In Search of Snow White and Berries Red

The Illinois sky delivered its first snowfall for the 2016/17 season on December 4th, and it was a humdinger. It couldn't have come at a better time. 

You see, Sunday I had a bad case of the sads. The anniversary of my father's death is approaching, and I have been a little melancholy anyway, but mostly, my mother's heart was troubled, as mother's hearts are wont to do when any of her children are suffering. 

Everything made me cry that day. Watching a video of a police officer saving a woman's life with CPR made me cry. Seeing old pictures of my children made me cry. Reading my old blog posts made me cry. When Chuck offered to fly me home this week to spend time with my kids, I cried harder. How he puts up with me is a wonder.

I was at the kitchen sink when I noticed the first snowflake. And then another. "It's snowing," I told Chuck, my voice breaking. Good grief. I had WANTED it to snow, and seeing my wish come true made me dissolve into another puddle of tears. 

We stayed home from church, which was probably a good thing on many levels. The snowplows hadn't gotten out yet, my head hurt, and I was afraid I would just cry through the entire meeting. 

During breakfast, Sierra Facetimed us, and she actually made me laugh. Texts from the boys soon let me know everyone was feeling much better about life on Sunday. Sierra was relaxing at home, getting ready to decorate a tree someone anonymously left on her front porch, and the boys were with Jamie, hunting in Pine Valley for their Christmas tree with a shotgun. (That's a story for another day.)

All of the crying I had done gave me a headache, and Chuck had one, too, so we both settled down for a long winter's nap. Meanwhile, the snow continued to fall, and when we woke up, the world was covered in white. 

We dug out all of our winter wear, putting on layers under our jeans and sweaters. I was so worried I wouldn't be able to zip my pants and ski jacket, but I guess the five pounds I'd lost these last two weeks did me some good; everything zipped! We set off to walk in Saint Charles' winter wonderland. Chuck brought one of our cameras, and I put my iPhone in a plastic bag for safekeeping.

I love my Beart for putting up with all of the selfies. Making and preserving memories are so important to me.

Silly things still brought me to tears for the rest of the day. It's like someone opened the floodgates, and tried to close them, but didn't quite get the job done. I saw big, old-fashioned Christmas lights on a house; Dad's favorite lights for the tree. Tears. I saw seven cardinals flitting back and forth in our backyard. More tears. I always think of Daddy when I see Virginia's state bird. 

That bad case of the sads eased throughout our afternoon, and by the time we got home, I was feeling somewhat refreshed and hopeful again.
Thanks to freezing temperatures, there was plenty of snow to photograph the next day, too, and I drove downtown to walk around Pottawatomie Park in search of pictures of red berries covered in snow. 

What a difference a day makes. I felt so happy and lighthearted, knowing all of our children are doing okay, our family is healthy, and we all have reasons to smile today. 

Not only did I find red berries and plenty of snow, I finally found my smile.

"My" Owls

My fascination with owls began about a decade ago, when I discovered a Great Horned owl was living in the woods behind my house. Since then, I have enjoyed reading about them, and I love having an opportunity to photograph them. There were several times the presence of an owl coincided with a significant life event, and sometimes just hearing an owl made me smile, and brought me great peace. 

December 4, 2016

It was after midnight when I heard the familiar call of an owl. I've lived in Illinois for almost two years, and this was a first for me. My eyes were wide open, all of my senses heightened.

For a moment, I wondered if what I'd actually heard was just a mourning dove. I strained my ears in the darkness. There it was again: hoo-h'HOO-hoo-hoo. Definitely a Great Horned. I smiled. "Thank you," I whispered, to the owl. "Thank you for visiting." 

When my husband shifted under the blankets next to me, I whispered, "Listen; there's an owl outside." 

Chuck lifted his head off his pillow, and said, "I don't hear anything." After just a few moments he heard it, too. I was so glad he finally heard an owl with me. While my husband drifted back to sleep, I was wide awake, and I went downstairs to start my day, pausing by the front door to listen, and was rewarded with another round of calls from the owl. 

I sure hope he roosts near our house so I can have an owl in Illinois, too.

Young owl in Sevier, Utah.

Owls have been a presence in my life for the last decade of my life. Native American legend says the owl foretells of death, or a transition in life. It can signal change is coming. For me, the presence of an owl reminds me to be present; to pay attention.  


