Snow Flake Windows and Starry Nights - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

I love Christmas - always have, and always will. In my childhood Christmas was a magical time. Our pleasures were simple. As siblings we often teamed up in order to buy nicer gifts for each other. I helped my mother bake all kinds of cookies and squares to bring out during the holidays. We put up a real Christmas tree and the house had a wonderful woodsy smell. For our family it was a time of fun and happiness, and the warmth of family was easily felt. For our friends it was a place of hospitality, where they would be welcomed with cookies and ginger ale.

When my sons were young I tried to recreate that kind of Christmas enchantment, in spite of the fact that our budget was often tight. Two different motifs show up in abundance in my holiday decorating - both "cheap and cheerful" - and I'll explain the significance of each.

Snowflakes and Stars

Snow to cleanse the frozen ground,
stars to pierce the night,
symbols that I spread around -
Christmas they invite.
Snowflakes on my windowpane -
cheap, and simply made -
and their presence I'll explain;
why they're thus displayed.
Each unique and cut by hand
they lend winter cheer -
a tradition that has spanned
from our poorest year.

Stars that grace the coldest night,
lighting earth below.
See them shining - oh, so bright! -
on the frozen snow.
When upon the sea he'd roam,
seeking haven dry,
stars could guide a sailor home
if he'd read the sky.
Stars upon my Christmas tree
sparkle to remind -
When home's light you wish to see,
love is what you find.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 28, 2018

Snowflakes

A lot of people in my small town comment on the snowflakes that I put on my door every Christmas, and here's the story of how that tradition was born.

One year, when the boys were about three and four, I decided I wanted to decorate the house for Christmas. I truly had no decorating budget, but I did have a stack of mostly usable white paper at my disposal. So I cut out some paper snowflakes and taped them to the long, tall window that flanked the front door of our townhouse. When the light outside the front door was turned on, those snowflakes cast beautiful shadows in our entrance. My sons loved those snowflakes so much that they insisted I leave them up as long as the "real snow" lasted, and they asked for more of them the following winter.

Every year since then I've covered my windows with hand cut paper snowflakes. As my sons got older I taught them how to cut proper (six-sided!) paper snowflakes, and they'd help me arrange them in windows. At the end of winter I'd take them down, discarding the ones that were too tattered, and put the others, tape side down, on long sheets of waxed paper to roll up and save for the next year.

Now I'm getting older and I feel the cold more than I used to, but I refuse to become one of those crotchety people who hates snow. I live in Canada (for goodness sake!) - where snow is a fact of life - and it seems to me that those who complain endlessly about it make winter miserable for themselves and everyone around them. I really like snow. It's fresh and pure and glittery. I think of it as a beautiful white blanket that covers all the roots in the earth. It sparkles in the sunlight, and it reflects starlight at night. Yes, it's cold - just bundle up warm and enjoy it!

Snowflakes amaze me. As a child I was told that every snowflake was unique. When I first saw a snowflake under a magnifying glass I was astounded by how beautiful and fragile it was - here one moment; gone the next. They are a perfect metaphor for our individual lives - each is different, and their duration depends on circumstances. One snowflake, on a warm hand, melts quickly. Another, falling on frosty ground lasts, and when joined by many others, creates a layer of snow.

Like snowflakes, we need others of our kind around us. We can survive alone, but we thrive in company with our own.

The paper snowflakes on my windows remind me of some basic life lessons we'd all do well to heed. Sometimes the simple, inexpensive things are the most beautiful and inspiring. (My windows have inspired a little "flakiness" in my community.) Some of the most fragile things - and people - can join forces and change the climate in ways both good and bad. Every individual is unique, and we need to surround ourselves with other unique beings to really shine. And finally, life is short - enjoy all the beauty you can while you're here.

Stars

Once upon a time I had a friend who confessed that his Christmas tree had no decorations. At the time I worked at a health food store, and often, on my break, I'd stretch my legs by going to the dollar store next door. (Okay - I'll admit that sometimes I'd buy chocolate. Don't judge me! Chocolate has therapeutic effects. But that's another post...) Anyhow, one day, after ruminating on the sadness that my friend's naked tree represented, I was in said dollar store - and a bag of sparkly, metallic pipe cleaners caught my eye and fueled my imagination.

Once back in my quiet, customer-less store, I took one out of the bag and began twisting it. What simple thing could I shape from this lovely bit of bendable bling ? I fiddled a while, and a star was born! So I made all the metallic pipe cleaners in the bag into stars for my friend's tree. I liked them so well that I bought another bag on the way home from work so that I could make some for my tree too.

Every year since then I've hung those stars on my tree. They are another creative and inexpensive decor innovation that morphed into a family tradition. (We also have a golden, pipe cleaner submarine, a tribute to the Beatles, that also gets a spot on the family Christmas tree every year.)

I love stars too, and have many fond memories of looking up into star-filled skies in northern Ontario where I was raised. Stars fascinate me - tiny pinpricks of light seen from earth are actually massive, flaming suns to other planets. Mind blown! I love knowing that stars create a map in the sky for sailors and explorers to navigate by. It thrills me to know that we can find our way home by following the stars.

