Sights and Sounds of the Season

We were two little girls when my sister and I were coached by my mother to perform at her annual lodge Christmas potluck and program.  I had memorized a couple of lines to say and my sister got into a box wrapped as a present.  At the right word in my little poem, she jumped out of the box.  SURPRISE!

I'm not sure Christmas programs or concerts have changed much since the 50's.  It is the season to watch little children sing and bands and orchestras  play a variety of all the Christmas music that is out there.

In the last week we have attended five concerts.  It started out with our grandson Carter's first grade program.  All the children were dressed in their pajamas and they sang their hearts out.  The songs seemed complicated to me, but most of the children knew all the words.  Of course programs with young children can never go perfectly.  There was one little boy who was holding a stuffed animal and then he had the animal on his head.  When the music teacher saw that, she wandered over in front of him and gave him a word. 




Above: Hart first and second graders perform at their Christmas program.  Below: Close up of Carter (blond boy) and his classmates acting out their song in pajamas.   

Children's programs were a big part of my upbringing.  Christmas programs at church were very important events.  One year, when I was probably eight or nine, I was an angel and had a speaking part.  My mother made me a halo to wear.  She used some old tarnished tinsel that had been in the attic.  When we got to church the night of the program I noticed another angel also had a halo, only her halo was wrapped in bright new gold tinsel.  For a minute I felt jealous, but then remembered that I was the angel with the speaking part.

The holiday concerts we attended this season were put on by the West Michigan Symphony, the Hart Music Series and the Hart Bands.  We listened to our grandson Jay play his saxophone in the sixth grade band.  Both the high school band and the West Michigan Symphony played the yearly classic, Sleigh Ride. 


Sleigh Ride can be delightful if everyone is going at the same tempo. But if they are not....Katie bar the door.  The slapping of the reigns must be off rhythm and the neigh of the horse has to be right on cue.  I remember playing that song when I was in band and it never came off perfectly.  I imagine many band directors have their students play it just because it is a tradition.  For the audience it can be a source of amusement.  The Hart High School Band pulled it off although one of their drummers was trying to slow it down.  The symphony is expected to play it well, so no surprises there. 

Our last concert was a recital of young violin and cello players.  Our granddaughter Avery started cello lessons in the fall and the instructors who teach cello and violin put their students in front of an audience.  There were many violin solos and the youngest players performed as a group, as did the cello players.  The older violin students had memorized longer and more difficult pieces and only had a few blips.

Coming out of the church where the young string players performed was a time to look at the Christmas lights.  Since we are headed for a white Christmas, the decorations seem more intense this year and bring back memories of the Christmases of old when we always seemed to have snow.  The music adds to the beauty and children performing is the best thing of all. 

I am taking time to listen to the sounds of the season and enjoy the simple scenes. 


Scenes of the Season

 

 

Sounds of the Season

 

 

 

Music

 

Sleigh Ride - Boston Pops

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OATi34PKNPw

 

 

Carol of the Bells - Boston Pops

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLFW1U-5uTE

 

Little Drummer Boy - Pentatonix

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJ_MGWio-vc

 

 

Photos 3, 5 & 12 taken by Hack Ramseyer

 

By the Flickering Firelight

After my mother died in 1970, I became pregnant with our first child.  It was a year of sadness and happiness and changes all around.  We moved from Lansing to Shelby to live a year with my father in order to help him through his grief. Even before my mother died we had plans to build a house of our own in the countryside outside of Hart.  Living for a time in my childhood home was a transition between the city teaching jobs we were leaving and the home and teaching jobs we would have in the beautiful area where I grew up. 

My husband was hired in Fremont to teach German and history and I was hoping to find a teaching job in the area after having a baby and taking a year off.  Even though we did not pay rent, it was a difficult year financially with only one teacher's salary.  In order to supplement our income I subbed at Shelby.

After having our daughter Aimee in December, I returned to subbing.  I was desperate to find someone to take care of our baby and when I called my Aunt Margie she came to my rescue.  I don't remember her ever turning me down.  Her husband, my Uncle Tom, was my mother's brother and he was a larger than life personality.  I loved both of them immensely.

The thing I remember most about taking Aimee to their home, often before the light of day, was the ambiance.  My Uncle Tom would be sitting in a comfortable chair by a roaring fire.  I loved the feeling of that fire and the warmth that always greeted me when I entered that house.  I can still visualize my Uncle Tom and his boisterous way of showing me that it was no problem to take care of our baby.

