A Touch of Hearth & Home~ Seasonal Scents of Love

I think one of the strongest things attached to my memories of this time of year are the scents I associate with Thanksgiving and Christmas. There's comfort and warmth and the feeling of love that emanates from food, from homes, and even those outdoorsy smells we notice less or not at all in the warmer months of the year.

Some of those things are just simply more common to the fall and winter months, so it makes a lot of sense that I would associate things like apples and cinnamon or the sweet luscious mixture of apple cider with brown sugar and other spices- cinnamon as well as clove and nutmeg with the holidays. There's a feeling of comfort in sipping the hot liquid, the slight tingle of the spices on your tongue and in your throat.

As a child, the smell of those mixed apple and orange fruit bags planted me firmly in my grandparents house, peeling back the thick skin on a navel orange and then squeezing the oils so that they spritzed against the side of the wood stove, the sizzle as it hit and the aroma of orange filling the air, nearly burning your eyes with its pungent odor. But man, did it smell so good!

Oranges also smell delicious with whole cloves. Piercing the outer peel with those fragrant little stems fills the house with comfort and reminds me of my mom, who does this often. I just looked it up and found out it's called an Orange and Clove Pomander (here's a tutorial if you feel like being crafty.)

Another favorite smell of mine is pumpkin pie or one of those pumpkin rolls or logs. There's just something about the sweet rich aroma of pumpkin and spices, topped with whipped topping. My mom makes this fluffy Pumpkin Chiffon pie that's to die for! It has a light texture that's more airy than a traditional pumpkin pie, really more of a jelled set pudding pie and it's scrumptious- in aroma and flavor.

Another good one is sweet sugar cookies, baked with vanilla. It's soft and warm, and hints of the care and kindness and love that goes into baking and filling your home with the wonderful goodies, the aroma that greets the kids at the door when they come in on a cold winter afternoon after school.

And let's not forget the great outdoors. Though we'd generally rather stay in at this time of year, there is something wondrous and comforting when you step out into a bitterly cold night- one of those nights where you can almost "smell" the cold- the froze dampness of dead dry leaves and the hint of snow in the air as your breath materializes before you.

I take a deep breath and hold it, latching onto memories of time long past. Nothing hearkens me back to my childhood more than a cold blustery day when I can feel the tingling in my ears and my throat, when the wind stings my eyes. It's times like that when the woodsy odor of pine and cedar fills the air and the comforting tang of wood burning in someone's fireplace or furnace suffuses itself to me, clinging to my clothes and weaving it's way into every fiber of my being.

It's that touch of hearth and home that gets me, every time, that fills me with the knowledge that I'm HOME and I'm LOVED and really, that's what it's all about. (Here are a couple of the great smells I've discovered recently- Air Wick Apple & Shimmering Spice and Air Wick Vanilla Sugar Sparkle. One of Glade's Limited time Winter scents- Nutcracker Crunch, which smells of walnuts and mocha- delicious! Glade's Limited time Fall scent- Maple Pumpkin. Yummy!)

What are YOUR favorite scents this time of year? What brings back fond memories?

Have a SCENTsational Saturday!

Thursdays with Taryn- Happy Thanksgiving to Everyone!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving mornings when I was growing up were usually a rush shortly after sunrise for my family to pile into my dad's cold work van or our car so he could deliver my mom, my younger sister and myself down to my grandparents' house. He'd usually have some work-related job to do until lunchtime, so he'd drop us off and head back home to do some wood-working thing in the basement. Sometimes I think that was what the men in the family did anyway to stay out of the house and away from the womenfolk so they weren't asked for any help. My grandpa and uncles could usually be found piddling around down in the junk yard or in the mule lot. :)

In the meantime, my mom would set to work with my grandma and my aunt in the kitchen, preparing the Thanksgiving meal which always consisted of the majority of items in the picture above- turkey, dressing, gravy with bits of turkey in it and sometimes there were bits of giblets (blech). Homemade mashed potatoes and green beans, brown and serve rolls, and can shaped cranberry gel as well as the other kind. My mom and aunt would sometimes make a separate pan of oyster dressing for them and my one uncle who loved it. And then there was my mom's pumpkin chiffon pies. She still makes those and OH MY! They are goo--oood!

My sister and I were usually underfoot, but Grandma would often give us the job of taste-testing the dressing once they had it mixed up and we'd basically stuff our faces while sitting in front of the boob tube watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade near the potbellied stove, keeping toasty. When mealtime came, everyone gathered around, grown-ups at the big table and us kids at the old rickety card table...the same one that I would try to build houses of cards on.

