The Letter in Tea at the Cabin in the Woods

Greetings from New Hampshire

Dear Mom, I am sorry I haven’t called lately but I haven’t had much of a voice, making talking rather difficult. So, I decided to write instead. Today is a gloomy rainy day with the hopes of warming up enough to melt off some of the inch thick ice on the driveway. J has worked so hard spreading salt and sand every day for the past three days that he actually lost over 10 pounds. He wouldn’t let me help and kept me quiet trying to get over this chest and head cold that wants to stick around. I am 70% better today, still raspy sounding and coughing, but up and around. Things I wanted to share with you: On Christmas Eve we went into the Village (5 miles down the road from us) to the Methodist Church in the heart of town for the candle lite service. The church is a stately white wood framed building with a bell tower and beautiful old stained glass windows. Sometime during the 60’s (just a guess) they did some remodeling and lowered the ceiling with tiles and added ceiling fans – leaving the pews and windows alone. The pews are all a rich dark oak, darkened I suspect from years of people sitting and squirming on them. There are three sections. On each side the pews will fit three to four people depending on their size, and the center pews will hold about 5 normal sized people – six if they are very close and thin. There are 10 rows of pews in total.
The alter area is pretty bland with just a plain cross on the back wall behind the choir seats. A small alter is off to the left side just before the stairs to the small pulpit, nicely painted in an antique white with gold trim. There are two small railings on either side of the alter area with cushions in front for communion and an opening for the pastor and acolyte to pass through.
The lighting was dim, but it was Christmas Eve after all. They had decorated the spaces between the lovely windows with wreaths and red bows and had the Advent candles proudly displayed on the alter. When we entered the church we saw two women standing in the front to the right, by a microphone and close to the piano and organ, singing softly. They were in their 70’s or early 80’s – hard to tell really. I thought they were still practicing for the service. Opps, they were actually singing as part of the welcoming to the service.
The small church filled with families ranging from Great Grandparents to newborns. A family sat next to and behind us. It was the Grandmother, Mother and the grown children all together. The women sitting next to me, around 40ish, was nicely dressed in a sleek pant suit and wool coat, sharp stylish haircut, clearly not from around these parts anymore. Directly behind her must have been her sister, close in age, also nicely dressed and nice looking. She kept poking her sister and flicking her hair then giggling like a 5 year old. The one next to me took her program and torn it in half, folded part of it into an airplane and sent it backwards into her sister’s lap. They both just shook with suppressed laughter and I did the same. It reminded me of our gang of misbehavers in church. It actually lightened my heart that so much joy was evident in this family. (And the woman next to me sings like Aunt L). A boy about 10 began walking down the aisle with the candle lighter as the piano played the opening hymn. He wore black pressed slacks, a white shirt and red sweater vest which contrasted with his buzzed red hair and freckles. The solemn expression told of his seriousness about the job or else he was threatened within an inch of his life if he messed up. He was deliberate in his actions as he walked up to the alter and the advent candles. His family approached the alter area as well, Mom and Dad, little sister and two younger brothers all dressed alike in their black slacks, white shirts, and sweater vests. The little girl had a matching dress. The round faces with splatterings of freckles and red hair screamed “Norman. Rockwell LIVES” in New Hampshire. The family took turns reading the Christmas Story as the Mom helped the younger ones pronounce the words. The older boy lit each candle as the father gave the signal, while trying to ignore the little one (about 4 years old) who wanted so badly to help. The choir, the youngest being at least 65, consisted of about 15 people, mostly women with maybe 5 men taking up the back row. Someone must have thought she had good hearing in directing them. I thought of handing her a card for my audiologist, but restrained myself. A woman close to 90 came forward and stood in front of the microphone as the pianist began playing “Oh Holy Night”. All I could think of, “Oh, Holy Crap she isn’t really going to try to sing this?” Well, try she did and that lovely song will never be the same in my ears again. It brought tears to me eyes, but not in a way that it is intended to. When it was time for the congregation to sing a few verses of the traditional Christmas hymns, she jumped from the piano over to the old organ. The warming up of the instrument took on a few seconds of odd sounds. She began to play and messed it up the melody. Looking into the pews she said, “Well I really messed that up so let’s try it again.” The small crowd all laughed as she started over. This apparently is a normal thing for the pianist as it happened a couple times during the service. The Pastor finally took to the pulpit, her ropes hanging loosely over the small slim frame of a well-worn body. She began her sermon and the southern Kentucky twang just didn’t fit this storybook New England Christmas setting we had thus far experienced. The Pastor looked out into the sanctuary and immediately told us the idea of Jesus being born in a stable was somehow a peaceful and pleasant place was all wrong. She grew up on a farm and “stables stink, Straw is itchy and the cloth he was wrapped in was harsh to the skin. It was not a nice place to be born and definitely was not sanitary. Why, did you know that during the winter months the cow manure didn’t get shoveled out for sometimes three or four months! How is that a royal birth? And what about all the people who brought gifts? How was a baby going to use myrrh anyway? What were they thinking? And who was keeping the animals from eating on the straw that the baby Jesus was sleeping in? He could have been nibbled on by cows or donkeys or goats… “ Entertainment in New Hampshire at Christmas is easily found. All you have to do is find a small town or village and go to the candle light service. The children giggle and squirm, one ran up to the front and tried to get ahold of the cloth on the alter before her mother could reach her, just in time. The music was enjoyable and the spirit was festive. We left the small church with smiles on our faces and headed home to a warmly lite room, a beautiful tree and our daughter coming in for the holiday. I made waffles with a berry compote for dinner and we all settled in for a long winter’s night. With all the snow and shoveling we’ve done, there was a day when the snow was perfect for building a snow man. I got a bit carried away and made an angel like we used to when we were kids. Unaware that J was secretly taking photos as I piled the snow up and began to sculpt it. I included a photo for you. It had to be done. It would have been a sin to let that good snow go to waste. I may be 59, but that does not mean I have to grow up. Spring will be here before you know it and we hope to make the trip back to the Midwest after the thaw. I hope the winter is treating you well and that you are getting along without any trouble with the ice and snow. I will call when I get my voice back. Love you,