Yuletide Arts & Crafts

My father, a man of mathematics, science and logic, who spent the better part of 47 years working in a laboratory testing soil samples and rocks, is not what one would call artistic. In fact, when asked about the aesthetic quality of an item, he's more likely to respond with, "Well, does it make sense and is it useful?" Therefore, it doesn't stand to reason that he would be the parent I would turn to for help with arts and crafts projects. My mother, after all, taught me to sew, knit, embroider, and artfully dollop meringue onto a perfectly baked lemon pie.

However, there are times when a man of precision is just the right person for a craft project. No, I wouldn't dream of asking him to offer advice on whether or not two plaids complement each other or if I should select cream in lieu of ecru. But he comes in awfully handy whenever power tools are in order, or if I need someone to sit down with a paper cutter and meticulously measure and trim cardstock to exact dimensions.

And so when, earlier this year, my dad and brothers cut down my mother's beloved aging birch tree in the front yard – the one she transplanted from her parents' woods – I scrambled to grab manageable-sized branches and small limbs, knowing I'd be putting my dad to work closer to Christmastime.

My plan? I would create my very own Yule log for the Christmas table.

"I need you to drill large holes in a birch branch," I informed him. "And you'll need a saw, too," I added. I explained my vision and he tested me on such things as, "Okay, how are you going to make sure this log sits level and doesn't roll? Have you considered the dripping wax? Are all taper candles of uniform circumference?" Very important questions to consider, indeed!

Before commencing, he carefully measured the spacing of the three holes, announcing they were equidistant from each other and straight as an arrow. (I wasn't worried.) Then he engaged me in a lengthy conversation about the depth of the holes, and how much of the log we should shave off each end.

I stood by him in the garage as he bored candle holes in my soon-to-be Yule log and then tidied up the ends of the log. As sawdust flew, the smell of the wooden shavings reminded me of my childhood and all the home projects he completed, his table saw whirring away as his spot-on measurements were cut and trimmed.

The log prepped and ready, the next stage was decorating. I don't know that my mom has ever used a glue gun. I got those mad skills from my dad, too. Some winter berries and greenery pieces found themselves artfully arranged on the top of the log amid white and red candles. Next, I implemented his advice about using small tacks on the bottom of the log to keep the temperamental log from rolling, flaming candles and all.

Violà! A centerpiece fit for the prettiest of Christmas tables. Happy Yuletide!

Shoe Shopping and Latte Sipping with the Lil' Sis: A Scrumptious Pairing!

Although there are thirteen and one-third years between us, as well as six siblings including another sister, my littlest sister (aka "The Baby") and I gravitate toward one another from time to time. This is probably due to the fact that, when she was little, I was always on hand to take her roller skating, shopping and to movies. Truth be told, she was in kindergarten when my future husband and I met in college, and therefore many of our first dates involved taking her to G-rated movies and other age-appropriate activities. We eventually stopped correcting people when they told us we made a beautiful family. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

But, having traded all of her baby teeth now for perfectly white and orthodontically straightened adult ones, she is in college and is no longer looking for a big sister to deposit her at a play date or supervise her at the swimming pool. Gone is the necessity to "look out for her," however, the instinct is pretty firmly imbedded in my subconscious (thanks to my mother). It's an interesting dichotomy -- she's not my daughter, however she's a half generation too young to really feel like my sister.

I lost track of when, exactly, her feet reached my size 11 in length. It was somewhere around her high school years, I imagine, because I remember slipping into a pair of her chunky, stacked Mary Janes and wondering if you had to be a teenager to pull them off, or if people at the office might find them as cute and creative-looking as I did.

For the first time in my life, I had a sister with whom I could share clothing, even if it only meant shoes. This was going to be nice! It was also around this time that I learned that she too had subverted my mom's abhorrence of all things tasting of coffee, and did indeed enjoy a good latte herself.

