I dried the last plate ten minutes before my coach turned back into a pumpkin. The thing with hosting an authentic Italian meal, Tuscan style, are all the courses (and all the dishes).  Those Italians love to eat. And I’m sure it’s because the food is so amazing. Not that I’ve ever eaten an authentic Italian meal at one of those long, never ending tables with a million bottles of wine and candles in empty olive oil bottles with wax dripping down on all sides. Everything I know about Italian cuisine and culture I learned from the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. Sure, I’ve been to Rome, Florence and Venice. When my daughter and I arrived in Venice on an overnight train from Paris, we were so stunned by the heat that we ate gelato all day. A thin crust margarita pizza on the board walk at night. We ran around Rome like crazies trying to see everything in a day. Maybe it wasn’t built in a day but we proved you can see all the highlights in a day…. if you don’t stop to eat. When we hit Florence we decided not to remember it as a blur… so after a short morning sight seeing tour we were left in the square with naked David to have lunch at an outdoor cafe. Then we just wandered around the shops listening to street musicians in the afternoon. So really, Italy was not a food experience for us. It was not ‘Eat, Pray, Love ’.

However, I believe our Night in Tuscany dinner with our ‘first responder’ friends, was. First of all, first responder friends are those people in your life that respond first when you have a crisis or a joy. They are our safe people. And we have so much fun with them. Anyhoo, we had our valentine potluck last night and I offered to host since I could and I wanted to play a bit.

We eat with these folks. We pray with them. And we love them. So cleaning up the dishes and by dishes, I mean every dish in the house, was a joy for me. As I scrubbed those cheesy, tomatoey pots and pans I had a direct line view of our long Tuscan table with greenery hanging above. And I relived the laughter and the tastes and the smells and the music (which was supposed to be a romantic Italian restaurant playlist but bordered on circus music at times). Such a good memory made. There were talks of going on cooking class vacations to Italy or France. We reminisced about trips any of us had made to Italy. We ate too much food and drank too much wine and had an Italian good time. So this experience WAS Eat, Pray, Love.

Here’s the thing about food. We are very needy and vulnerable when it comes to food because we can’t live without it. We have to eat. People do die from starvation. It’s a basic human need. So when we gather around the table to eat, we make ourselves vulnerable once more. So if we eat in a safe, loving environment our physical needs are met under the guise of our social and emotional needs. It’s a sweet harmony. I adore this harmony and am committed to making it happen as often as I can.
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We are having a crisis of epic proportions over here. We’ve had no internet for almost a week. I know right? And you thought you had problems. Our peaceful, blissful existence has been upturned by this catostrophic turn of events. No blogging. No instagram. No Facebook. NO NETFLIX.

This is pretty much all we’ve talked about all week. We’ve had to turn the wifi off on our phones and resort to using our carefully rationed data plans. We‘ve had to watch regularly scheduled TV with commercials. Some of us have even had to resort to reading books. Of course there is always Starbucks with its free wifi. They’ve seen a bit more of us this week than usual and that’s hard to imagine.

It’s absolutely mind boggling how dependent we have become on this trendy technological discovery. Remember back in the olden days when we sat around the dinner table and all we did was eat and talk and share ‘worst part of day and best part of day’? Or fight over who was doing the dishes? Or when we looked facts up in the World Book encyclopedia  or had to go to the library? When we went to the store to buys things? We went to Blockbuster to rent movies. We listened to music on our walkmans? We took care of Tamogochi’s for entertainment. We met people for coffee face to face. We got our affirmation from people we knew for real life things we did.

But a distant memory. Hazy at best. Those were the days my friend…

Why would an old, lumpy deny-er like myself foolishly sign up for a gym membership? It seemed like a good thing to do at the time. I needed a new hangout. When you walk through the door of your local Starbucks/Chapters and all the staff yell out ‘Hi Geri’, you know you’ve been there too often. Don’t get me wrong… I love it there. But when the Chapters staff have your Plum card number memorized… it’s time for new stomping grounds. So Lexie sold the idea to me using perfect logic. ‘You need a new place to hangout-it will cost one Starbucks a week and if your going to curtail your time there then you just reappropriate the funds.’ Still making total sense. ‘You wanted to get more exercise for the health of your aging brain and this is an excuse to order those wireless earphones from Amazon’. Price of gym just went up. AND Lexie trains there so we could car pool when it works out. Plus there’s a sauna and tanning facilities and a hydro massage bed. So I bit the bullet and joined. One year commitment. As I was sitting in the sauna after my workout the first day, I was having buyers remorse. Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. Well, it was definitely hot in the sauna but … maybe I should have come as Lexie’s guest a couple of times first.

