Blue Skies Ahead

Who would think that simply going out for brunch would turn out to be such an exhilarating jaunt?  Especially, when it was only the 6th day of the New Year (Epiphany), when some of us are still trying to locate our daybook to learn where we’re supposed to be or what we’re supposed to be doing.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

However, when my special guy, Rob, a true prince of a man, invited me to brunch at the Greenwood Lake Airport Cafe, Blue Skies (formerly the Crosswinds Café), I perked right up.  It only took me a D.C. second to accept his intriguing offer. 

Going to brunch was semi-routine for us, but going to The Blue Skies Café at the Greenwood Lake Airport, sounded completely fun.  The novelty of it all cemented my decision to say, “yes”. 

I eagerly darted out the door to whatever divine script God had in store for the day without even a glance over my shoulder at the left over holiday remnants that needed to be put away.  However, no second thought on this one.  Storing away Christmas decorations would have to wait for another day.

Turning into the entrance to the Greenwood Lake Airport, we passed big wooden beams that Rob told me were left over from Jungle Habitat, the Warner’s-owned theme park that closed in October of 1976.  We then came upon the main structure, which included the airport office as well as the café and the huge structure jutting out of the building believed to be the only surviving Air France L-049, originally bought in 1976, Frank Lembo Enterprises, to be used as a restaurant and lounge.

Upon entering the newly renovated café with aerial artifacts displayed on the wall, we seated ourselves at a table by a window with a spectacular view of the parked planes.  Our waiter, a clean-cut lad, greeted us while we settled into our seats.  Enjoying the new experience in a semi-Casa Blanca setting, I then began telling Rob about a man at my church who has a plane and flies out of Greenwood Lake Airport. 

I still find it had to believe myself, but in less than three minutes time, a familiar looking couple entered the restaurant.

Blinking in jaw-dropping disbelief, I simply couldn’t believe my eyes.  The couple who’d just entered the restaurant and who were approaching the table next to us was Hans, the pilot I’d just been speaking about, and his wife, Liliane!

I jumped up and after exchanging greetings and introductions; we ended up chatting back and forth between the tables like old friends.  After brunch, we all moseyed on out to Han’s aircraft on the aircraftapron, to take a look. 

While Rob, Liliane, and I continued chatting, Hans untied his plane, a Cessna, and did the pre-flight check before taking off for a short spin over the Warwick Valley.  Upon landing and circling back to the apron area, he motioned to Rob if he’d like to go up for a ride.  Instead, Rob asked me if I’d like to go up. 

What…me go up?  Whoa…. I don’t know about that…Yet, right before my very eyes a door was literally open for an incredible opportunity.  I hadn’t flown in a small plane in 32 years but the entire stage was set!  The propellers were spinning, the overcast morning had evolved into a beautiful day, the passenger door was open, and with no time to think too hard, or get scared, I found myself climbing into the passenger seat, getting buckled up, and with my heart pounding, I was soon jetting down Runway 6 for take off.

We flew over Greenwood Lake, Rt. 17, and the Warwick Valley with WestPoint to the East and Mohunk to the North.  Thankfully, there was no wind, which made for a totally smooth ride.  Otherwise, I’m sure I would have been frozen in my seat with white knuckles instead of snapping photos right and left. 

I’ve often heard it said through Bible study groups or from the minister on a Sunday morning, that God’s timing in our lives is always perfect. 

The timing and events of January 6th were especially perfect as it was my deceased mother’s first birthday that I would be recognizing without calling her and singing Happy Birthday (though I still did sing Happy Birthday to her anyway that morning while in the shower).  Yet, the day turned out to be anything but sad and truly became celebratory and honoring as we flew across the blue skies.  Even though a few tears spilled down my cheeks as I thought of mom, the thrill of flying closer to Heaven was comforting and gave me the assurance that she was at peace.  That she wanted me to be fully present in my life and embrace all the blue skies that the New Year held. 

