Here are some photos that show some of the things that have made me smile in the past few days:

My sweetheart with our giant puppy (Hagrid is almost 6 months old now) in his lap:

My "new" Santa collection (my old one was stolen out of our storage building two years ago) on top of the antique pie safe we bought this summer. Most of these Santas were my Mama's. The old type tray was a gift from from sister Cissy. If you look closely,  you can see my old initials (CTS) in wooden type from the Macon Beacon, and my first name in wooden type from the Harrison Daily Times! I treasure that old wooden type from the two newspapers I've worked at.

I've also put out Mama's little white angel choir, and the little boy angel turning a somersault that I gave her for her birthday when my Jamie was a baby, to remind her of her then-littlest grandbaby:

And the Santa and elves group that Mama bought as bare resin figurines and painted herself while I was living with her in Sarasota. I'd walk by and say, "Mama, those are just the cutest things I've ever seen!" and she'd grin and say, "You can have them one day!" Every time I look at them, they remind me of my sweet Mama who LOVED Christmas, and make me smile.

It's sitting on top of Mama's little antique lady's writing desk.
I'm looking on EBay for some shepherds to add this year, and maybe some Wise Men.
As you can imagine, this little nativity scene is now one of my treasures.

Are you starting to decorate yet? What are some of your most treasured Christmas decorations?

This time of year brings to mind childhood Thanksgivings at my grandmother Poppy's house in deepest Mississippi.
My
mother's mother lived in a big white 1850’s house, surrounded by
magnolias and giant oaks. Her dining room had 14-foot ceilings and
heavy, dark antique furniture, including a banquet-sized table that has
seen as many as 16 of my kinfolks seated around it. All of us spent
many happy hours around that big old table.
At Thanksgiving, there
was always a crowd of aunts, uncles and cousins. Poppy's table was
covered with a starched white linen tablecloth. A gracious Southern
hostess, she always had a centerpiece of fall leaves and berries, and
set the table with her good china and heavy sterling silver and crisp
linen napkins. We kids were fascinated by the tiny cut-glass salt
cellars scattered around the table, each with its own miniature silver
spoon.
We'd serve our plates off the long buffet — turkey, cornbread
dressing, fried corn, butter beans, cranberry sauce and the silver
gravy boat filled to the brim with gravy with little lumps of giblets
floating in it. After we all sat down, Mary Joiner, Poppy's
dearly-loved cook and housekeeper, passed her delicious homemade rolls,
and we helped ourselves to real butter from the silver butter dish.
With
lots of children, and kinfolks who hadn’t gotten together for a while,
the conversation was always lively but decorous, as Poppy and our
mothers made sure all of our topics were appropriate for the table.
As
a child, I was always disappointed in the dessert. Poppy would ask,
"Who wants some cake?" and my sisters and cousins and I would eagerly
say, "We do!" with mental pictures of birthday-style cake with thick,
gooey icing. We’d be bitterly disappointed when we were served a small
glass plate with a piece of dry, crumbly FRUITCAKE with NUTS (which all
of us hated as children) and cut-up slivers of nasty green and red
gooey fruit stuff. Yuck! And not only fruitcake, but a crystal compote
of something the ladies in our family all adored and worked hard to
create for holiday meals: "ambrosia," made of orange sections and
freshly grated coconut and whipped cream. Coconut! Just as bad as
pecans — maybe worse. Oh, and there'd also be pie — PECAN pie!
One
Thanksgiving my grandmother had figured out that all of us children
hated fruitcake and ambrosia and pecan pie, so she also served
something she thought we'd adore — green Jello all smushed together
with real whipped cream until it was a pale-green mixture with little
flecks of darker green floating in it. Although it looked nauseating,
it tasted great to us. It became quite a tradition, and Poppy happily
served it for years with much love to her nut-hating grandchildren.
To
tell you the truth, as a child, I never did understand why all the
grown-ups got so excited about Thanksgiving food. Giblet gravy and
fruitcake and pecan pie — horrible!
My favorite part of Thanksgiving
dinner at my grandmother's was not the food, but getting to sit next to
my older, mischievous cousin Beau, who would quietly deliver scandalous
imitations of various relatives to me and get me so tickled that I was
in danger of choking on the black olives from the relish tray.
Thanksgiving
was fun because we got together with our family — grandparents, aunts,
uncles, cousins of all ages — the more, the merrier. And Poppy didn't
want us to forget what the day was all about, so she'd go around the
table and make each one of us tell something we were thankful for.
Over
the years, Thanksgivings have changed. Poppy is gone and the family
home sold. Her huge antique dining room table is in sections in our
Harrison attic, waiting for a dining room big enough to do it justice
again. My parents are both gone, and my brother and sisters and cousins
are spread throughout the South. My older son, who moved to Boulder
this summer, will be spending Thanksgiving Day working, so he won't be
able to be with us.
This year, our little family has been invited to
join some dear old friends and their family for Thanksgiving dinner at
their farmhouse. The food will be good. The stories will be good, and
so will the company. We'll think about what we're thankful for. Happy
families. Kinfolks and friends who love us. Good health. Our new life
and friends in the Ozarks. The list goes on. And we'll think about
Thanksgivings past, and the loved ones who are no longer with us, and
be grateful for all the good gifts our loving Father has blessed us
with.
In memory of Poppy, I might even eat a slice of fruitcake this year. I know I'll eat a piece of delicious pecan pie.
Y'all have a happy Thanksgiving. God bless us, every one.

By Celia DeWoody
Published 11.22.07, Harrison Daily Times
Copyright Harrison Daily Times, Inc.

My friend Marie, who smiles a lot, is going to hang angels on her Christmas tree this year.
She
came into the newsroom yesterday to tell me about her idea, and I love
it so much I want to make it part of our Christmas. I thought you
might, too.
Yes, most of us already have some Christmas tree
ornaments shaped like angels. But Marie is going to get some new angels
this year. One for each person she loves who has died, one for each
person dear to her who will be celebrating this Christmas on the other
side of the River.
She's going to paint their names on the little
angels, and as she hangs them, and watches them shining in the lights
of her tree during the Christmas season, she will think of the people
they represent and what those special ones have meant to her. And where
those dear ones are, and Who they are with.
"This way, it will be like they are celebrating with me, like we're celebrating together," she told me.
As she was telling me about her idea, her eyes were sparkling, and she was smiling.
And
we were both thinking about Rachel, whose name will be on the very
first angel Marie hangs on her tree this year. Rachel, Marie's only
child, her beautiful, smiling daughter, who died in her twenties last
year, just before Christmas.
What a lovely thing for this mother to do. To find a sweet and positive channel for her grief.
My
friend Marie has a deep and personal, tested-in-the-fire grasp of the
truth that C. S. Lewis expressed when he said, "Joy is the serious
business of Heaven."
And of what St. Paul meant when he said we shall not grieve as those who have no hope.
I
imagine there's not one person reading this today who doesn't have
someone they love who has gone on before them. I have so many that
sometimes I laugh and say I've got more people who love me on the Other
Side than I do here.
Around this time last year, I wrote to you
about our Catholic "All Soul's Day," which falls every November 2. It's
the day we remember our loved ones who have died. And during the whole
month of November, we remember in a special way those folks we love,
the ones who have gone on. In our church we have the practice of
writing down the names of those we love who have died, and placing
those names on the altar, where they stay for the whole month, being
lifted up to God in every Mass.
I told my Baptist friend Marie about
this custom, in light of her idea of the angels on the tree, and it
seemed to me that both ideas were all of a piece. Remembering those we
love who have gone on before us. Thanking God for them and for what
they meant to us while they were living, and for what they continue to
mean to us. And we Catholics also pray for them, for their eternal
light and peace.
Most of us miss our dear departed ones more sharply
around the holidays, I think. I know my brother and sisters and I will
miss our little Mama even more than usual during this first Christmas
without her. Mama loved Christmas more than anybody in the world, and
decorated her house with the excitement of a little girl every year. I
have some of her Christmas decorations, and they will definitely find
their places in our house this year. The Santa and jolly little elves
she hand-painted will be dancing on my red sideboard, I imagine. Some
of her other fancier Santas will find their places in the living room.
There will be all kinds of ornaments that came from her house in
Florida hanging on our tree - some old ones that have  been part of her
decorations for years, and some newer ones.
But I can promise you
that there will be some new ornaments on our tree this year. Angel
ornaments. One sweet-faced, pretty one will be in memory of Mama. One
with a big grin will say "Daddy." And there'll be one for Doyle's
daddy, Doyle, Sr.
If I can find an angel with red hair and
mischievous eyes, that one will say, "Grandmarie," for my Gulfport
grandmother. One for Poppy, one for my beloved aunt Mimi, one for
Granddaddy Buster, another one for Grandmother Aubert, and Grandpa, and
Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob, and....well, we might just have a tree full of
angels. Multitudes of the heavenly host.
And we'll remember those we
love, who, while we are celebrating here, are celebrating Over There
with the REAL heavenly hosts, praising God and singing Hosannas.
And when we think about that, we can't help but smile. Like my friend Marie.

By Celia DeWoody
Published Nov. 7, 2007
Copyright Harrison Daily Times, Inc.
Harrison, Ark.