It’s not that I don’t like working out. I totally do. It feels good to do something good for yourself. Get the heart rate up and the adrenalin flowing. Get the bad cholesterol and blood pressure down. But what Lexie failed to mention was that the place was lined with mirrors. Well, I just don’t really want to see myself everywhere.  I tried not looking but I just ran into more mirrors with my eyes averted to the floor. At home, I could pretend I was pretty ok. Not here. At home I don’t wear racer back sports bras and tanks. I try really hard not to be in front of a mirror until I know I’m not going to scare the crap out of myself and others.

I noticed there are no sharp objects at the gym. Probably a good idea with all those people and mirrors. In fact, they should probably provide counselling after each visit. The sauna rules suggest we get naked. I don’t even want to see that.  That’s not happening. I’ll just wring out my sweatshirt when I’m done.

I noticed that my workout wear was also not up to speed at the gym. I’ve only been twice in three days but, so far, I have not seen anyone of my particular species, so looking at all the trainers and svelte bodies has been a bit daunting. I went to Winners to find some different workout gear. Turns out the plus size section doesn’t have workout wear. Why not? We’re the ones that need it. So I wrestled myself into the largest sports bra I could find in the hip young adult women’s section.  Who needs to go to the gym? That was the best workout I’ve had in years. Then I had to take it off. I didn’t bother going to the gym yesterday. I was exhausted. Anyway, no sports bras for me. They just flatten and spread and make your stomach look like it starts right under your two chins. Not flattering. Not only that, I have to put my hair in a ponytail if I don’t want to faint from heat exhaustion and I did not want to know what that was covering up. When did I start looking like someone’s pet Boxer?

And to add to the joy of the experience, I set out on the elliptical with my brand new wireless bluetooth earphones, and was feeling quite trendy for an old gal, I listened to three songs and a voice came on that said my battery was dead.  Are you kidding?  I’m 8 minutes into a 60 minutes cardio routine.  Problem was the instructions that came with the earphones were printed on a two inch by two inch paper.  That’s pretty tiny printing.  It can’t be read with the natural eye, so I just guessed at what they were saying about the red and blue lights.  I was wrong.

Joining the gym has turned out to be the perfect way to humble myself. Who knew? Who cares what anyone else thinks? Although I am fairly certain no one else is thinking about me or watching me, it feels like I am the gym entertainment. But I have every right to be there. I paid my dues and will continue to do so. And eventually it will get better. I’ll either start to accept that I don’t look 35 anymore or I’ll actually start to look better.

PS… I have a really nice personality and I can sing.

Our names are the most essential thing about us. Its often the first thing people know about us, and yet this one word holds far more significance and sacred history than any other first impression could ever capture. – Esther Fleece Allen

I’ve often labelled myself. A failure. Not good enough. The family idiot. Unmotivated. A loser. Even convinced myself that I’m unforgiven many times. I’ll never get it right.

Because of my diverse creative talents, given me by the Lord, people have often asked me ‘is there anything you can’t do well?’ Inside I’m thinking, how did I pull that off? People think I can do everything. How can they not see what a true failure I am? How did I fool that many people? And then I feel like an imposter too. There are so many things I just can’t get right or get victory over.

I’ve often labelled other people. Jokingly I call all the other regulars at Starbucks/chapters ‘losers’. Why? Because they are in there every single time I am…..wait…. I’m one of them, am I not? So I’ve been thinking of coming up with a gentler label for them. Lol. But I write some people off as this or that without really knowing them or their story. That’s not fair or kind.

