the irrational season

This is the irrational season

when love blooms bright and wild.

Had Mary been filled with reason

there'd have been no room for the child.

-  Madeleine L'Engle

gingerbread spice recipe

 Last year, I was looking for a gingerbread spice recipe/formula - I had lost mine. I found four or five and made one - wasn't too keen on it. But I saved the others and tried another this year. Oh, the fragrance! 

GINGERBREAD SPICE

2 T allspice
2 T cinnamon
2 T ginger
1 T cloves
1 T nutmeg

pinch black pepper

This is from a website called Liv for Cake, but I saw it somewhere else, too, so I don't know where it originated. But I love it!

"make your house fair as you are able"

I gussied up a little thrifted wreath with a short strand of fairy lights and some bright ribbon. It's on the front door. It has "felt" like Christmas since the beginning of December, with prematurely cold temps and snow, which has hung around because it was too cold for it to melt. Now, with Christmas a week away, we're having a warm spell; the snow is almost gone and it will be over sixty tomorrow! (this is why I left some lighter weight sweaters in my closet) However, it may snow again on Tuesday, which would be very nice and rather convenient, if all goes according to the forecast. 

 I've been thinking again about different ways of viewing the seasons. Winter officially begins on Sunday, and ends late March. Meteorologically, all of December, January and February are the winter months. But this article mentioned something I hadn't heard of before this summer, that there's something called solar winter, which is November, December and January. As for summer, and fall, I can understand a solar season. But there is no way, where I live, that February could ever be thought of as a spring month. And March - sometimes, maybe, a little. And so I figured that since this way of thinking dates back to the Middle Ages, it's a European way of thinking, maybe even British, where the climate isn't as harsh. 

Then I picked up Towers in the Mist:

"It was February the fourteenth, ... The gray mist ... had in it a warmth and fragrance that told of the coming of spring. The smell of the earth was in it, a soft wet earth through which the snowdrops had already driven their green spears... It seemed all there behind the mist, the colors of all the springs that had passed and yet would come again, the riotous music of bird song and falling water that would pour over the earth in so short a while. In the darkest days of January one might doubt if it would come again, but on these warm February days one was certain."

                                                                   -   Elizabeth Goudge

And there you have it, straight from an Englishwoman.

I started the mitts for my friend two weeks ago and then didn't touch them again - for various reasons - but they go along quickly and I picked them up again last night. 

I just need to stick with it.

I hope you all are on track with whatever your Christmas preparations are, and are also able to keep yourselves from anything unrealistic. There has to be some way of balancing one's hopes and expectations with one's reality, i.e., time and energy. 

Make your house fair as you are able.
Trim the hearth and set the table.
People, look east and sing today;
Love, the Guest, is on the way. 

looking ahead

 Give you joy, wolf,
when Messiah makes you meek
and turns your roar into a cry that
justice has been done for the poor.

Give you joy, lamb,
when Messiah saves you from jeopardy
and all fear is overwhelmed 
by his converting grace. 

from Advent Good Wishes, by David Grieve*

*found in Malcolm Guite's Waiting for the Word

a late birthday card

Imagine, a rabbit delivering a piece of cake.

baking experiments

A former coworker had a special cookie she made at Christmas: chocolate, with an Andes mint candy melted on top. These were good, and she gave me the recipe. I never made them until today.

I got some Andes on sale a while back and saved them; it was time to bake these cookies. But when I looked over the recipe, I saw that it calls for melted chocolate chips rather than cocoa powder. The price of baking morsels has gone up a lot - I decided to look for a recipe that called for cocoa powder.

I found one; they were a little dry in the first batch, so I lessened the baking time by one minute for each subsequent batch and the later ones were better. But it does make me wonder how the original recipe would be. 

full of wonder

 They predicted snow all night, from ten to ten, and, we awoke to a blue morning.

So mysterious.   Another thing about snow is that it mutes the landscape, and then some things really stand out.

more blue

But for the most part, it gives everything a look of quiet drama.

