On the second day of Christmas, we put together a skating party in downtown Salt Lake City, "though the frost was cruel" as the song goes. Those smiles were worth every shiver.
Author Archives: Kim Halloran-Fry
a holy light
“There is a Christmas song upon the air,
There is a joy innate within the heart;
An inner sense of peace, a holy light
Illumines life and sets these days apart.”
~ Edna Greene Hines
as the crow flies
Holidays and other large scale events would probably come together more efficiently if I traveled straighter paths than I tend to. I would argue the way there would be a lot less delightful, however. One thing I know about myself is that the longer the list of my responsibilities, the longer my list of creative outlets needs to be to balance it all out. As my children grow they, too, seem to turn to working with their hands as the pace of life picks up.
Moira gravitates to the piano between jobs and her new training program. She pounds out old recital pieces, church hymns, and popular songs and loses herself in the music for a time.
Kieran has become our go-to guy when a cabinet comes off its hinges or a shelf needs to be hung or an item assembled. He has keen engineering sense and seems to really enjoy the process.
As Alannah's semester was winding down she took breaks from studying to teach herself new crochet stitches, completing several projects.
The little girls are no different. Though it's late December and company is arriving soon they convinced me to sit for an hour so they could try again to learn to chain stitch. We tried last year but it ended in frustration. Tess assured me this time would be different and she proved right. Soon after, Abbie Rose said she had been watching closely and was certain that she could manage as well if I had another hook. She too took off.
We dug out the craft boxes still packed from the move all these months later. I hesitated for a moment as I handed Tess the yarn we found. It was my Gram's last skein. Red wool which made up many pairs of mittens in the last century. At first I figured she would stitch a few minutes and lose interest. She got the idea to make garland, however, and before long she had many yards stitched together.
It seemed fitting that my girls worked the yarn rather than it sitting enshrined and unused. It was part of my childhood, now part of theirs in a different way.
Our lists are unfinished. We are still plugging away. We will get there in our roundabout way. This little side trip was worth the time.
Spreading Cheer
"One o'clock tomorrow if you can make it!"
We hadn't gotten the memo from the piano teacher til last minute, but a quick check of the calendar showed us clear the next afternoon. Honestly, I wasn't sure if the children needed more preparation or if they would be nervous getting up to the microphone or if the recital pieces were ready. Honestly, I wondered if I would appreciate a visit from a random child I did not know if it was me as a resident. I had so hoped we would have an opportunity to reach outside of ourselves at Christmas however. So we went.
They swore they weren't nervous but maybe they were 'just a little.'
Afterwards they distributed cards. Every resident was gracious and engaged them.
It was this though. This joyful lady watched every performance with rapt attention and a radiant smile, the cards held tightly her hands. In between children, she would glance back down at the drawings and smile some more.
So glad we made it happen.
Santa Lucia
Dear Little Princess,
"It worked!"
She was beside herself as she raced back into the house with the news. "What worked?" I asked "The letter! It worked! I wrote a letter to Santa. Tess helped me to spell it. Then I took it to the mailbox and the mailman came and took it!"
She had not let on she had this idea, but instead quietly hatched her plan, enlisting help where needed. From the sounds of it she wrote a rather reasonable, if hopeful, letter to the old elf addressed to: Santa, North Pole. No stamp, but everyone knows where Santa lives I guess.
It was so, so sweet and we assumed the merry idea had reached its fruition with that postal pickup a few weeks ago. That was until the other day when Brendan came through the door with a letter hand addressed to Abbie…
“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. ”
Norman Vincent Peale
look, she said
under the weather
simple scents
Lemons, rosemary, and vanilla simmering.
meal prep, meal gifts, and that time I threw the Saran wrap
This is the story of two big cooking days. The first is pictured here. Saturday was a good food day, a good food-making day anyway. Good tasting food might be pushing it further than I honestly should.
Saturday we went on a tear and prepped veggies and browned meat and roasted some chicken. Made oven bacon. That last one was an experiment that worked. I even tossed it in the freezer afterwards to have handy for salads. But then I ate much of it. Anyway, on with the story.
The littles wander in and out during these sessions. They always get an apron and kid-safe tools and find some way they can contribute. They stay as long as they like, Montessori style. They chop things into teeny pieces, hold bags open, grate cheese, beat eggs. This was one of those blissful moments.
Tonight was less blissful – for me.
Riding on the high of that proactive cooking day I volunteered to take a new mom a dinner tomorrow.
Tomorrow being a feast day.
Tomorrow being the day the giant poodle puppy gets neutered.
Tomorrow being the day after he slopped around in the post-snow mud.
I thought I was making it easy on myself and the new family by getting pasta and jarred sauce. A cake mix. It ended up being a long, long day though. Tess and I went out together to shop for craft supplies between carpool runs. Dinner ran late. Puppy bathing seems to last forever.
Long story shorter, by nights' end the kitchen looked like a pasta bomb went off. I misjudged the amount of sauce I needed. Too much bumping around in the kitchen caused the cupcakes to sink. Wet puppy escaped from the bathroom and sailed by, shaking everywhere and sending a spray of water droplets in all directions.
It was then I was holding the Christmas themed Saran wrap. The festive red plastic from hell that clings to nothing but itself. It did just that as I tugged at it 'til my fingers grazed the jagged edge of the box. My surrender was complete. Defeat.
At moments like these every wistful comment I have ever heard from women about the way to a man's stomach or love being food or any number of stirring (no pun intended) odes to food come back to taunt me. I can't love my family well if this is the yardstick we are using. It's never been my skillset. Frankly I don't like food well enough to rally to the challenge. So many other things I am passionate about distract me that I often forget to eat. It is torture to be tied to the kitchen mixing and measuring when we could be reading or walking or crafting.
And that's ok. Somewhere along the line I accepted that being a good wife and a good mom meant I was good at this too. But there are lots of ways to love. Love here means we buy tons of veggies, fruit, nuts, and quality dairy. We stew natural meats in the crock pot where I can't screw them up. We set a pretty table. Always. We eat simply but we do it together every night. Then we move it all over and pray around the same table. That counts.
Tomorrow afternoon I am going back to the grocery store to get a slow roasted chicken, a tub of coleslaw, some bread, a pie from the bakery and a bottle of sparkling cider to celebrate. There will be flowers for their table. Then we will head over, smell that baby's head and hand it all over. And I will not call it defeat.
Starry Sky Journal 