I looked up the meaning of my own name. I’ve looked this up before but forgotten about it. Geraldine means mighty warrior with a spear. Or ruler with a spear. Or mighty with a spear. Apparently, people with this name have a deep inner desire for love and companionship and want to work to achieve peace and harmony. They also tend to be creative and excellent at expressing themselves. They are drawn to the arts and often enjoy life immensely. They tend to become involved in many different activities and are sometime reckless with their energies and with money.

There were many other descriptions that surprisingly described me extremely accurately. But it was really the meaning of the name that caught my attention. Mighty. Warrior. With a spear. Spiritually speaking, I want to be a warrior. I want to be a mighty warrior. And that spear? Is that the sword of the Spirit?

I AM a warrior and I have the sword of the spirit. That name that my parents probably unwittingly gave me means something. My dads name was Gerald and my parents were following some tradition that  says the 2nd child has to be named after the father.  That was me. Gerald means the same thing. I want to own that name. Geraldine isn’t a name for wimps or losers. It’s a name for fighters and defenders. Of others and of the faith. I have a calling to be a mighty warrior. Putting on the full armour of God comes to mind.

I have often felt fearful and shy. Scared and lonely. Challenged to prove myself worthy. But the names that God gives me are: Worthy. Forgiven. Daughter. Adopted. Beloved. Bride. Righteous.

My word for 2020 is ‘Courageous’. Obviously, I have it in me to be courageous. Because I am a mighty warrior with a spear. In Proverbs, it says that that the righteous shall fall down seven times and get up eight. As I told a friend, my plan this year, and always, is to pick myself up, dust myself off and start all over again. Just keep going.

I challenge you to look up the spiritual meaning of your name and see if it doesn’t empower you to live up to that name you’ve been given.

I’m sure many of you will think I am daft, but I just figured out what is wrong with me. Well, I am sure that many of those that know me will have various opinions on this topic.
Whenever you lose something you cherish and value or have it taken away there is always a grieving period afterwards.  We need that grieving period.  Its not exactly  on the same level as losing a loved one, but its the same process.  And you can’t say well buck up, at least you didn’t lose a loved one. Brene Brown says there is no comparison suffering.  This is your reality and you need to go through the process.  And you are entitled to grieve that loss.  In fact, you need to grieve that loss.
I did not have time to grieve the loss of a job at the end of October because I was immersed in full-time preparation for a family Christmas reunion.  I had no time to think about what I had lost.  In fact, most of the time I thought to myself, thank goodness I’m not trying to squeeze all this planning in around a full time job. I had no premonition that this was going to happen either.  It was a total and utter shock to find myself driving home at noon on October 30 with a car full of my personal effects from my office.
I mean, I was hesitant to apply for this full time position last January but I didn’t give myself time to really think about it and hit send on my resume. I knew the job was mine if I’d only apply for it. I reasoned, this job could see me through until retirement and I was grateful for the regular paycheque and totally making use of the benefits.  It was a God send and a life saver.  It was a difficult adjustment – getting used to working full time after not for so many years (I had jobs but they were not five days a week) and to have to commute so far but I finally got into a rhythm and was really enjoying my position.  The drive. Loved the people.  Was totally capable of performing my tasks.  I had the best work space in the office.  And I thought I finally had it all wrapped up…my daily purpose and contribution to the family coffers.  I made good use of my spare time since I had so little of it.  It was great.  I was thanking God for these circumstances every single day.  And then, whamo….its all gone.

It’s only now…now that all the guests have gone home and the Christmas tree has come down and I have no where to go every morning and there is no money in my bank account that the reality of the situation has finally hit me.
Its not that I haven’t been laid off before….this will be the fourth time.  You think I would be getting used to it by now.  If this was a boyfriend or husband that kept dumping me, I’d probably decide to drop men for good.  And that is how I feel about the whole job thing.  Why would I keep wanting to set myself up for getting dumped again?  Well…I wouldn’t and I don’t.  But I do need to be bringing in an income in some way – for a few more years – so I’ll have to figure out something.  But for now, I am going to let myself grieve.  I am giving myself a time limit for this grief and then I will move on (because its not the loss of a loved one)…its the loss security and contentment and purpose and I will find my way again.  I am just a little wobbly right now.
And if I want to buy a family size bag of munchies and pick out all the crunch-its and give the rest to my family?  That’s my prerogative.  I don’t want to hear any complaining that the crunch-its are all gone.  I could just throw the rest in the garbage but I didn’t.  For some reason its more satisfying to pick them out from around all the rest of the chips than to just go out and buy a bag of just crunch-its.  That’s my story.

