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.
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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.