Having grown up in Oregon just a few hours’ drive from the coast, a trip to the beach at least three or four times a year was something to which I grew accustomed, though never weary. My siblings and I spent the days building forts among the driftwood logs, hunting for washed-up treasures, building sand castles and sculptures, playing in the (cold!) waves and warming ourselves by a fire as we munched on s’mores. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love to sit and watch the waves rolling into the shore or crashing dramatically against the rocks, and I’ve never slept better than within the sound of the breakers and the scent of the ocean air.

There were a few times in my adult life when I found myself living far from the sea and unable to just hop in the car for a quick drive to enjoy its soothing presence. How I missed the long walks on the sand and the calm I felt with nothing but the sound of the waves and the wind in my ears! My girls seem to feel that same pull of the tides. Their favorite family vacations include our many trips to the beach; and even now, when Jenny comes home from college in Chicago, she always requests that we squeeze in a day or two at the coast.

Having just returned from a few days by the sea, I’m feeling the benefit of my brief stay there and reminded how good it is for me to make the time for those interludes of quiet. Although the weather can often be stormy and extremely wet at this time of year, this time there was barely a breeze, the temperatures were in the 50s, and the sun even peeped through the high, thin overcast on occasion. It gave me the chance to take  comfortable, long walks up the sand and pause for some lengthy stretches to just sit and watch the breakers rolling in. I’m never bored seeing how the water swells up and builds into a curling, green glass wall and then tumbles over in seeming slow motion into foaming, pounding surf. It offers an opportunity to empty the mind and think of nothing at all or a background against which to tackle some knotty problem without the interference of any other distraction.

So I’ve returned home to a week full of deadlines, appointments and obligations, but renewed in spirit, body and soul. And when life gets hectic, I’ll recall those peaceful moments by the sea until I can visit there again.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader 

Right now, as my daughters read the title of this blog, they are cringing. I will happily admit that I get a bit of wicked pleasure in embarassing them with goofy antics and purposely dreadful/playful attempts to drop modern slang and references into conversations with them. Actually, they know what I’m up to and play their part in this little interaction, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads in mock horror at my blatant lack of cool. We all enjoy this teasing aspect of our relationship, and it’s one which I don’t get to indulge in as much as I’d like, with both of them living in the Chicago area most of the year. Some of the body language and timing is lost over the phone lines (even with Skype) or in emails, an immediacy that only being physically together actually satisfies.

This last week, then, was a completely pleasurable one for me as both girls (and son-in-law Dan) were home for Christmas. We had plenty of time to catch up on just being together without going anywhere particularly special or doing anything terribly remarkable. (Well, I take that back a bit; Sarah, Dan and I took a quick afternoon trip down to the redwoods, which Jenny, Harry and I had seen together last summer. As I wrote in my blog at that time, that is a VERY special and remarkable trip.) After a Christmas Day in which all of us spent the day in pajamas, we took in the George Clooney film Up in the Air. It was the one we all (including my mother-in-law) could agree on seeing together, and we all enjoyed it. As Kim mentioned in her blog a few weeks ago, I’m sure it holds moments to which most of our frequent-flyer GT readers could relate.

After hearing our raves over the past several months, our guests insisted that we take them to two of our favorite places in Central Point: the Rogue Creamery and Lillie Belle Farms (I’ve also mentioned each a few times in my blogs). Located next door to each other, the businesses serve up amazing cheeses and chocolates, respectively, created from local raw ingredients and appreciated (and awarded) internationally. After sampling several Rogue cheeses and an assortment of other producers’ cheeses from the creamery’s case, we forced ourselves to narrow our purchases to a few exquisite choices and then trooped next door to Lillie Belle. I could almost be satisfied with just walking in the door and inhaling deeply for several minutes, but why stop there? The rest of our party agreed, and after another opportunity to freely sample from chocolatier/owner/wizard/artist Jeff Shepherd’s heavenly concoctions, we each chose some goodies to take home and gift to friends and relatives not lucky enough to be with us that day.

Another evening we chose to forego more football games and Christmas movies on TV and visited the local bowling alley, Lava Lanes, for a few games of not-very-competitive play. Thankfully, my level of fun was not at all in proportion to my score, which was truly abysmal. We also spent some time in the adjoining video arcade, where I had my first introduction to Dance Dance Revolution (that could become addictive; I may have an idea for next year’s Christmas list!) and the kids enjoyed blasting aliens in “Area 51.” 

In between our jaunts around town, we collectively completed a few jigsaw puzzles and laughed over old home videos from the girls’ early years. Nothing special, as I said, but also utterly delightful. Yep, there’s nothing better in life than hangin’ with my homies (cue the eye rolling and head shaking).

 – Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

I don’t recall when or why the game we unimaginatively call “The Ornament Game” began, but I suspect it was created to distract our young daughters from grabbing ornaments on our Christmas tree while still encouraging them to enjoy its beauty. It’s basically an “I Spy” sort of game, where the person who is “It” gazes at one particular item on the tree, and the other tries to figure out exactly which ornament that is. Sounds fairly simple, but if you know that our trees for the last dozen or more years have all been 10 to 12 feet tall and that I have a ton of ornaments, then you realize that it can be challenging (at least enough so to occupy two girls who are impatient for Santa to arrive). “It” must never waver from her focus on the chosen ornament and must honestly answer a limited number of questions from the inquisitor: “Is it white?” “Is it an angel?” “Can you see all of it or just a part of it from where you are?” Once the right ornament is identified, the roles are reversed and the game continues until they tire of it.

I enjoy my own perusal of the tree and its decorations in my own way. As my eyes scan over the branches, I pick out first one and then another bauble and recall when and where I found it. It’s a pleasant way to review some of my travels, and I like the fact that my favorite holiday provides such a great way to bring together so many of my favorite memories.

There are a few that survive from my childhood, and others that I purchased back in college when I first had my own tree in my first apartment. Most, however, have come into my life since my marriage and are a chronicle of trips near and far that Harry and I and the girls have shared together or taken separately. The red basket-weave baby carriage came from a trip to Seaside, Oregon, when I was pregnant with Jenny. The wooden moose came from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, on a summer family road trip that took us to Yellowstone and Glacier national parks, too. More recent journeys are chronicled as well: a ceramic Celtic knot from Edinburgh, Scotland, and brightly painted tin ornaments from our New Year’s trip to Rosarito Beach, Mexico, just last year.

There are a few decorations from destinations I have not visited but that family members have contributed. Sarah gave me a fleur-de-lis from her visit to New Orleans with then-fiance (now husband) Dan, and my brother-in-law’s family has sent us a few from their home in Texas. Rounding out the collection are the newest additions from travels this year. Over there is a tiny wooden Pinocchio from Capri, Italy, I picked up during the cruise with my sisters, whose jointed limbs jump and dance when you pull his string. And here is that lovely cloisonne articulated koi that we picked up at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago when we visited the girls just this October.

I look forward to adding to my store of memories and ornaments on my travels in the coming year. I wish you safe and fascinating journeys wherever in the world life takes you in 2010 as well.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

I can’t remember a time when I did not love books. Before I could read to myself, one of my three older brothers was usually willing to read to me. Once I was able to scrawl my name, I got my very own library card, and I looked forward all week to our Saturday afternoon treks to the local branch. Dad would head off to the stacks to gather his own collection of thick, dull, non-illustrated books while we kids made a bee-line to the brightly painted tables and low shelves of the children’s section. The three-book limit never sated my appetite, so I looked through as many books as possible before choosing the three that I would take home for the next seven days. As I got older, I enjoyed reading aloud to my three younger siblings when I didn’t have my nose buried in my own stories. When there was no captive audience to be had, I would pretend I was the “Library Lady” who came to our school once a month and gave each class book talks and shared a portion of some enticing new tome. I’d sit in my bedroom and hold the book up to share the pictures with my imaginary class of fascinated listeners; I’m sure this early love of books played a key role in my later decision to become an English teacher.

 My own daughters were read to from a very early age, and each has developed her own life-long love affair with the wonders and mysteries which reveal themselves within the pages of books. The holiday season has allowed me to relish two of my favorite things — Christmas and books — at once, and every year I look forward to bringing out all my old favorites and scouring the bookstores for one or two new treasures to add to the collection. One of our family traditions was to allow each girl to choose one story book a night, and we would curl up on the sofa next to the lighted Christmas tree and enjoy the words and pictures together. As the girls got older, sometimes they would read to me, but even now, with both in their twenties, we love to share that quiet time with these familiar and beloved tales.

I am very particular about the kinds of winter/holiday stories I allow into my little library. The story itself must be beautifully written, with the words carefully chosen and woven together to draw one in to the special world the author reveals. The illustrations must also be of the highest quality, no matter the style or medium, so that their magic combines with and magnifies that of the written word. Some years the pickings have been woefully lean, and I’ve not been enticed to purchase any of the not-up-to-snuff offerings. I simply return home to enjoy all my old friends and trust that the next year might bring a better crop from which to choose an addition.