A fire in a fireplace has always been intriguing to me.  It is mesmerizing to watch the color of the flames and hear the crackle of the burning wood. Throughout my life fire has been a part of things I remember so fondly.

When I was in college I worked one summer at a resort, Lakeside Inn on White Lake outside of Whitehall.  My brother had gotten married that summer and he and his wife lived close by.  My sister-in-law had worked at Lakeside Inn during college and helped me get the job.  Some evenings a fire would be built close to the water and my brother would come and play his guitar for the guests.  Both he and I loved to sing and my brother, the folk music and the firelight are etched in my mind as a wonderful time in my life.

There were other fires on other beaches along Lake Michigan that bring back memories including fires we built to cook dinner on when we owned a lot on Lake Michigan.  I would wrap meat, potatoes and vegetables in tin foil and they would cook while we swam.  Our two children and often their cousins would frolic in the waves and be starving by the time everything was cooked.

There is a fire now on July 4th at my son's house where the grandchildren roast marshmallows and shove chocolate and their marshmallows into graham crackers.  S'mores have been around a long time and watching the grandchildren eat them with relish takes me back.

I gravitate to fire anywhere I am.  At Glacier National Park we stayed in a lodge next to Lake McDonald. It was a cool night and there was a fire in a huge stone fireplace in the lodge's great room that made me linger.  At Caberfae when the family goes skiing there is a stone fireplace that is a magnet for everyone coming in off the slopes.  I always try to get a chair right in front.

Last Christmas I received a gift that makes my love of fires so much easier.  I can still build a fire in our fireplace in our family room, but my husband installed a gas unit in our living room fireplace.  Now with a press of a button I can see the flames.  It isn't quite the same as wood crackling and the sweet smell of wood smoke, but it satisfies my need to feel both the warmth physically and mentally.

I'm not sure why I need fire in my life, but I believe eons ago, when humans discovered flames, there was an instant change in their lives.  The gloom of a tough life must have dissipated a little and a small joy probably glimmered in their eyes.  I wish the warmth and beauty of flickering flames could be a part of every one's life.  It is the season when firelight can do wonders to help us through the long dark nights. 

 

 

 

Mozart at Midnight

The handbill on the large wooden doors of St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna announced a concert of Mozart's Requiem for December 4 at midnight.  The year was 2007 and we were in Vienna for the Christmas markets.

"It might be too late at night for us," my husband said.

"I'm going," I remarked.  "If you don't want to go, I think I can get back down here by myself."

"Why is the concert starting so late?" my husband inquired at the ticket office inside the church.  We learned the Requiem was performed at midnight on December 4 in order to end at the approximate time Mozart died on December 5.  We were happy there were still tickets available as we both realized it would be a once in a lifetime concert.

The night of the concert was cold as we walked toward St. Stephen's.  There was a light show on the cathedral and the Christmas lights were spectacular hanging like giant chandeliers in an area called the Graben off St. Stephen's
Platz. There were also tiny lights that cascaded like waterfalls on the street, the Kohlmarkt. On another side street huge red lights in the form of globes hung in the middle of the street. There were also panels of red lights with a white design and strobe lights.

We stood in line in front of the cathedral as we couldn't get in until 11:30.  Once we took our seats close to the back of the church, we watched young people look for empty seats closer to the orchestra and singers and move up from the seats for which they had tickets.  We didn't feel like being so daring.

As scheduled, the concert began at midnight.  The Requiem is a powerful piece of music, both sad and beautiful.  I was very familiar with the music because I had showed the movie Amadeus to my senior English classes several years in a row. 

St. Stephen's is a huge cathedral and there were many lights above the center aisle.  Along the side of the church smaller lights glowed like candle light.  As the Requiem was played, at different intervals, one light after another above the center aisle was turned off until at the end one light remained.  With the last note, it too was extinguished.

In the silence, priests came in and rang little bells and then walked down the main aisle ringing them before they walked off to the side and were silent.  Death, the end, the sadness for those who are left behind and in Mozart's case, the music that would no longer be composed.  The stillness was deafening.  It was an experience like no other.

We came out into the cold night and because the public transportation was closed down, we walked the half hour back to our hotel at two in the morning.  I could see the stars.  I glanced up at a building and saw through a high window two chandeliers twinkling in a large room.  We walked through a Christmas market with the shutters closed on the many booths.  We walked up Maria Hilferstrasse, the main shopping street, until we got to the side street that led to our hotel. 

There are events in life that can stop one's breath for a second because of the beauty.  Mozart at midnight was such a moment.