THE DUST WILL WAIT

I don't remember how old our middle daughter was when she learned a Dutch song from an elementary school teacher at Christmas time. We didn't know what the words meant, but we enjoyed listening to her sing the verse as she skipped around the house that year. We sang many of the familiar holiday tunes in the car as we drove over the mountains that Christmas Eve to celebrate with family at my brother's house in Gig Harbor. We stopped to have lunch at a little restaurant when the road made us hungry and weary.  In passing, I noticed that the pretty young woman who took our dinner requests had an unusual accent.  However, we were distracted by our young daughters and entertaining them while we waited for our meal and hadn't chatted with her. It wasn't too long before the little song was forming once again on the lips of our little singer.  She sang it out clear and sweet: Sinterklaas, kapoentje Gooi wat in mijn schoentje, Breng wat in mijn laarsje, Dank je

At lunch time today the conversation took a strange turn when we began talking about cows. Grandma:  When I was a little girl we raised cows. 5 year old Z-bub:  Who won? Grandma (confused):  Who won what? Z-bub:  Who won when you raced cows?

Leavenworth Washington is a small village that has “reinvented” itself as the place to visit to get into the spirit of the season.  I was enchanted by this magnificent Percheron, Jackson, that took Santa on a tour and was also available for tourist’s rental as well. One hundred years ago there were lots of horses and wagons still carrying the majority of people on their journeys to and from town, as well as handling the freight and agricultural demands. My mama told me about riding to school on a buckboard behind a horse called Old Nell.  Grandma would take rocks heated on the old wood stove and place them in rags around mama and her siblings feet to keep them warm. Her other memories of the ride include a loud and effusive burst of gas escaping from the old mare every couple of clip clops.  Mama said that one day on the way to school she herself was guilty of a small aromatic ester.  Even in her early 70s my mama would blush when she told me that her