I turned off the outdoor Christmas lights one last time, on this, the night of the 12th day of Christmas.  Christmas is but a memory and New Years, fresh in my mind. One by one, each family left us, after months of preparing for this special, once-in-a-lifetime event and celebrating family more than actual Christmas.  Although Christmas was definitely the setting.  Christmas was the decor.  Christmas was the food.  Christmas was the music and Christmas were the activities.  As I reflect on this 12th night of Christmas and realize it has all slipped through my fingers like so many other anticipated events.  The melancholy sets in.

You have no idea how much I feel like Jo March as I sit in the basement (as opposed to the attic) writing by candlelight.  I even have a juicy Christmas orange to savor. I’m wearing my plaid night shirt and feeling very Louise May Alcott-y. Enjoying a night cap that you don’t wear.
I just said goodbye to the last family who joined us for this glorious occasion. I’m talking about Christmas, of course.  We began discussing the possibility of our very large family getting together for Christmas a year ago.  We’ve tossed out pie-in-the-sky ideas like this before and never followed through but this time there seemed to be a heart connection regarding this suggestion.  I think everyone knew it was time.  This Christmas would have been twenty-five years since the last time the entire family got together to celebrate Christmas at the Banff Springs Hotel.  1994 holds some very special memories. The family has evolved over the last twenty-five years and some have gone on before us while others have joined the family either through marriage or birth.  It is poignant to think about the ones that passed and joyous to think of those added.  Twenty-seven out of a possible forty-four  people gathered here in Calgary for Christmas.
So much expectation. So much planning.  So many decisions to be made. SO many logistics. So much anticipation. As brothers and sisters and cousins and grandchildren started arriving, our emotions were rising to a feverish pitch.  This was really happening.  We pulled it off.  Never perfection and not always as planned but everyone doing their best and bringing what they could to the table (literally).  We had Kiwi’s that wanted snow and wanted to see the mountains.  We had those that claimed it was all about the food (and there was not shortage of it – thank you Lord).  For some it was about the games and the movies and the music and lights.  While still others just came so they could be part of the ‘greatest Christmas pageant ever’.  Alright, no one actually came for that but we did it anyway.  A huge incentive for our gathering was our eighty-seven year old mother.  She stills works and just came back from an adventure in Australia and will probably outlive us all in-spite of the fact that she keeps telling us she may not make it to another Christmas.
This Christmas wasn’t about presents.  It wasn’t about ambiance.  God knows – He does –  that I tried to make it about ambiance but I got a quick education about the reality of six small children in our midst.  It wasn’t a competition.  It wasn’t a fashion show.  It wasn’t about keeping up with the Jones and ‘what’s everyone else doing?’.  It was simply about gathering together with family.  It was about loving and accepting.  It was about joy and peace on earth and good will toward men.  It was about enjoying each other’s company and having fun and catching up on all the happenings in our lives. To bring us up to speed regarding our hopes and dreams and mistakes.  We all make them, don’t we?  No one lost their cool or left early in a huff. It was about late night talks and sleeping through Christmas movies together.  I think we managed to get everyone that wanted to go, to the mountains.  The eggnog was flowing.  The Star Wars waffles sizzling.  The tobogganing run packed and exciting. The butter tarts plentiful – yes, have two or three.  Spruce Meadows seen.  Carcassone and Dutch Blitz  and Quirkle played. We were more stuffed than the turkey.  We didn’t forget the cranberries in the fridge this year.  Booked entire rows of seats at the movie theatre.  Kiwi’s skating in subzero temperatures and crying because they could not feel their extremities any longer.  And of course, Starbucks.

Star Wars, Starbucks, Star of the East.

And now…its over.  For another year.  For another decade.  For another lifetime.  But worth every expensive, testy, freezing, bloated, stressful, loud, and magical moment.