Some of our favorites take us to times and places far from our own experiences, allowing us to travel the world in our minds and see how others celebrated Christmas or the hush of winter. Owl Moon, written by Jane Yolen and illustrated by John Schoenherr, tells how a little girl and her father strike out over a frozen, silent landscape to go owling late one cold winter night. Gloria Houston’s The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree (illustrated by Barbara Cooney), lyrically presents an Appalacian Christmas at the close of the Great War, while Probity Jones and the Fear Not Angel (Walter Wangerin, Jr.; illustrated by Tim Ladwig) is a sweet story set in a modern-day inner city neighborhood. Another Barbara Cooney-illustrated story, The Story of Holly and Ivy by Rumer Godden, took us into the world of a lonely orphan girl in England. A collection of poems by Norma Farber, illustrated with simple, bright pictures by Petra Mathers, tells the individual stories of several not-so-traditional visitors to the manger in Bethlehem (a sloth, a turtle, a ladybug, a racoon). My favorite is the poem of the queens who, though arriving late, brought practical gifts for mother and child like a homespun blue gown and chicken noodle soup. And, with thoughts full of “home and children and chores undone,” they “stayed not long” — such a lovely dose of reality with which I could readily identify!

One story I can not fail to mention, although it does not qualify as an illustrated children’s book, is Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory. It’s really more of a long short story or a short novelette, but I’ve loved this tale ever since I first shared it with one of my 9th-grade English classes over 25 years ago. The gentle, loving relationship between a young orphan and his eccentric elderly kinswoman is revealed as we follow their preparations for a Depression-era Christmas. It is a gem of storytelling and character that readers young and old can treasure.

I wish you warmth, happiness and peaceful time spent with those near and dear to you during this special season. And my hope is that you will be able to spend some quiet time curled up with a good book to warm your spirit.

 – Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

This past week I discovered a wonderful event which I’ve already decided will become the kick-off activity of the holiday season for me every year from now on. One of the pluses of moving to a new community is being exposed to its unique festivals,celebrations and institutions. Here in the Rogue Valley (and, specifically, the city of Medford) is a lovely performing arts center, the Craterian Ginger Rogers Theater. Opened in 1924 as a venue for both live traveling performances and popular movies of the day, it was transformed in 1997 into a community performing arts center after languishing unused for several years. The famed dancer/actress purchased a ranch here on the Rogue River in the ’40s and was a quiet but active member of  the community until her death in 1995. She supported fundraisers focused on the remodeling of the old Craterian; hence, the addition of her name to the site.

The theater hosts an ecletic assortment of national concert, dance and theatrical tours each year in addition to several local and regional dance and musical entities and is operated by a non-profit organization. For several years now, the largest fundraiser for that group has been the annual Gingerbread Jubilee. On Tuesday I trekked downtown, plunked down a measly three dollars and spent the next 90 minutes thoroughly amazed and impressed with the ingenuity, skill and artistry of those who submitted the 48 entries on display. There were a few different divisions – student, adult, individual and group — and very few rules. The only one that really seemed to matter is that everything used in each creation had to be an edible item (not just gingerbread). The more I looked, the more I spotted some really amazing adaptations of cereal, various kinds of pasta and even dried seaweed as building materials!

This being the 150th anniversary of Oregon’s statehood, several displays depicted well-known historical sites and events from the past. There was a lovely recreation of the Chateau at the Oregon Caves National Monument, a 1934 rustic wooden hotel; a covered bridge complete with goldfish-cracker residents ”swimming” in the “river” below; a log homestead with a rock-candy chimney. Most impressive for its intricate detailing inside and out as well as the age of its creators was a beautiful rendition of a one-room schoolhouse. Tiny fondant-molded coats, hats, gloves and lunch boxes cluttered the cloak room; desks contained books and were covered with crayons, calculators and papers with homework problems sketched on them; outside, a lizard sunned itself on a bench next to a basketball hoop. All of this was created by a team of students aged 5 through 11 who attend a charter school in the area.

Other entrants were inspired by the holiday season (creche scenes and the North Pole), the environment (”Save the Penguins” and salmon streams) and popular culture. Where the Wild Things Are was represented by Max’s room growing out of one of the pages in the book, with some of the wild things — perfect replicas — romping nearby. One of my favorites was the house from the movie Up invented by a 17-year-old girl who created the three-story structure in amazing detail inside and out (rabbit-eared T.V. and gramophone included). Garnering “Best of Show” was Saurusville, designed by a woman who has entered the Jubilee several years in a row and is truly an artist. Inspired by her 5-year-old son’s infatuation with the PBS kids’ show Dinosaur Train (for which she and he created a separate entry depicting the train winding its way through a tunnel and around some mountains on its way to the town), she dreamed up an entire community including a four-story hotel, cinema, bakery shop and apartments with dinosaur denizens included. How does anyone, let alone someone with a 5-year-old, have the time and patience to create such wonders?!

I left the exhibit utterly charmed and amazed. My past meager attempts at very simple gingerbread houses taught me just enough to realize that the individuals who made these elaborate creations possess an unbelievable amount of imagination, stamina and patience (and steady hands!). They even inspired me to consider taking another stab at a gingerbread creation in the future. In the meantime, though, I will be more than happy to look forward to attending this annual event to begin each Christmas season with healthy doses of whimsy, wonder and awe.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader