2009
Jingle Bells Didn’t Make This List
I like Christmas music. I turn it on the day after Thanksgiving and it remains a large portion of what I listen to until Christmas Day. I particularly like some of the really old standards – It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas, Winter Wonderland, etc. But my favorites – well, some are a little less known. So by blogging about them, I’m hoping to make them a little more known.
1. No Sad Thought, from Vaughan Williams Hodie
A few years ago, a friend talked me into going to Marshall University’s choral union to sing (thanks, Matthew). I knew next to nothing about choral music, but could read, and sing, and I learned the rest as I went along. My second semester as a part of the group, we sang Vaughan Williams’ Hodie, which is an absolutely fantastic piece celebrating Christmas. My favorite movement was next to last, a Chorale (voices only) that’s a sort of lullaby/hymn with some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard/sung in my life. I cannot listen to it to this day without getting a lump in my throat.
I realize that most of you will have no interest in this type of music. But if you do, you must listen to it. It’s available here – the first half is the chorale, the second is the finale (if you make it that far).
2. Baby It’s Cold Outside
Quite a contrast. Back when Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey were still married, they did a Christmas variety show and sang (ok, lip synced) this song, and I wondered how on earth I’d made it to my mid-20s without hearing it. It’s funny, catchy, and slightly scandalous for a Christmas tune.
3. In the Bleak Midwinter
An absolutely beautiful poem written in the 1870s, it was later set to music. I had heard it once or twice before, but absolutely adored it when James Taylor recorded it a few years ago for his Christmas album. You can hear that version here. James Taylor’s Christmas album happens to be my favorite, so if you need something to help you feel festive this year, check it out here
4. O Come, O Come Emmanuel
This is a haunting song that leaves me a little weak in the knees. But in a totally good way. For a bit of trivia, it’s also the melody for part of U2′s Whiter Than Snow on their new No Line on the Horizon album.
I figure tomorrow I’ll think of another song or two I left off. But I want to hear what you like. What’s your favorite Christmas tune?
2009
Six Hours
Almost each year, the weekend before Thanksgiving, my mom and step-dad get a 3-bedroom condo and invite anyone from our extended family to come down. It’s a nice time to relax, get a bit of Christmas shopping done, and eat. Two years ago I was four months pregnant with our daughter, and our son was about eight months old. Last year they didn’t go – not that I would have attempted the trip with two little ones under 2. But this year, my husband wasn’t able to go, so I just thought…I’ll just take the kids by myself.
I knew once I got there, it would be fine. My family would be there to help. And it worked out that I was able to travel down with my family, so that made the trip easily manageable. But on the way back I would be all on my own, since I had to return a day earlier than them because of a work commitment.
So Monday morning we got up, ate breakfast and did a bit of shopping. We went back to the condo and I packed up while the kids played. I picked up some lunch, got them ready and we left at 1:00 p.m. I made it exactly halfway before stopping for a bathroom break, which was easy enough (except my son was easily distracted walking through the gas station by candy bars, ding dongs, potato chips, souvenir mugs, stuffed animals, gum and orange juice). At about 5:15 we stopped and had dinner because the kids said they were hungry. The proceeded to eat approximately five bites each, but at least got to stretch their legs. We drove the rest of the way in and arrived home at 7:20 p.m.
Before having children, we traveled alot….nowhere exotic, and rarely for more than a long weekend. But we had gotten used to just picking up and heading out any time we wanted. However, having an infant can be a bit restrictive. Not only does it take 32 minutes to get out the door, and then only with 15 pounds of diapers, wipes, a change of clothes, toys, milk, snacks, and only half of your sanity. Then having an infant annd a very young toddler can be downright panic-inducing. It’s not that you can’t get out and do things…it’s just that it doesn’t seem worth it. There’s this whole process of weighing things out in your head – is it worth the time and extraordinary mental and physical effort it takes to get out of the house with two children, a 50-pound double stroller roughly half the size of my car out and going. Since I’m usually worn out by the time I actually get to the destination, I sometimes answer no – not worth it. Just a few months ago, the thought of a simple trip to the post office was enough to make my back ache. But I feel like I’m turning a corner. While traveling alone with two children under the age of three is not something I’d want to have to tackle on a regular basis, we managed fine (thanks to the car DVD players my mom got us last Christmas – don’t judge – I only use them on long trips, and we put them away otherwise). And trips to the post office are starting to feel like a piece of cake again.