I don't remember any tradition of going around and saying what we were thankful for, but to my way of viewing it, I think it was because we all knew we were thankful for each other and for time together. It was a given, we spent every Saturday at my grandparents' house anyway, but Thanksgiving was a warm time that was filled with family and good food and lots of voices talking over one another.

Afterwards, when it got dark, Grandpa would flip the switch on the outdoor Christmas lights and we'd all gather out there, bundled up, with cold breath and warm hearts, staring in awe at the multicolored lights that ran the length of the junkyard fence on either side of the house and the old plastic lighted hoot owls in the tree and Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer on the roof. (My mom made Grandpa a wooden painted set with her jig saw). I have no doubt it's where my love of Christmas and decorating with lots of bright lights comes from. It was magical and inspiring and made me appreciate my life, my family and the love of those around me.

A lot has changed though, since those bygone holidays. Now my mom does Thanksgiving at her house and I go up so that she and my sister and I can put together the meal at my parents' house. Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Kenny and Aunt Carol and Aunt Debbie Roses and Aunt Faye are no longer with us. This year is especially hard after losing Debbie, but we're gathering together and we'll remember them with all the love in our hearts and give thanks for all the times we had with them, as well as give thanks for each other- even if we don't say it....we don't have.

We KNOW it.

Hope your Thanksgiving is FILLED with festive holiday gatherings, lots of good food and the abundance of LOVE that surrounds you. I'm thankful for those of you who take the time to come by and visit my blog. There might not ever be a lot of chatter on the comments, but I do know when I've had visitors and I'm so VERY thankful and appreciative that you've been here.

Happy Thanksgiving- Have a wonderful day with your loved ones and enjoy this day of rest!

SCENTsational Saturdays- Favorite 10- Body Fantasies Vanilla

A very soft and sweet vanilla, this body spray calls me home and makes me feel warm and safe. I'm not sure why, but vanilla tones in perfumes make me think of fairy tales and knights on white horses. Perhaps it's the simplistic natural aroma of vanilla that harkens back to homemade cookies and childhood.

I lures me with memories of holidays spent with my family. Of warming my hands next to the fire and the sharp aroma of wood smoke spiraling from a chimney on a cold winter day. It's a scented journey through my youth that gives me inspiration and reminds me of my mom and her encouragement.

I wish you a lovely weekend and a reminder that life is nothing if you don't Try... ;)

Have a SCENTsational Saturday!

#MemoryLane Mondays- Where lil' ol' T is From...

I've been wracking my brain for something to post today. I have Karen Stivali visiting tomorrow for Tuesdays with Taryn and I have an idea for what I'm going to maybe do for Writerly Wednesday, but today had me stumped on what I might be able to share memory-wise. As I told my sister, I can only tell the cat in the Christmas tree story only so many times!

So then I stumbled across fellow Triberr tribemate Pauline Baird Jones' blog this morning and it seemed fitting that I should do THIS- to revive the old noggin of things I remember about who I am and where I'm from...so away we go-

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I am from old cars bodies stacked high in the back lot of the junkyard, from fried chicken and homemade biscuits and Coca~Cola. I'm from pigs in the stalls and mules in the mud. I'm from fresh chicken eggs and stray dogs and cats. I am from riding bareback and tromping through manure in my uncle's galoshes. I am from Queen of the coal pile to junkyard adventurer extraordinaire. I am from a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. I am from a small town.

I am from the suburban brick house with the white picket fence racing around the backyard, of living the American dream, from burgers over charcoal and hot summer days spent beneath the sprinkler. I am from sweltering days spent on the Banana Slide to hand-cranked banana ice cream. I am from the 80's generation, riding my Huffy until after dark and not worrying about being abducted in my own neighborhood. I'm from rocket pops from the ice cream truck and cotton candy from the county fair. I am from afternoons spent playing badminton and wiffleball in the front yard, to chasing fireflies with a Miracle Whip jar with the neighbor kids.

I am from the lilacs that perfumed the spring air through my bedroom window, from the crisp autumn scent of woodburning stoves. I am from the bitter cold snow and the night my dad tunneled a path down the slope in the back yard so my sister and I could go sledding.

I am from my Momma's wild pink roses that smelled so good, to the peppery deep red ones my grandmother grew that almost arched over the entry to their front porch. I am from a life filled with beauty and flowers in the spring and summer months- of snowball bushes and moonflowers and angel trumpets and the sweet taste of honeysuckle.

