When Freedom Goes Too Far

A facebook friend has a plea posted to stop the attack on the wikileaks people. Her reasoning (and that of the many others who are signing up for the page) is that attacking wikileaks is attacking freedom of speech. As dear as this friend is to me, I was pretty turned off by the fact that there is a groundswell out there of people who are championing a man who has put other lives in danger.

Much of the stuff leaked would not do that, but some of it does, and if one life is put on the line because of this man's giant ego trip, then I feel freedom has gone too far.

I most definitely believe in freedom of speech. To writers and TV journalists, it probably takes a jump high on the list of important things in life. Words, after all, are their livelihood, and they want to be free to say what they believe. But rest assured, if some TV journalist exposed secrets of a country which put lives in danger, he'd be off the air in a hurry.

Freedom of speech is one of our rights, but we need to balance it with some common sense. I mean that in all our writing, not just referring to Julian Assange. Common sense seems to be seen less and less in today's world. People on the left want it all their way and people on the right the same. I see selfishness in places where common sense should prevail. I see ego trips where humility would be the better choice.

I have the right to freely express my opinion, which I've just done here, but I also have the responsibility to not put others in danger when I exercise my right to free speech. And my friend has the right to exercise her opinion defending Julian Assange's attack on the world. We all have that right, but we also have the right to disagree.

Christmas Cookie Stories

I started baking Christmas cookies yesterday as I have to bring an assortment to our Czech Exchange student party Friday evening. I decided to make three kinds on Tuesday, three more on Wednesday and maybe one other on Friday to have a nice variety for the party with some left over for our freezer. 

As I assembled ingredients, pulled out cookie sheets, bowls and cooling racks, I thought about a friend of mine who baked dozens and dozens of Christmas cookies with another woman every December. Mary Helen and her friend, Ellen, spent an entire day creating delectable cookies. All Mary Helen's friends knew not to bother her on that busy day. Just once, I stopped by to drop something off and I have never forgotten the fantastic aroma that greeted me as I walked in. Butter, cinnamon, vanilla and chocolate all mingled into one glorious cloud that met my nose. Every counter, every tabletop held baked cookies, ready to be put into tins. Ellen took hers home and Mary Helen stacked hers in a place that was known to her family but off-limits until she gave the OK to open the tins and eat the cookies. Had she not enforced her rule, there would have been no cookies left by Christmas week with four children and a hungry husband dipping into the stash. That annual cookie making extravaganza was a part of my friend's personality. The baking and decorating of special treats for people she loved showed the world how much she cared about others. My dear friend has been gone for many years, but I think her youngest daughter carries on the Christmas cookie tradition. Maybe not quite like her mom did, because Amy is a teacher and mother of two whose time is more limited. Still, I'm sure she spends some December Saturdays baking cookies for her family and friends.

Every family probably has a story about special cookies their mother or grandmother always made for Christmas. My mother made Crescent Cookies every December. Today, the same recipe is called Mexican Wedding Cakes, but they're made into round balls instead of the crescent shape. Filled with finely chopped nuts and dusted with layers of powdered sugar, these small cookies melted in your mouth. One of my brothers loved them so much, he asked his wife to make them for him. And I believe she still does. My daughter loves them, too. Maybe I need to make some this year for her, and I'll snatch a few myself.

 Toffee Bars always showed up on my mother's Christmas cookie plate. An easy bar cookie made in two three steps, these are still a favorite of mine. The brown sugar based cookie layer is baked in a 9 x 13 pan, then a bag of chocolate chips are put on top and, after melting, are spread over the baked layer. Step three is to scatter finely chopped walnuts over the soft chocolate, then cut into bars. Every time I eat them, I am transported back to our gray formica kitchen table in our small third floor apartment where I often sat with one of these satisfying cookies and a glass of milk after school.

No doubt you all have cookie stories that you can write about. Maybe there is a favorite that is made every year, carrying on a tradition. Or maybe you have a story about a disaster in the kitchen when making Christmas cookies. Perhaps, your family made the cookies to give to those who had none. Whatever your story is, write it down and share it this Christmas with others.

Small Steps

We had the car radio on as we drove to the K-State basketball game last night. The announcer was talking about one of the newer players on the team. "He has to take it in small steps," he said. The thought flashed through my mind that the same is true for writers.

When we begin writing, we dream of being published in major magazines or having a blockbuster first novel. That would be great, but it really is a dream. It's rare that somebody hits the bigtime right out of the gate. Even moving along the writing path in leaps and bounds is not the usual way a write moves.

