With apologies to those of you who already seen this, below are some of my Christmas memories as a kid. Happy Holidays, Everyone!
Remembrances of Christmas Past
The crunchier the snow the colder the air.
The month dragged i n t e r m i n a b l y.
Discovering Santa's stash early
guaranteed disappointment.
The closer the holiday
the more cookies and goodies to be found.
Midnight Mass and a choir singing
Silent Night
invited
droopy
eyelids.
Waking to the aroma of roasting turkey
produced pure olfactory pleasure.
But the house jam full of family and friends
outmatched even a stack of toys beneath the tree.
May only good memories surround you this season!
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Sunday, December 18, 2016
How to Deal with Negative Numbers
Here in Minnesota a November with routine highs of 60 or more, spooky in its warmth, lulled us into thinking that winter would once again be a non-event like those in the recent past. Scant snow and chilly days, nothing really COLD. You know, the type of weather that comes with bragging rights. Let's just say the month of December reminded us, and not so gently, of what winter deals to those who live in the north country.
Granted, this morning's low didn't set a record, but -20 degrees, not including the windchill of -31, is not a pleasant way to greet the day. Even ensconced in the warmth of home the bitter temperature brought back memories of a very frigid weekend once spent at the cabin.
How to Deal with Negative Numbers
Sixteen below, pines up to their knees in snow,
and tucked into the trees a thin-skinned cabin.
The fire in its belly a half-lit sputter, listless
as a hibernating bear. Under comforters
hip-aching cold despite bodies close as velcro.
Come morning the siren's song
of a false sun. Snowshoes hung in the hall
hover with the reproach of friends ignored.
One night outside and our coddled car surrenders.
Next a search for jumper cables, nearby neighbors.
The price for help: a locals' jibes
as we juice the motor. "Nothin' but a bunch
of trouble ..." "If you didn't drive such a sissy import ..."
The gravelly voice no match for the twinkle in his eye.
The offer of coffee better than an extra sweater: the cold
no longer a bottomless crevasse.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
Granted, this morning's low didn't set a record, but -20 degrees, not including the windchill of -31, is not a pleasant way to greet the day. Even ensconced in the warmth of home the bitter temperature brought back memories of a very frigid weekend once spent at the cabin.
How to Deal with Negative Numbers
Sixteen below, pines up to their knees in snow,
and tucked into the trees a thin-skinned cabin.
The fire in its belly a half-lit sputter, listless
as a hibernating bear. Under comforters
hip-aching cold despite bodies close as velcro.
Come morning the siren's song
of a false sun. Snowshoes hung in the hall
hover with the reproach of friends ignored.
One night outside and our coddled car surrenders.
Next a search for jumper cables, nearby neighbors.
The price for help: a locals' jibes
as we juice the motor. "Nothin' but a bunch
of trouble ..." "If you didn't drive such a sissy import ..."
The gravelly voice no match for the twinkle in his eye.
The offer of coffee better than an extra sweater: the cold
no longer a bottomless crevasse.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Winter Port
I have long been fascinated by trans-Atlantic ships traveling from Rotterdam or Gdansk or any European port across the ocean, down the St. Lawrence Seaway, through a string of Great Lakes, and on to their final destination at the western tip of Lake Superior - Duluth, Minnesota. An inland waterway journey over 2400 miles long.
The Great Lakes, especially Superior, tend to ice-up in winter, closing down far northern shipping for about three months of the year. Though my travels have not taken me to Duluth in December, I once saw a photo of one of these "salties" materializing from a snowstorm, crusted in ice, and headed for her winter's berth. December snow never fails to remind me of that breathtaking image.
Winter Port
The iron ore freighter burdened
with frozen rime sprayed thick
by Superior's water and set
by December's cold emerges
from a stinging fog. Three throaty
blasts announce her late arrival.
The empty canal walkway covered
in ankle-deep, blowing snow
no longer harbors
greeting committees of waving
kids and curious tourists.
Only the lone operator of the lift
bridge the ship must clear
for a safe haven smiles in welcome.
He sounds a matching trio of salutations
as great heaps of splintered ice
close in behind her.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
The Great Lakes, especially Superior, tend to ice-up in winter, closing down far northern shipping for about three months of the year. Though my travels have not taken me to Duluth in December, I once saw a photo of one of these "salties" materializing from a snowstorm, crusted in ice, and headed for her winter's berth. December snow never fails to remind me of that breathtaking image.
Winter Port
The iron ore freighter burdened
with frozen rime sprayed thick
by Superior's water and set
by December's cold emerges
from a stinging fog. Three throaty
blasts announce her late arrival.
The empty canal walkway covered
in ankle-deep, blowing snow
no longer harbors
greeting committees of waving
kids and curious tourists.
Only the lone operator of the lift
bridge the ship must clear
for a safe haven smiles in welcome.
He sounds a matching trio of salutations
as great heaps of splintered ice
close in behind her.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Christmas Gift
This week holds the birthday of my mother, and if she were still alive, she would be very old, indeed. Never one to reveal how many years she actually had lived, Mom responded to more than one query with "A gentleman never asks a lady her age." And I will honor that.
She emigrated to this country as an adolescent with her parents, and, unfortunately, lost her own mother to a fast moving cancer within a year of their arrival. I'm sure December remained a bittersweet month for Mom throughout her long life.
Christmas Gift
A forgotten photo
now reproduced, enlarged, found in a box
saggy with age, dampens your creased cheeks.
"It's my mother," you explain, unwrapped,
as if I didn't know. Her funeral held
in early December on your fourteenth birthday.
Like the scattered Russian
nesting dolls underfoot
how do we fit together?
Grandma
forever young,
you unguarded as a child
absorbed with your present,
me now feeling like your mother
in this stack, somewhere, my own daughter.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
She emigrated to this country as an adolescent with her parents, and, unfortunately, lost her own mother to a fast moving cancer within a year of their arrival. I'm sure December remained a bittersweet month for Mom throughout her long life.
Christmas Gift
A forgotten photo
now reproduced, enlarged, found in a box
saggy with age, dampens your creased cheeks.
"It's my mother," you explain, unwrapped,
as if I didn't know. Her funeral held
in early December on your fourteenth birthday.
Like the scattered Russian
nesting dolls underfoot
how do we fit together?
Grandma
forever young,
you unguarded as a child
absorbed with your present,
me now feeling like your mother
in this stack, somewhere, my own daughter.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
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