December 4, 2013

Two and a half weeks before my father passed away, a Great Horned owl swooped down over my head while I was hiking in the snow. I had come to call that particular owl mine. He roosted in the big pine tree behind my garage, and once I was able to see him in the bare limbs of a large, dead tree. 

"My" owl in Marysvale, Utah.

December 15, 2013
One week before my father passed away, I had written this post on Facebook: 

My owl is softly cooing outside our cozy house. He reminds me that all is well, even amid the hustle and bustle, and the occasional disruptions and trials. There is always so much for which to be thankful. 

Today I am thankful for my children, and the way they love and support each other when one is struggling. I'm grateful that the aches and pains I have do not stop me from doing what I enjoy. I'm feeling blessed for the opportunities for service that come my way. I'm looking forward to celebrations of Christmas with my kids. I love how calming the call of an owl is. What a wonderful early Christmas present.

Christmas 2013. Daddy died December 22 that year. 

In the spring of 2014, I found myself still grieving the death of my father, newly divorced, and moving back to my little house up near the mouth of the canyon. 

As I was loading the last of my belongings in the trailer on moving day, I stood outside in the early morning hour. My owl called to me one last time in the darkness. It was time for me to go.

Do I believe that owls deliver messages of imminent death, or signal to me to prepare for a significant transition in my life? No, not at all. I just find it interesting that there seems to be some synchronicity at play in my life. The coincidences of the owl visits intrigue me. 

Whenever I hear the hoot of an owl, I try to be very still, and strain to hear it clearly. These birds are like a touchstone in my life, reminding me that all is well. They help me learn what it is like to be fully present in a moment, noticing only what is important, and allowing the insignificant details to fade from my thoughts. 

My owl moments are a complete immersion in the now, a spontaneous meditation with nature. Whenever it is my good fortune to hear the soft coo of an owl, I feel I have received the sweetest gift.

I love owls; all of them. I am most grateful for the ones that visit me where I live, and call to me from time to time. I feel so blessed by their presence. 

An owl from the Bristol Renaissance Faire.

An owl at the Utah Renaissance Faire.

A family of owls lived in a tree a couple miles from our home in Joseph, Utah.

This owlet didn't take his eyes off me.

This was the clumsy sibling.

Mama isn't happy with the photographer.

Disapproving mother owl, watching me as I photographed her two babies.

Mother owl at Fabyan Park, Batavia, Illinois

Earlier posts about owls:

An Owl's Gift

This Is for the Birds

The Return of My Owl, a Poem

Tromping through the Snow

Grief Is Love with No Place to Go

As Christmas draws near, my thoughts turn to my father. How he loved Christmas. Daddy loved baking his Christmas goodies to deliver to friends, all decked out in his Santa hat. He loved attending the candlelight service on Christmas Eve at the Church of the Epiphany in Amherst, Virginia. He loved his fluffy, fat pine tree, with the big, vintage, colored Christmas lightbulbs. Daddy was the epitome of Christmas.

Heading to church with Granddaddy and Grandma Jackie, Amherst, Virginia.

Yesterday I was struck by this quote, attributed to J.W.A.

"Grief, I've learned, is really love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot give. The more you loved someone, the more you grieve. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and that part of your chest that gets empty and hollow feeling. The happiness of love turns to sadness when unspent. Grief is just love with no place to go." -JWA

My grief is my love for Daddy with no place to go. That's exactly it. All of that love I carry for him is stuck in my heart, and it makes my heart sad to be so full of love that can't be shared with him here any more. 


I cried when I read the words. Tears fell freely as I realized that this is how my grief feels to me. 

Maybe it feels that way to you, too. 

Honestly, I thought it would be a lot easier by now. This Christmas will be our fourth Christmas without that giant of a man. I was shocked to realize it has been that long. There are days when I am caught off guard with a sweet memory that moves me to tears. 

I'm so glad for the time we had with Dad. I cherish that last phone call the morning of the day he passed away. I see my dad in every gingerbread man, in every loaf of German Stöllen, in every dogwood tree, in every cardinal. December will always be a very special month because there are so many holiday sights and sounds that trigger special memories of Daddy.

