”Twas 3 weeks before Christmas and all thru the airport not a creature was stirring except mike and Geri stewart.
They picked out their couches for sleeping with care, in hopes by tomorrow they soon would be there.
While visions of beaches and sand filled their heads, their major concern was to find better beds.
With my feet on the table and purse on my lap I’d just settled down for a pre-Kona nap.
When deep in my dreams my teeth started to chatter and I bolted upright wondering what was the matter.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear? I’d forgotten my passport and broke out in a fear.
Mike raced home to get it, sweat washing his brow, while I lingered behind wondering how? How? How?
With a little old driver so lively and quick I knew in a moment I was going to be sick.
More rapid than eagles to the house Michael came and I’m sure at that point he started calling me names,
Back to the airport he came in a blur, and the United agent looked at him and said ‘so sorry sir’
She was angry and grumpy, not a jolly old elf, and I cried when I heard her inspite of myself.
So mike found a new agent and told him our tale, he was a much more accommodating male.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon led me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke very few words but went straight to his work, and in moments we had new boarding passes and smirks.
And I heard him exclaim as we walked out of sight… merry Christmas to all and to all a good flight.

Repost from December 2009

Another glorious wintery Christmasy morning. Those who live in Calgary have been blessed with the most amazing Fairy Winter Wonderland this past weekend. Oh I know there are many who are cursing the snow and the road conditions and the cold and the Christmas rush. They are madly passing each other in the malls with heads down and faces frowned, rudeness intact and totally consumed with everything that they “think” is expected of them and they are completely missing the wonder and beauty of this season we call Christmas. We call it Christmas because Christ is it’s foundation but I am not sure why the rest of the world calls it Christmas because for them it has nothing to do with Christ. Sad really…

As I drove to work this morning I was in awe of the way the snow has adorned the trees in true Aldo accessories fashion. The bling on those trees rivaled anything I have seen in Calgary Jewellers commercials (I say commercials because I have never had any need to cross the threshhold of this particular store). And as I made my way along Elbow drive in the early morning shadows of night, many residents still had their Christmas lights on. This section of town is famous for its historic homes and quaint verandas, fences, gates. The yards are mature enough to have flourishing, tall trees – evergreen and deciduous- all covered with fresh and heavy snow…many with lights gleaming through the branches. What do I care if traffic is slow and mangled – I am sitting inside of my blessed car listening to Michael W. Smith’s new Christmas album and being blessed by the music and words and sipping once again, on my Grande ExtraHot Soy Tazo Chai. I have the heat pumping into the cozy cavern and there are cinnamon scented pinecones underneath my seat…and when the heat saturates them the aroma fills the air (much superior to those silly little pine scented mirror trees that smell like a camp washroom that has just been cleaned with pinesol). I don’t care how long it takes to get to work…I will get there. If I am late I’ll make up for it on my noon hour – it will have been worth the drive. As I drive I think about the fact that my son is coming home from university tomorrow. I think about the dinner we are hosting for dear friends that are going away for Christmas. I think about another set of new friends we are meeting for breakfast on the weekend. I think of my husbands two office parties we will be attending and the Christmas music concert I will go to on the weekend and I am excited. I think about the goodness of God and His provision and protection and everything else seems secondary to this. This is how I enjoy the season. It is two weeks before Christmas and this is truly the best part of Christmas – the before. Don’t let it rush past unnoticed and unenjoyed and before you can say HO HO HO it’s Boxing Day madness and you have missed all the magic. The magic is not found in shopping malls (unless of course you just casually saunter down the halls enjoying the decorations and music with no particular panic or turmoil going on inside as I like to do) and in spending money that you are not sure where you are going to get. The magic is not found in honking your horn at the car in front of you in the parking lot so you can get to the next overcrowded part of the parking lot faster so you can honk at someone else who happens to be patiently waiting for a parking stall. The magic is not found in eating food high in calories and toxins and in such great abundance that you become extremely uncomfortable and sick. The magic is not found in staying up all night trying to outdo Martha Stewart and lowering your resistance to viruses in the air and becoming sick (Been there – done that. I speak from experience). Enjoy the magic..of God’s bounty, His nature and the relationships He has forged for you. Bless someone else this season and really understand and enjoy the magic. Make your goal not to buy the ultimate gift – the most creative, most expensive, most rare. Bless someone instead and give yourself the gift of joy.

I never cook a thing unless I’m wearing my red plaid apron. I made it a few years back out of some plaid taffeta I had kicking around and I made a tablecloth out of the remainder of the fabric. Therefore, from thanksgiving to easter I usually match the tablecloth. When I am hosting a dinner party or whatever, I usually wear basic black because it looks great with the red plaid taffetta. Very festive. It becomes my outfit for the evening. Rather like a scarf but I’d look pretty silly wearing a scarf to bake and cook and cleanup.

