All posts by GretchenJoanna

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About GretchenJoanna

Orthodox Christian, widowed in 2015; mother, grandmother. Love to read, garden, cook, write letters and a hundred other home-making activities.

December lights and colors.

We still haven’t had a frosty night here, and there are none in the forecast, so many of my plants are still blooming. Indoors, it seems the Thanksgiving cactus flowers are on the wane, and the Christmas ones haven’t opened. Though when I got my hair cut the other day, my hairdresser’s two Thanksgiving cactuses were blooming away, in a western window.

I found mealybugs on my orchids, I suppose because they lived out on the patio all summer, where anything could invade. But overall they are healthier for their summer outdoors, because it was easier to water and feed them. Also an inchworm chewed up a patch of leaf before I saw what was happening. I got some neem oil therapy, and new orchid bark in which to repot all the orchids, but don’t think I’ll manage to do that whole job until January, some sunny day.

Other things are more hardy and less insect-prone out of doors:

Last week at the full moon, we had nearly clear skies, so I took another moon picture from my driveway. The moon was noticeably more northerly from its summertime position, when I have more often been out there looking. I liked getting some of the Christmas lights of the neighborhood in the picture.

I ordered a lighted star to put in my upstairs window that faces the street, something like what I used to have 8-10 years ago, but now they cost three times or more as much. And this week a friend is helping me to get a cut tree in town, which I will keep in water in the garage temporarily. With the help of my grandchildren when they arrive, we should be well decorated by Christmas Eve.

2014

 

One without looks in tonight.

THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE

One without looks in to-night
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white,
One without looks in to-night
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.

We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow,
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wondering, aglow,
Fourfooted, tiptoe.

-Thomas Hardy

Eyvind Earle, Deer

St. Nicholas Day through the years.

On this day ten years ago I did not post anything about St. Nicholas, whose feast day it was and is. Just now I was checking back through the years to find out what I’ve already said about the God-loving man who is so dear to people all over the world, when I discovered this post from ten years ago, at the time my new garden was pretty much installed (the back part of the property). If I didn’t have pictures like the one below, I would not believe how fast a garden can happen. The fountain shown did not remain long, because it exfoliated in its first winter and was returned to the nursery where I’d bought it.

Early December 2015

The most enjoyable posts here over the years on St. Nicholas Day seem to me these two: One when I traveled to a parish of which he is the patron saint, and one in which I have a lovely icon and the quote from Fr. Thomas Hopko in honor of him. So if you’d like to read about St. Nicholas or his feast you can click on those links. One of the posts includes this photo:

2025 is another year in which I won’t be celebrating with our sister parish on their feast day, because I am not completely well from a cold that knocked me down a bit, and I’m catching up on rest and everything else that didn’t happen for a few days. But it doesn’t feel right to let the day pass without joining in the commemoration at some level.

St Nicholas of Myra, 12th century; Church of Saint Nicholas of the Roof, Troodos mountains, Cyprus.

I’m sure that after Divine Liturgy for the feast, everyone at St. Nicholas parish will be singing this song at their festal meal. It is playing in my mind right now:

Though they are singing in a different language, Old Church Slavonic or Russian, I like the rendition of these men the best:  “O Who Loves Nicholas the Saintly.”

I pray that the joy of St. Nicholas reaches you wherever you are.

The moon to the rescue.

The last lines of this poem rescue it for me, out of a feeling of chaos and loss. The moon is a real thing, unlike the many insubstantial facts that we might forget. In this case it’s also an experience in the moment, of heartfelt beauty, good for centering the soul.

FORGETFULNESS

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall

well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

-Billy Collins

Winslow Homer, Moonlight