Grieving doesn't seem to have a time limit, but I think I'm okay with that. Over time, it is evolving. At first, my tears seemed angry and full of anguish. Then there were tears of hopelessness. And for a time, I couldn't even cry; I just felt numb. Now, when I cry, the tears feel softer and they release pent-up emotions. 

Daddy and Jackie with all four of us kids.

There is so much love in my heart for that man. I will always carry that with me, so it will be natural for some grief to be there. I'm going to try to share that love for him with our loved ones; the people who love me, and love him. I want his love to have places to go, so I will try to give it to those he and I love most. I have to at least try; Daddy would like that.

I love you, Daddy. I always will.

Christmas Memories...

A Christmas long past, with my brother Danny and Daddy.

Granddaddy shipped his Gingerbread men to Utah from Virginia.

Dad delivered Christmas goodies to his friends at the gym.
(Photo credit: Natalie Mayhew Beidler)

Daddy's Gingerbread Cookies were always a special treat. (Photo Credit: Natalie Beidler Mayhew)

If you were lucky enough to be a recipient of Daddy's German Stöllen bread, you knew you were in his inner circle of friends. (Photo credit: Natalie Beilder Mayhew)

Old Spice will always remind me of Daddy.
(Photo Credit: Natalie Beidler Mayhew)

The (Merry) Christmas Walk in Geneva

Happy Holidays! 

Happy Hanukkah!  

Happy Kwanzaa! 

Merry Christmas!

I'm not one of those people who get hung up on a particular greeting this time of year. What's the big deal, anyway? I have friends who celebrate special days on the calendar in their own way, and if I am aware, I will happily wish them a happy WHATEVER it is they are commemorating. I'm assuming friends will know I'm celebrating Christ's birth, and won't mind hearing me say "Merry Christmas" when I see them, any more than I would mind hearing them greet me with their holiday wishes of choice.

This private residence was all decked out.

If someone wishes me a Merry Christmas, I will give them a hearty Merry Christmas back. And if I hear Happy Holidays, I'm certainly not going to get all bent out of shape about it. That would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? In the spirit of "peace on earth; goodwill to all," I'll return their wish for Happy Holidays. 

December is such a magical month to me. Our family celebrates the birth of Christ. We have friends observing the Festival of Lights, and still others are celebrating Kwanzaa. Many of us are looking for ways to serve others through our churches or synagogues or community groups. People seem friendlier and more cheerful. Children remind us of our innocent days of childhood. And here in the Midwest, there is the promise of snow. (Don't let me down, Illinois.)

Last night, Chuck had asked me out for the Geneva Christmas Walk. I love that he still plans dates, and calls to ask me out. We had missed the walk last year, and I looked forward to wandering around our favorite, picturesque downtown at night, enjoying the Christmas lights, carolers, live models in storefront windows, and instrumental music. There were rumors there were free cookies that Chuck was excited about, and I was hoping for a chance to try an actual chestnut roasting on an open fire. I heard they do that there.

The Little Traveler, my favorite store for browsing.

As we were walking hand in hand down the middle of the street (the police barricade Third Avenue for this event), I wished my husband a "Merry Christmas." That was a safe greeting, I figured, but no. 

Merry Christmas, Beart!

Chuck responded with, "Merry Christmas WALK. It's much too early to say Merry Christmas."

"WHAT? No, way. Merry CHRISTMAS," I repeated, with a smile.

"Merry Christmas WALK," he said, grinning. I gave up. He can be pretty stubborn about word choice sometimes, but it was all in good fun. 

Live models in tutus and wedding dresses in store windows delighted the children.

Before we headed back to our car, we stopped at an art gallery, and finally found a free cookie for Chuck, and I had a sample of some wassail, but just a bit. I didn't get my roasted chestnut this time, but there's always next year.

Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you get to do it surrounded by loved ones. Merry Christmas from the Bennorths, and Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy Holidays, too! And in my opinion, it is NOT too early to say any of those happy things; we have less than a month for any of them, so better say them while we can!

Welcome! Welcome, December!

Now that we've officially said goodbye to November, it is with open arms I welcome December. I know, I know; just a couple short weeks ago, I was in despair over the passing of autumn, but all good things must come to an end, so that more good things can begin. Autumn is my most favorite season, and it leads into ANOTHER favorite season; the season of Peace on Earth, Goodwill to All. And let's not forget, winter is the season of SNOW!