The best part is the big row of huge pockets that hem the lower 8 inches of the skirt. Deep, huge pockets for storing a phone, or a tissue or some werthers chewy carmels, a hair clip which is so often needed in the kitchen, a grocery list, the jewelry I take off when I mix pastry or some money that I forget about and find months later. I dance around the kitchen like I’d won the lottery for a $5 bill.

I’ve ruined many an outfit in my day by working in the kitchen without an apron so my favorite apron goes on every single time now that I’m older and wiser. It washes like a damn too. There is just something about my apron. It makes me feel so Martha Stewartish. Interestingly enough my last name IS Stewart and my apron is the Stewart plaid. I really need a new or another apron and I have miles of fabric in the basement but….this plaid. I am very temped to cut up the tablecloth to make another apron.

Oh the delectable delights I have made in my red plaid apron. I’ve made croissants, macarons, croque Monsieur, homemade pasta, pies, tarts, all sorts of cookies and loafs. Macaroons, stir fry, chicken pot pie, salmon wellington, souffle, Whole 30 fare, Daniel plan recipes, WW recipes, gingerbread houses and cakes. I’ve made cakes and cupcakes and butter cream icing as topping. I’ve made risotto with wine and mushrooms. I’ve made soups and bread. I’ve made cinnamon buns and Yorkshire pudding.

Most of the time I’m just Geri or mom or honey or darling daughter ( as my mom so affectionately calls me), but when that red plaid apron goes on I may as well be the Barefoot Contessa or Nigella Lawson. Something transpires when I’m in my red plaid apron and I start feeling I’m invincible in the kitchen, my favorite room in the house. Especially in this new house. It’s like my kitchen is the bridge of a great ship and from that bridge I can see everyone that comes or goes. I can survey the entire main floor and do not feel in any way confined. My kitchen bridge is where everyone yells as they come in the door ‘what can I eat?’ The bridge is where I lovingly provide sustenance for my family.

Very often it seems like I am the only one that can cook around here. I often dream what it would be like to come home and someone has prepared a full meal of my favorite things. Just to eat something made by someone else. If that is such a dream to me how special it must feel when my family or friends come over and I have prepared something nostalgic, comforting and nutritious just for them? I love to do this. Cooking for others. Providing good food and fellowship – this is what my red plaid apron enables me to do.

A house full of hungry, grateful people is my dream. I feel especially blessed when they sit up to my red plaid tablecloth and the bridge gets eerily quiet as everyone becomes too busy in the business of eating and savouring to speak. There will be plenty of time for talk when the food is enjoyed and sustenance provided. First things first.

 

 

—
Sent from Gmail Mobile

Christmas is no respector of persons. It comes and goes no matter what journey you are on. It doesn’t care if your struggling. It’s not sensitive to your sorrow. It’s doesn’t empathize with your depression or anxiety. It pressures you to spend even if you’re skint. It taunts you to eat sugar and other junk when you’re trying to take care of your health. Its superficial, upbeat, happiness is an intruder in your cardboard box shelter under the train tracks. Of course I’m talking about the worlds shallow, materialistic, misguided Christmas. The one that’s now called Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas.

Make no mistake, true Christmas recognizes your struggle, your journey and your situation all too well. In fact that is what true Christmas is all about. I mean, the way we believers in Christ are supposed to celebrate Christmas is totally about keeping Christ in Christmas because He is what it is all about. And Christ recognizes our journey and our situation all too well. In fact that is why He came to earth in a manger in the first place…so He could identify with us and be with us. Emmanuel means God with us. Mankind had been waiting for the arrival of a saviour….well….forever. Oddly, when He arrived they didn’t even recognize Him. But He became flesh so He could become acquainted with grief. So He could know our sorrows. So He could dwell among us. And He surely did and does.

That first Christmas was not glamourous at all. There were no magical, twinkling or spectacular light displays to ooh and awe at. Spruce Meadows hadn’t been built yet. There were no shopping malls for the three kings to stop and pick up some Black Friday gift deals for the baby (or themselves) on the way to see the baby. No Christmas markets brimming with thoughtful, unique homemade treasures or real reindeer on display.  I’m pretty sure nothing is mentioned about bringing presents for Mary and Joseph. Maybe that’s where we got the notion that Christmas is for children. Im sure the shepherds didn’t go out and purchase a new and spectacular outfit to be seen in. The kings most likely didn’t have their perfume gift wrapped. And nobody considered stopping at Starbucks for a Peppermint mocha latte for the long journey. I’m sure they passed oodles of trees without even one thought of decking them with tinsel and ornaments. And when they arrived at the humble stable with no decorations or christmas baking for their holiday enjoyment they were not phased at all because…This wasn’t and isn’t what it was all about.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have drunk the worlds Christmas kool-aid. I absolutely love the way we do Christmas these days. I love all of it. I love the lights and thank people (in my head) for putting them up as I drive by. Some of the commercial light displays bring me to tears the first time I see them. There is nothing that brings me more joy than sauntering through the beautifully decorated mall with a Starbucks in hand quietly singing along and shazaming the Christmas tunes playing over the intercom. True confessions: I was among the crackpots that were incensed when Starbucks quit the beautiful red cups. I’m over it! I heard my husband call my Christmas decorating ‘over the top’ when someone came to the door the other night and they commented about my decor. It was favourable btw. And it just isn’t Christmas unless I have one new glitzy garment to wear to all the parties. However this year there is only one party due to tough economic times and unemployment.

This is the first year for a very long time that I can remember, that I haven’t been working. Financially, it’s cramping my style but I’m learning a new way to do Christmas. Using my unemployed days doing other people’s Christmas baking for a fee. And just settling for less and realizing I’m content with what I have. Which really isn’t a sacrifice at all because I have been so blessed. I’ve gotten quite accomplished at blessing myself. I want to try something new. Letting God bless me and using what I have to bless others.

I know a lot of people, just in my circle of friends and influence, that are not so joyous this Christmas as they stare down the barrel of loneliness and separation, illness and impending sorrow, financial struggles, broken relationships and addictions. These realities are closer to that first Christmas than we realize. As soon as the their baby was born outside in a filthy manger,  Mary and Joseph had to flee the country to get Jesus to safety as the King at the time was executing all baby boys because he felt threatened by King Jesus. The stress and fear.  Never mind the social rejection and discrimination that Mary and Joesph suffered because of their divine circumstances. Nobody really ‘got it’. And very often we don’t either.

While it’s perfectly ok to celebrate Christmas in the manner our culture dictates, let’s not get bogged down in the materialistic trappings and totally forget the realities of those less joyous than we. Let’s be Christmas for others. Let’s bring Christ to them and extend his love and understanding. We can do that as believers. In fact we are required to do that.

In my heart of hearts, Christmas has always been about being with those I love the most. There is nothing like family. The family we didn’t choose and the family we did choose. Beyond the gifts, the twinkle lights, the decorations, the delicacies, the music, the parties.. there is family. Family and friends that are like family. I can live without the fluff but I can’t live without these people or Christ’s love. Under one roof, here for each other, sharing, loving, blessing, commiserating, encouraging, praying, supporting. This is Christmas!

God bless us everyone!

 

 

I drove past an ornamental snowman in someone’s yard this morning and it made me cry. Why you might ask? Well it’s because last New Year’s Eve, Lexie and Andrew and I, after midnight, when all was quiet, cold, and snowy and everyones Christmas lights were still on, went for a little walk in the neighborhood. Andrew was going back to Vancouver in a few days and we were trying to savor him. I remember both kids being dressed up like eskimos and their silhouettes stood ominous in the light of the street lamp. We had to plow through calf high drifts just to get off the driveway. Just on the next block to our house we came upon that same snowman and I took a picture of him. In fact, a video, because he was surrounded by moving lights and it was so beautiful and magical. And even though all was not perfect in our life, for that one moment in time, it felt like it was. It was a silent night, a holy night and a gloria in excelcious deo night because I was with my family enjoying this moment in time. My saner husband was at home in bed where it was warm and snuggly but I was out in the cold, snowy, quiet, beautiful middle of the night with my two adult kids.

There have been other perfect moments in time. Such as the night this summer when the kids and I lay on my aunts dock on the lake at midnight and picked out constellations and watched for falling stars as the waves rocked the dock up and down. A warm balmy night as we watched the lights from the cabins across the lake and listened to families talk and laugh on other docks. The night sky and water so clear that the stars were reflected in the lake. Once again, mike had retired for the evening but there I was etching this memory into my heart and soul. Once again, all was not perfect in life, but for that moment in time, it was.

I usually catalogue these moments in my mind to remind myself, when things seem far from perfect and we are tough slogging it, that I have had, we have had, experiences of perfection. Taking the family to Hawaii, volunteering at Samaritans Purse together, Easter and thanksgiving in Vancouver just to be with the kids. Taking Andrew to University as a family and getting everything he needed for the year from Walmart and IKEA, then bringing it back to the dorms to set up. The cop stopping us on the Coquihalla for speeding in our rental car. Christmas mornings. Getaways to our friends cottage in the middle of winter, sitting around the fireplace, watching movies. Impromptu car rides to Starbucks just before closing, on a hot July evening, with the windows wide open and the music blaring, and flip flops on our feet, laughing at anything and everything.

Perfection for me is the four of us, together, anywhere, anytime, basking in our familyness. These precious, perfect moments in time remind me that it hasn’t all been hard, all the time. Because let’s face it, sometimes it feels like it has all been hard all of the time and when will we ever get to come up for air and feel the glorious sunshine of Gods favor on us again, or ever? These moments remind me that I have had it all, even if just for a moment in time. I am of all women most blessed. And she pondered all these things in her heart.
—
Sent from Gmail Mobile

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.