Mom's Springerlies by Sally Crosiar

When I was growing up, baking cookies was a very big part of holiday preparations. Mom would make a batch of chocolate-chip- oatmeal-raisin one day, butterballs the next, and her famous melt-in-your-mouth sugar cookies on the day after that. And then she’d repeat the whole process with thumbprints, Brazil-nut cookies, something with candied fruit, and seven-layer bars whose coconut (yuck!) made them safe from my marauding appetite.

As she finished each batch, she’d leave a dozen or so in the cookie jar and pack all the rest away in whatever freezer containers she could find. Her favorite containers were gallon-sized buckets that had held ice cream and which were not at all hard to collect since we all liked ice cream just as much as we liked cookies.

Mom was definitely in charge of baking, but for one cookie, the whole family was enlisted. The recipe for springerlies had been handed down to Mom from her mother and hers before that, stretching back through generations of German women – hard-working German women because making springerlies is a complicated and arduous process.

One of the very first stumbling blocks is to locate a key ingredient.

Mary's Bethlehem Journey by CC Bodnar

“…and she kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.”

There are some things a woman never forgets. The memories of the first time I met Joseph still keep their sweetness after all these years and the last time I kissed him goodbye is still so sad.
          
            I remember the visit of the Lord's messenger as well as I remember the consequences of my “yes”. I learned much about Joseph's great kindness, his faith in the Lord, and his commitment to his promise the day he met with my family to discuss his decision about my pregnancy. To say that “Joseph was troubled” is a bit of an understatement; I was thrilled that he chose to stand by his promise to me. One who would protect my life as an act of faith was surely worthy of my love lifelong.
Memories of joy and grief are mingled throughout my life as they are for everyone. One memory will sound at least a little familiar to any woman who has ever given birth and to any man who has every been with a very pregnant woman far from home.
 When the order came for all those descended from David to travel to Bethlehem, Joseph and I were terribly worried. The journey is long, hard, expensive and, for me, dangerous. At the time we were ordered to go, I would be nine months pregnant with the child God's messenger had told me would be God's chosen, Jesus. As you know, we women rarely left home when pregnant except to visit relatives in our village or attend to necessary household work. Childbirth is dangerous at best, and the result is never certain.
 We had no choice. We put our faith in the Lord, packed our donkey with as many helpful things as we could, leaving room for me to ride if I could not walk. Even now, I remember discussing what to take and what to leave behind. I was terrified for my child, but hopeful that the Lord who created this child would protect his mother as well.
 You know my back was already achy and my ankles swollen at the end of the day. I was young and strong, but now I tired easily and was often absent minded as if my brain were elsewhere. Joseph was more than willing to help; however, men know so little about what is needed at times like these, I was more dependent on the few women of the other families who traveled with us.
 It took us four long days to walk to Bethlehem. In December, the days are shorter as you know, and the nights are very cold in the dry land of Galilee and Judea. No one could walk except in the middle of the day, or alone at any time, as the roads were dangerous.  Two nights we managed to find space near an inn to feed our donkey and shelter ourselves. There were so many people traveling to be counted that, as we got closer to Bethlehem, all the inns were full or far more money than we could spend. We were such a little group.
 People were often very kind and let us stay in the animal shelters built on the outside wall of the house. The shelters were set up out of the wind and the clean hay was softer than the ground. Some of the shelters were open to part of the inside of the house. In the winter we often kept our animals close for their body warmth.
 I had been walking part of the first days, but after that, it was just a blur. Joseph and the men helped me onto our poor little donkey who patiently carried me in the most uncomfortable seat I have ever known. By this time, my back ached unmercifully, I felt too tired to eat, and my legs were so swollen I was glad they were hidden by my burka robes. I began to fear that Bethlehem was too far for my baby and me. I prayed all day for strength and patience and tried to be grateful for the gift of God's beloved son.  I will admit his mother was having a hard time being grateful for this journey.
 On the fourth day, I had to tell Joseph I simply could not go on. I was very afraid as the baby had not moved inside me for almost two days. Joseph left me with the women of our village group and went to look for some shelter.
 He returned late that afternoon, triumphant. “Mary, he said, “We are blessed indeed. I have found the home of a cousin of my father who will help us. He has a stable that is almost completely enclosed. Their cow has weaned her calf and so the manger place kept for the calf is empty and clean.”
I realized then that, even though I thought I was in the habit of being grateful for whatever the Lord sent to me, I had never felt anything like the relief I felt in that moment.
 “It is even better, Mary,” Joseph went on, “Aaron's wife will contact their community midwife and she will come as soon as we can get there! I am so happy someone will be there for you—and me!”
 And so the story goes on. You all know that Jesus was actually born, and I really did survive—although there were moments when I was not sure I would. Holding that child made my difficult journey fade quickly. Far more urgent was the experience of caring for my first-born. But you know about that.
 Now, so many years later, I realize that the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem was only the first of many travels—out in the world and into my own soul—that the Lord would send me on. It is good to remember that I, a very ordinary woman, brought the Savior of all humanity to meet His people.

©Cecilie Bodnar 2013.  Permission granted foruse  by  Canandaigua Writers' Group
 December 12, 2015

CHRISTMAS WISHES 2015 by Carol Creswell

In every home at Christmas

May dwellers there within

Know only joy and happiness,

Share love of kith and kin.

May windows reflect laughter,

With friends at every door.

May rafters throb with singing,

A dance on every floor.

May babies wave fat fingers,

May kittens purr with mirth.

May kitchens smell of cinnamon,

May all have Peace on earth.

Reflections of the Good Life by Betty LaBarge

Rain drops fall lightly on the bright colored leaves of fall

Sending much needed moisture to Mother Earth.

Water gathers on the hillside and rushes downward to feed the pond below.

Fish and frogs jump to catch the food surrendered by the hill,

Another season of life ends

And winter soon approaches.

Watching the water,

A soothing moment,

There is silence.

Then with a puff of wind

Ripples form,

Breaking the evening shadows and reflection.

The pond, a picture of life, reflects the fading sky.

The sun turns to darkness.

One wonders how many more seasons there will be.

What will our lives reflect on the earth?

Will storm clouds cause the waves of life to be stirred?

For now….

Blue skies, calm waters, beautiful reflections.

Praise God for all He gives.

All Hallows Eve by Terry LeFeber

It was Halloween and approaching midnight. No one ever came to the apartment complex for trick or treat.  Not even the few youngsters that lived at the end of the quarter mile sprawl of buildings. Fifteen hundred apartments in a square where everyone was a stranger.

The old man sat in the dark sucking on a Bacardi Rum and Coke staring at the boob tube. For the past two hours he had watched infomercials soliciting viewers to purchase first, Dean Martin TV shows with famous guest stars like John Wayne, and now, Time Warner’s offer of the Hee-Haw series starting back in 1969.

He sat there, stretched out in his Lazy Boy, Rum and Coke in his left hand, his right hand stroking the old cat sleeping in his lap.

Tears welled in his eyes as he watched the infomercial with Roy Clark urging him to call the 800 number to purchase the entire series for only five payments of $ 19.95 each, shipping included.  The tears were not from thinking about the prices. The tears were because of the memories the last two hours of programming had brought forth. For him, memories of better times. Times when he had family, friends, a career, a home to go to every night where he was safe, and loved.

That was all gone now. Just like the stars of those old programs, most of his friends and family were gone. Of those who remained, few communicated anymore.  He heard from his sons and grandchildren maybe two or three times a year, if he was lucky.  Everyone had their own world and the demands that it made upon them.  The concept of family, even extended family, was a thing of the past, suppressed by the new culture of modern society.

Conway Twitty was now singing “Hello, Darlin’. It’s been a long time.” He felt a twinge as he remembered all those he had loved, the two women he had married, and a few he wished he had. How he wished he could return to those old times.

“Yeah, it’s been a long time,” the old man sighed as he flipped the TV off and pushed himself out of the chair. The cat jumped to the floor.

It was pitch dark in the apartment as he padded his way across the living room towards the bedroom.  He felt his bare foot come down on the cat’s golf ball, then his legs going out from under him as fell backwards onto the floor.

He never saw the golf ball propel itself upwards, striking the ceiling, and hurtling downward. Nor did he feel the pain it brought as it struck his forehead with a crack.

What he saw next was John Wayne standing in front of him, right hand extended, saying, “Hello Partner, it’s been a long time. C’mon in and set a spell.”

A Stirring Tribute by Carol Creswell

A stirring tribute fills the air

The sky is blueness everywhere.

The marchers snap a crisp salute,

With all the bandsmen resolute.

The crowds are cheering, fire trucks clang.

The floats and vintage cars go bang!

Then to the park, with flags awave,

Folks speak of heroes bold and brave.

The somber marksmen flash the sky

As children cover ears and cry.

Some silent tears roll down creased cheeks

As widows cry and heroes sleep.

AS CHILDREN COVER EARS AND CRY

SOME SILENT TEARS ROLL DOWN CREASED CHEEKS

AS WIDOWS MOURN AND VETERANS SPEAK.