “the best of a past season”. I am the double nickel today, so I took this new name as a compliment as he said I “still have it”. Vintage stock. What I have is an aging body, but a spark, spunk for life that God gave me, and a sassiness to embrace all God has for me.
There is so much to do in this world, help make it a better place for those that surround me, God’s creations. I know who God says I am, and this is all that counts. I am too old to worry about what others think of me, so I will go ahead and say my vintage thoughts …
Criticism and pettiness paints life’s mural gray and black. Such negativism. Why the “accuser of the brethren”? We don’t need the devil to ruin another’s life as people do a good enough job at it. Who needs an enemy when you have family and friends like that. How about seeing one ounce of good in someone, and maybe you will see a pound of it. I would rather spend time alone than with someone who gossips and murmurs about others especially about their family and friends. That constant drip is annoying, and I avoid it. At church a couple of Sundays ago, Father Don talked about living “simply”. No prejudice thoughts or premeditated plans and gossip towards the stranger, neighbor, friend or family member. Simply put, live a simple life. Care for self and those who God has place you with. Vintage heart.
So onto more pleasant thoughts … Dean and I are the midst of a vintage project, resurrecting a childhood dream of mine. We happened upon it this summer. Dean has embraced this dream, and sees its investment advantages well into retirement, our autumn and winter years. It is a bit early to share the details, but it will be shared soon enough on Deanna Greens And Garden Art’s Word Press blog. And another blog will extend from this one. Stay tuned … more to come.
“Time, you left me standing there
Like a tree growing all alone
The wind just stripped me bare
Stripped me bare
Time, the past has come and gone, gone
The future’s far away
An hour only lasts for one second, one second
Time without courage, time without fear
Is just wasted, wasted, wasted time
Oh, oh, oh, ooh ooh ooh
Time, why you punish me?”
These lyrics from Hootie and the Blowfish’s song “Time” keep playing in my mind tonight. This post is continuation of my thoughts in my last post written 5 hours ago. I cried when I walked upon that boat dock at Island Lake last week. I felt my father’s spirit with me, though in body he could not be there with me. Valhalla was Dad’s favorite place to do his favorite thing, fish. Such an appropriate name. “Valhalla” is the Viking’s heaven after he dies from warfare. My father has been fighting such a battle. Dad’s days are running short. He is dying of brain cancer, and I keep thinking about his life. Dean & I visited his father, my 96-year old grandfather last evening. Grandpa Earl tells us stories of his childhood and my father’s childhood. Yet he is cognitive enough to ask about his oldest son, my father. A copy of a photo arrived in the mail today from my cousin. A 1945 family portrait of my Grandpa Earl, Grandma Anna, Dad, and Uncle Earl. Mom called this evening on the way home from work. A hospital bed is being delivered to their Bowling Green home. Yes, the bed my father will be in when he passes from this life. God, I am so thankful for my father, Martin Kenneth Bates. He has been strength to this family for many years. And now we are his strength. He will be with You soon. And I will miss him greatly. I do not want pain for him, just Your peace, comfort, and rest.
This spring morning was crisp, you know a hot cup of coffee, mocha, or tea morning! We had not had one of those mornings for a few days as we have been experiencing early summer weather instead of early spring weather. Not that I am complaining! Someone on FB captured an unusal shape in their cup of mocha this morning. “Mocha Love ” I call it … Gratitude and love filled my first thoughts this morning. I am so thankful for a loving husband and family. I spent last evening with my elderly grandfather. He lay on the hospital bed after having his middle right toe removed that morning due to a chronic infection as well as a stint put in his leg to aid with circulation. Yet he talked and laughed hour after hour of childhood memories, my father’s and uncle’s childhood stories, and the present day events. I have missed out on so much, busy about my own life, parenthood, grandparenthood, working, and now the greenhouse adventures. Yet I left late in the evening from the hospital with such a warm heart … “Mocha love”, I call it. It carried to my morning and throughout this day.