christmas eve is upon us now, but this year has been much UNlike the rest. i’ve been pondering all day just why it doesn’t feel like christmas, and an array of possibilities have come to mind. perhaps it is because we are missing a very significant link – melissa, who doesn’t fly in until tomorrow night. perhaps it is because melissa and i have been celebrating christmas since the first of december (complete with stockings, presents, loads of holiday tunes, even a christmas eve celebration of our own with milkshakes and movies). perhaps it is due to our new family den where our larger than life christmas tree now resides next to the fireplace, as opposed to the normal spot in the main living room of the house. perhaps it is because i took a three hour nap in the evening. perhaps it is because we chose to watch the movie “the proposal” instead of a holiday flick. perhaps. perhaps. perhaps.

thanks to my parents new computer, however, “boettcherland” now accesses a skype account. and it goes without mention that since there is a skype account setup on this computer, that means there is a webcam, and where there is a webcam…there are loads of photos taken in times of boredom.

(thank you “avatar” for supplying these 3D glasses for my newfound style)

(for a brief moment in the night, we sported santa caps)

but the award of the evening goes to the video chats that were had with two of our favorite families.

#1: the singleton family truly provided christmas eve entertainment, as they put on an impromptu christmas program for us to watch, complete with caroling, scriptural reading, and even a lighting of candles…in the dark!

#2: the amberson tribe provided us with buckets of laughter, probably due to the special appearance of our missing boettcher link, melissa, as she spent the evening at their house since she can’t be in michigan. melissa and josh put on quite the show, as usual, and a good time was had by all.

well, despite the unusual turn of events…
“merry christmas to all, and to all….a goodnight!”

the boettcher family isn’t one that is usually looked at and considered traditional. i would like to think we are rather “hip” or dare i say “with it.” our music stays rather trendy, if i do say so myself, and thanks to relevant magazine our library of books is ever expanding. thanks to my mothers previous job at a department store and our natural love to shop (not to mention me and my sisters tendencies of not caring what other people think about what we wear), our styles have remained…should i say…”fresh.” i do believe our habits are currently being transformed. but upon closer look, you will see that the occasional tradition has slipped in without mention.

living away from home for the past few years, it has come to my attention that there are many things of which stir up my nostalgia for marquette, my parents log cabin, and family in general. and these certain things made me realize something – our family has done special things that have created sweet memories inside all of us (or enough of us) to cause us to recreate it the following year. and as time goes by, these memories have created a pattern, always showing up within the holiday season without spoken mention of it becoming a tradition.

peppermint milkshakes are an all time favorite by every member of our tribe. before my brother-in-law’s entering (and the two little nephews on the way), there was the classic “peppermint milkshake incident of ‘07″ when not all of the plastic wrapping made it off of the candy canes before being thrown into the blender. ah yes, this memory creates a good chuckle every single christmas. our christmas tree has always been real, causing for it to be – always real. upon any mentioning of the idea of buying a fake one, there is always an instant rebuttal. no amount of cats knocking the tree over, branches drying up and shedding all over the carpet, or forgetting to water it thus killing it will ever cause for a unanimous vote among us for switching from a real to a fake. no way. never. there is the santa hat my father acquired one year sometime ago in which he placed on his head on christmas eve and walked around the house saying “ho, ho, ho” pretending he was the real deal – and now this particular hat comes out each christmas eve, and only christmas eve, because that is truly the only night the “real santa” comes around. perhaps the longest running unspoken tradition within our clan of (newly updated) eight people, is the movie appropriately titled “santa clause” – the tim allen classic that still causes belly laughs to erupt from our living room. (*note, usually this unspoken tradition of watching the movie “santa clause” occurs at the very same time as the unspoken tradition of drinking peppermint milkshakes. they just fit together quite nicely.)

and maybe the least-favored unspoken tradition of all is the infamous “christmas cookie decorating.” i have never been fond of this. ever. the ingredients are usually mixed together, rolled out, and cut out in shapes by my mother and sister. the decorating most likely consists of an eclectic array of something done by each one of us. even if someone only contributes one decorated cookie. my father has always been the most thrilled by this tradition. the rest of the family is thrilled to eat them, but only my father truly enjoys the process. this year, however, something within me changed. the baking still did not interest me, but when it came time to decorate, my father and i had probably one of the most fun times i’ve had in awhile. beginning with the classic green sprinkled trees and bright yellow stars, my mind took a step off the beaten path and decided the idea of tye-dye was more interesting. what my grandma aptly named “psychedelic cookies,” my father and i just thought they were fun. going a little bit further with my wild ideas, i even created white santas that taste like coconut and stars that have any sort of red in their decor now taste of peppermint (thank you, mother, for supplying the flavor extract i found tucked away in the cupboard when looking for red hots). from lavender swirl colored bells, to creamsicle swirl colored stars, and even a festive red, white, and green tye dye splashed among many, these cookies will be one to remember. and boy, did we have fun creating them.