 

Hey, friends,
I hope you've all had a lovely weekend. Mine has been very nice. I worked all day yesterday, because it was my turn to put the Sunday paper together. Working on Saturdays is fun...more laid-back atmosphere, and an even stronger feeling of comraderie between those of us who are "on" for the weekend. We're all in jeans, the front door is locked, the phones aren't ringing, and it's just a different atmosphere than during the regular business week.
Then today, I got up and went to early Mass, then Doyle, Hagrid and I headed to our friend Rick's surprise birthday party over near Fayetteville. Driving through the Ozarks on a clear, sunny day in late fall was pure delight. We stopped several times for photo ops. If you'd like to see this morning's photos from Maplewood Cemetery, where the most breath-taking fall leaves can be found,  look to your right, at the top corner of this entry. If you're at all interested in photos from our road trip today, including unique old tombstones from country cemeteries, look on the left side of the page for the slideshow.
Here's one of my favorite photos of the day:

 

Hey, friends....Happy Halloween!
Here are some photos from my day....

The leaves are finally changing here in the Ozarks, now that the nights are dropping into the 30s...

Here in Harrison, it's a custom for the downtown merchants to have candy and invite the children to trick-or-treat in the late afternoon to the stores on the Square.  Here are some of my favorites:

Here

These are the Ladybug Cousins...

The Penguin Triplets.....

And my VERY FAVORITE OF THE DAY.....

PIPPI LONGSTOCKING!

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted...."
Hot
pink impatiens, leftover from summer, are still blooming their warm
little hearts out in the round bed we dug around the maple tree in our
front yard last spring. The caladiums and ferns that shared their bed
are browning and almost gone, but the impatiens are still merrily
blooming, despite the sprinkling of maple leaves mulching the bright
flowers and drifting around the bricks that edge their bed.

I've
been putting it off, but soon it will be time to finally pull up the
summertime flowers so they can give their space to winter's pansies.
One must end so another can begin.
It's always a little sad to put away the trappings of one season to make way for the next.
 I
can remember one year in Mississippi —  I planted blue and yellow and
purple pansies in a bed around my old pecan tree one sunny October
afternoon, and they bloomed their brave little heads off through
November's leaves, and December's mud, and January's sleet, and
February's cold wind, and March's warm sunshine and April's showers,
and in sweet green May, they were still staunchly blossoming around the
tree next to my gravel driveway. But I had summertime petunias to
plant, and it was time for the pansies to go. I remember whispering to
them, "I'm sorry I'm having to pull you up — thank you for blooming for
me all winter, and lighting up those gray days and making me smile with
your cheerful little faces." Then I regretfully pulled them up by their
roots and consigned them to a leaf pile in the corner of the back yard,
and turned to the happier task of tucking the tender baby petunias into
their bed.
This is a time of transition....On my front steps, the
still-blooming pink geraniums of summer flank fall's bronze mums and a
couple of orange pumpkins.

It's hard to put away
the trappings of one season to make way for the next. It's sad to no
longer pick up my little cell phone and push the speed dial #3 to talk
to my mother every afternoon. It's sad not to be able to hear her
voice, and talk things over with her, and look forward to seeing her on
my next visit to Florida. I miss being able to share with her the
little nuggets of funny things that happen during my days, and hearing
her laugh.
Soon it will be time to say good-bye to the pink
impatiens under the maple tree. They'll go to the compost pile to help
make good, crumbly black dirt for next spring's gardens. But in their
place will be bright little pansies, their sassy faces turned toward
the slanting yellow sunshine of fall.

By Celia DeWoody
Published Oct. 24, 2007
Copyright 2007 Harrison Daily Times
Harrison, Ark.

How do y'all like my page's new look? The pumpkins were too hard to read comments against. Thanks to MSWEAVERCHICK for helping me with instructions on how to install this new background.
The fall is finally arriving in the Ozarks! I didn't think the leaves were every going to change, but just over the past three days, color has started glowing, and here and there the sumac is brilliant red, and the dogwoods are rosy. The maples are starting to change in patches. I think it will all be ablaze in another week or so, especially since it's supposed to be down in the forties at night this week.
I got tickled this morning when the phone rang and it was my son Alex, who just moved to Boulder this summer. He's lived in Mississippi, South Florida, or New Orleans all his life, and his words were: "Mom! Guess what I'm doing right now! Watching it SNOW!! These big ol' flakes the size of quarters are falling down!"
I'm sitting out on my front porch enjoying the breeze right now and watching the leaves fall. (Thank you, Lord, for my laptop and wireless router!) Wish y'all could all come by and sit a spell.