Stringing Popcorn

By G. E. Shuman

Dear Readers,

This column is not new. I first published it two Decembers ago. I hope you enjoyed it and that you will again.

When I was a child, a long time ago in a galaxy far away, many things were different than they are today. That statement seems to go without saying. The world has changed so much since then.  Traditions, celebrations, and even seasonal decorations are not what they once were. I’m not sure if such changes are good, or bad. (I will tell you that I was not impressed with the first ‘pre-decorated’ Christmas tree I saw in a store.)

One thing that my family used to do when I was a child, at this time of the year, was to string popcorn to use as a garland on our Christmas tree. I’m not certain if we did this every year, but I do remember the ritual taking place many times in the eighteen Decembers of my youth.  What would happen is that my mom would pop a big batch of popcorn on the stove, provide us children with a needle and a lot of thread, and we would proceed to spend that evening watching whatever Christmas special was on TV that night while assembling the corn into long strands, to be placed on the tree as soon as we were done.  The challenge, at least for us younger children, was to string at least a bit more popcorn than we ate, as we watched Rudolph, Frosty, or Charlie Brown make their once-a-year Christmas appearance on the big, old, wooden-boxed television in our living room.

Yes, it would be an extreme understatement to say that things have changed in our world, since that long-ago time. This year, if you were to describe my Christmastime, you would have to move not only past that child of the sixties but to one whose Christmases now number in the sixties. You would need to talk about the fact that not only have I grown older, but that my children have also, and that my grandchildren are in the process of doing so, too.  The TVs that Rudolph and Frosty still appear on have gone from being clunky, blurry, heavy things which took up a good amount of space in our living rooms, to inch-thick, huge and brilliant devices we take for granted as they hang on our walls.

There is no longer anyone in our home who believes in Santa, or who is interested in many of the traditions of that jolly old elf, or of our family. This year, Lorna and I decided to embrace that fact, as fighting it would be stupid and futile.  We still went out and bought a tree, but a much smaller one than at any Christmas past, in an effort to simplify things, this year. We, without the fanfare now relegated to seasonal memories, set up the smaller tree in that familiar corner of the living room. 

My wife, the wise one in the family, suggested that we use some of our older ornaments, sort of making this tree a symbol of memories. She then went to the attic and located those things, and also the angel treetop that her family had used on their trees when she was growing up; indeed since she was an infant. She brought that aging angel to me, and I tried plugging it into an outlet. To her and my astonishment, the 1950s era bulb within it glowed as if it were brand new. We immediately put that beautiful angel on the tree.

After that, Lorna seemed to be fretting a bit over what would be the perfect garland on our new, ‘old fashioned’ Christmas tree. It had to be ‘just right’. I didn’t know what she wanted to do, and we actually went to several stores, trying to find a beaded type of garland she had remembered from the past, but we never located it.  We then checked the totes of ‘Christmas past’ in the attic, and found nothing suitable there, either. Then, in probably the only good Christmas idea I have ever had, I asked Lorna if she had ever strung popcorn as a child, to put on a Christmas tree. To my amazement, and partial delight, she said that she had not. The fact that I wasn’t aware of this, in the life of my wife of 44 years, was astounding. The idea that she agreed to string some popcorn with me that evening was even more so.

So, that very night, I went to the store and got two boxes of microwave popcorn, even as my dear wife located needles and thread.  When the corn was popped we turned on our favorite shows, and then strung it into what turned out to be the perfect garlands for our wonderful, old-fashioned Christmas tree.  

           As you look forward to the coming holidays, you might want to consider the idea of simplifying them and of using just a few ideas from the past. Some of those things really are worth doing again.  I recently got to spend a cozy December evening watching TV and stringing popcorn with my best friend. 

The Best of Fall!

By G. E. Shuman

                Someone told me recently that the warm weather we’ve had here in the North this fall confused the trees so that they didn’t give us a very pretty foliage season.  I agree that it’s been unusually warm here; I just don’t know about the second half of his statement. I’m not really comfortable with the idea that trees can get confused. If so, I hope they can’t get mad. They’re all bigger than us.  Besides, I thought this foliage season has been quite pretty enough.

                I do love this beautiful time of year, for several reasons. One is that the cool dry air is perfect for me. My sweat glands have been working overtime for six months and deserve a break.  The gorgeous leaves, crisp apples and big orange pumpkins of New England always convince me that it’s time to let summertime go.