I am from a wonderful stay at home mom who loved to paint and do crafts, who sang along to her Alabama and Air Supply into drinking glasses while doing the dishes, who always made popcorn and Kool-Aid for me and my friends when we were in the backyard in our tent made with blankets and chairs. I am from a woman who overdoes the holiday decorating, especially Christmas decorations, making cookies and treats and being drawn to sparkly bobbles and clothing. I also overdo it.

I am from a talented carpenter who was married once before my mother, had no kids from his first marriage, but who met my mother via his ex-sister-in-law because she was dating my uncle (my momma's brother). I am from a man with a stoic attitude and a wicked sense of humor, who could pinch you with his toes. I pick things up with my toes just to wig people out and I get my attention to details, the bills, the checkbook and my chicken-scratch handwriting from my dad.

I am from a two child family and spend much of my time laughing so hard I tear up with my sister Shannon. From the awful jokes we tell one another to the daily text messages just to see how the other is doing, or to gross each other out, we're finally learning what sisters are good for, just like our mom and our aunt did. I am from a childhood that saw its fair share of arguing and bickering, but an adult friendship and kinship that's coming into it's own.

I am from the gossip and serious-minded- from my mother the talker, who believes in the importance of family and my father, who is studious and intelligent. I am from the dreamer and the cynic, who have walked this world together, in balance. I am from 37 years of marriage. I am from LOVE.

I am from the parental guidance of "wish in one hand and shit in another" and when trouble pops up- "what goes over the devil's back comes under his belly." I am from "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" and "you gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything."
 
I am from a mixture of non-churchgoing and churchgoing alike, but to be quite frank- I don't know a lot about my family's religious background. I am from a grandmother who taught me in childhood to memorize Psalms 23 and she also taught me the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer. Otherwise, I am from denominations or beliefs no one will talk about, though the importance of family seems more important. I am from parents who gave me the freedom to figure out my own beliefs without someone else's influence or opinions, so I am from the Spiritual. I am from the earth and the heavens and the seasons in their turn. I am from the school of "do unto others as you'd have done unto you." I am from my own personal belief certain we are supposed to love all others as equals. I am from the church of it's okay to have differing beliefs and still be friends. I am from the idea that we should COEXIST. I am from the notion that I am free to choose for myself because I live in the United States and I have freedom to believe what I want to believe because it's personal to me.
 
I'm from Kentucky, Indiana, Ireland, England, Germany, Holland, Scotland, North America (and probably more that I'm not aware of). I am from a melting pot of backgrounds too deep to fathom, too rich in history to encompass it all in one thought. I am from sugar popcorn and oyster soup. I am from down home country cooking where my grandfather raised his own pigs for slaughter, where chicken eggs were gathered daily, where it wasn't uncommon for my uncle to bring home a turtle he found on the road so he could nail it to a stump so they could eat it for supper...

I am from the fact that I have never eaten turtle in my life after my grandmother had me hold a turtle heart in my hand as a kid. I would never eat it at all after that. I am from cornbread battered fish, bass we caught when we went fishing and cornbread battered fins and tails and fish eggs. I am from a childhood of never having worried about the West Nile Virus, especially when my summers were filled with mosquito bites and soothing them with rubbing alcohol every night.

I'm from sweaty summers spent mostly outside, riding my bike or sitting beneath the tree in the front yard with my boombox and my cassette tapes. I'm from scribbling in notebooks and drawing illustrations of my happily ever after stories that my friends read. 
 
From my grandfather's time in WWII, when the love letter he sent my grandmother made her think he'd found someone else, but it turned out he hadn't. That love letter was from around the same time that my older half aunt was born, who I knew nothing about until was grown and by then both my grandparents had already passed away, so we'll never truly know what happened.

I am from the grandparents who were missionaries in South America when I was a baby, who built homes and taught the children. I am from a musical background on both sides of my family- with piano and guitar and the French harp, though I do not play instruments myself, I do love music. 
 
I am from hazy faded photos on the walls and shelves, in photo albums and tucked away in my trunk, from old letters and birthday cards and crisp old sheets of papers in the bottoms of dresser drawers that haven't been opened in years. Who I am is capture in those things because it's where I'm from...

I am from Anderson County. I am from Lawrenceburg. I am from Kentucky. I am from a place where my roots run deep and my heart belongs, where family means everything, friendships don't fail you and love lasts forever.