i can hear the constant crackling of the fire in the stone fireplace, the christmas tree lights giving off the only other glow in the room. “dance of the sugar plum fairy” hums sweetly from my computer, and when i lean back into the warmth of the cushions behind me with eyes closed, i imagine the snow falling softly from the sky outside.

it is almost 2:30 in the morning, i can’t remember the last time i stayed up this late. there have been the occasional late nights with melissa due to her flipped schedule (her night shifts cause her to be awake in the night times and asleep in the day), but rarely do they go beyond 1am before i am curled up in a ball some where, eyes burning from exhaustion. i used to take the opportunity to stay awake late as often as i could. it was my favorite to be alone in the still of the night. now, i prefer to go to bed early – mornings are most precious to me. i love the early light from the rising sun, and the thought of black coffee and the world waking up excites me. as i have grown older, i have noticed so much change within me. i have been taking note of the things that define me, traits that are exact opposite of my teenage years or perahps were just nonexistent before now. it is a funny thing…growing up, that is. as a child, you are unaware of the concept of growth beyond taking the training wheels off of your bike. when you’re in high school half of you desires to grow up, the other half wishes all time would be frozen. beyond that, it seems as though people will try most anything to remain “young.” but i enjoy everything that surrounds the concept of growth. i love the beauty of changing opinions and reasoning. i love the possibilities that come with experience gained. i love the maturity and confidence in who i am. i love that i fall in love more each day. i even love that my treasured night times have turned to beloved mornings, making these late nights awake a rare and special thing.

christmas is around the corner, and i like to think that i am still awake due to the excitement that is abounding, even though i have grown well beyond the days of santa. in less than 24 hours, my sister and brother-in-law will be walking through the front doors, along with my two nephews jumping inside of her belly. the snow continues to fall and the joy of the holiday has begun to radiate off of every soul you meet. i usually claim thanksgiving as my favorite day of the year, but i can’t help but squeal over the love that comes with the day we celebrate the birth of jesus.

the crackle of the fire has quieted to a bright light of ash, and my body longs more for the resting on the cushions behind me than the harsh glare from my computer screen. sitting here now, my spirit of christmas begins fighting for the title of “favorite holiday,”and as the nutcracker soundtrack hums on, i might just give in and claim this time as the best time of the year…

in the last year there has been a major baby boom at my home church in michigan. being home for the holidays, i’ve had the time of my life meeting all the new little faces and kissing chubby cheek after chubby cheek. my mom has become the daytime nanny for one in particular, joshua stanley (brent and kathryn madisons beautiful little bug!), who i’ve been able to giggle with and photograph as he rolls around on my parents living room floor! here he is:

i had the opportunity to take photos of michelle to be used as christmas gifts for her family, and it was probably one of the most fun shoots thanks to her goofy personality and her roommate’s infectious laugh that came along for the ride. its funny to think we took these at the beginning of december, because it looks like the beginning of fall…oh, california!

…this holiday season’s best hot chocolate!