One of my simple pleasures at this time of year is taking an evening walk to enjoy the Christmas lights my neighbours put up. There is something soul satisfying about walking in the crisp evening air - stars reflecting off the sparkling snow - and enjoying the coloured lights that are pretty and fun, but merely a cheap imitation of what the heavens offer us. Often these are solitary rambles. I walk alone, on these nights, but I'm not lonely.

The stars above will light my way home - to a snowflake covered door - and behind that door is love.

I Swear... By Sharon Flood Kasenberg

I swear.

I was always encouraged not to, and perhaps that's why I did - it became a small manifestation of the rebellion in my soul.

In my defense, I never swore because I thought it was a way of looking smart or cool. (Seriously - "cool" wasn't an attainable goal for me, and I was never afraid to use more impressive words to demonstrate that I knew my way around a dictionary.) Nope - those weren't my excuses. In fact, I never tried to excuse my bad habit at all.

I just tossed out a few nasty words here and there - mostly when I was alone - because it made me feel better. It eased my anxiety and provided much needed catharsis when I was angry or frustrated. Shutting my bedroom door and dropping a curse or two seemed like a safer option than hitting someone or exposing my rage to the household at large.

Research suggests that I might've been on to something. While I don't advocate a liberal sprinkling of profanity in our everyday conversation, I do think that there are times when a cuss or two make us feel a whole lot better. Studies have shown that using profanity might provide the following benefits:

Stress Relief!

This benefit seems like a no-brainer. I recently had a conversation with a seventeen year old, who reiterated what I've always felt.

"When you're really upset nothing feels better than swearing. You immediately begin to feel better."

I concur.

"Darn - I'm so annoyed!" will never provide the same degree of catharsis as letting a good expletive fly. Sometimes we're simply better able to cope with the stress of a situation by breaking the tension with a bit of well-placed profanity.

Pain Tolerance:

Recent studies have shown that swearing can reduce pain by as much as fifty percent. This explains why our first instinct, upon hitting a thumb with the hammer, is to swear profusely. Some speculate that swearing releases chemicals that dull our pain receptors. There's also evidence that swearing can make you perform better at the gym - so don't be too quick to pass judgement on that person cussing up a storm nearby.

It Signals Honesty:

People who occasionally swear in public are viewed as having more integrity than those who never swear. Their momentary lapse is seen as an indication that they are genuine, and not obsessed with appearing perfect all the time. Nobody's perfect - and the person who loses their cool, for a second or two - here and there - is more likely to acknowledge that they aren't. Swearing can also signify levels of trust between individuals, as well as demonstrate an understanding of boundaries and tolerance levels. Those prone to dropping the odd nasty word quickly learn to assess exactly how much swearing will be tolerated among different audiences.

I can't speak for the rest of you, but I've had worse experiences with hearing gossip and back-biting from people who'd never dare utter a "bad word" than I have from people who let loose occasionally, so I put some stock in this last theory especially. It seems logical (to me, at least) that the people who are occasionally shamed themselves by using profanity might be a bit less inclined to run around shaming others.

There are worse things you can do than swear a bit.

As parent, I tried to discourage swearing, but I sometimes swore in front of my sons, so I knew I had to excuse them if they followed suit from time to time. I didn't want to preach a "Do as I say, not as I do" sermon, and I also knew there were a lot bigger things to concern myself with than whether they used a bit of profanity.

When you host international students, the topic of profanity inevitably comes up. It's a necessary conversation; they need to understand what words are seen as "the worst" within our culture, and be certain that something that seems inoffensive in their country of origin - or their parent's home - isn't taboo in Canada or within the host family's home.

Oddly, right after our conversation, mention was made - on a television show we were watching - of a "swear jar". So I explained the concept.

"It could be a good way for me to save money", I quipped. "Especially at Christmastime!"

They laughed, having both heard the words I'm prone to utter when I drop things in the kitchen. And that, my friends, inspired this blog post and my latest poetic offering.

I swear - and while I'm not afraid to admit to it, I'd never go so far as to say I'm proud of it. It's just something I do sometimes, and as long as I (mostly) keep it behind my own closed doors I refuse to feel badly about it. (I don't really see it as a worse linguistic habit than using perpetually bad grammar - which hurts my ears every bit as much as the odd four letter word might hurt those with ears more sensitive to profanity.)

Yeah, I could start a "swear jar" - but I'll admit that for me it would likely be nothing but a way to bank spare change.

So without further ado, here's my @&%# poem:

Savings Plan

Here's how to save some money
a little at a time -
just start a swear jar, Honey;
add nickel, or a dime,
for each time you indulge in
the urge to be profane.
You will profit sin by sin,
with ev'ry cuss you'll gain.
Go on and curse - feel no guilt.
Go on - fill up that jar!
Tidy nest egg will be built;
rude tongue will take you far!
Do you want to take a trip
down to the sunny south?
Just go on - and let 'er rip,
and profit from that mouth!
Then, when you flash your bank roll,
some credence you'll accrue
for your tongue's lack of control
and every curse you spew!

by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 8, 2018.