BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

Nope.  Nope.  Nope.

I am not going outside into that craziness.

Oh, I admit that the pictures on Facebook are breath-takingly beautiful – the ice crystal haze, the fabulous sun dogs, the dazzling white snow contrast with the brilliant blue skies – incredible.  But, you know what?  I can see them on Facebook.  I don’t have to go out and freeze my nostrils shut for the pleasure of this gobsmacking scenery.  We have central heating, it would be a shame to waste it.

We always get a few days of crazy cold every winter, but this week is a bit over the top.  Not the temperatures so much – the 40-below-is-40-below Fahrenheit/Celsius conversation comes up on a regular basis, although the folks on the west coast don’t usually comprehend what we’re talking about.  And the comparing of our windchills in Southern Saskatchewan with those in Siberia, while not unheard of, is definitely not the norm. 

The image that tells the story best is the map of Canada shown on the Weather Channel; from sea to sea to sea, with very few exceptions, the entire country is painted in that ‘red for danger’ color.  This is an honour usually reserved for the middle of the country from the 49^th parallel right on up to Santa’s front doorstep.  Any provinces closer to oceans or further south normally get to dodge that bullet, but in January of 2024 we all get to bond in our universal Canadian identity.  We could all use a group hug for the warmth, but don’t stay in one place too long, we might freeze that way.

One would think that it’s a silent world out there.  There are no birds, not even tough old ravens squawking their dominance, and I haven’t heard a single coyote song in days.  If you go out, though, there will be noise.  Every step that you take in that super frozen snow will squeak.  I don’t know what the scientific explanation for it is, but the lower the temperature, the higher the pitch of the squeak.  It sounds very much like nails scratching across a blackboard, and is every bit as pleasant.

Not that I’ve ventured out (see my opening remarks), but I have occasionally opened the door for a dog who thinks he might want to go out.  Sometimes he actually does, and sometimes he reconsiders – “is this just boredom, or do I really have to pee?” 

It takes minus 40 degree weather to remind me that our deck door doesn’t quite seal at the top of the frame.  I know this because I get a light dusting of frost down my neck when I open the door – frozen condensation from escaping warm, moist air.  Another day or so of this and I imagine the door will just self heal and freeze shut.  The porch door cries out in a painful squeak of its own when opened.  I don’t understand the cause of this and am not about to diagnose it at 40 below.

Not everyone can hide out in the house though.  It came as no surprise this morning that the cattle waterer was frozen and that this job would have to be taken care of.  There’s been a lot of “Thank the oilfield workers/farmers/power company repairmen” posts these past few days, and okay, that’s nice, but it is their jobs.  I don’t make light of how important it is to feed the energy grid and keep it running or to care for livestock no matter the hardship, but all jobs have downsides.  There’s no need to be melodramatic.  All my farmer said when he reported the frozen waterer was “Guess that’s what I’m going to be doing today.”  It’s simple – it’s his job.  His only grumble was that of course it was Sunday so if he needed parts he was going to have to wait. 

The other interesting circumstance was Alberta’s request for their population to please cut back on their power consumption to avoid grid failure and the implied political inference that this was all Ottawa’s fault. 

This is just me, but the people were asked to cut power consumption AND they did.  AND it fixed the problem.  This philosophy could be taken so much further.  We, the consumers of power, need to seriously question our needs vs. our appetites for latest gadget coming down the pike.  A kitchen 50 years ago had one plugin per wall, today the code is one every three feet.  Yes, we need good heating in a well insulated house.  No, we don’t need every device under the sun.  The answer to so many of our problems come from the bottom up, not the top down.  But, I digress.

The weather app on my phone promises things are looking up.  It says that from here on in the temperatures will moderate. 

I appreciate that. 

I also have tickets to Mexico.  I will go outside there.

Yep.  Yep.  Yep.

 

GROWTH AND RENEWAL

Here we are at the very end of another year.  Time is a confusing thing – how can it be that some days take forever but when you put them all together into larger units like a year time seems to disappear in the blink of an eye?  The advice of “don’t blink” comes to mind.

It has been a different Christmas season for us with all of the festivities taking place in someone else’s house.  I have not cooked a single turkey or batch of buns, or made up a single extra bed for overnight guests.  The days have been routine and quiet.  The weather has been mild.  The days are already getting longer, something we observe with joy and relief in this household.

I am in no rush to take down the Christmas tree.  Last year we finally bought an artificial one so there are no needles falling off to make a mess or spear bare feet.  I especially like how not remembering to water it has no consequences at all, and the damage to the floor by my overwatering in the past has not gotten any worse either.  I should have gone ‘fake tree’ years ago.

The only push to get the fake tree put away is that my real house plants don’t like where they have to spend the holidays and are showing their displeasure by stopping flowering and dropping leaves.  They need their southern exposure back before they are nothing but sticks.  It won’t happen today, but soon.

