What is it about the smell of chopped onions and minced garlic cooking in butter that makes one feel like all is right with the world? I’m so glad because all is not right with the world. But I don’t like to dwell on that. I like to simmer my cheesy creamy tortellini soup and pretend.

Last night was American thanksgiving and I’m sure thousands of families gathered around a heavy laden dinner table and took turns sharing what they are grateful for. Thanksgiving is one of the very best ideas for a holiday that anyone’s ever thought up. We should be practicing thanks living but thanksgiving is a very good start and tradition. Just to take the time to reflect on what we are truly grateful for instead of taking everything for granted or thinking we are entitled to our myriad of blessings.

American thanksgiving seems to eclipse Christmas in the good old US of A. More people gather together to roast turkey and give thanks on the last Thursday of November than on December 25th. I believe that to be an accurate conclusion given how many times I have heard that. Most families try to find their way home. As I wait for my soup to cool, I listened to Karen Carpenter croon ‘there’s no place like home for the holidays’ and there really isn’t.

Home, with its doors flung wide open and its arms outstretched to bring us back into the fold. Home for after work. Home for after travel. Home after illness and home after broken relationships. Home after disappointment and disallusionment. Home, that safe haven and soft spot to fall. To be encouraged. To let your hair down. To be yourself. No pretenses. To get your laundry done. To eat a meal of comfort food made with all the love. To lay your head down. A resting place from weariness. A place of acceptance. Home, a place to celebrate. A place to laugh and cry. Home, a place to share and give. Home, a place to learn and fail. Home, a place to cherish and make memories.,

Home is what I am grateful for in this season. At the moment my home is bursting at the seams with adult children residing here. And I’m just OK with that. They’ve been gone and lived on their own but they are back for one or two of the above reasons. So everyday I get to be grateful for their presence with us. It has not always been this way and most likely won’t stay this way forever. But to get to know these gifts from God as adults and learn to respect who they’ve become and are becoming is a privilege that I get to enjoy close up. My heart leaps for joy within when I lay my head on my pillow at night and can hear them both laughing in the distance or realize they are sleeping across the hall.

It is my privilege and joy to help them regroup for the future. One day they will set out again and I will long for their presence. So in this moment in time and in this home I will abide my days by nurturing and loving and praying and encouraging and walking in gratefulness that this is the kind of home I came from and the kind of home I’m endeavouring to create.

A home is not the bricks and mortar (or in our case aluminum siding), it’s the people that gather there… in the kitchen, around the Christmas tree, at the table, around a game or puzzle, around the fireplace and the fire pit and in our hearts. I am so grateful for home and family. My heart is full. My soul at peace, even though all is not perfect, it’s perfect enough.

One of my favorite authors compelled me to think about what I would want to injest for my very last meal, if I knew I were to leave the earth imminently. Who knew that would be such a difficult thing to figure out?

I’m pretty confident that if my friends and family were answering this for me they would probably say ‘get that woman a trente tazo chai as well as a peach green tea lemonade, light ice, half sweet. Get her some Swedish berries and some potatoe chips, a doughnut, and a Starbucks snowman cookie. Some New York french fries and some french macarons. Make her a batch of potatoes in every format and pick up a loaf of apricot fruit bread from Cobbs. And popcorn….make it a refillable, layered butter, exlarge please.’ Oh… and homemade cinnamon buns with maple frosting, hot and soft… fresh from the oven. Kill me now!

And they would clearly be on target with my regular comfort food and cravings. But if it’s my very last meal to savor, what taste do I want left in my mouth and what emotions do I want to evoke? Let’s face it, all eating is emotional on some level. Even the ‘not eating it’ is emotional.

I’d like to start off with cocktails and appetizers. I drink wine but I don’t drink it because I crave it, I rather do it for social reasons and it makes me feel sophisticated and mature which I rarely feel even though I’m 60. I have to say my absolute favorite wine would be a sparkling sweet rose’. I’m not a sommelier I just like what I like. But my beverage of choice would be the discontinued green coffee carbonated refreshers from Starbucks. They had a little bite to them due to the green coffee and they were so excellently refreshing without being too sickenly sweet. I first discovered them on our first trip to Hawaii and even now when I drink one (even though I haven’t because I can’t get them anymore) I am subconsciously sitting on my favorite beach on the big island gazing at the rainbow hue of blue on the water, feeling the heat on my skin and listening to waves crash against the beach shore and that ice cold bitter refreshing liquid is making its way to my sweet spot. A close runner up would be the Pellegrino sparkling fruit drinks. And for appys you could give me spiced, tomatoey bruschetta on crusty baguette slices and taco chips with homemade cilantro-y guacamole. A few lovely water chestnuts wrapped in bacon wouldn’t be rejected either.