#1 : homemade whipping cream

#2 : a taste of gingerbread

enjoy

I found myself driving along the streets that used to feel so much like home. They were the streets of my old neighborhood, the first place I ever lived in California. I turned into Ridgewood Estates without thought, driving with a purpose to get some where. But as my car emerged onto Wales Street, my car began to slow to a steady pace, my foot moving towards the break without my brain even having to direct it. December has come upon us, and I smiled as I saw all the houses with their extravagant Christmas decorations. I had forgotten how festive the neighborhood was this time of the year. I remember last winter, it was much warmer, and I would slow the pace of my daily jog as I made my way past the families standing out in their lawns and on top of their roofs in pajamas as they strung up their holiday lights. Wales made it’s way to Hollow Lane, where my house rested next to a family with teenage girls whose dad always offered to mow our lawn, and across the street from “Cowboy,” our elderly neighbor who loved making small talk whenever you found yourself outside at the same time as him. I felt my heart in my throat as I kept driving those beautiful streets. It was as if I were taken out of space and time, memories began playing in front of my eyes like I were watching them on a movie screen. I drove past the orange trees on the steep hill and remembered how hard it was to walk up it on a hot summer day. I remember stealing a few oranges with my friend from the yard of another house. I saw the house on the corner of Wales and Hollow, the one who had the most beautiful Christmas lights in my opinion, and I remembered passing their teenage daughter often as she sat on the sidewalk working in the flower gardens. I drove past Hope Lane; I always loved its title and secretly wished my house had that address. I remember running barefoot down Hollow Lane with my roommate to find a cat that had just been ran over so we could raise it from the dead with prayer. I remember the gray haired couple who said hello in the sweetest of ways to me each morning as we passed each other on our morning exercises. I remember the mountains, the breathtaking view of every sunset from our backyard. I remember the house with the dramatic palm trees and flowing waterfalls. I remember taking photos of the privately owned field at the end of the street. I remember the dogs who barked at me from behind their fence around the corner of my house. I remember driving the loop that our street made countless of times with the boy I liked, just to steal a few extra minutes of each other before he dropped me off at home. I remember the cracks in the sidewalks from peering down at them so many times. I remember every corner, every turn, every side street name. I remember the neighbors I loved, the neighbors I feared, I even remember the neighbors who will never remember me. I found myself driving along the streets that used to feel so much like home, and I felt my thoughts sink deep into my heart as nostalgia nestled its way into me like I haven’t felt in such a long time. A nostalgia I thought I had maybe overcome with age or even just time, the kind that leaves your physical body aching. The memories I carry are ever so precious and sweet, but the depths of how I feel them is so overwhelming, it almost amazes me. I found myself driving along the streets that used to feel so much like home. I found myself wiping away tears.

I forgot how much I loved black coffee made from a French press. My sister and I have this thing where we only use creamer during the holidays, the one time of year when all the delicious holiday flavors are out. Pumpkin Spice, Eggnog, Peppermint Mocha, and Gingerbread – how could you pass those up? But after a good few weeks of drinking flavored coffee, I had forgotten how much I loved a simple black cup full. I sit, now with my favorite handmade clay mug with the words “you are loved.” scribbled on the side, with the pure black richness smiling up at me.

On my computer screen there is a video playing. Five guys are scattered about a beautiful decorated studio. The bass players’ hair is falling into his face as he leans into an expensive, vintage microphone to help with the high pitched background vocals. The drummer only uses soft looking feathered sticks to barely brush the top of his cymbals. The lead singer has his long blond hair pulled back with an acoustic guitar and harmonica within his reach, keeping eye contact with the mandolin player as he sings most of the harmony along with him. The piano player is seen in the corner, dancing away to the light folk melodies filling the room.

I find myself remembering a part of my heart I forgot was there, much like the love for black coffee in these recent holiday months. The song plays on and it feels as though there are actual strings attached to my heart which are being tugged on, each pull stronger than the last. My heart is about ready to reach the surface of my skin, and I’m not sure I would be surprised if I saw it fall out of my chest, beating to the same rhythm as the mandolin and harmonica and light drums and soft scratchy voices.

I remember, now, my youthful dream of being a part of the music industry in some way. It makes me laugh thinking of the day I realized I didn’t exactly have the natural talent to be in a band myself, so I resorted to the management side. My semester at Ferris State University was one of the deepest times of growth that attributed to who I am today, but I guess I unconsciously believed that God brought me there solely for a time of growth, not at all because of the dream I thought I was pursuing. I went there with the first hopes of stepping into my desired job; I went as a freshman who was majoring in Music Industry Management. I left a few months later, and only until now did I never realize I had left my dreams behind as well, I left them on the 4^th floor of Ward Hall, sitting in front of my desk in that small little room.

I believe there is a grace for us as human beings to pick up the dreams and hopes we once had. The desires we let fall and walked away from, the ideas that were shattered and came undone. I want to believe I can still run with a dream I had years ago. A young part of me wants to be able to pick up my desire of being a part of the music industry, despite the obstacles and immediate excuses that flood my mind of why it is too hard or impractical. I want to let myself dream of incorporating my love for photography into my love for everything music. I want to believe every little passion I have can be infused into my life and future some how. I like the idea of possibilities, and these dreams I have are awakening once again. I like the idea of possibilities, and I love the possibility of dreams becoming opportunities, coming true.

(Excuse my language and rather graphic description that is used in this blog.)