Instead, the vast majority of us take small steps, one at a time. Those small steps add up as time goes on, and we draw closer and closer to our goals. We hit a few bumps in the road along the way. Too many rejections shower us with disappointment, maybe a bit of anger, and definitely some doubt.

Believe in yourself and keep taking those small steps. You can move around those bumps in the road with some patience and perseverance. Both are key to reaching that dream.

Must I Finish?

My Book Club is reading a nonfiction book this month. It's called Furious Love and is about Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton's love affair and marriages. I figured it was an old book and something the person who selected it had read before. Not so!

It was published this year. Why dredge all this stuff up now, I wondered. I was reading another book so didn't get to this one as soon as I hoped. I knew I needed to as it is nearly 500 pages. So, one night I sat down and began to read. After one chapter, I knew I'd learned all I ever needed to know about these two stars of yesterday. And I was there reading all about it as these things happened. The making of the budget-breaking movie, Cleopatra, was in the news all the time while it was being filmed. I finished the chapter and went to bed.

The next morning, I made a monumental decision. No way was I going to suffer through the remainder of the book. I say that the decision was monumental because it's very hard for me not to finish something I've started. I was raised by very strict parents who demanded that anything begun was to come full circle to the conclusion. No matter how painful it might be. This included household chores, schoolwork, activities and groups we kids joined and others. It didn't take too long for finishing things to become ingrained into our personalities.

But at the age I've reached, it's perfectly alright for me to decide whether to finish a book or not. Yes, I'll have to admit it at Book Club next week, and I won't feel too good about that. It may hurt the feelings of the person who selected the book, but there's no reason to read something that I consider drivel.

After I put the book aside, I mentioned it to two other members of our group, and one said, "I got through two or three chapters and decided it was enough!" The other one told me she'd only scanned it after reading the first few pages. So, I'll have company in my confession.

I'd like to know what age group of people are buying and reading this book. I think seniors like me have had enough of the lives of celebrities. I must add that there is nothing wrong with the writing. The author did a fine job in what she set out to do. It's the subject matter that turned me off.

Now that I haven't finished this book, maybe there will be others in the future. From now on, if I don't like what I'm reading, I'm done! And I will have no guilt. Not all books are meant for all people. Time is precious. Read only the things you really like.

My Christmas Card List

I've been addressing Christmas cards off and on for the past week. It's a chore so many people dread at holiday time, but there's something about it that I've always enjoyed. My list is far too long, and every year I plan to cut a few people. After all, many are ones I only correspond with once a year.

But that's exactly why I can never take their name off my list. At one time in my life (or Ken's) they meant something to us and still do. Each name I come to brings back a memory of some kind. I still hear from a couple of my friends I knew while growing-up in suburban Chicago. We share many years of childhood memories. Then there are college friends for both Ken and me. We've stayed in touch with several of them, and even though we live far from one another, I still care about them. I still treasure the memories of those four years we spent as close pals.

We've lived in five communities in the forty-six years we've been married, and there are several people in each town that we exchange cards with. Once again, they were a part of our lives and people we've cared enough about to keep in touch.

Family members are on the list, too, for how could we forget them? Siblings, our children, even many cousins.Those ties are hard to break, nor do I want to.

We meet a lot of people in a lifetime, but there are some that we click with and want to continue friendships. What better way to do that than exchange Christmas cards with personal notes on them? Or even the one- letter-fits-all kind of note. I like to know what is going on with these people, what new babies have come into the family, what happy things have occurred, and yes, even what health issues or sad events have taken place.

So, I'll keep my list the length it is and make it a priority for my Christmas preparations. I look forward to hearing the mailman's truck during December as he brings us wonderful cards and notes from so many parts of our country and even from overseas.

Each one of those cards has a history for me. I could probably sit down and write a story about each and every sender, but other Christmas chores demand my attention now, and once Christmas is over, the thought goes on the back burner. It would be nice, though, to have a booklet of stories about people on my Christmas card list.

December Memories

Yesterday, I gave you some questions to trigger your memories of December from long ago. Today, I'm posting one I wrote about December of my Chicago suburban childhood awhile back. These monthly memory pieces will give your family an excellent picture of what your life was like back in the "olden days" as our kids think of our childhood.

December Thoughts

By Nancy Julien Kopp

When I was growing up, on December first my mother turned to the last page on the calendar and planted the seed of anticipation of what was to come. “Oh look, it’s December,” she’d often remark. And immediately, my brothers and I started thinking about what we wanted Santa to leave under our tree. Our excitement grew day by day.

We turned the pages in the toy section of the Sears catalog over and over again, and we marked the initial of our first name by the items we wanted most, confident that Santa would bring at least one of our heart’s desires.