Here are the questions if you'd like to do your own Where I'm From...

#MemoryLane Mondays- Family, Home and Writerly Things #writing #inspiration #author

Every summer I visit my parents, sister, family and friends for a week, or two, or three. Part of the reason lies in the fact that I live nearly 3 hours away from my hometown and I miss the people who made me who I am. It’s also because I want my daughter to know her grandparents and aunt and where her momma comes from. Summer vacations and breaks from school are our only opportunities for these kinds of visits.

The other day a fellow author was talking about having shady places, where you can take rest, away from the sun, the world, from life. Cozy alcoves. My mom and I were talking about it and I realized my hometown is one of my “shady” places. It’s where I come to recharge, to decompress and gather my thoughts. Without it, I might lose touch with who I am because this is the place that molded me, that nurtured my writerly roots.

As I’ve pondered over this the past few days, I’ve found myself feeling more inspired and emotional about my childhood home, my memories and the woman I’ve become. I’ve slept in my old bedroom in a small twin size bed. Its not the bed I had—mine had an old faux brass headboard that jingled when the screws wiggled loose and I always kept a screwdriver nearby because the rattling every time I turned over in my sleep annoyed me, but it’s still reminiscent of my youth. The dark plum walls I painted are still there along with the sponged-on white ivy pattern. My mom insisted on painting in my room years ago while I was at work one day because she hated how dark the walls were so she did the two opposite walls with an ivy patterned paint roller.

The room looks tiny now, with all the shelving and cabinets my dad built and put in there after I moved out. He stores eBay items he plans to sell, shipping boxes and my mom’s sewing machine and bookcases and lots of other bits and pieces. It’s a “junk room” now, a catch-all, and I lay on that tiny bed, staring at the flowery white plaster pattern on the ceiling, letting my mind wander over the past decade since I left and further back in time.

I've known I wanted to be a writer from around 10 or 11 years old, playing with an old upright Royal typewriter in our basement on hot summer afternoons pretending to work for a newspaper as a reporter, or handwriting my "high school sweethearts happily-ever-after" stories and illustrating them in pencil and crayon or colored pencils.

I wrote a lot of angst-riddled (horribly embarrassing) poetry in my teens and I remember staying up late on weekends, scribbling short stories and the beginnings of YA novels in Lisa Frank notebooks on pastel pink and blue colored pages. My parents got me a Smith Corona typewriter/word processor and 3 1/2 inch floppies for Christmas the year I was 17. That was also the year they gave me "The Romance Writer's Pink Pages" and a package of typing paper and a good long talk from my logical dad about how "hard" it is to be a writer. I remember him sitting on the end of my bed beside me, extolling the facts that I might not ever be able to do it for a living without a backup plan and a regular day job and that not everyone can break into the business, just like artists and singers...it's lofty and inspiring, but not always practical.

That room was my world for years- my safe haven, my Fortress of Solitude- I learned and grew in that room and I cut my teeth on writing in that room. It was my shade for a majority of my life.

And it’s funny though that I talk about shade from the “sun”—

I awoke the other morning with a thought when I saw it was daylight already- how I still remember the bright golden sunlight beaming through my back bedroom window on summer mornings. Even now, I felt the salutation of its warmth soaking into the room, into my being. It made me smile to think the sun still remembers me here and still greets me just the same, even when hidden from it. But then, the shadow and light know me here- know that writing is at the heart of me, that poetic words reside within me and that it’s one of the things that define who I truly am.

#SCENTsational Saturdays- #Fave 3- #CherryVanilla

Cherry Vanilla Perfume

Surprise yourself with the unexpected allure of Cherry Vanilla, the deceptively simple fragrance that blends the innocence of pure vanilla essence with the tart temptation of cherries to create an almost magical effect on your emotions. Wear Cherry Vanilla and feel totally delicious, amazingly self-assured and refreshingly romantic.

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Yes, that's an empty bottle. Rarely do I make it through a bottle of my favorite fragrances before the age and just don't smell as good as they ought to, but this was a very small bottle and it just smelled SO good. Always does.

Cherry Vanilla is a simple fragrance,- soft, feminine and reminds me of the holidays, my momma, and home. It's such a warm comforting scent it makes me want to curl up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket and watch Christmas movies and sip eggnog while the tree lights twinkle, even in the middle of July.

Of course, I don't have my tree up in July, but I still enjoy wearing this perfume year-round.

Hope you have a SCENTsational Saturday!