Not to mention the fact that I just survived the trip – with my sanity in tact and not totally worn out – makes me think I might just make it. And makes me wonder where I might head next.
2009
Simply Links – November
Long before I started this blog, I had Simple Modern Home where I just wrote about things I found that I liked for around the home. It was the beginning of an inspiration for this site, as well as its namesake.
Although this blog expanded immensely on that one, occasionally there are things I run across that don’t really warrant an entire post on their own, so starting with this post, I’ll showcase some of my favorite items.
Food
Williams Sonoma Hot Chocolate – Did you know that hot chocolate and hot cocoa are two distinct beverages? (I feel a food facts post coming soon, as December kicks off hot chocolate season in my house). This Williams Sonoma hot chocolate is divine. I have both the regular and peppermint, and absolutely adore it. A bit of a splurge compared to grocery store cocoas, but definitely worth the upgrade.
Home
My friend Lillian (she gets frequent blog love here) sent the link to this tree. I love it. I asked my husband to pretty please make one for our son’s room. Turns out it’s made from cast steel. Won’t be getting one of those any time soon, but it is, in my opinion, a perfect piece of furniture.
I found this chair courtesy of Lunar Lounge Design, which is full of mid-century modern furniture at reasonable prices. This would be perfect in my office! (Too bad I don’t need another chair in my office…but if I did!)
Craft
I am currently infatuated with letterpress printing, and Dolce Press has an assortment of designs worth drooling over. If letterpress is in your budget, check them out. Until then, I will just continue to dream of someday owning one….and then having the time to use it.
2009
“Help Me?”
At least once a day during a meal, my daughter will ask for help. “Help you?” she says sweetly. (I guess from me saying frequently, “Do you want me to help you?” because otherwise she seems to have the me/you thing down ok.)
She’s still pretty little, and she’s doing a good job of feeding herself, but has trouble with certain foods that require a bit of extra manual dexterity. Even my son, who is firmly in the “I wanna do it by MYSELF!” stage has no trouble immediately asking for help any time he realizes something is outside of his ability to manage.
So if my two toddler children have this skill down, why do I have so much trouble asking for help when I am in a situation that’s outside of my ability to manage?
I’ve always been pretty independent and self-sufficient. I think having parents who divorced just before I hit adolescence, and having a younger brother to help care for while my mom worked full time just to pay the rent and put food on the table helped force that trait. But I would guess if you look back further, it was there all along. I am a firstborn, after all. And I come from a long line of Type A personalities on my dad’s side of the family. But still – independent and Type A doesn’t mean invincible.
Before I had children, I sort of prided myself on not asking for help. Then as soon as my son was born, I realized those days were over. I simply could not do it all alone. Sometimes that meant asking my husband to do more around the house so it wasn’t a total disaster. Sometimes it meant asking one of our parents to watch the baby so we could have a rare night out. It meant hiring a babysitter so I could count on having a regular time during the week to get work done.
Turn out most often my asking for help involves child care. It seems it really does take a village to raise a child – or at least my children. But the fact is, I still get a little knot in my stomach before asking someone to help me in some way. I think: What if I’m asking too much? What if they don’t want to but say yes out of obligation? What if they think I’m taking advantage?
When I write all of this out, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. But in the moment of asking, this is how my mind works. I’m not too prideful to ask for help, and certainly not too prideful to accept it. But I suppose I am too neurotic to think that anyone might actually enjoy helping me the way I enjoy helping others.
So I’m trying to be more appreciative and less annoyingly stressed over asking for help. Because, really, none of us can do it alone. But if you see my struggling, and you want to offer some assistance, feel free. Because chances are I’m not going to ask for it unless I really, really have to. And I’ll try to do the same for you.
2009
(Almost A) Native
I grew up in a very small, very tight-knit community about an hour and a half from where I live now. I knew just about everyone, knew the names and locations of every little neighborhood, road, and area within a 20-mile radius.