I looked forward to the time right after school in December because a Chicago radio station ran a serialized children’s story called “The Cinnamon Bear” which became a real part of Christmas for me over the years. The adventures of the two children and the Cinnamon Bear never changed, it was the same story every year, but that didn’t matter. I listened to each episode as if it were brand new and thrilled to the happy ending each year.

After a long, cold walk at the end of school on December days, the smell of Christmas greeted me the moment I reached home. I’d open the door to the pine scent of the Christmas tree mingled with the many delicacies Mother baked. She made an assortment of cookies that pleased every palate. Cinnamon rolls with icing drizzled over the top tasted so good straight from the oven. Coffeecakes, muffins, homemade bread and even her fudge, that never did get firm enough to pick up, graced our December table. Memories of a warm kitchen, the air filled with spicy aromas, and an after-school cup of hot chocolate and a fresh-baked treat remain with me these many years later.

Because our apartment had little storage space, Mother wrapped the gifts as she bought them and then stacked them up on the dressers in her bedroom. All through December, she would send my brothers and me on little errands to that bedroom. “Bring my pincushion,” she’d say, and off I’d go to the bedroom to get it. The sight of the stack of gaily wrapped packages made me unbearably curious, but I knew better than to shake the packages. All I did was look and wonder which ones were mine.

I enjoyed buying gifts for my family almost as much as receiving them. I babysat neighborhood children from the time I was about ten for 25 cents an hour, and I saved some of that hard-earned cash all year for Christmas purchases. I bought gifts for each member of my family and also for some of the children I took care of. At our school parties we were to bring a grab bag gift with a limited dollar amount. It was to be marked whether for a boy or a girl. They were always small things, but I looked forward to getting that grab bag gift every year. It was the highlight of our class party, always held on the final day before the Christmas break.

Close to Christmas, the postman delivered a big box filled with packages from my aunt and uncle who lived in far-away Phoenix. Aunt Jane wrapped her gifts fancier than my mother did, and seeing them each year was sheer pleasure. I’d check all of them to see which one was mine and wonder if I could wait until Christmas morning to open it. But wait I did, as there was never any opening of gifts until the specified time. On Christmas Eve Mother would send us into the bedroom to bring the stacked packages out to the living room and we watched as my dad placed them around the tree. Oh, what a glittering array it was by the time he’d finished. All evening I kept my eye on those packages, while little shivers of excitement ran up and down my spine. Mother shooed us to bed early, but not until we’d pinned one of our everyday socks to the back of a chair. “The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Santa will come.” It was her Christmas Eve mantra.

In the morning, we children tumbled out of bed and rushed to the living room to see what Santa had left us. Santa’s gifts were never wrapped but sitting somewhere near the tree. We all knew which one was ours, for hadn’t we marked our wishes in the Sears catalog? After the excitement of seeing the surprises from Santa and checking our stockings, which always held an orange and walnuts in the shell, we opened the gifts one by one, as Dad passed them out. Often, the packages held little things or something to wear, but a few had new toys that thrilled us.

After we opened our gifts, we had a big breakfast, and it was the one day of the year I was allowed to eat fudge early in the morning, a Christmas treat. The rest of the day we played with our new toys and I helped Mother in the kitchen with a special Christmas dinner. Often it was roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, a special dish my grandmother passed down. Sometimes my Aunt Vivienne and Uncle Jimmy came for Christmas dinner. Their daughter, Carol, was my age and an only child. She always got many more gifts than I did, but it never seemed to bother me. I accepted the fact that she didn’t have brothers to share with like I did.

December holds many happy family memories. Our Christmases today are somewhat different than those of long ago, as we’ve made our own traditions with our children, as they are doing with theirs now, too. But the warmth of a family celebrating together remains constant, and I pray it always will.

It's December!

Have you turned the page on your 2010 calendar? There it is, the final month of the year. It's December, filled with holiday must-do activities and fun social event along with the routine things.. December also brings a lot of memories. I's the perfect time for writing down your childhood memories of this last month of the year.. They'll be decidedly different from your adult December days, I'm sure.

Here are a few questions to trigger those December memories:

1.  What did you do in your classroom this month?

2.  What changes took place at home?

3.  What differences did you see in your neighborhood shops?

4.  What kind of foods did your mom make only in December?

5.  Were church services and children's programs part of your December?

6.  Were the days longer or shorter for you this month?

7.. What special programs did you listen to on radio or watch on TV?

8.  When did you learn that giving was as gratifying as receiving?

9.  What's your favorite holiday family story?

I'll post my December memories tomorrow.