A Swiss Christmas

Please allow me the indulgence of posting an entry I wrote several years ago.  The vignette below is so special to me, and I hope you will find it to be so as well. 

It was Christmas week, and we were in Switzerland.  My family and I, along with our good friends, Ed and Michele Elliott, and a frozen turkey, traveled there for the holidays.  As we were living in London at the time, we crossed the English Channel on a car ferry and were soon on the way to the Swiss countryside.

Our three sons were not so sure about the plan.  “Were they getting as many gifts?  What kind of Christmas dinner would we have?  What about a tree?”   I was having many of the same thoughts but kept them to myself. 

As we drove higher into the mountains to reach the chalet lent by a friend, small delicate snowflakes danced around our two cars.  Shadows deepened, and lights began to glow in houses nestled here and there in the valleys below.  Magical.  A very good sign.  With darkness settling around the mountains, we arrived at our chalet.  Maybe this adventure would be fine.  These words became my mantra.

The next morning, we four parents and five sons explored the tiny village.  And there, propped in front of a miniature store, was our Christmas tree!  It was short, a little crooked, a bit spare of needles and one of the last ones left.  We thought it was beautiful.  The nine of us trudged along with our treasured tree and promptly set about decorating it.  We popped popcorn and made white garlands with the help of needle and thread.  We did the same with cranberries and wound scarlet sashes round the boughs.

 The boys found pine cones of different sizes and shapes in a sheltered stand of pines near our chalet.  These they tucked between branches of our now festive offering to Christmas, and an aroma of pine drifted through the room.  James, the youngest boy, fashioned a star out of paper and placed it on top of the tree. 

That evening, Christmas Eve, the nine of us again walked to the village.  Our feet made satisfying crunching sounds through the crusty snow.  The village church was our destination. Candles shone in all the windows, casting shimmering shadows on the icy whiteness.  It seemed the whole town was attending the midnight service.  We were greeted with smiles and greetings of “Willkommen.”  We were welcomed by everyone. 

 Christmas carols, all in German, but so familiar to us in every other way, filled the small church with happiness and joy.  The pastor’s message, all in German, made us feel the meaning of Christmas, as if we understood every word.

Next morning, as the boys opened their allotted two gifts apiece, no one complained.  Michele and I baked our now thawed turkey and completed all the usual trimmings, minus a pumpkin pie.  No one complained.  When it was time for all to help clean up from our meal, no one complained.  Again, magical.

As I reflect on that Swiss Christmas of more than a decade ago, what made it so extraordinary?  Was it Switzerland itself?  Was it being with family and wonderful friends?  Was it fulfilled expectations?

Yes, of course, it was all of that.  And, yet, it was more.  It was that intangible thing called hope.  It was recognition that we are more than ourselves alone.  It was the knowledge that we need one another and are here to help each other and to be selfless when called upon to be so.  It was the magic of Christmas that happened to be in a country called Switzerland.

Book-Inspired Benches Throughout London This Summer

Here is a fun thing to do if you are in the greater London environs and are looking to do something fun with and about books:

The Cat in the Hat
Dr. Suess

How to Train Your Dragon by Cressida Cowell and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll are among books that have been given a new life in London this summer.

Peter Pan
J.M. Barrie

The National Literacy Trust in Britain has developed a public art project that commemorates 50 books in an new and innovative way: as public benches.

The project is called Books about Town. Artists have been asked to adapt famous books into benches which have been placed throughout the city. The “BookBenches” project is designed to encourage reading.

Paddington Bear
Michael Bond

 Readers can find four different literary maps of these sculptures online and use them to guide their literary treasure hunts. The routes include: Greenwich Trail, Bloomsbury Trail, City Trail and Riverside Trail.

The exhibition is running through September 15th.

Malorie Blackman the New Children's Laureate of the United Kingdom

Parents can be put off buying a book if it has a black character on the front cover, the new Children's Laureate of the United Kingdom has said.

Malorie Blackman, the 51-year-old author of dozens of books including the award-winning Noughts & Crosses series for teenagers, has said there was still a need for 'more ethnically diverse literature in this country'.

The author, from London, has said she will use her two-year tenure to 'bang the drum' for diversity.
She said there was a lack of black and Asian children in picture books and described feeling 'totally invisible' when she was younger due to never reading a book that featured a black child, The Telegraph has reported.

Children will go with any story as long as it's good but white adults sometimes think that if a black child's on the cover it is perhaps not for them.
'Books teach children to see the world through the eyes of others and empathise with others. It's about the story.

