Browsed by
Author: Anne Cassidy

A Ritual

A Ritual

Comments 1 comment


“Here, Celia, you usually like to hang this one, right?” said Claire last night, handing her sister a bright pink high heel slipper ornament with glitter and feathers.

“I remember when I got this ornament,” Celia said. “It was one of those parties where you exchange gifts and people can take them from you and I wanted this one so bad.” And she got it.

Meanwhile, Suzanne found her cello ornament and attached it to a heavy branch while Claire hunted for her “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament.

Decorating the tree is a holiday ritual with little courtesies and observances I didn’t even realize we had until we did them all over again last night. Each one is precious.

At points last evening I found myself floating at the edge of the hubub, as Tom, the girls and their friends laughed and talked and decked out our full, fragrant fir tree (which, we all agree, is one of the most beautiful trees ever). I wanted to be enough on the edge of things to be aware that I was part of them. But I also wanted to be in the moment because such moments are rare. So I busied myself stuffing tissue back into the ornament boxes and carrying them downstairs. Even from our storage room I could hear the laughter — it was as clear and silvery as a Christmas bell.

Photo: wallpaperhd.org

Waiting Time

Waiting Time

Comments 0 Comment


One of my favorite Christmas carols is actually an Advent hymn, “O Come O Come Emmanuel.” Every time I hear it this season I wonder (even as I sing along) why I like it. Certainly not because of its sunny key and tone. It’s slow, solemn and in a minor key.

But there is something noble and ancient and timeless about it. The very essence of Advent, of waiting. In it I hear the echo of the human voice through the centuries, processing down the stone aisle of a medieval cathedral. In it I hear the sighs of longing and of patience.

Advent is often overlooked in the pre-Christmas rush to buy, wrap, mail and decorate. But I’ve always found it a soothing season, one of hopeful waiting and pleasant anticipation. In a way, I don’t want it to end.

Christmas in Miniature

Christmas in Miniature

Comments 0 Comment


Yesterday at lunch I walked to the Botanical Gardens to see the garden train display. The trains were cute — and the children there to see them were even cuter — but what captivated me most were the replicas of the Capitol, Supreme Court and other monuments and presidential homes made of acorns, pine cone scales, mosses, lichen and grapevine tendrils.

It was a magical, miniature world, full of “fairy flats,” “critter condos” and other whimsical structures. It made me want to drink a shrinking potion and clamber right in. It made me want to be a kid again.

But the beauty and wit of these tiny structures also reminded me that there are worlds we cannot fathom — and that in itself is something to celebrate.

Photo by Paul Jean. Captured from Roaming the Planet blog.

The Paper

The Paper

Comments 0 Comment


It has been a while since I had to write a paper. Even though I write all the time and deadlines are my constant companion, there’s something about an academic deadline that’s different. Is it because a grade rests on the performance? Undoubtedly that has something to do with it.

Most probably, though, it harkens back to some deep primordial fear of failure. The way my stomach would somersault when the teacher (often a nun) began collecting the assignments — and I realized that I Had Left Mine At Home. It was pure terror, to be rehashed in dreams for decades to come.

And then there were those loopy all-nighters of college and late high school, typing (yes, typing — on a typewriter with White Out and correcting strips) the bibliography as the sun rose. Those nights had a rhythm and a pattern all their own: the despair of 2 a.m., the rejuvenation at 3, the near crash at 4 and the triumphant completion at 7:30, just in time for an 8 a.m. class.

I’ve learned to pace myself a bit since then. I’m mailing my paper today (fingers crossed) and it isn’t even due till tomorrow.

photo: IBM

December Meeting

December Meeting

Comments 0 Comment


We gathered last night as members of a vanishing tribe. As usual we found a table then raced to pull books off the shelves. Every December my book group meets in a book store — a real, brick-and-mortar bookstore — to pick our readings for the coming year. The idea is that we are right there with the books; we can quickly learn whether a title has been published in paperback.