And so, we find ourselves standing on common ground (in our size 11s). My free hand stays toasty, wrapped around a large almond latte, as I stroll next to her amid the tables of shoes in the department store. She is enjoying a medium vanilla latte. We pick up shoes, inspecting and price checking, visualizing outfits that would be completed by a quiet yet classic pair of black strappy heels or spruced up with a coquettish pair of dark red patent pumps. We try on boots. We swap boxes. She holds my coffee as I slip on a pair of darling peacock-colored satin heels. I grumble that, although the color is sublime, alas, I have nothing they would go with. “Who cares!” she enthuses. “Sometimes you just have to buy the clothes so you can wear the shoes.”

We spend the afternoon slipping on boots, pumps, flats and fancy heels, finishing our lattes and pausing to wonder if the day is worthy of another java stop. I walk out of the final store with two sensible pairs that I know will wear well with my work wardrobe, and she walks out with a few pair that I’m secretly excited to borrow.

Life marches on and relationships change, grow, and expand. And with each passing year, I am amazed to find shared interests with some of my brothers and sisters I never could have predicted. It’s important to take advantage of these moments with siblings. These are the people with whom we share not only genes, but our history, our memories, our family traditions, and our looks. And in my case, shoe size!

Gingerbread Houses!

 
One Christmas tradition my kids eagerly await each year is the day my husband and I sit down at the kitchen table with them to build gingerbread houses. They each, of course, have to build their very own. So we set aside a weekend afternoon to put our baked good architectural skills to work. These whimsical little houses are utterly cheerful and remind me of a winter CandyLand. What’s not to love about creating a gumdrop path or licorice windows? Plus, this activity allows the kids’ imaginations to run wild. One year, they put a blue rolled fruit snack to use to create a “pond” outside their gingerbread homes.

In many things, I feel taking the easy way out is cheating. However, I’ve agreed to purchase gingerbread house kits in lieu of actually baking the gingerbread myself and then cutting it into cottage-friendly pieces. Perhaps if one of my engineer brothers were to assist with this endeavor, it might be worth the hassle, but I’m perfectly happy to leave the mathematics and measurements of gingerbread walls up to the experts.

The tricky part of this project is that it demands a small amount of patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and as we found out last year, neither are gingerbread houses. My kids are always ecstatic when I mix up the icing and their dad lays out the gingerbread pieces, but once we start erecting these little houses, my kids believe the icing should dry immediately, locking the walls, roofs and chimneys firmly in place. It can take a few hours for the icing to harden, and to decorate the houses before the walls are held fast would be to sentence the poor gingerbread house to a condemned state. (Some years, an overnight wait is necessary when roof pieces slip or walls teeter. But well worth the wait, I assure you!

So, with the iced walls of the houses held firmly in place by soup cans, we set them aside and wait. And wait. And drink some hot chocolate. And wait some more.

Long about the time the kids have given up all hope of placing peppermint swirls on roof peaks and positioning Dum-Dum sucker trees around the house, I announce the houses are ready for decorating. Let the madness begin! My daughter hits Play on the Christmas classics CD and Bing Crosby starts crooning about a white Christmas. Family holiday fun time doesn’t get much better than this.

My husband, although an enthusiastic participant, is not what you would call artistic or crafty. However, he can follow a diagram with the best of them. So, with the kit box planted in front of him, he instructs our son on the placement of hard candies as he spreads white icing over the “snow-covered” roof. I take charge of squeezing the icing out of the pastry bag to create snow peaks and drifts, doors and windows.

My daughter – the rule follower – carefully picks out a green, a red and a purple gumdrop (the order shown on the box) to adorn the window. My son, on the other hand, announces that he’d rather use Sixlets left over from Halloween to line the roof. This causes a slight fracas, followed by a discussion about creativity and the box design being merely a suggestion. With the green light to deviate from the plan, the kids search the baking cupboard for jimmies, sprinkles, coconut and anything else that lends itself well to gingerbread house decorating.

After finishing our little candy homes, the kids are thrilled. They feel not only a sense of accomplishment, but that they are productive participants in our yearly Christmas decorating. We set the gingerbread houses atop a snow white blanket of fake snow and savor the faint smell of gingerbread emanating from the china hutch.

And that’s a day’s worth of fun for less than $10.