I went to college far enough away from home that it felt away, but close enough that I could visit home just about any time I wanted without having to make plans. I’ve always loved West Virginia, and honestly always wanted to stay here after I graduated from college. But I knew that for the career I wanted to pursue, I would most likely never live back “home” in my little hometown again.
So when I met my (now) husband I was surprised that, even though he had gone even farther away than I had to college, he had always wanted to move right back home. Even to the very road where he had grown up. So many people I knew from high school had such a strong “I-can’t-wait-to-get-out-of-here” attitude, I found someone wanting to live in the same community where they had grown up, well, strange. Fortunately, I really liked his little community. The land here is beautiful, the people friendly, and while our location is pretty rural, we’re only 10 minutes from the local mall and 25 minutes from the nearest large (for WV) town.
We bought a piece of property next to where my in-laws lived, which – despite how it may sound to some people with less fortunate in-law relationships – has been absolutely wonderful. I have lived in this community for eight years now, and while I don’t have the familiarity that comes with the place where I spent my formative years, I’m getting to know the place pretty well.
On Wednesday, I had gone out early to run some errands with the kids. I actually made a wrong turn (some days I’m a little scatterbrained… just some days) and had to turn around. So while I was sitting at a stop sign at an intersection on our road, a nice lady in a van pulled up beside me and rolled down her window. She said she was looking for a certain meat processing plant. (I told you it’s rural here. And it’s deer season. What can I say.) She had left her GPS at home, and knew she was close, but couldn’t remember which way to turn.
I had to stop for just a second and make sure I was telling her the correct way to go because it just so happens there are two meat processing plants within a couple miles from our house. (Locally they are referred to as slaughterhouses, which I can barely type much less say. Not that meat processing plant sounds that much better. I think I’ll eat beans for dinner now, thank you.) I gave her the directions, and realized after she pulled out that not only did I know there were two of such places near our house, but I knew the names of both and how to get to them.
This doesn’t sound like much, I realize. But I did smile a little as the lady pulled off knowing that slowly but surely, this little community is becoming home.
2009
Knittles
When I was a junior in college, I got to be pretty good friends with Yukari, a sweet, fun exchange student from Japan. She brought us Japanese bandages and alka-seltzer (novel), cooked us Japanese noodles in fish sauce (I ate it) and taught me to knit.
Most people have lovely stories about being taught to knit by their grandmothers or mothers or aunts. Nobody in my family knits. (My grandmother used to crochet, in her defense). Yukari taught me to cast on, the knit stitch, and how to cast off, which is all you need to know to knit a reasonably respectable scarf or blanket. Since then, I’ve learned other stitches and patterns. Back when I had cable (and free time) I would watch knitting shows on TV. I loved heading down to Knit ‘N Hook, a fun little shop in downtown Huntington run by the most stylish older lady I’ve ever met who always remembered my name.
I got pretty quick at it. One fall (I think 2006) I made approximately 15 scarves for Christmas gifts. I was never much interested in learning more complicated patterns like sweaters or bags…I preferred to complete my projects while watching a movie or chatting with friends, not poring over some complicated pattern for hours. I loved the repetitiveness of it, how you could get into a rhythm and knit for hours. It was like yarn therapy. Not to mention the incredible satisfaction of making something with your own two hands that’s functional and stylish (hopefully).
At one point, a few friends of mine got together here regularly for Evan’s Knitting Club (named after my husband who, at the time, thought knitting was a silly hobby and an even sillier reason to get together, so we named it after him for revenge. I even photoshopped a photo of him as a child and added knitting needles to his hands, and made t-shirts out of it). We had a great time, and was able to teach a few other people how to knit (scarves). We liked to call our knitting needles knittles, for short, because it sounded funny to us.
Then I had a baby. Then I had another baby. And all of the sudden it has been three years since I’ve put yarn to needle to anything.
Today was a hard day. Not to mention it was cold. All day I felt that sort of chill in my bones that seems to come from the inside. I love the fall weather, but I also love being warm. So once the kids went to bed, I got out my needles and yarn and got to work on a scarf I started approximately 36 months ago. I have so much yarn in my bag I could knit all winter and not have to buy anything, which is great. And having all that yarn on my lap warmed me up.
If I’m lucky I might get this scarf finished before next fall.
