Nostalgia

Day 67: I tell the story almost every year of how the bubble-light tree of my childhood deteriorated to the extent that my mother decided to throw it out, and how I pled with her to keep it, and how some twenty years later, I stripped it, rewired it and reconstructed it from the ground up. No part of the original tree remained but for the metal armature which held the light sockets and the base. I suppose I could have built a whole new tree more easily than executing the task I'd set for myself, but a new tree would not have carried the memories so strongly associated with the old one.

My father passed away when I was quite young, but I recall how each year when the Bubble Tree was set up on the table, he and I would talk about what made it work. I don't think we had the science entirely right, but whenever a light burned out, we almost always conducted a post-mortem of the mechanism. I was convinced that it was a chemical reaction; my dad insisted that it was physics, and to that end, we tried to determine the composition of the plug of glass-like material which lay in the bottom of each bubble tube. Was it a chemical compound as I suspected? Or was it simply a piece of frosted glass which regulated the release of bubbles as the liquid boiled under heat? Even today, I don't know for sure.

In any event, my remade Bubble Tree takes a place of honour in my home during the holidays, its spirit unchanged by the passage of time despite the ravages upon its physical being. The memories it holds are priceless, even if they are mine alone.

The New Kid

Day 66: We do not have Cardinals in Washington. That said, I love them and my friends know it, so many years ago, one of them sent me an adult male. Or so I thought. Female Cardinals are brownish. In fact, a novice birder might mistake a female for a Cedar Waxwing. However, I was in for a surprise. After several years of caring for the adult "male," I entered the nest box one Christmas and was startled to discover a fully-feathered fledgling (also male). I named the youngster "Pik-pik" and took to referring to the adult as "Mom" despite physical evidence to the contrary. Pik-pik and Mom have returned every subsequent Christmas and roost among the holly on my mantel.

Now either I need to go back to school for a biology refresher or the field guides need to revise their descriptions because last night, another fledgling appeared in my little family of "males." Clearly, something is going on here which I do not understand, but I most certainly welcome it. You can never have enough Cardinals.

Lighting In The New Year

Day 90: The origami light string is done, and the lights are lit to bring in the new year in festive fashion. This was a fun project! The string holds 20 clear bulbs (a flasher and spares were included) and the kit supplied enough origami paper for 25 balls. Approximately 2/3 of the paper was unpatterned, and the selection of patterned pieces contained both standard origami sheets and some in heavier rice paper. I was pleased to see that the heat generated by the lights was minimal. I left the string on for several hours last night, and the paper never felt overly warm.

I'll Huff And I'll Puff...

Day 89: The origami light string project is nearing completion. Now it's time to blow them up! The ones made using standard origami paper are easiest. A quick puff of breath into the hole at the end and the sides of the balls pop out with a snap. The heavier rice paper ones are a challenge. The paper is "breatheable," like Goretex fabric. They take a bit of tugging at the corners to pull into shape.

I won't be giving the Big Bad Wolf any competition. I've huffed and I've puffed until I've gone dizzy, but I'll have the string done for New Year's!

Birdie Berries

Day 67: English Holly is considered an invasive species in much or all of western Washington, so although I normally would not cut greens from a living tree to use as decoration, when a Holly made itself available to me at the roadside, I decided to take measures to reduce its spread, if only in a very small way. Assuredly, I would be a poor host to Pik-pik and his mom, wintering on my mantel, unless I provided some fruit for their diet. Pik-pik began begging immediately, little wings spread and his beak turned up to his mother as if to say, "Can't you thaw them out any faster?" Like any youngster, he loves his sweets, but we all know what happens when you eat too many berries. That's one way English Holly spreads, after all.

St. Nicholas' Day Greetings!

Day 65: St. Nicholas' Day was a significant event in our household when I was growing up, a foretaste of Christmas for a little girl who was trying (but not always succeeding) at being good as gold in anticipation of a visit from Santa Claus. I was too young to understand the permutations which had carried the good saint from holy man to roly-poly man, although I felt instinctively that there was some connection between the two. On one hand, Santa was a jovial and grandfatherly sort who inspired affection, while on the other, St. Nicholas was someone for whom I felt a deep respect and perhaps a little awe. You could cozy up to Santa and sit on his knee, but you would have approached Nicholas with deference and might have dropped a curtsey as you offered him your hand.

Both of these figures brought gifts. Santa had his big bag full of toys, but St. Nicholas brought candy. Santa came down the chimney at midnight when I was fast asleep. Nicholas was bolder. He came between the evening meal and bedtime, arriving and departing in clandestine haste. He seemed to show up at the moment when I least expected him, when for a second my anticipation lapsed and I was engaged by something else. I was convinced that he could read my thoughts, an ability I attributed to Santa in a much smaller degree. When my attention wandered (and what child's doesn't?), a sudden THUMP would bring me out of my reverie and send me scampering for the door, and whether front door or back was not predictable, subject to the saint's whim. There, I would find a bag of candy, but never for all the times I looked did I see footprints in the snow.

Treasure in hand, I would then rejoin my mother where she sat reading. "Look at what St. Nicholas brought me!" I'd exclaim. And when my father came back in the room, having excused himself earlier to work on a project or visit the bathroom, I would share with my parents the brightly colored ribbon candy the good saint had delivered, none the wiser until my dad passed away.