She also told the paper she wanted to spend her time as laureate focusing on older children and teenagers.

The mother-of-one, who worked as a computer programmer before becoming a full-time writer 23 years ago, said she will use her position to be an 'advocate' for public libraries and campaign against 'short-sighted' closures.

She said she owed her success to her local libraries when she was growing up in Lewisham, south-east London.

I will do everything I can to ensure our library service is maintained or improved especially when you look at other countries like South Korea which in 2012 initiated a programme to actually build 180 libraries and Russia are building libraries and we seem to be closing them and I just think its a very short-sighted move.

The author, whose novel Pig-Heart Boy was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal and made into a BBC series, said it was 'a real honour' to be chosen for the role and that children's books needed a champion.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Coming to London West End!

Look what's coming to the London stage!

Have a look at the trailer teaser at the bottom of the post.

Get ready to sing with Oompa Loompas, fight for golden tickets, and eat a lot of chocolate! A musical adaptation of Charlie & the Chocolate Factory is currently playing preview shows in London.

Award-winning actor Douglas Hodge stars as the genius, eccentric, confectioner Willy Wonka. The play officially opens on June 25, 2013. We’ve embedded the show’s trailer above–what do you think? Here’s more from the UK production’s official site:

Roald Dahl‘s deliciously dark tale of young Charlie Bucket and the mysterious confectioner Willy Wonka comes to life in a brand new West End musical directed by Academy Award® winner Sam Mendes…the wonder of the original story that has captivated the world for almost 50 years is brought to life with music by Marc Shaiman, and lyrics by Scott Wittman and Marc Shaiman (Grammy® winners for Hairspray; Smash), a book by award-winning playwright and adaptor David Greig (The Bacchae; Tintin In Tibet.

If you're in London after June 25 and have the opportunity, see it!  There is nothing like a blockbuster west end production.  They do it so well!

Secrets of the Great Plague in Britian Revealed in Two New Kids' Books

A week ago, the publication of two new children's books, a novel and companion non-fiction title, on the Great Plague of 1665 were published.  

This is the second release of books in the new children's history range co-branded by The National Archives and Bloomsbury Publishing.

Using original sources from The National Archives, these books will provide important links to support the school history curriculum and wider cross-curricular reading and study for young readers aged seven and above in the U.K. and elsewhere.

Plague Unclassified: Secrets of the Great Plague Revealed by Nick Hunter uses real-life artifacts and documentation to help young readers build a true account of the bubonic plague and how it shaped Britain today - from what life was like in London during the outbreak, to where plague came from, how it was spread, and whether is still exists today.
 
Plague: A Cross on the Door, by children's author Ann Turnbull, is an historical fiction novel. It allows young readers to imagine what life would have really been like for people in London during the time of the Great Plague in London.  The book focuses on a young orphan called Sam who finds his aspirations of becoming a shoe-maker interrupted by its arrival. 

Andrew Payne, Head of Education and Outreach at The National Archives, said: 

Plague Unclassified and Plague: A Cross on the Door use some of the fascinating records we have here at The National Archives to help engage primaryschool children in history. Both books are cleverly written and designed to work alongside the history curriculum, encouraging children to actively explore and engage with the stories and historical sources of one of the most important and gruesome parts of our history.

For those of you interested in such enticing facts, take a look at these books.  A little something different for you and your young people.  Who knows?  This may be just the thing to stir up the historian in us all!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here it is.  Holiday time again!   Many of you know that I lived in London for ten years.  It was a marvelous experience, and I love everything about the country, the freedom, the culture, the generosity of the Brits. 

It was, though, an odd feeling of an entire country not celebrating Thanksgiving.  After all, their beginnings were not steeped in felling trees for log cabins, constructing rustic and rudimentary villages and depending on the original inhabitants to teach them about corn and farming. Actually, at that time, the British government was the very reason why such an endeavor was occurring in this new world, but that's a story for the history books.  

Our Thanksgiving dinner in London then was held in the evening, after everyone came home from work.  The American community gathered in friends' homes for the traditional dinner.  In the early days of our time there, Harrods was the only place where canned pumpkin or fresh cranberries  (or any cranberries at all) could be procured.  Today they're both a staple in the supermarkets all year.

Always around our holiday table were some dear British friends and Canadian ones, too, who celebrate Thanksgiving on a different day in November.  The requisite jokes, "If you'd paid that tax on tea..." and so on were bandied about, all adding to the fun.  It is lovely remembering those days, those friends, those times. 

