TheBanyanTree: Holiday Letter

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I got my holiday letter done!  I started this wonderful tradition last year.
Last year’s letter was self-centered and I think, poorly written.  I put it
together very quickly, and I didn’t allow myself enough time to let it “bake
in the oven.”  I wasn’t sure if I would do another one, but I put together
an outline, and the letter came together.

I’m violating about every rule there is for holiday letters.  It’s two
pages, not one.  I broke my letter down by the months of the year.  I didn’t
really write about us or the grandchildren or our vacations or our jobs.  I
took snippets from my diary, edited them, and worked them into a letter.  I’
m hoping that they give people a picture of us and what we’re like through
the little monthly pieces.

Actually, it’s less about us than it is “nature notes.”  Most of the
snippets in my holiday letter are about the great outdoors.  There is a web
site I love, http://www.sawbill.com.  It’s an outfitter nestled in the
Boundary Waters Canoe area, and they keep a running journal of what the
weather is like, how the fishing is, if the lake is iced over, etc.  I love
that area of Minnesota and just reading about it makes me feel like I’m part
of it, so my holiday letter is patterned after that format.

I went through my Christmas card list and added people, and then deleted
people who have died this past year (always a sad thing to do and definitely
a sign that I’m getting older), and I’m ready to print my mailing labels.  I
bought the cards in October.  They’re from the Courage Center, a rehab
center for physically challenged people, and they have a beautifully painted
holiday scene of downtown St. Paul.  So one of the most tedious Christmas
jobs I have is done.

January 2003

We're deep into January. Christmas is a faded memory. It's a five day work
week again. The nights are long and dark. During the day the sun teases us
with its presence, pretending it's warm. But when we walk outside, the north
wind pinches our faces and blows chilly air into our jackets and gets us
shivering no matter how many layers of clothing we have on.

February 2003

It's been so cold that the ice has bonded to the sidewalks. It's slippery
when coated by a dusting of snow and hard as diamonds to fall on. We baby
step out the back door.  The sun gets up a little earlier and goes to bed a
little later, but it's not strong enough during its waking hours to melt the
ice.  Winter is outside and we're inside waiting for spring.

March 2003

We're boarding a crowded airplane. A couple in front of us has brought on
ALL their luggage. "Carry on" must mean something different to them than to
the rest of us. The line behind them is growing impatient as they spend
several minutes trying to smush their huge bags into the small overhead
compartments.  A man standing in front of us commented that these people
must have the “secrets of the universe” in their suitcases and can never be
parted from them.  It’s just our luck to be flying on the same plane as
superheroes.

April 2003

And just when it seemed safe to declare spring officially was here, the sky
became crowded with angry winter clouds and a wet, sticky snow began to
fall. The first layer of snow froze on the roads and once again cars were
flying into ditches as the robins watched this curious site from the trees.

May 2003

When we can’t open a cupboard door without something falling on our heads,
that means we have too much stuff. When I have no place to put a freshly
read book, that means we have too much stuff. When I can barely slip my car
into the garage between the rows of furniture, wood piles, and tools, that
means we have too much stuff. I confess.  We’re packrats.

June 2003

The clouds from yesterday’s showers haven’t moved on. They hang low to the
ground like an old smelly blanket. There isn’t a breath of wind. But it isn’
t quiet. Even though the rising sun can’t punch its way through those thick
clouds, a choir of birds provides the morning’s entertainment. The choir
sounds much calmer now than in April. There are no frantic mating solos. It’
s a full chorus with a happy range of songs.

July 2003

Our upper deck high up in the oak trees. It’s a small deck with just enough
room for two chairs, a couple of little tables, and lots of potted flowers.
It’s the only place in our backyard that the sun manages to snake through
the houses and the trees and have its rays shine on it with full force for
most of the day. There are no stairs leading to the backyard. It’s a self
contained space, and because it’s off the beaten path of our house, it’s
almost like a hiding spot.

August 2003

We have to go to the Minnesota State Fair. It’s the last event of summer and
we have to go and eat pronto pups and foot long hotdogs and cheese curds and
chocolate chip cookies. We need to smell the cow manure and walk through the
sheep barn and run our fingers through their thick and soft wool. We need to
see our radio and TV personalities in action. We need to see exquisite
woodworking projects. We need to visit the Fine Arts exhibit and marvel at
the photographs, paintings, and sculptures. We need to see the dog
demonstrations at the Pet Center and while we’re in the area, we’ll visit
the Technology building, too.  We’ll wonder around, eating and people
watching, until we’re too tired to walk anymore.

September 2003

Nature tied together an incredible string of Indian summer days for us this
year.  Our highs were in the 80s.  The sun provided remarkable lighting for
the trees’ annual show of oranges, yellows, russets, golds, and of course,
the green accents from the pine trees.
We slept with our windows open.  And as night time moved to dawn, an orange
full moon appeared above the horizon and made its way across the sky.  Our
dreams were so compelling that we didn’t hear the rustle of the leaves as a
small group of deer cut through our backyard using the moon’s light to guide
them.  They stopped and shook out the bird feeders.  Then they moved on.

October 2003

Our little backyard comes alive just before the sun rises.  We see the
squirrels advancing towards the suet hanging on a tree.  We see the blue
jays swooping towards the nut feeder that’s really meant for the cardinals.
We see the silhouettes of the cardinals on the feeder that’s meant for the
miscellaneous bird categories.  We see two large does in our yard nuzzling
the niger feeders and almost sucking out the seeds.  We let  our dog, Saydi,
outside.  She thinks deer are big dogs and no matter how big the dog is, she
’s not afraid.  She goes off barking and the fur is up on her back as she
races after the deer.  But the deer’s reaction time is faster.  Their white
tails stand straight up as they effortlessly jump the fences of our
neighbors.

November 2003

We’re thankful for the simple pleasures of Thanksgiving day; the foggy quiet
of the morning, the heat of the sauna, the crunch of snow under our feet,
cooking a good meal, setting the table, candlelight, pumpkin pie with
whipped cream, and the young ones’ laughter.

December 2003

“Christmas is a bridge.  We need bridges as the river of time flows past.
Today’s Christmas should mean creating happy homes for tomorrow and reliving
those of yesterday.”
Gladys Taber, American archaeologist

Thank you for letting us share our year 2003 with you.  We wish you the best
during this holiday season.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at earthlink.net

http://www.polarispublications.com
Be a star!

http://www.bpwmn.org
Business and Professional Women of Minnesota

Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the
idle seashore of the mind.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow