One would like to say “Happy” Valentine’s Day to all, but then I have to consider something that my son Tom just pointed out to me. This morning he was listening to a favorite radio station while he worked, and they were playing a Valentine’s Day program. What struck him was that most of the love songs were about broken hearts. Could that be so…are our songs about love mostly about the unrequited sort? Not being up on pop music, I cannot say otherwise. And then I turned on my favorite station, WRTI in Philadelphia, and they were playing their Valentine’s Day program which at the time was Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo and Juliet”. Well, even though the music is glorious, you cannot find a more heart-breaking love story than that one.
So I’ve thought back to my own Valentine’s Days, and most of them–although happy occasions at the time–blend in with life’s many forgotten days. One that does come to mind was probably the first time I realized what this holiday was about. I was about 5, a pre-schooler, anyway. My mother kept an album of the Valentines cards she had received, mostly from my father. I loved looking at those lacy, flowery, velvety cards and didn’t quite understand that they had been delivered over many years. On Valentine’s day I greatly anticipated the arrival of my own treasure trove of Valentines, signaled by the sound of the mailman putting our mail in the door slot. When I finally heard it, I ran to gather up the many envelopes that would be addressed to me…and… there was one…from my grandparents. My mother was perplexed when she saw my disappointment and asked from whom had I expected to get cards? I couldn’t think of an answer to the question–perhaps our family doctor who always made me feel better when I was sick and whom I thought of as my first boyfriend? Perhaps the neighbors and family friends whom I had thought loved me and would want to show it with a beautiful card like the ones in my mother’s album? Ah, yes, it was my first broken heart, but it was a small one and quite resilient. This is the first time I have written about it at all, and please notice that I haven’t done it in song.
May your day be of the forgettable, lovely sort.

The first sign that this should be a good day is that it did not start with an alarm clock.
Second– I actually woke up. In others words I had slept, which is not always the case. If younger readers do not relate to either of these signs of a good day, just wait. They will come.
Third–the sun is shining (another sign of advanced years–I don’t have to get up before the sun). But I hear that we may have light snow tomorrow AM, and I’ll think that a good sign, too. We need some snow in our winters…providing Chirstmas-card-like scenery and something to bemoan and complain about.
Fourth–there were no stink bugs in the sink.
Fifth–my hair was standing on end but it was workable. Not exactly a good hair day, but not a bad one either.
Sixth–the barn cats are sunning next to the stone barnyard wall. They are content, all is right with the world.
Seventh–there is an abundance of woodpeckers at the bird feeder, both Downy and Red-bellied (which looks more Red-headed to me, but what do I know since we are not on intimate terms?)
Seventh–from the emails I’ve gotten today it looks as though we have a good team for Quizzo tonight. We’re still looking for our first night in the money.
Eighth–I got an email from my sister with a subject line of “it was a good day”.
Ninth–No horrid crimes on page 1 of the Reading Eagle, unless you live in Reading and think the mayor asking for $115,600 for aides is a crime.
Tenth–my bag is packed with all of my math-teaching stuff (protractor, compass, ruler, lots of scratch paper–funny name–should I scratch and sniff or scratch that answer?)and I am ready for tutoring this afternoon.
First sign that it might not be a day to measure up to last week’s Tuesday–we will not be doing That’s What She Said this week. Hopefully soon.
Ellen

I’m posting on Martha’s turf because I was on the road yesterday, having gone to VA to see our 8-year-old grandson, Baylor, compete in a County Spelling Bee. He did very well, finishing 7th out of 48, smiling through it all.
There are no closed doors in our son’s house, so when I got up this morning and was doing my ablutions, the door to the bathroom opened, and in came Baylor who needed to brush his teeth before catching the school bus. And with him came the puppy, Fenway, who needed to have his belly rubbed. And then came our 4-year-old granddaughter, Ellen, who needed to help me with whatever it was I was doing. She took the top off my makeup base and then…”Ooops, sorry”…spilled it down the drain, got the tops for the lipstick and concealer mixed up, had questions about everything, wanted to put in my earrings…etc. She’s very helpful!!! Meanwhile I was taking my morning pill, a little yellow oblong one for hypo-active thyroid. Only after I had taken it, I saw that there was still a little yellow oblong pill in the container. I had taken a sleeping pill instead…and was then going to be driving home, a 3 and a half hour trip, mostly on routes 95, including the dreaded beltways around DC and Baltimore. This is challenging on a good day, and this was not going to be one of my best. What do you do to stay awake behind the wheel? Well, I did that, too–I guzzled coffee, ate chocolate mint patties, chewed gum (the jaw motion keeps the blood circulating to the brain, they say), sang along with Sammy and Frank, bit the insides of my cheeks, opened the windows alternately with turning on the AC, paid very close attention to speed limits in construction zones (having been photographed and warned the last time I made the trip)…Hey, the pills don’t always work and here I am. One must pay close attention to those little yellow pills.

They’re just popping up or rather down everywhere. And they seem to operate contrary to the laws of physics, which would tell us that there should have been a lot of freezing water becoming expanding ice in cracks in the roadways, and as traffic pounds upon the surfaces, they break apart, forming holes. Did I sleep though those wintry days of ice and snow wreaking this havoc this year? And yet here we are in the season of the annual reoccurrence of potholes. Some could swallow up a small car, or at least one of the tires, so you either swerve to miss them (fellow travelers, beware) or grit your teeth, gun the engine, and hope to become airborne.
So far, I think the West Shore By-Pass has the best potholes and the least chance of their being repaired!
Any other nominees?

Today was a good day. There was lots to do, including getting together with some friends this evening to plan our spring travels. We talked, sipped wine, reminisced about past trips (we’ve previously done six trips to various European cities), and then got to the important stuff of deciding when and where we are off to this year. I know I’ll have a lot more to say about this as we get closer to the time, so I’ll move on to two other things about the day that made it rewarding.
This morning I went to Scrolls and Strings, the violin shop on Penn Ave., in West Reading. I had to pick up my violin which was there for repairs. Into the shop came a grandmother, a mother, and two little tykes, I’d say 2 and 4 years old. And they had an appointment to pick out violins for the little ones who are enrolled in a Suzuki program. The instruments are referred to as 1/32 and 1/64 of a regular violin size (a standard is about 23 inches long). Theirs are less than 12 inche–but hardly toys. The children were very excited, and I was excited for them, just thinking about the joys of making music that they will be exposed to at this very early age. And I was thinking about the fact that learning music in the formative years has been proven to improve cognitive skills, especially math ability. It was a sunny morning and for these little ones some additional light was coming into their world. They would be hearing the sound of a violin from the inside out.
And then I went on to do some tutoring at St. Gabriel’s Hall outside of King of Prussia, which is my usual Tuesday afternoon occupation. The young men there have not had sunny pasts; they are trying to prepare themselves for productive lives when most of what they have known was the inner-city street lives of drugs and deprivation. Usually I work with them in preparation for taking the GEDs, and often it is a struggle. The young man I worked with today has breezed through the GEDs and is working toward taking the SATs. It’s been more than half a century since I took the SATs, and much about the tests and the preparation for it has changed in that time. For an hour and a half we sat and poured over complex math solutions, sometimes I explained ideas to him, sometimes he was instructing me. Sound like fun? Sharing in his inquisitiveness and enthusiasm for new material was 90 minutes of pure joy. He’s eager for our next session, and so am I
It is so easy to be jaded about young people and the future, but today I looked into the eyes of three young people, and what I saw is a yearning to go places through learning, and it is a trip I won’t soon forget.

Haven’t seen or heard a “calling bird” all day, let alone four of them. Nor have I seen a partridge, or a turtledove, or a French hen, or geese, or swans of any numbers. There were, however, crows pecking away in the daylily bed this morning, and blue jays eating from the cats’ dishes. But they are there everyday. My sister has shared a concern about the lack of birds at her feeders in her backyard, and we have not had the numbers we usually see at this time of year in our yard either. Maybe the weather has been too mild and there are enough seeds and berries in the fields and woods for them to get by on. I will check out Bill Uhrich’s column in the Reading Eagle in a few weeks about the Christmas Day bird count which takes place all over the country, and is very enthusiastically carried out at Christmas time in Berks County. It’s a indication of the health of our environment.
To help make our little grandchildren more aware of the importance and beauty of birds, I decorate a tree in our sunroom with birds. We hold our own bird count of those birds every Christmas. I’m happy to report that the sunroom environment is flourishing, thanks to a sale of ornaments (including birds) at Esbenshade’s on December 24. Our bird population has increased this year inspite of the fact that a few got knocked down and done in during the undecorating process last year. Won’t say that out bird count ranks up there with other Christmas traditions for our little grandchildren…like getting presents, finding candy, eating pumpkin pie and poppyseed bread, and playing games the day after, but they remember the counts from year to year and are happy to see that our birds proliferate. I keep looking for a partridge to add to the tree. Who knows…in 12 days there could be…hundreds? You can do the math!

Ellen

Presents bought…most are wrapped.
Cards are sent.
Decorations completed.
House is partially cleaned
Not exactly through the woods yet in these preps because–
now it is time to concentrate on Christmas dinner.
Gathered around our table(s) on Christmas day will be approximately 30 family and extended family. I’m still counting noses. It brings to mind those that will not be here this year:
My aunt who suffered a stroke two weeks ago and is in a rehab center. She has been one of our less talkative guests over the last few years, but our littler grandson always found her a good listener for the tales he had to tell on Christmas.
My brother-in-law, who passed away last spring. Always the consumate entertainer, he had his bag of tricks to show the kids and a way of telling Irish jokes that even if they were not funny, you laughed long and hard.
My cousin’s father-in-law who passed away just this week. He used to chase the little ones around the house. In his later years he was the only one allowed in my little kitchen other than me, simply because he seemed to feel that I needed him there to tell me what to do. He will be remembered for his unusual gifts. He bought by the case and gave by the case…a case of shampoo, or tennis balls, or comemorative plates, or sleep socks, or…name it.
Our guests will range in age from 4 to 90. There will be grandchildren, cousins, nieces, and nephews along with their families, house guests, and boyfriends. And we will tip a glass to the memories of those who have enriched our holidays past.
May your day be merry and bright, and for the sake of the travelers, not too white.

Ellen

Yep, this week you get to give opinoins–about a subject that is near and dear to us all, our Christmas trees. Just finished decorating ours, and it is…well, beautiful. It smells piney and has some endearing imperfections, but it’s the real thing. There are many different thoughts on what makes a beautiful Christmas tree, and maybe some might not like that adjective. Perhaps it should be clever or funny or sporty. Well, let’s see where you weigh in.

1. Whatever your favorite type is (a Douglas fir, a Frasier fir, a spruce, a concolor), why do you choose it?
a. price (oh, yeah, they are all more expensive this year, having to do with a dought in Texas, they say, and I thought they were all grown in Lenhartsville)
b. size–does it have to dominate or just fit in
c. shape–are you a round and fully packed or a svelt and sleek tree lover?
d. layering of branches–must the ornaments hang vertically or can they look layed on
e. will it fit in the stand–or do you have to get a bucket of sand and ropes to fortify it
f. all of the above

2. When do you get and trim your tree?
a. Halloween, when the stores do theirs
b. Thanksgiving, between football games
c. early in December
d. when I’m finished marking papers
e. when I finally get around to it
f. Christmas eve, because Santa brings it

3. Lightin preference
a. tiny little white lights because they’re elegant
b. colored lights–the more colors the better
c. ones that chase each other around the tree
d. bubbling candles (remember those?)
e. whatever I found on my grandmother’s attic
f. the cheapest ones I could find at Ace Hardware

4. Ornaments–
a. traditional balls
b. I’ve got a theme tree
c. ones my children made–love those construction paper chains
d. ones I made in school–love those snowflakes and origami birds, but they’re getting a little yellow around the edges
e. the cheapest ones I could find at Ace Hardware
f. anything left after the cat knocked the tree down last year

5. What do you do with all of those little fuses and bulbs (and all of those little tags that say CAUTION and UL listed–what does that mean?)
a. throw them away
b. use them, of course, I haven’t had to replace lights in decades
c. put them in a desk drawer and now I have a collection of more than 1000 of them
d. glue them together to make little garlands for a miniatrure tree
e. what fuses and extra bulbs?

6. What goes on the top of your tree?
a. a star
b. an angel
c. a partidge in a pear tree
d. nothing–can’t reach it

7. Final touch?
a. garland
b. tinsel/rain/ice cicles
c. popcorn and cranberries
d. angelhair (remember that?)
e. it looks good the way it is

8. Who loves your tree the most?
a. the cat
b. the puppy–has eaten everything half way up
c. my mother (she loves everything I do–especially at Christmas)
d. my grandchildren
e. me

I hope you chose “e” for the last one. Enjoy it all!

Ellen

In addition to internally-lit vinyl snowmen ballooning on front porches and yards all around town and the mail people delivering pieces of mail actually addressed by hand, for me a sign that the Christmas season is upon us is that I am driving about with a timpani in the back of my Forester. Timpani–those gorgeous sounding and looking large kettle drums– the rhythmic soul of an orchestra. I’m a violinist, not a timpanist, but I play with the Reading Philharmonic Orchestra, a group of volunteer musicians who give free concerts. We have no budget for instrument or equipment transportation. People just chip in. When we have concerts, someone drives the crates of music about, someone brings the sound equipment, and if someone has a vehicle resembling an SUV, then she must drive one of the timpani. Our timpanist is in his 90s and no longer able to carry them himself. They are ordinarily stored where we rehearse, but those spaces are not accessible except at rehearsal time. So now that we are in concert mode, playing at malls and churches, I carry this drum with me everywhere I go. It’s been my December routine for the last few years. And, oh the places we go–to get a Christmas tree–tree on top, drum inside. Shopping–gifts snuggled in around it. Picture it parked in lots from hither to yon. It bounces over back roads, and every once in a while I hear a resounding bong from the back, protesting a turn too quickly taken. Actually I’m a much more careful and considerate driver with a timpani in tow–“precious cargo”, as my mother-in-law always said when I was driving my little ones around–and that big kettle kind of cuts down on rear visibility, so I challenge no one for that spot in the right lane.
It is covered in a quilt so as not to distract gawkers or tempt those criminally-inclined who will do anything to obtain recyclable copper. We’re a pair for these weeks–me up front singing along to my Christmas CDs, the drum in the back lending a resonance.
19 days and counting. A votre sante, Jane…et tous nos femmes…et tout le monde.
Ellen