There is so much to look forward to in December. My mind is racing with all of the fun possibilities before us. Tomorrow we are going to Geneva for the Winter Walk. (Picture horse-drawn carriages, people bundled up as they walk from store to store, chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Seriously. They do that here.) Dinner with friends. Driving around to look at all of the holiday lights in the neighborhood. There is the Christmas dinner at church. Two of our sons and our future daughter-in-law will spend an evening with us so we can celebrate the holidays with a meal. We are flying to Utah to spend Christmas week with our kids there. SQUEAL!!! I will get to see my mom, other relatives, and friends.
 

Soon the snow will fly. That means a fire in the fireplace. Hot cocoa. SLEDDING! And you know I'm looking forward to the occasional snow day that will allow Chuck to work from home.

Chuck doesn't share my love of snow days. Maybe if I shoveled snow, and he took pictures, he'd be happier.  2015

Farewell, November. You've left me so full of gratitude for family, friends, and relative good health. Welcome, December, so full of hope and promise. I love the magic of Christmas, when we look for more opportunities to be of service. That's the best part of the magic, in my book. Our hearts tend to be softer, our touch more tender, our words more kind, as we contemplate the meaning of Christmas.

Calling for Backup at Goodwill

For one of my birthday gifts, my husband is going to treat me to a spending spree; nothing crazy, but I can make a dollar go pretty far, so I'm pretty stoked. He knows how much I like to browse and touch everything at T.J. Maxx, so he offered to take me there. I can usually get a lot of bang for my buck at T.J.'s.

I've been looking forward to our outing, until I went to Goodwill earlier this week. I was so excited when I noticed the rack at the entrance,  heavy with brand-new, with-tags clothes from Kohl's. They were seasonal Croft and Barrow turtlenecks and sweaters, adorned with pine trees, cardinals, and snowmen. My face broke into a smile as my hands ran over the yarn and fabrics; they were soft; my number one criteria. And the sweaters and jackets were CUTE. That's number two. 

But wait. Even though I thought the sweaters were adorable, I began to doubt my fashion sense. Just recently I shared that my kids have often been MY OWN LITTLE JIMINY CRICKETS, giving or withholding approval of my potential purchases of clothing. As I'm getting older, I care less about what people think, but sometimes, little nagging thoughts nibble away at my ego, and I wonder if I'm losing touch with reality, living in a fantasy world where I wear whatever I want, regardless of whether it looks good or not. 

Not everyone wears sweaters festooned with cutesy characters or seasonal themes. Why is that? To each her own, but I recalled with fondness dressing for each season or holiday when I was teaching elementary school. 

I was waffling on choosing one of these brand-new sweaters for myself; what if these were displayed in the hopes that people looking for ugly Christmas sweaters for holiday parties would think these would be perfect additions to their wardrobe? Were they cute, or just plain UGLY?

I needed backup, so I texted my husband and my kids in a group message, and was relieved three of them were available to help me decide. 

Group text messaging to the rescue. First, I sent them this picture:

Well, Chuck is the one who will see me wearing whatever I choose the most, so I'm glad he was the first to respond. (In re-reading his response, I wonder if he was worried I was shopping for HIM.)

Next I heard from my oldest. Dylan is so busy at work, so I was surprised and grateful he took the time to voice his opinion. Dylan and Jamie's texts popped up on my phone while I was weighing my options.

My sweet daughter-in-law always tries to encourage me with her kind words. I had three positive votes, and knew that I wouldn't be hearing from my daughter who is swamped at work with Christmas orders, and my youngest hadn't seen the light of day yet, it was still pretty early, and even an hour earlier in his time zone. 

I returned the blue sweater to the rack, and selected a mock turtleneck with a pine bough and pine cone pattern in the same soft green as the sweater. It was $6.99, which is kind of pricey for thrift stores, but it was brand-new. Moments later, I discovered another rack full of Croft and Barrow turtlenecks, and low and behold, there was the identical shirt, without tags, for $3.99. SCORE.

Chuck and I will be coming back another day to finish my birthday shopping. I'm so excited. I won't have to call for backup when we go; I'll have my partner riding shotgun with me next time.