So, you ask, "How will you spend your Thanksgiving in Florida this year?"  The answer is simple--and surprising.  We will be with two of our three sons, one son's girlfriend and two dear friends from London, also living half of the year very close by in Florida and with whom we spent every Thanksgiving in Blighty!

And so the circle goes on and on, much to all our delight.  What a life!

Happy Thanksgiving to you all in the United States and around the world.



 

X is for Xenophilia

Xenophilia is such a friendly word.  It is, of course, Greek and the translation is "friendly to foreigners."

As I was a foreigner living in the UK for ten years, I have some firsthand knowledge and can relate. 

Were people friendly to me?  Almost to a person, they were.  I have no complaints, and London is one of my favorite cities in the world.

Unfortunately, though, there are some people who don't feel quite as welcomed in foreign lands as I did in the UK.  During my time there, I did not take a job away from a British citizen.  I helped support the economy and paid taxes. 

We have people in the United States who are in the same position that I was across our mutual pond.  It would be wonderful if we welcomed them during their time in our country, and for the most part, we do.

Let's try to be at least a little Xenophilic, and welcome those foreigners who are traveling, doing a job or becoming a United States citizen.  We'll all feel so much better!

W is for Wales

During the years we lived in London, it was always fun to leave the city for a weekend and retreat to the countryside.  There is no more beautiful land for that purpose than the nation of Wales. 

Welsh Flag

A two hour's drive from London, southern Wales is a place of small villages and beautiful scenery.  My mother's family come from the lovely town of Abergavenny.

We, though, usually headed north to Mount Snowden in Snowden National Park.  Our favorite town was (and is) Betws-y-Coed.  Gorgeous.  And we had a favorite inn, The Ty Gwyn. 

Mount Snowden National Park

Our greyhound, Harry, always went with us.  How he loved it!  And  the inn, too. 

 For one pound, dogs were allowed to stay at the inn and in your room as well.  Not only that, they have a menu for dogs and water bowls everywhere.  Harry loved the bangers and mash best and began salivating each time he walked into the lobby.

On those idyllic weekends, we walked the beautiful hills and valleys of the park.  We breathed the clean, invigorating air. We met friendly hikers and dog walkers on the trail.  We relaxed, cleared our heads of frenetic city life and enjoyed the beauty and serenity of a country called Wales.

O is for Opportunity (Fall of the Berlin Wall)

I remember the bad old days in Berlin, Germany.  The city had been divided into separate zones after the war, and Check Point Charlie gates were not to be taken lightly.



Although my family and I had visited Germany many times, and my husband had studied both in Freiburg and Bonn, I'd been through the Wall once from West Berlin to the east. 

November 9, 1989.  My young son, Brian, ran down the stairs into our London kitchen yelling, "The wall's fallen!  The wall's fallen!"  I knew exactly what he'd meant and ran to the TV.

The very next day, we were watching our kids playing a soccer game in Regent's Park with our friends, Ed and Michele.  We decided on the spot we needed to go to Berlin and be part of what was happening.  We bought plane tickets and left next day. 

The wall area was chaos--but basically good chaos.  Certainly, young guards (some seemingly as young as eighteen) walked three abreast in front of the wall.  They called out in English,  "Do not defame the property of the GDR" (German Democratic Republic).  The only response to them was more and more flowers being placed into their guns' barrels.

Everyone, including the four of us, chipped away at the wall.  We were having no success, when a large German man smiled and said in English, "Let me help."  He went to where rebar was placed in the concrete--wham, wham, wham--pieces flew off like magic. 


Speaking of magic, the whole surreal experience was just that.  People from the world over came together to celebrate.  A victory of justice.  A victory of humanity.  A victory of good triumphing over evil.  Bravo democracy! 

F is for Friends

Now I know everyone thinks s/he has the best friends in the world, but I really do!  And I know writing anything about friendship is shopworn at best.  But here goes anyway...

Stan and Kathy Burcham and Us

My family and I have been fortunate to live in several places, including London for almost ten years.  Why is that important?  Because even when you leave, you take your friends with you, and more crucially, you never throw them away.

I've always thought the measure of  my friendship with a person is to remain close, so close that you can take up the same conversation as when you last met and never miss that proverbial beat.

Nancy, Ed Elliott, Michele Elliott, Patricia

Do you lose some along the way?  Unfortunately, it can happen.  You don't mean for it to occur, but some people, alas, do not have the staying power and/or effort it takes to remain friends.  Happily, not many!  (Through the years, I can really say it's only been one.)

So what is it, that intangible, magical, can't live well without thing called friendship?  Trust, constancy, intimacy, loyalty, a degree of like-mindedness and the list goes on. 

Norm and Gerald Duff

For those of us who have moved a bit, friends are coinage.  For those of us who have not moved at all, friends are coinage.  Doesn't matter.  The only thing that does matter is working on continuing the relationship in an adult way, staying in touch whenever possible and being grateful they are in our lives! 

I'll leave you with this axiom on friendship by Oprah Winfrey:

Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.

Pat Stephens



D is for Dartmoor in Devon, England (Ghosts, Headless Horsemen and Two Terrified Boys)

My family and I lived in London for ten years.  During that time, we loved to take weekend trips all over the country, and some of our favorites were great places to walk, after being in the city all week. 

This particular weekend, we chose Dartmoor, a wild and beautifully barren and desolate place in Devon that has more ghost stories than one could remember in a lifetime.  It is said to be full of pixies, a headless horseman, a mysterious pack of spectral hounds, ala Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Hounds of the Baskervilles novel.

We set out one weekend to visit the moors with our youngest son, Brian, and his best friend, Brett, both of whom were ten years old.  By the time we reached Dartmoor, they had scared themselves silly reading ghost stories of the moor. 

We reached our inn just before dark with the requisite fog beginning to swirl around the headlights.  After settling in our rooms, the four of us met up for dinner in the cosy dining room.  A cheery fire blazed as if to ward off anything wicked that could be afoot in the misty countryside.

The ghost stories continued all through dinner.  The boys were besotted with ghosts, goblins and supernatural goings-on.   We could not get them off the topic! 

After dessert of warm cherry cobbler, my husband said, "Hey, boys, want to take a walk on the moors?"


I thought he'd lost his mind and, if I'm not mistaken, said so...

Of course the boys were out of their minds with anticipation, so with a "torch" borrowed from the front desk, off they went.  I went into the sitting room to fret.

An English gentleman evidently had heard the whole exchange at dinner and very politely said to me, "Don't worry, Madam.  This kind of experience is good for the lads.  Toughens them up."

"Right," I thought to myself, after murmuring something like, "Thank you. I'm sure that's true."

Wild Dartmoor Ponies

Within half an hour, back they came, all smiles and seemingly not worried at all about "things that go bump in the night." 
"Wow, that was so cool," and "we weren't scared at all," the guys said, as they snagged a coke from the barman.

"So," I asked my husband, "what happened?"

He chuckled and said they had a great time scaring each other and themselves.  Seemed there was a tall brick wall running the length of the property (which I hadn't seen).  My husband never left that area and could see the wall at all times.  The boys, of course, were oblivious and thought they had to be lost on the moors!  How delicious!  What an adventure!

To this day, both "boys" talk about their walk on the moors.  Of course, now they know they were never lost.  But they still remember the warm cherry cobbler, those old goosebumpy, chills down their spines, and thoughts of dogs from nowhere, quicksand and goblins.

My husband and the English gentleman were right after all.  Who knew?

 

Boxing Day Tradition and Memories (With Osso Buco Recipe)

When we lived in London we always celebrated Boxing Day, the day after Christmas.  Our family always had a dinner for many neighbors and friends.  We traditionally served Osso Buco as a counterpart to turkey and dressing the day before.

The term, Boxing Day, is a name for Christmas present.  In the past, it  was a day off for servants.  They received a ‘Christmas Box’ from the master. The servants would also go home to give ‘Christmas Boxes’ to their families. 

It is a day for charity.  Some say that traditionally, churches opened their alms boxes the day after Christmas and distributed money to the poor on Boxing Day.

Some say it was a feudal obligation from the middle ages.  The lord of the manor distributed boxes of household goods and tools to his serfs, as was his obligation, on Boxing Day. 

However far back the Christmas custom of Boxing Day extends, it was only made a legal holiday in England and Wales in the mid 19th century by Queen Victoria. In Scotland, Boxing Day was not a national holiday until the late 20th century.

A box to collect money for the poor was placed in Churches on Christmas day then opened the next day.   Also, sailing ships when setting sail would have a sealed box containing money on board for good luck.  If the voyage were a success the box was given to a priest, opened at Christmas and the contents given to the poor.

In recent times the day has become synonymous with sport. Horse racing is particularly  popular with meets all over the country. Many top football teams also play on Boxing Day. 

Here is a Boxing Day gift from me.  It is the Osso Buco recipe I always use and used in the days we lived in London.  I hope you like it!

Osso Buco Recipe

• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons salt 
• 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 2 pounds veal shanks
• 3 tablespoons butter
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 cup chopped onion
• 1 cup thinly sliced carrot
• 1/2 cup chopped celery
• 2 cloves garlic, crushed
• 1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
• 1 cup water
• 1 teaspoon dried basil
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 3 sprigs fresh parsley
• 1 bay leaf

Directions

1. In a shallow dish, stir together flour, salt, and black pepper. Dredge meat in seasoned flour. In a large skillet, melt butter with oil over medium heat. Brown meat. Remove meat from pan, and set aside.
2. Add onion, carrots, celery, and garlic to drippings in pan. Cook and stir for about 5 minutes.
3. Stir in tomato sauce, water, basil, thyme, parsley, and bay leaf. Return meat to pan. Bring to a boil, and reduce heat to simmer. Cover, and cook for 2 1/2 hours.               

The recipe serves 6 people.  Enjoy!

A Swiss Christmas

Please allow me the indulgence of posting an entry I wrote several years ago.  The vignette below is so special to me, and I hope you will find it to be so as well. 

It was Christmas week, and we were in Switzerland.  My family and I, along with our good friends, Ed and Michele Elliott, and a frozen turkey, traveled there for the holidays.  As we were living in London at the time, we crossed the English Channel on a car ferry and were soon on the way to the Swiss countryside.

Our three sons were not so sure about the plan.  “Were they getting as many gifts?  What kind of Christmas dinner would we have?  What about a tree?”   I was having many of the same thoughts but kept them to myself. 

As we drove higher into the mountains to reach the chalet lent by a friend, small delicate snowflakes danced around our two cars.  Shadows deepened, and lights began to glow in houses nestled here and there in the valleys below.  Magical.  A very good sign.  With darkness settling around the mountains, we arrived at our chalet.  Maybe this adventure would be fine.  These words became my mantra.

The next morning, we four parents and five sons explored the tiny village.  And there, propped in front of a miniature store, was our Christmas tree!  It was short, a little crooked, a bit spare of needles and one of the last ones left.  We thought it was beautiful.  The nine of us trudged along with our treasured tree and promptly set about decorating it.  We popped popcorn and made white garlands with the help of needle and thread.  We did the same with cranberries and wound scarlet sashes round the boughs.

 The boys found pine cones of different sizes and shapes in a sheltered stand of pines near our chalet.  These they tucked between branches of our now festive offering to Christmas, and an aroma of pine drifted through the room.  James, the youngest boy, fashioned a star out of paper and placed it on top of the tree. 

That evening, Christmas Eve, the nine of us again walked to the village.  Our feet made satisfying crunching sounds through the crusty snow.  The village church was our destination. Candles shone in all the windows, casting shimmering shadows on the icy whiteness.  It seemed the whole town was attending the midnight service.  We were greeted with smiles and greetings of “Willkommen.”  We were welcomed by everyone. 

 Christmas carols, all in German, but so familiar to us in every other way, filled the small church with happiness and joy.  The pastor’s message, all in German, made us feel the meaning of Christmas, as if we understood every word.

Next morning, as the boys opened their allotted two gifts apiece, no one complained.  Michele and I baked our now thawed turkey and completed all the usual trimmings, minus a pumpkin pie.  No one complained.  When it was time for all to help clean up from our meal, no one complained.  Again, magical.

As I reflect on that Swiss Christmas of more than a decade ago, what made it so extraordinary?  Was it Switzerland itself?  Was it being with family and wonderful friends?  Was it fulfilled expectations?

Yes, of course, it was all of that.  And, yet, it was more.  It was that intangible thing called hope.  It was recognition that we are more than ourselves alone.  It was the knowledge that we need one another and are here to help each other and to be selfless when called upon to be so.  It was the magic of Christmas that happened to be in a country called Switzerland.

Interview at Blogcritics Today

Skip, walk or run to Blogcritics today!  This is the thinking person's blog, and I am happy to be included in an interview.  I answer all sorts of intriguing questions.  And I give away a recipe that allowed me graduate from a Cordon Bleu course in London! 

When my interviewer asks the question, find out where I would be in a fantasy situation.  (Well, actually, I was really there...)

And find out why I think A.A. Milne is the best!  It has to do with long walks on Hampstead Heath in London.

Last, but certainly not least, we talk about the characters in One Pelican at a Time:  A Story of the Gulf Oil Spill. 

Oh, one thing more:  I am happy to announce that Pelican has been nominated for the Global eBook Awards in Children's Picture Book Fiction.

Bella, Britt, Pelian and I want to say thank you and also say how appreciative we are for this nomination!