2009
Holding Baby Bo
This past week I took my kids to visit one of my oldest and dearest friends, Whitney. (Oldest as in we’ve been friends a long time. We will not mention either of our ages, ok? Ok.) She has two incredibly cute children, both within just a few months age of my own. Even though it’s exactly an hour’s drive to her house, we try to make an effort to visit fairly regularly for the sake of the kids. Right. For the kids.
Anyway, her youngest is 10 months old, and is starting so move around a bit, but is still in the lap-sitting stage. So while Whitney had to run to the other room for a few minutes, I was happy to provide a lap. I found it almost immediately striking how holding someone else’s child is just…well, a little awkward.
Now, I am just starting to awaken from a 2 1/2 year baby-induced fog thanks to two children born to me 13-months-and-five-days apart. (But who’s counting?) Therefore, I have had my share of baby wrangling. However, no amount of cuteness or cuddliness will diminish the fact that this definitely wasn’t my child on my lap.
When I pick up my children, I know how they will fit on my hip. I know precisely what tactics they will employ in an attempt to wiggle down and out of my arms when they aren’t interested in being held. I know how they head will snuggle on my shoulder and how their little fists will wrap around my neck. I know that they like me to cradle them like a newborn and sing Rock A Bye Baby when they’re sleepy, or just feeling a bit silly. I can anticipate their next move because I’ve carried them around for miles by now. And my arms are at least 37% stronger than before thanks to my 20- and 30-pound toddlers.
So when I picked up Baby Bo, I had none of that. I felt all the awkwardness I had for the first few days after each of my children were born, when you’re not quite sure they could possibly be really yours.
Sometimes I feel like maybe I’m not old enough or responsible enough (or stable enough some days?) to be a mom. But holding Baby Bo was an unexpected reminder that I’ve come a long way since that day just over 2 1/2 years ago when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and had to be taught by my husband how to change a diaper. True story.
2009
Mountain Stage
Sunday night, my husband and I (along with four great friends) headed to Charleston for dinner and Mountain Stage. First and foremost, I must say that if you are a West Virginia resident and haven’t yet visited Mountain Stage, get thee there quickly. You won’t regret it.
If you’re unfamiliar, Mountain Stage is a live concert series hosted/produced by West Virginia Public Broadcasting that was started in 1983. Each show is taped live, and generally features 4-5 artists/bands of various genres. The live show lasts 2 1/2 hours, and is then edited down to 1 1/2 hours and distributed to other public radio stations across the country, airing approximately a month post-recording. The shows are most commonly taped at the WV Culture Center (at the Capitol Complex) but they frequently take it on the road to Morgantown, Wheeling, and other locations. Not to mention tickets are incredibly inexpensive for the quality of the program. So go. Please. You’ll thank me.
Now that I can step down off my soapbox, I thought I’d tell you a little about last night’s performance. First up was Amy Speace, a lovely artist who had great lyrics and memorable melodies, with a sort of classic singer-songwriter feel. I liked her, and her slouchy boots.
Second up was The Proclaimers of Just To Be/500 Miles fame. You may remember that song from Jr. High (if you’re my age – adjust accordingly), and I was surprised to find they looked exactly as I remembered them from the video. I’m pretty sure I owned the cassingle. You know, cassette singles that were the precursor of iTunes. Anyway, they’re Scottish and I found them highly entertaining. I found myself wondering how they came up with the idea to do that with a song on more than one occasion.
Next up was the modern classical group Cordis. I loved it. First of all, the founder played a cimbalom, which I somehow made it to 30 years old without even knowing it existed. I want one. You know, I could learn to play it in all my free time. I was also fascinated watching the percussionist and his 15 instruments in the back. It took me back to high school concert band. (Some of my favorite high school memories revolve around band class. I admit it.) For the last song, he incorporated a children’s piano. You know, the kind with like eight keys that sounds awful when a child actually plays it but was totally cool in this setting.