                Although I’m not a big fan of winter, the changing seasons are still great. I’ve written in the past about getting our old house ‘tucked in’ for the winter-wonderland months. I don’t like the cold, but do like the idea of being snug, and safe and sound in our big old home. I don’t even mind the early darkness that fall brings. By the time evening comes, this time of year, I’m ready for it. As I make my way to the recliner I might say something like: “Oh gee, I can’t do that yard work I promised to do this evening Hon, it’s already dark. Maybe tomorrow will be better.” (Like tomorrow evening it’s not going to get dark.)

                What I like best about this sweatshirt-and-sneaker season really is my favorite fall holiday; Thanksgiving. I’ve loved Halloween since I was a child, whether or not that day is actually a holiday, but there’s something about Thanksgiving that is just the best.  Firstly, it has never been quite as over-commercialized as nearly all of the other holidays. (Think Christmas.) True, the food stores promote turkeys, pumpkin pie, and other things, but Thanksgiving has never become one of what I call the ‘sugar and plastic’ holidays. (Think Halloween and Easter.) And Thanksgiving has a lot of meaning for my family, (not that Easter doesn’t.)

                Thanksgiving, for some great reason, has stayed pretty much the same for our family, for all the years that I can remember.  It’s a time of our family gathering together, as many of us as possible, around a huge and very traditional feast. I can almost feel the warmth of the kitchen and smell that incomparable roasting-turkey aroma right now. It is also a time when our family truly takes stock of what we have, in our own way. We, for years, went around the table before the feast and each family member, including the little ones, would remind all the rest of us of something they were thankful for.

                Not everyone reading this column would agree with the ‘who’ that our family is thankful to, as we give thanks to God for all that He has provided for us.  If that’s not your position, thank the people you are with on Thanksgiving Day, for all that they have done for you.

                I’m a collector of bumper sticker sayings. My favorite is one I spotted on a car years ago, and I have made a point to remember it. The sticker simply stated: ‘GRATITUDE IS THE BEST THERAPY.’ I love that, and I believe it. Be grateful for this beautiful season, and be thankful for Thanksgiving. 

Powerless

By G. E. Shuman

                Most of us unsuspecting citizens in Central Vermont, Vermont in general, and in other New England states struggled through last week’s huge winds and power outages to some degree or other.  It’s true that we do experience bad weather here in the North, but that doesn’t normally include 80 mile-per-hour winds.  (I don’t remember seeing any weather forecasts foretelling that storm, not that I could have done much about it if they had warned us. I would have watched the storm with some apprehension, if I had known it was coming. I watched it with some apprehension, not knowing it was coming.) Evidently many trees and power lines were no more ready for the big blow that we were. I don’t know about you, but I felt powerless in the midst of it, and before morning I was powerless, literally. So were my family members throughout Vermont and New Hampshire.

                We lost our electricity for nearly two days, which was longer than in some areas, and much shorter than in others. It was an unusually long time for the lights to be out in a Barre City neighborhood, but our inconveniences were not all that terrible. We had no lights, obviously, and could not use the furnace, do laundry, run the dishwasher, or, heaven forbid, watch tv or use the cell phones. The wifi was off for those two days, and the cell towers were down for most of that time.  

                Our Barre house is on city water, so that was good, and our water heater runs on gas, so that was better. For those two days my family, at least, got to take hot showers in the morning, although I took mine by the tiny little light on my cell phone, which, with my old body, is not such a bad thing. (Sometimes less is more.) I had to dress in no-iron shirts for work, even though there really is no such thing as a no-iron shirt. I ate my coffee-less breakfast by that same cellphone light that lit my way in the bathroom. The burners on our gas kitchen stove, in just a few minutes, provided enough heat to take the chill off the house for the day.

                We are such creatures of habit.  Even though the power was off, each time I entered a room, and even though I had my cell phone in hand, with the little light on, I still reached for the wall light switch, without fail, even though the action did fail.  I also went to the cellar at least twice to switch a load of laundry over from the washer to the dryer, stopping half way down the dimly-lit stairs, in disbelief that I could be so in the dark about the situation, in more ways than one.

                I mentioned earlier that my family was somewhat, but not terribly inconvenienced by the power outage last week, and I hope you and yours made it through the darkness without many incidents. To me, some of it was actually okay. We had no lights but did enjoy an evening by candlelight. The furnace wouldn’t run, but it wasn’t very cold outside, and, in fact, the breezes after the big blow were unusually warm. I saved two days-worth of furnace oil in that time, come to think of it. We couldn’t do laundry for a few days, but who likes doing laundry? The dishwasher was dead, but I hate loading and unloading that thing, anyway. And, yes, the wifi and cell towers were out of commission, so we had no evening TV, (We talked to each other instead.) or cell phone service. (We talked to each other some more, instead.)