Until next time...Top Blonde taking the day...

The Treasures of Tradition (Christmas 2007)

            Life continues to surprise me.  I was lamenting that with the recent passing of my mother, a welcomed tradition that she continued every year would no longer be a part of my holiday season.  And, then, this past week I had not just one, but two moments of glee that proved otherwise.

It seems everyone has a family tradition of some kind.  The other day while pushing my cart through the Shop Rite parking lot, I happened upon two ladies, Jodie and Linda, rearranging a box in the trunk of their car.  We got to chatting about their family traditions, and if they had any.  I learned that both of them had the tradition of going as a family to Christmas Eve church service, or mass, and then coming home and opening presents.

I remember the tradition my Grandmother Marie had of baking a mincemeat pie each year for the holidays.  Although, Grandma “Ree” only baked one, in the 11h Century, it was thought lucky to eat one mince pie on each of the twelve days of Christmas (ending with Epiphany, the 6th of January).  While I’ve never experienced that culinary indulgence, I have carried on my grandmother’s tradition with my own family.  However, that was one tradition I suspect they would not have missed had I let it slip bythe way side. 

Still, thinking you must have a mincemeat pie at some point during the holiday season, I offered to make one for the Christmas Day gathering of family and friends I’d been invited to.  The hostess wrinkled her nose up while simultaneously shaking her head and indicating an emphatic “no” on the mincemeat pie.  Cookies would be welcome, though, the hostess quipped. 

My mom’s passing signaled the end of her Christmas tradition of sending my sister and me a loaf of Stollen from Reimer's Candies, in Three Rivers California.  Each year, in late November, she would drive with Beverly Brown, her cousin, to the little red Gingerbread house candy store with white trim and old world charm located just miles from the gateway to Sequoia National Park, and order the sweet yeast German Christmas bread.  And then, in the early days of December, UPS would ring my doorbell with the delivery of a box with Reimer’s in red script on the side and a loaf of beautifully wrapped Stollen inside.

            And, now, the festivity of experiencing that delightful ritual and then phoning mom with my exuberant thanks would be no more. 

It’s a small thing, yes.  It’s only a loaf of German bread full of calories, but it was mom’s gesture of love that I knew I’d miss most.  My friend, Joan, mentioned she would also miss mom’s kindness.  Each year I would wait to open it until Joan could join me for our traditional cutting of the stolen and afternoon tea to steal away from the holiday stress.

Thus, I decided to start a new tradition.  I’d bake my own loaf of stolen.  Finding the rum was no problem but locating dried currants and ground cardamon proved more intense.  After several stops at different stores I located all the ingredients and placed them in a basket.  Finding a window of time to spend in the kitchen making and baking Stollen, which I’d never done before, became more challenging than anticipated. 

With the passing of the days, frustration set in.  I knew that typically, you make Stollen early in the season and now Christmas Eve was just a week away.  Where was I going to find the time?  That’s when kindness landed on my doorstep.

While dashing in from errands one afternoon, I came home to find the familiar Reimer’s box with the red script on the side, lying on my doorstep.  My heart leapt.  Had mom left a standing order at Reimer's, the candy store where she ordered the Stollen?  No, that’s ridiculous wishful thinking! 

Picking up the box and darting inside to rip it open, I discovered that Beverly, my mom's cousin, who knew about her tradition, sent the Stollen.  This Christmas season was turning out to be better than I thought it would be. 

Amazingly, the very next day, I found another Reimer’s box on my doorstep.  This time, the Stollen was sent from my daughter, Aimee, in Bozeman, Montana.  She knew about her grandmother’s tradition and how I’d ordered a loaf to be sent to my sister in Boulder, Colorado, as I knew she felt as I did about missing mom’s tradition.

This may not be the year for making my first loaf of Stollen but for sure, it is the year of treasured traditions and of rolling in Stollen.

            Wishing you and your family a happy holiday season and a happy and healthy new year!