After that was Black Joe Lewis and The Honeybears. They were a retro soul group reminiscent of James Brown. Their sound was a bit loud for my taste (but really, that’s just me), but the were incredibly talented. Even if you’re not into that type of music, they were more than entertaining to watch. The lead (Joe) was dressed in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, navy hoodie and a red and white trucker hat. The Honeybears all wore black pants, white shirts, skinny black ties and vintage-inspired eyeglasses. They even had moves to some parts of the song. There was one sax and one trumpet in the group, and I commented to Evan that they really hit the jackpot. There’s much a much more cool band that a couple of horn players could dream of being part of.
Finally, Colin Hay performed. A couple months ago I mentioned to my husband the Indigo Girls were coming to Mountain Stage and oh-by-the-way-Colin-Hay will be there just two days earlier. Well so much for the Indigo Girls – Evan about jumped out of his seat when I mentioned Mr. Hay, so he was the reason we went to this show. His voice was incredible, his guitar playing impressive. Not to mention he told some great stories in between songs so that even if you weren’t loving his music (I was) you would have enjoyed the show.
The whole evening was just fantastic. Good friends, good dinner (Tidewater), and a great show. I really hope you’ll consider going soon. And if you can’t make it to a live show, you can always listen online or check listings for your live broadcast schedule.
Sandy Content
First of all, sorry for the lack of posts last week. We were on vacation – glorious, restful, beach vacation. The kids, are too young, of course, to understand what beach of vacation meant before we left. Our best explanation to our son was that it would be like a giant sandbox. He was sold.
After hours of driving, we arrived. We wanted to take the kids out to see the beach even though it was nearing dark.M was so excited. There was this little walkway so the sea grasses weren’t ruined, then down onto the sand through a little pathway to the beach.
As soon as our flip flop covered feet hit the sand, M sat down to play, shovel and bucket in hand. He was happy as a sandpiper, although I knew the entire beach was just around the corner! It took quite a bit of coaxing to get him up and moving.
At first, my mind was running with little life lessons about how we often settle for less when something better is just up ahead. You know, keep the faith, push ahead, work harder. Then I realized those concepts had nothing to do with the simple life. Those were the kinds of concepts I come up with that made me desire a more simple life.
So the real lesson was not that I knew better than M, but that he knew better than me. He was perfectly happy with the little bit of sand he had to play with. He wasn’t asking for anything more. Content. And isn’t that what living simply is about, really? Being thankful for what you have? There’s nothing wrong with doing things well and wanting excellence – but there’s also a time to sit back and enjoy what’s right in front of your nose. Or toes.
2009
Music Closet
I have a piano in my closet.
My lovely sister in law has an electronic full-size keyboard/piano thing that was hanging out at my in-laws house, and she told me we could use it until she had a house big enough for it. When we first brought it down, the only spot for it was in the closet in my office, where it fits perfectly. True story.
When I was a kid, my mom had a piano she and my dad had bought. I loved to play around on it. When I was about eight, I started taking piano lessons and did pretty well (for an eight-year-old). My mom taught me Mary Had a Little Lamb, and my grandfather taught me Chopsticks and Caldonia. When my parents divorced a couple years later and we moved to a new town, the piano lessons got shelved. Not to be deterred, I kept playing. In fact, all through high school and college, I would often play for 15-20 minutes a day just as stress relief. There was nothing more satisfying than knowing if I sat down and placed my fingers on the right keys in the correct order, beautiful music would somehow ascend out of the back of that wooden box.
I always told myself that my first piece of furniture when I had a house of my own would be a piano. It was a little deal I had made with myself. But then when my actual house materialized a sofa and chair seemed like a more practical investment. Then a dining room table, then a bed. You get the picture. So here we are eight years later and still no piano. My mom has graciously offered us her piano because she never plays it anymore, but until we get a covered trailer and a burly man or two to help with the move, it’s stuck at her house.
So when Jenny (see lovely sister-in-law reference above) agreed to let us house her piano until she has a suitable location for it, I was thrilled. I was convinced that my stress level would drop by about 43 percent just by having regular access to the piano. But with it in the closet, I often forget it’s there for days at a time.
The kids have recently discovered it. Our son likes to hit the little button that makes a drumbeat, and then dance to it. I tried teaching him Mary Had a Little Lamb the other day, and he was sort of catching on to the fact that certain keys make certain sounds. I hope our children learn to love music the way I did – and at an early age. But I may have to pull the piano out of the closet first.