Now for the pie’ce de re’sistance. Salmon and risotto is lovely and smooth. Picnic essentials of fried chicken and potatoe salad are taunting. Pizza can be tempting and thoroughly enjoyed. Pesto chicken and mashed potatoes are contenders. Our familys traditional corn pudding is nostalgic and a fresh flavourful healthy salad (made by someone else ) is always appreciated but what I really want clinging to my tastebuds at a time like this is Gordon Ramsey’s truffle parmesan fries. I could eat those til I’m sick. Hot, crunchy, thick and cheesy, each bite a taste of heaven in my mouth.  I wouldn’t share these as I don’t want to be in a rush to get my fair portion.  I just want to close my eyes and taste and chew.

And surprisingly (even to me) I would choose a thick, juicy, fully cooked, grilled sirloin hamburger layered with tomatoes, mayo, mustard, dill pickles, lettuce (no cheese please) bacon and onions, served up on a fresh homemade toasted, whole wheat bun to satisfy my bread fettish. Juice running down my chin with each incredible bite. And yes, I will want a smattering of ketchup with those fries.  I rarely order this at a restaurant because it’s not really ladylike or genteel and I dont want to look like a pig. There, I said it. But it’s always what I truly want. If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

If I happen to have any room left whatsoever, I would indulge in my favorite of favorites, homemade peach or cherry pie (fruit pie is my dessert weakness), made with 100% butter pastry accompanied by creamy homemade vanilla ice cream. Each icy, sweet bite savoured and blissfully enjoyed as my cholesterol spikes to an all time high. But what do I care? It’s my last supper.

One of the Italian Markets soft, gooey, chocolately croissants smothered in toasted almonds would be a gratifying send off as well.  OMG

Send me away with a half dozen Werthers chewy caramel toffees in my pocket for the trip and I depart feeling I have been blessed with the ultimate culinary feast and experience.

Why am I so hungry all of a sudden? My lips are smacking. Was that a drop of drool? Let’s just say my last supper has nothing to do with the Whole 30.

Twenty started drafts but nothing finished. I’ve been struck with somewhat of a writers block lately. It’s a real thing. I start articles and then I lose interest and leave them unfinished and now some of them are past their ‘best by’ date. I was enthusiastic when I started them but now I go back and reread them and think ‘what drivel’.

I’ve been busyier doing things and I haven’t been reading which is an absolute must. So I’m looking for inspiration elsewhere and not finding it. Also when I sit down to write I find myself dozing off which is a sure sign of boredom or …. sleep deprivation. Speaking of sleep deprivation, I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. The problem is that I stay up too late and by the time I go to bed Mike is in his heavy snoring sleep and I simply cannot get to sleep with all that racket. I’m not blaming Mike. I know snoring is typical for most men, especially as they age and even for some women, myself included, but it’s a problem. I know I could rectify this problem by going to bed before Mike (like I did when I was a working woman) and if I fall asleep before him all the racket in the world won’t wake me up. I hear nothing but the beat of my own heart.

So I know you would all say ‘well just go to bed earlier’. That’s a simple solution. Not so simple really. Because you see, I have two grown children living at home (and I’m totally fine with that) but during the summer when one was unemployed along with myself and the other worked from home a lot, I never had my alone time which I desperately need plus they also stay up quite late so I stayed up even later so I could pretend I was alone. Some nights I’m just waiting for them to get home. Why do kids go out at 10:00 at night anyway? Sorry, I can’t afford therapy so that’s not an option.

Now they are both working and away from home more, leaving me here on my own (heaven) but I’m already in this bad habit of staying up late. I’m sure it’s an easier habit to shake than smoking but here we are. And by we I mean me.

