My seasons of gratitude

As usual, heading toward the New Year, I was thinking of the resolutions I’d write up for the coming new year. And then I remembered, I had written last year’s resolutions on paper. I quickly re-read the notes. Alas, I didn’t carry through on even half the things I jotted down.

This year, I thought, instead of making resolutions I don’t keep, perhaps I could write what I’m grateful for. Today, I’m wearing my favorite old, worn sweater. I only get this sweater out to wear when winter arrives. Why not write about a season of gratitude of all I’m grateful for in the winter season, especially in Pennsylvania with its beautiful seasons. Thus, my seasons of gratitude.

Winter: It’s not just my old, woolly winter sweater that I’m grateful for, but I love flannel pajamas next to my skin. When walking around the house in the evenings, I wear what I call a bathrobe, with an enclosed bottom, where only my feet stick out. I love sinking my feet in fleece-lined bed slippers, the high kind that snuggle my feet. I’m always ready to place the down blanket on our bed; the minute I slide under the covers, I can just feel the down, as if breathing its warmth upon me.

I even bought a small electric radiator for my study. When I was a kid, I’d place a blanket on the radiator, in the kitchen, and lay on top of it to read. Today, on particular blizzard days outside, I place my radiator next to my chair while I write. It’s just a soothing farm memory for me.

There are certain foods that go with each season, especially the Pennsylvania Dutch pig stomach, which Mom stuffed with chestnut filling. My husband and I love pork and kraut.

I know it’s a New Year’s tradition, but I make it often during the winter season. I may not roast them over an open fire, but each winter, I have to eat some chestnuts. Closer to New Year, I enjoy a good homemade eggnog. It does bother me about using raw eggs, but if someone else makes the concoction, I’m game.

I do like the snow, even if I complain at times. I just wish it knew enough to stay off the roads. I do exercise at the Y, but I still try to get two days of walking in the crunchy snow, if it’s not icy.

Inside our home, there’s something calming about sitting next to the living room picture window and watching it snow, snow, snow. When its dark outside, there’s something magical watching snowflakes stream down from the lamppost in front of the house.

I often watch the bird feed- ers from my kitchen window. Sometimes, it seems, the male gets to eat first while the female sits longingly in the bush waiting. Often they chatter, in a menacing manner, when many come to eat at one time. The squirrels try their best to get at the seeds, but they never succeed.

And there is always the joy of a Christmas gathering with family. My husband and I, over the years, have shared our families with each other. My family gathering is on a Sunday a week or two before Christmas. We’ve finally gotten the children to believe we have enough “stuff.” We only want their presence. Harry’s sister usually had his family after the holidays, but now my family and his family have their own additions, so it’s harder to get everyone together. Harry and I are usually alone Christmas Eve. We open our gifts after our church service. Each year we think we don’t need “stuff” yet we still buy from the list we give each other. Since I’m the youngest in my family and think “I never had anything” my husband insists I need at least five gifts. Well, okay, this time, I say.

I am grateful for the winter season!

Spring: I’m always ready and grateful for the next season, spring. Everything is bursting forth from plants and flowers pushing their way through half-thawed ground, to buds appearing in trees. Like the bear in hibernation, I’m ready to shed my winter clothes. Yet, I’m hesitant about getting spring clothes “back on the rack” too early in the season. I still wear my old sweater around the house, well into spring. I have a hard time even looking at someone with short sleeves on; it makes me shiver.

At our home, it doesn’t seem like spring until I see a robin in our backyard. If my husband is nearby, I’ll call, “Harry, hurry! Come see the robin before it flies away.” Finally, it’s spring!

I think I could lay in my bed for hours, as long as I hear the pitter patter of raindrops on the roof. I much prefer a tin roof, but my husband refuses to tear down our good roof. Like winter snow, I too, love watching rainstorms from the living room picture window. Sometimes it swooshes down loud and hard against the pane; other times it calms itself, sounding like tired little pin drops hitting the pane.

Actually, I’m ready to do some house cleaning too, things I left hibernate through the winter. There’s no rush. One room is done each week, and within two months I’ve finished. I’ve based our home décor on our lives, my husband as a school teacher and me as farm girl. Each room has mementoes of our past and things we purchased since our marriage