See how the virgin waits for Him;
Mary in wonder waits for Him
Shake off your slumber; come all full of wonder.
Jesus is coming as the Prince of Peace.

talking to the squirrels

 I went out in the dark to toss a thing in the trash, and a rabbit was a little way off. He didn't move.  It turns out there is more than one of them out there - I was very relieved to find that out. They certainly are masters at laying low.

supper

During the day, I have to remember to step out the back (really the side) door slowly when the birds are at the feeder. I startle everyone, the squirrels run to the brook and the birds fly off, usually in my direction. There could easily be a collision, if I'm not careful! They zoom right by, at a low level. But a funny thing happened today. I stepped out, the birds took off, and two squirrels ran toward the brook. I called out, and while I don't remember my exact words, they were something like, "You don't have to run away, don't go, no need," etc.. They were about halfway through the back yard when one squirrel stopped and turned. He looked at me while I was entreating them to stay. He seemed to listen! He came back! So funny. I said, "Yes, come on, I won't bother you," and I went back in the house. I won't expect that to happen again!

It was St. Lucy's feast today. 

the struggle is real

 I used to try and darn my brother's socks when I noticed worn spots, but he said don't bother. With that in mind, I do the laundry but tend to ignore the torn places in the jeans, figuring he'll say something when they need a fix. So, I didn't really notice. But a couple pair have big torn knees that were so far gone - but I think I fixed them, anyway. 

In order to patch a knee on a long, narrow "tube" - the leg of the jeans - I had to rip one of the seams open. I found out they aren't both flat felled seams - thank God! - because I really don't want to mess with one of those. The outside seam was just sewn regular and serged, so I ripped that out and was able to get inside there to attach a piece of fabric, or patch, on the inside. Then I over-stitched, zigzagging back and forth over the torn part to fortify it. Better than nothing. 

I learned something in the doing, and it wasn't that hard, but from now on I'll pay attention to the laundry, and possibly nip these things in the bud. And he's pleased with them!

Meanwhile, Advent moves along and I have made no cookies, haven't written any cards! I was planning on it today, but it did not happen. Christmas is in two weeks.

In between things I pick up Rachel Peden's Speak to the Earth: 

"When starlings come to the feeders other birds depart like leaves blown in the wind, to watch hiddenly and return only when the starlings have gone. 

Hearing the high-pitched cacophonous chatter ... for starlings always come by hundreds ... I need only open the porch door and immediately they lunge forward, admirably regaining their balance when airborne.

But these dark-bodied birds awaken a dark thought in the mind of a farmer: It is not merely because they eat food not intended for them, nor because they are dirty, but because there are always too many of them. Any creature that becomes too numerous causes unease among all other creatures.... Would ten thousand gaily singing chickadees be as delightful on a snowy winter morning as half a dozen are?"

Christ through us

 "If Christ is formed of our lives, it means that He will suffer in us. ...It is extremely difficult to lay hold of this fact. ...It is really difficult to realise that if He is formed in our life we are not beside Him but in Him; and what He asks of us is to realise that it is actually in what we do that He wants to act and suffer. 

For example, if you are conscripted, it is Christ who is saying good-bye and leaving His home; Christ who is marching on the endless route march. The blisters on the feet of the new recruit are bleeding on the feet of Christ. 

It really needs to be practiced to be understood. We need to say to ourselves a thousand times a day: 'Christ wants to do this', 'Christ wants to suffer this.' 

And we shall thus come to realise that when we resent our circumstances or try to spare ourselves what we should undergo, we are being like Peter when he tried to dissuade our Lord from the Passion"

                               -   Caryll Houselander, The Reed of God

snow, after all!

 Just a little.  

But it snowed again after the rain. 

I'll take it!

the road to Bethlehem

 It snowed today. But then rain, and now it's gone. But - not forgotten!

"Advent is a short season, yet it covers a long distance. It is the road of a soul from Nazareth to Bethlehem. It seems such a short distance as we are accustomed to thinking of distances. Yet it is a road into infinity, into eternity. It has a beginning, but no end. In truth, Advent is the road of the spiritual life which all of us must start if we do not want to miss the way. We must start with a fiat that re-echoes Mary's fiat - Let it be done, O Lord. It is a fiat that each of us should say in the quiet of our hearts. 

Let us arise, then. Let us shake the sleep out of our eyes - the sleep of emotions run amuck; the sleep of indifference, of tepidity, of self-pity, of fighting God. Let us arise from that sleep...and begin our journey to Bethlehem. But let us understand that this "Bethlehem" we seek is within our own souls, our own hearts. ...It is an inner pilgrimage, a pilgrimage in which we don't use our feet....So, then, let us enter, you and I, into the pilgrimage that doesn't take us from home. For ours is a journey of the spirit, which is a thousand times harder than a journey of the feet. Let us "arise and go". 

                                                      -  Catherine de Hueck Doherty, from Magnificat, December 2025