Last night was different. We changed our location, for one thing. Our old Borders is no more. And the Barnes and Noble we chose didn’t have a lot of the books we were after. There were calendars and toys and journals and Nook displays but of books themselves there was a definite lack.

I can’t say I’m surprised. Many of us read on Kindles or iPads. And even I, Luddite that I am, order books online. This revolution is much bigger than us, and I can’t say we didn’t see it coming. But as we said farewell last night I wondered where we’ll meet next year. I hope there will be a bookstore left to host us.

Photo: Renton (WA) Library News

Flyway

Flyway

Comments 0 Comment


Yesterday I was driving west when I came upon a flyway. It’s a left exit that swings over two other roads on its way back to earth. Looking at such a monstrosity from below fills me with dread and anxiety. Is it safe, well built? Will I go too fast and fall off?

But these are the worries of the land lubber. Once I’m on the flyway I am in awe of the view. I can see the front line of the Blue Ridge as it extends from north to south. I am escaping the quotidian. I am, for a moment, flying.

Full Circle

Full Circle

Comments 0 Comment


Christmas is coming whether we like it or not, so once again we drove west into the rolling foothills of the Blue Ridge. Last year we were some of the last customers of the year to cut our tree. Yesterday we were not. It was a sunny noontime when we arrived, more than two full weeks before the big day.

We walked up and down the slope, savoring the view, the scent of the pine and fir, the sound of dogs barking. (Our own dog barks too much to come!)

It was notable, I think, that the lovely tree we finally found was one we’d overlooked in the very beginning. So we had come full circle in our search.

The Nemesis

The Nemesis

Comments 2 comments


For the last few weeks I’ve been getting to know an old nemesis. If you had to name this entity it would diminish its power, so I will leave the name out for now. Let me just say that it sits on my shoulder and mumbles in my ear. Don’t use that word; it won’t work. Where is the transition here? No, that isn’t it at all. When my nemesis has the upper hand I am wordless and unhappy.

Through the years I have assembled some ammunition. This blog, for instance; it flies beneath the radar screen. The nemesis lets it go. And sometimes in the morning I can work happily before the nemesis awakes. But long about midday it will set in with all its niggling, nagging power. Often I push through it. Sometimes I give up and do something else.

Looking in some writing books the other day I came across a passage that helps. It’s from The Forest for the Trees by writer, editor and agent Betsy Lerner. “I won’t say there’s no such thing as a natural talent, but after working with many authors over the years, I can offer a few observations: having natural ability doesn’t seem to make writing any easier (and sometimes makes it more difficult); having all the feeling in the world will not ensure the effective communication of feeling on the page; and finally, the degree of one’s perseverance is the best predictor of success.”

It’s that last point that I cling to most. The nemesis doesn’t like to hear it. The nemesis counts on my giving up. And so, just to spite it, I won’t.

Bringing the Outside In

Bringing the Outside In

Comments 2 comments


A friend at work is retiring and yesterday she gave me her plants, a small begonia and a Christmas cactus. These join my anemic spider plants and seen-better-days African violet on a table (another bequeath) in front of the alley-view window.

My office now has cleaner air and slightly softer outlines. It has a bit of the jungle about it. It will be nice next week to be greeted not just by a spot of green but by a veritable wall of it. There’s something about bringing the outside in that does a heart good.

And speaking of that, I am in search of a cyclamen for the holidays. If it is even half as profuse and lovely as last year’s, we will be in good shape.

Last Class

Last Class

Comments 0 Comment


We gathered for the last time last night. Eighteen people more different than alike, drawn together to explore the special places in our lives, whether real or metaphorical. Whatever lead me to the class — call it grace, serendipity or dumb luck — I am grateful for it. And I will miss these folks; we have come to know each other well these last few months.

I haven’t quite figured out how to tackle the big subject that intrigues and bedevils me. I’m still “in process.” But I’ve had a few epiphanies along the way and the class readings, discussions and blog posts have dug deep furrows, turned soil that will produce something in the future (at the very least the required paper due next week!).

As I made my way home last night, though, it wasn’t place that was on my mind; it was people.