The weekend ramble (the framily comes to town)
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Despite what I try to do routinely on this blog, there just aren’t words for everything.
This weekend we celebrated Christmas early with our framily.
(Remember that phrase? I still like to pretend that we invented the word long before any phone company borrowed it for their advertising purposes.)
And what I have a hard time finding words adequate to describe are the feelings of gratitude and love and affection I have for these people – Oma and Papa Dale.
I couldn’t even drive a car when I first met them. Their youngest son was not even in the family when I met them. They gave me my first “off the farm” sort of job. We were framily before DVR and cell phones and Alexa. They called me from the yellow rotary phone hanging on their wall. (Which is still hanging there and still works and whose number has never changed all these years.) Once upon a time they were just friends with my mom and dad. And now they are my friends. True and real.
And this weekend they drove down from Virginia and their only purpose was to spend time with me and mine. That’s a beautiful kindness and I don’t take it for granted.
We shoved a lot into a day or two.
Feasting – because food is always a central part to celebrations.
One of our favorite holiday traditions – the drive across the mountain to Mud Dabbers Pottery in Brevard – was postponed from last weekend because of the snow and ice. Perfect timing for a delay since that meant we got to take Dale and Sally with us. Choosing a little mug from their free shelf is the best – and hardest – decision of the weekend.
We stopped at Caesar’s Head because if there’s even a slim chance of seeing the Blue Ridge escarpment, it’s worth the stop. Well, turns out, there was NO chance of seeing the escarpment as it was shrouded in cloud. But – it felt as if we were literally inside a cloud up there. Which, I guess, we were. So, see? Still worth the stop.
Lunch was at a darling spot in Brevard – soup and sandwiches perfect for the dreadful weather. We tooled along the gorgeous backroads – pretty despite the fog and the rain and the dreariness outside the car windows. We made our own fun.
There were presents opened. And Otto has already played the Star Wars version of Risk no less than five times. Somehow, I have thankfully managed to avoid playing it once.
And then, we prepared ourselves for the Second Annual Gingerbread House Competition.
This year a friend from church handcrafted the gingerbread house frames and they were top notch. This improved our end game exponentially. We drew names randomly and paired off in our four teams. As we finished the houses, I texted our neighbors and asked if maybe they had minute to be our impartial judges. They just happened to be available and stopped in for a quick decision. They’re such great neighbors and they leaned into their responsibility admirably and professionally.
In the end, the team of Dale and Bergen took the victory. (Team Daber. We were clever with our name combos this year – Team Ommo, Team Pilo. And frankly, I’ve already forgotten how we combined mine and Otto’s names. A fact that causes me a small degree of shame but no degree of surprise.)
We wrote the winners’ names on the back of the gingerbread man and hung him back on the tree – ready for next year’s fierce competition. (Bergen and Dale were the winning team last year too – so next year will be time to break their streak.)
The evening ended with relaxing and snacking and chatting.
I’m so thankful to know them. Grateful to celebrate holidays together. Appreciative that my children have their influence, their love and their stories. Glad they have their example of faithfulness in marriage and in parenting, of sticking together and figuring it out.
And this weekend was a wonderful and satisfying time spent together.
(Remember that phrase? I still like to pretend that we invented the word long before any phone company borrowed it for their advertising purposes.)
And what I have a hard time finding words adequate to describe are the feelings of gratitude and love and affection I have for these people – Oma and Papa Dale.
I couldn’t even drive a car when I first met them. Their youngest son was not even in the family when I met them. They gave me my first “off the farm” sort of job. We were framily before DVR and cell phones and Alexa. They called me from the yellow rotary phone hanging on their wall. (Which is still hanging there and still works and whose number has never changed all these years.) Once upon a time they were just friends with my mom and dad. And now they are my friends. True and real.
And this weekend they drove down from Virginia and their only purpose was to spend time with me and mine. That’s a beautiful kindness and I don’t take it for granted.
We shoved a lot into a day or two.
Feasting – because food is always a central part to celebrations.
One of our favorite holiday traditions – the drive across the mountain to Mud Dabbers Pottery in Brevard – was postponed from last weekend because of the snow and ice. Perfect timing for a delay since that meant we got to take Dale and Sally with us. Choosing a little mug from their free shelf is the best – and hardest – decision of the weekend.
We stopped at Caesar’s Head because if there’s even a slim chance of seeing the Blue Ridge escarpment, it’s worth the stop. Well, turns out, there was NO chance of seeing the escarpment as it was shrouded in cloud. But – it felt as if we were literally inside a cloud up there. Which, I guess, we were. So, see? Still worth the stop.
Lunch was at a darling spot in Brevard – soup and sandwiches perfect for the dreadful weather. We tooled along the gorgeous backroads – pretty despite the fog and the rain and the dreariness outside the car windows. We made our own fun.
There were presents opened. And Otto has already played the Star Wars version of Risk no less than five times. Somehow, I have thankfully managed to avoid playing it once.
And then, we prepared ourselves for the Second Annual Gingerbread House Competition.
This year a friend from church handcrafted the gingerbread house frames and they were top notch. This improved our end game exponentially. We drew names randomly and paired off in our four teams. As we finished the houses, I texted our neighbors and asked if maybe they had minute to be our impartial judges. They just happened to be available and stopped in for a quick decision. They’re such great neighbors and they leaned into their responsibility admirably and professionally.
In the end, the team of Dale and Bergen took the victory. (Team Daber. We were clever with our name combos this year – Team Ommo, Team Pilo. And frankly, I’ve already forgotten how we combined mine and Otto’s names. A fact that causes me a small degree of shame but no degree of surprise.)
We wrote the winners’ names on the back of the gingerbread man and hung him back on the tree – ready for next year’s fierce competition. (Bergen and Dale were the winning team last year too – so next year will be time to break their streak.)
The evening ended with relaxing and snacking and chatting.
I’m so thankful to know them. Grateful to celebrate holidays together. Appreciative that my children have their influence, their love and their stories. Glad they have their example of faithfulness in marriage and in parenting, of sticking together and figuring it out.
And this weekend was a wonderful and satisfying time spent together.
