Twelfth Night

Tonight is the last night of Yule, so we are preparing. First, the tree came down and was hauled into the compost area to become both compost and the Yule log for next season. Then we cleaned the house, returning all of the small parts—shoes, paper clips, notebooks, seed catalogs— to their proper places. I cleared off the table, removing the seasonal table runner;  it will be bare until Candlemas. We washed all of the floors. Yesterday, Mark did a huge load of laundry at the Laundromat (our washer is broken) so all of the sheets and towels are clean. I made a food plan and went grocery shopping, then I cleared out several binders of old council papers. The old year has passed.

          

      Tonight, we will have our last Yule fire, burn the last section of 2017’s tree, and toss the now dry greens from the mantle in. The paperwhites we planted on Solstice night are up.  We will look through our cards once more and burn them as well, keeping a few for name tags for presents. We will eat the last two holiday chocolates for desert and finish reading A Christmas Carol. And then, on Monday, time begins again. I will clean out the ashes of the fires and spread them on a garden bed. School starts; a new council term starts; meetings and discussions begin once more. Happy New Year!

Yule preperations

                The world called a snow day for us today, although, really, in the Willamette Valley it’s more like an ice and sleet day. Not much accumulation, but really bad roads. Not what you want a bunch of sixteen year olds driving on at seven thirty in the morning. When school is cancelled, Mark stays home, too. He was not raised in the lands of ice and snow and cannot drive in it.  We are taking the day to prepare for Yule, that pause in our lives that happens between the beginning of Winter Break and Twelfth Night.

                First, we cleaned the house and washed mountains of laundry, some of which went through the driers down the road at the Laundromat. Clean sheets. We even got the blankets aired before the sleet started.  I vacuumed dust bunnies from the cozy room while Mark purged the fridge. We set up the platform for the tree, brought down the boxes, and arranged the mantelpiece. I fixed the outdoor lights.  Mark chopped up some wood. We even bought the tree in full daylight, carried it home, and put it in the basement to melt and dry. Mark packed and shipped the presents to have to travel to Tennessee. Cards are in the mail. We need to make a cake, some cookies, and some stolen, but those are later, more pleasing, projects. The work is done.

                Tomorrow, when school is done, Yule begins. We will take long walks in the woods every day. Being outside, even in our dim northern light, makes a huge difference in our health and mood. We will have fires at night, English muffins for tea, and hearty soups for dinner. We will sleep until the sun comes up around eight, buried in piles of blankets, with Lucy stretched out beside me, head on my pillow. We will read, write, stare into space. Mark will work probability problems, his latest obsession. The world will pause. Nothing is growing—there is no light. Deep down in the dark, though, roots dig deep. In space, the planet shifts and turns towards the sun. When Yule is over, the light will be coming back.

Pumpkin Scones

2c of flour

1 c oats

1 T of sugar

1 T BP

1 t cinnamon

1 t nutmeg

1 t ginger

6 T butter

3/4 c mashed pumpkin

2  T milk

1 egg

Mix dry. Crumble butter in. Add wet. Knead lightly. Roll into a circle and cut into wedges. Bake in 400 degree oven until done.