One night last week I was so tired and the snoring was so loud I finally decided I had to go somewhere quieter. When lexie was in Toronto I went into her room one night. The silence was music to my ears but alas, last week she was home so I had no choice but to go get the fur cushions and blankets from the TV room and make myself a little bed on the walkin closet floor. Basically sound proof because of the insulation that a wardrobe the size of Chinooks Zara store provides. But the floor was much harder than I ever remembered sleeping on the floor could be. I guess that’s what you notice when you are 60. I do have boney parts. I guess that was encouraging. I wasn’t going to get any sleep on the floor either. Just when I was debating, at 3:50am, which was the lesser of the two evils, the racket or the painfully hard floor, both legs when into a full leg cramp. I’m talking full on painful debilitating cramping. I had no control. At least when I am in bed I have some leverage to get myself out of bed and standing on the floor where I can push against something solid to alleviate the pain. But since I was lying down on the floor I was at the mercy of my cramping body. I could not bend my legs to get myself off the floor and I just lay there helplessly whimpering with both legs quaking in pain and shot out straight in front of me, gleefully torturing and mocking me and Mike could hear none of this because, as he pointed out in the morning, the closet was excellently sound proof. And so go my nights. Yes, we have no violins.

Where was I? Right, my writers block. I need to start going to bed earlier and getting more sleep and then I will be awake enough to read more (which also brings me great joy and inspiration) and, in turn, I think I will write more. A writers life can be lonely and barren at times. Writing is not for wimps I’m realizing. I need to toughen up and go back and finish all those started articles. Stay tuned.

The next 6 weeks are to be relished and cherished. What brings me joy is decorating in early November so we all have more time to enjoy our Christmas house so I was chomping at the bit to start decorating and transitioning. But Lexie asked me (before going to Toronto for 10 days ) to hold off because she wanted to do a live greenery photo shoot at our place as advertising for the floral shop she works at. Isn’t it funny how when someone tells you you can’t do something how much worse you want to do it? So I held off until yesterday. (I started writing this last Tuesday). True confessions. I did start to put things up while she was away that wouldn’t affect her photo shoot.

I know it  sounds totally bizarre (and pathological) to most people but I have Christmas drapes and dishes and towels and rugs and silk plants, sheets and lights and music. Mugs, candles and books and magazines and a partridge in a pear tree. So I started to switch those things out before I did anything about actual decor.

I went into the floral studio with Lexie on the Sunday she returned and helped her make garlands and floral arrangements and by ‘help’ I mean, holding the end of the garland taut while watching ‘Love Actually’. My favorite part of that movie is where Hugh Grant (who is the new Prime Minister of Britain) starts dancing to Jump (to my love) and doing a fine job I might add, thinking he is alone until he runs into his Executive Assistant. I digress.

Lexie brought all the greenery to the house late Monday afternoon. Meanwhile I was supposed to be making iced gingerbread cookies for the kitchen shoot. But I had a friend drop by with Starbucks and we proceeded to have a good visit until mid afternoon and when I finally got to the gingerbread recipe I realized that the dough had to sit in the fridge for 12 hours. Oops! I quickly proceeded to get the dough made so I could do cookies first thing in morning and when I was done, I thought to myself ‘this texture is more like cake not cookie dough’ so I reread the recipe and noticed upon studying it a little closer that possibly it said 1/4 cup of yogurt not 3/4 cup so now I had to double the recipe and held back on one of the other wet ingredients. Oy! The dough tasted amazing so I put it in the fridge for 12 hours and proceeded to put up a fake garland in the archway to our living room and embellish it with other lifelike greenery to distract from the fakeyness of it and after an hour and a half of installing command hooks and having a couple break away I decided I didn’t really like it there. Mike and I went out for the evening and I was hoping it would be laying on the floor when I returned but alas it was still up. I decided to take it down before bed and removed command hooks as delicately as possible but a few bits of paint decided they didn’t want to be on the archway either. Looks like I will be doing some post Christmas reconstruction.

I awoke the next morning and proceeded to relocate the garland. After 2 hours I finally had it up in the new spot and a couple of command hooks popped off. Luckily I had used so many that two didn’t really affect it much. I had already hung the garland on the floor mirror in the front entry so I thought I would embellish it according to a picture I picked off of Pinterest and was quite pleased with the result. Every time I work with the fake garland (or real, for that matter) a vacuuming session ensues. I might mention at this point that our power nozzle is broken so I have to do this vacuuming bending over or on my knees just using the hose. It’s back breaking fun. So as I was vacuuming for the 4th time in less than 24 hours I heard a crash behind me. My mirror garland had decided it didn’t like the pretty things I hung on it and departed the mirror. I guess I would be vacuuming on my knees one more time. But now I was gritty and determined. That garland was going to hang on that mirror come hell or high water or both. I took a deep breath and spelled out a few obscenities and set to work hanging that garland once again. Command hooks had their chance and failed. So I brought out the big nails and decided I would be doing some hole filling and painting after Christmas. If this didn’t work I was thinking about using gorilla tape. Well that was Tuesday and now it’s Saturday and both garlands are still up.

I really tried not to overdo it this year but you know how it goes. Honestly, I did take a couple of things down in an effort to achieve that ‘less is more’ look. In any case, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Kingdoms come and go, but they don’t last
Before you know the future is the past
In spite of what’s been lost or what’s been gained
We’re living proof that love remains……

We all live
And we all die
But the end is not goodbye
The sun comes up
And the seasons change
And through it all, love remains
An eternal burning flame
Hope lives on, and love remains

These are the poignant lyrics to a song by Hillary Scott and the Scott family. I was introduced to this song earlier this week as I providentially happened to attend a ‘Celebration of Life’ for an elderly couple that passed away within 10 days of each other. The children were just reeling from their mothers surprise passing when their father passed away from stroke complications. I believe they were expecting that their dad didn’t have much time but were not expecting to say goodbye to mom so soon. A double blow leaving them orphans.

It rather reminded me of Noah and Allie in the movie the Notebook. What a blessing, really, to leave this world together. The children decided to celebrate the lives of their parents in one glorious salute to their lives and legacy. As I listened to tribute after tribute from adult children and grandchildren it became evident that this was a tight knit family living on faith and love. And grandma’s apple pies.

This is where I came in. I did not know this family at all until an acquaintance on Instagram called me and queried as to whether I would like to take up the challenge to attempt to duplicate Claire’s pies for the service. I assume she thought of me due to all the pictures of homemade pie (and other baking) I regularly post. The family were only expecting 500 people so we shouldn’t need more than 60 pies and 30 dozen butter tarts. That’s all. Since I was still unemployed I decided to take a whack at it.

One of the daughters, that learned to make the pies by assisting her mom side by side, gave me her mom’s recipe for pastry and her method for making the pies as well as her mom’s butter tart recipe, with very explicit instructions. I was thrilled when I realized how amazing the pastry tasted (no left over crusts with this recipe) AND what a pleasure it was to rollout. I will use this recipe forevermore. Pie is the only dessert that I have a hard time saying no to if it’s homemade.

I proceeded to do a few testers for the family to try in order to get the nod of approval. They wanted this baking to be exactly like their mom’s. She had made pies for everyone who visited the farm and the neighbors and friends in the neighbouring area making Claire’s pies and tarts quite an item and coveted delicacy. The family passed me so I set out.

Farmers market for three 40lb. cases of MacIntosh apples and to Costco and Superstore for several 20lb. bags of sugar and flour. Tenderflake, butter, cinnamon, raisins and eggs. Tin foil plates for pies, baggies for storage, containers for tarts and I was ready to hunker down and bake my brains out. All told, I believe I spent 8 purposeful, inspired and joyful days a home baking, listening to music, praying, planning. My own pie making mom joined me for two days and helped lighten the load. Time well spent with my mom. She even came with me when I went to the venue a day before service to bake the bulk of the pies. Good times, great memories.

Where was I going to freeze all these pies and tarts while I awaited the appointed date? As luck would have it one of my dear and generous friends volunteered her almost empty freezer so as the pies were ready, I hauled them over to her place until the day before the service. I knew I could trust her with them AKA they’d still all be there when I came for them.

I pretended this was my career and this is what I did all day everyday. I could definitely get into this. I thoroughly enjoyed working in my kitchen, except for the night my gas oven went on the fritz. Can you believe it? The most important baking experience of my life and my oven quits. Mike, being the handy Saskatchewan farm boy that he is, had it going the very next day. I guess it’s all part of the baking industry that I was getting a first hand glimpse of, by the way.

All reports from the day of the celebration were positive. Grandsons even said they thought they were eating grandmas pies. Mission accomplished. It was such a honour to be part of it all ‘for such a time as this’.  The family were very grateful for what I had done for them but truly, it was I who was blessed to be able to serve them using my God given skills and talents.  Maybe some day this will be part of my legacy too.

As I have attended many of these services in recent years (due to the fact that that is the stage of life myself and my peers find ourselves in) it occurs to me that if I feel regret at not having had a relationship with the deceased then they have been honoured well. It also occurs to me how valuable every human being is. Each person is somebody’s everything. And what a rich heritage this couple has left behind. One of the most beautiful services I’ve witnessed. Such a honour to have been part of paying homage to such incredible people that obviously made a difference on this earth and left a gaping hole for those that crossed their paths. Love remains!