January 5: Finches at the feeder

Eleventh day of Christmas—

snowstorm gave to me

two finches feeding.

December 29: Transition

Boxing up Christmas.

The old cat

sleeps through it all.

December 25: Watching starlings in a snowstorm

Christmas morning.

Starling on a windowsill

eating windblown snow.

December 17: Gardens Aglow

Trees strung with Christmas lights

illuminating in snow

the small tracks of voles.

May 1: May Day

Seasonal house--

Christmas wreath by the door,

cherry tree blooming.

Posted with Blogsy

December 26: Biscotti

Christmas sacrament:

my dad's homemade biscotti

dipped in hot cocoa.

Posted with Blogsy

December 15: Christmas stollen

Marzipan Christmas stollen--
I still miss my Nana
gone thirty years.

April 2: Springtime in Maine

Big April moon shining
Easter Bunny and reindeer
crowd the snowy lawn

December 25: Christmas

Jupiter shining
in the east,
a beckoning star.

December 22: Gifts

Against the backdrop of a glittering but dangerous ice storm, we celebrated an early Christmas with my family last night, feasting on our traditional lobster stew, exchanging gifts, and cheering on the Patriots (who clinched the AFC East title).

Bounty of food, family love.
And even the Patriots
gave us a gift.

December 6: Christmas by the Sea

Beyond the lights
and crowded sidewalks
sighs the dark harbor.

December 25: Gifts for the cat

Like a large percentage of American pet owners, we get our pet a Christmas gift. Lucky Rooney received a squeaking catnip mouse today. She seemed to enjoy her new toy, flinging it around and batting it under furniture while making funny chirpy noises that a cat might make when it's tormenting its prey.

Later, Paul set up a remote control car I'd given him, a cool one that you operate via Bluetooth with your iPhone. The cat was fascinated by this, as well, though she couldn't decide whether to chase it or run from it. She'd tentatively bat it, then back off.

When combined with the pleasures of tissue, ribbon, and packaging from gifts, these diversions seemed to tire her out. We were still opening gifts when she escaped to the back of the couch for a nap, seeming to take literally the message on the nearby pillow.

Shortly after this shot, she was curled up asleep.

Simple pleasures:
watching the cat play
with a twist tie.

December 21: End of the world

According to some misreadings of an ancient Mayan calendar, the world was supposed to end today. In our neck of the woods, instead of ending, it just got really windy and a bunch of trees got blown to pieces. The icy gusts scattered limbs and even some lawn furniture across the streets. The damage was particularly noticeable on my parents' dead-end, pine-lined street as we drove to their house to celebrate our family Christmas together; we had to move some rather large pine boughs out of the driveway to arrive unscathed for the festivities.

Door blown open by wind--
a dramatic welcome
for a holiday dinner.

December 19: Cake

My co-workers and I enjoyed a staff holiday lunch today at our director's house, and his wife made us not only a delicious lunch but also the most wonderful dessert: dense dark chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting, multi-layers of gooey caramel filling on the inside, and pecans on top. I don't even really like cake, and I ate a huge wedge of this rich, chocolate-y goodness. This cake was so over-the-top amazing that simply eating my piece made me feel more festive, more in the holiday mood. By mid-afternoon we were all in a food coma, but it was a jolly food coma.

Snow falling. Inside
we feast on decadent wedges
of chocolate cake.

November 29: Snow and star

Driving home tonight as the snow was falling--gently but thoroughly--the lighted Santas on people's front lawns remained bright, but the lighted star on the tower atop Mount Battie was just a hazy blur.

Behind snow's swirl--
a full moon brighter
than holiday lights.

December 25: White Christmas

Our weekend feline visitor woke us early this Christmas morning and observed with typical nonchalance as we happily engaged in our Christmas morning rituals: stocking, then breakfast, then gifts. Outside snow fell. The perfect, magical touch.

Even now as we drive to my in-laws', the snow is beautiful and a bit mesmerizing as it flies at the car and swirls in the highway. Everywhere, the accent of white makes the landscape seem just a little more festive.

As snow sweeps over the St. George River, an eagle waits in a tree. A crow perches like a weathervane on the peak of a snow-covered barn roof. The dark, sweeping boughs of pines carry white highlights. White snow piles atop hay bales wrapped in white plastic. In another field, snow accumulates on rolled bales left spread throughout the field like hulking beasts. Tidal inlets and rivers fill to the brim with clots of ice thanks to the new moon high tide.

And then we're through the main body of the storm and the sky brightens. Our spirits are high. Soon we'll be with family, and the holiday celebrations we began with a dear friend on Christmas Eve will continue.

Snow on Christmas Day.
And a flurry of traffic
"to grandmother's house..."

December 11: Whiff of Skunk

Green parsley still pokes up through the dried leaves in our garden. Friends report budding forsythia. There's no snow to be seen on the ridgeline of Mount Megunticook as we roll into the two-week Christmas count-down. Our bottle of Grandpa Lundquist's Holiday Glogg waits, unopened. Our Christmas decorations are still tucked away in the shed.

But despite the askew weather, we did do some seasonal things today: we bought Christmas wrap and flannel PJs at Reny's, and then we watched a football game with a friend while enjoying moose stew next to a warm wood stove. As we left our friend's house, passing his many cords of stacked firewood, we picked up on a whiff of skunk in the cold air. Another living thing confused about what season it is. Our friend says the skunk lives under the woodshed. If the weather continues like this, that's going to be one tired skunk come spring, wishing it had had a few more days of hibernation.

Christmas lights through trees,
new flannel reindeer PJs...
and so it begins.

December 2: Glimpse of the Moon

If you live in the Camden area, I'm sure you've driven by the Wards' house on Gould Street and seen the elaborate Christmas light display that Mr. Ward puts up each holiday season. He lost his wife this year, but his holiday enthusiasm appears to remain undimmed--for which all those who make a drive-by pilgrimage to his house each year with their kids can be grateful. Some people call it tacky, but I think its excessiveness conveys a joy that's fully in the spirit of the season.

There's the moon, peeping,
bright as all of my neighbor's
wacky Christmas stuff.

December 25: Christmas Ducks

A few times on Christmas, Mother Nature has given us the gift of an unusual wildlife sighting. One year, my dad and I saw a flock of Bohemian waxwings--one of my favorite birds--settle into a tree right outside my parents' house. Another year, we looked out to see an otter on the river ice, apparently eating a fish, eyed by a bald eagle in a nearby tree. This year, as I sat down to my computer after enjoying a lovely Christmas brunch with friends, I noticed three black ducks waddling up the snowy bank from the river, probably scoping out our yard for acorns. That in itself was kind of cool. Although we see ducks almost daily down in the river, they've never before visited our back yard. But then we noticed that a pair of wood ducks was also moving up the bank into our yard. The male wood duck has such exotic coloring and patterns that seeing one at any time seems like a gift. And here he was, mate in tow, hustling through our yard on Christmas Day. Wish they'd hung out long enough for a photo.

(Thanks to Wikimedia, here's a photo I would like to have taken of a male wood duck)

Now a squirrel's digging in a patch of dead leaves, but somehow that isn't as festive and exciting. Still, Merry Christmas, squirrel! I hope you and the ducks find a holiday treat under the snow and leaves back there.

Wood duck in my yard--
gaudy as a Christmas gift,
a gift worth sharing.

December 12: Christmas Tree

Phew, what a day. My sister and my two nieces (Fiona: 3-1/2; Nola: almost 6 months) are staying nearby at my parents' for the weekend. Fiona wanted to spend time alone today with Auntie Kristen at her house. So she and I came back to the house and dressed up teddy bears, "wrote a letter" to Uncle Paul that involved using all the crayons, made candy cane cookies in a way that somehow involved the floor, had lunch, watched Christmas specials on t.v., and "helped" Uncle Paul put lights on the tree. Before we could decorate it, however, my sister showed up, and of course suddenly Fiona had a meltdown. Classic "Mommy's here" response after a day of being a perfect angel. (It doesn't help that she was up at 4 a.m. this morning.)

So my sister drove back to our parents' house with a crying Fiona, who of course immediately fell asleep in the car. After they left, Paul and I put on Christmas music  and hung ornaments on the tree ourselves. When we were done, our Sleeping Beauty cat momentarily woke up and came out to check the newest change to her territory. She seemed to approve. We always hang the non-fragile ornaments lowest in case she ever gets inspired to bat at an ornament or two like when she was younger.

With the fragrance of fir and the soft glow of lights filling our living room, stockings hung from the fireplace-less mantle, and the first round of Christmas cookies still warm in the kitchen, I'm in the holiday mood. Peace on earth, goodwill to man (and woman). Fa la la la la!


Fragrance of fir boughs,
lights twinkle in a dark room--
our faces, hearts, glow.

Update: shortly after completing this post, our Christmas tree spontaneously and unceremoniously took  a face plant on the living room rug. Fortunately only one ornament was broken, easily mended, and the tree is now positioned more securely in its stand. Ah, if only all holiday dramas could be this mild.