Melissa stood in the kitchen holding the turkey and making hand motions as she began reading to me, step by step, the process of cleaning and preparing the meat. Only one thing kept coming to my mind…I have to put my hand in a vagina-looking hole and pull out the insides so that we can later eat this. I was completely confused, especially when I learned there were two holes I was dealing with. Two vaginas – one that held the neck and the other that held a bag of giblets – whatever those are. Which vagina do I put the seasonings in? Why did they give us the neck with the turkey? Why is the meat squishy? Why does this have to look so much like a vagina?

I had only questions. Despite the awful things my mind was thinking of as Melissa tried pep talking me about preparing the turkey, I woke up bright and early (6AM to be exact) on Thanksgiving Day and went for it. Surprisingly, as I unwrapped the bird, my memories began swirling around me and I was back in high school biology class, the week we each got to dissect an entire cat. That was one of my favorite things about high school, and as I snapped back into reality, looking down at the juicy, squishy meat in front of me, I decided this was going to be an adventure. A really fun adventure.

The turkey turned out fabulous. Yes, fabulous. I was so excited that I accomplished such a huge task, and with only one call to my sister Stephanie (the woman who can do all things, make all things, and be all things without effort) for help – which was only when I couldn’t figure out how to unclamp the legs (I was scared I would break them!). I cleaned, stuffed, cooked, and carved (but definitely need more practice with the carving) a 14lb turkey all by myself. I am fairly certain that I can do anything now.

“It seems to me fit and proper that God should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the US to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our Father who dwells in the heavens…” –Abraham Lincoln 1863

 

To my Daddy in heaven, I want you to know I am thankful for…

 

1. my parents, the two most incredible people I know.
2. the fact that You make all things work together for my good!
3. Melissa Ann & Stephanie Lynn, my sisters and my best friends.
4. Adam Tuttle, I couldn’t ask for a better brother(in-law).
5. Jelly bean, my little niece-or-nephew.
6. financial stability & my fathers job.
7. my apartment.
8. my health.
9. nutrition & food.
10. the love of my family.
11. Judith Schroeder.
12. heat.
13. my car!
14. phones (to call home).
15. my education + bethel school of ministry.
16. black coffee made from my red french press + starbucks.
17. my bed.
18. America.
19. music, melodies, symphonies, worship.
20. christmas songs.
21. melissa’s tv + antenna that allows us to pull in the main channels.
22. abundance.
23. the mountains.
24. clothes + shoes + jackets.
25. makeup.
26. Your Spirit you gave to us <3
27. Jesus, His love & sacrifice.
28. You. Your infinite ways of loving me.
29. Elizabeth Danko.
30. all of my extended family.
31. my brain.
32. my camera.
33. car fuel.
34. soap + showers.
35. [christmas] moves.
36. Bethel Church.
37. my teeth.
38. my childhood/memories.
39. the sunshine.
40. clean water.
41. autumn leaves.
42. the four seasons.
43. the bible (in English!)
44. the reformers (our Christian faith forefathers)
45. colors.
46. my eyesight.
47. the gym.
48. airplane travel.
49. being taught by Bill Johnson, Kris Vallotton, & entire Bethel staff.
50. my sister being my roommate.
51. life.
52. breath.
53. hope.
54. creativity.
55. inspiration.
56. blankets & pillows.
57. mirrors.
58. freedom to dance.
59. the five senses.
60. my past jobs.
61. mission trip support.
62. new opportunities.
63. acquaintances.
64. friendship.
65. the holidays.
66. books.
67. alone time.
68. pumpkin.
69. moms knitted creations.
70. forgiveness!
71. restoration.
72. grace.
73. authority (cops, army, etc..)
74. and also the safety that comes from authority.
75. warm things.
76. joy.
77. pleasing scents/smells.
78. wildflowers.
79. pen & paper.
80. trees.
81. lake superior.
82. marquette, Michigan.
83. comfy couches.
84. being a woman.
85. hygiene products.
86. light.
87. the sky.
88. growth.
89. humor.
90. infinite possibilities.
91. healing.
92. chapstick.
93. pony tail holders.
94. candles + fire.
95. hooded sweatshirts.
96. art supplies.
97. mercy.
98. promise.
99. hugs.
100. love that lasts + strong families.
101. medical aide/help (doctors, ems, dentists, etc..)
102. exercise.
103. ability to choose.
104. individuality.
105. the last 20 years of my life.