It’s funny, decorating the tree is a time to look back – to open windows to past Christmases with each ornament I hang on the tree or garland I string across the deck – but putting these very same things away is a different story.  This job causes me to look forward to the coming year.

It is unusual for us to have actual plans this early on but this year we have a family wedding in Mexico right off the hop.  It’s fun to anticipate the beaches, the many family members also attending, and especially the fact that we get to share this adventure with our grandchildren.  The happy anticipation is building for us all.

Also on our 2024 agenda is a camping/music festival later on in the summer.  This is something that I’ve always wanted to check out but my significant other feels very differently.  How his daughter talked him into this for my Christmas gift boggles my mind.  She definitely has more pull than I do.

But that is only what we are doing, and it seems pretty tame compared to what is on the horizon for some of our kids and grandkids.  There is going to be significant continent hopping going on for them.

Due to work opportunities one of our families is off to South Africa for a couple years.  The grandsons are already super excited about going on safari and seeing lions and tigers and elephants.  I can’t say that I have ever dreamed of this kind of adventure but I am almost certain we will visit them there.  Thanks to our wandering kids I will only have one continent left to see.  I cannot imagine ever setting foot on Antarctica though, not even for the “we did them all!” claim to fame.

They will no sooner be gone than a grandson who left for Australia at two years old plans to return to Canada for University and we will be off to Edmonton to spend time with him and his dad as they get him settled in.  It would have been even better if his volleyball scholarship could have been offered by a closer school but Alberta is better than Sydney; we will make it work. 

I also have another plant that needs attention.  Unlike the sulking, struggling Mandevilla, my umbrella tree has only thrived in the west bedroom, taking over the space.  It started out as a tiny sprout purchased at Liboiron’s store 45 years ago and due to numerous miracles and its obvious will to live it is still with us.  It has done so well that it can no longer be squeezed through a door and the last few fronds it has put out are up against the ceiling.  The situation calls for drastic surgery.  Ironically, to save it I have to chop off and re-root the top so that it can continue to grow. 

In a way this perfectly symbolizes the faith I will put in the coming year.  I’m not sure if it’s my personality or an age factor, but I can’t imagine ‘re-rooting’ myself for life on another continent, but I recognize that these new environments encourage growth that won’t happen if the moves aren’t made.  It’s scary to cut up a thriving plant and put it in a new pot to begin again, but I’ve done it before. Actually, this is the only reason the umbrella plant still going strong.  My hope is that my metaphor fits the humans in my life. 

So, here’s to 2024!  Here’s to growth, and renewal, and since it’s a Leap year, a full 366 days of good things!

 

DECORATING THE TREE

I spent the morning decorating our Christmas tree.  It’s been a struggle to arrange a suitable time for this job, it’s not like you can slap a tree up in an hour or even two.  Well, at least I can’t.  I need time.  I need ambience.  I need quiet.  I need Christmas music in the background.  It also normally requires a glass or two of wine but it was Saturday morning so that didn’t quite fit.

Mostly, what I need is the house to myself to putter at my own pace.  All day if possible, with no interruptions to prepare meals, no one watching some noisy, guns-a-blazing, car chase, man movie, and no comments from the peanut gallery on how I’m doing it wrong.  This was supposed to happen yesterday but Mother Nature stepped in and did her own decorating for Christmas so he stayed home.

My most favorite part of having a Christmas tree is getting up early and sipping my morning coffee, basking in the multi-colored twinkling lights on the tree.  It’s a quiet, peaceful, thoughtful time that I treasure and as the days were ticking by without a tree to admire in the dark I was beginning to feel cheated.  Even though my window of opportunity today was the few hours it was going to take the movie watcher/peanut gallery critic to clean out the yard and driveway, I knew I had to take it.

The reason I need more than a few hours is because it is so much more than the physical putting on of lights and ornaments.  It is more of a mystical experience, a mix of memories, an annual revisiting of all that has gone before.  Shoot-em-up movies really spoil the mood.

Of course, this tradition is relatively new in my life.  Christmas tree decorating has been through many renditions in my many years. 

My first recollection of decorating the tree involves Mom spending an evening trying to get the bubble lights (remember them?) all working, and on the tree, before we kids were allowed to do our part of ornaments and tinsel.  Think: exasperated adult with probably fifteen other things on the go being yammered at by a pack of over-stimulated, Santa-is-coming-to-town excited kids and you will know the kind of Peace-On-Earth evening of which I speak. 

As unpeaceful this custom is, though, I went on to do the exact same thing when my kids were little.  Is it some kind of rite of passage?  Some test of our character?  Do we need this dose of unreasonable expectations and near insanity to truly appreciate the beauty of singing Silent Night?  I know not the answer to this question, but I have just a few ornaments that remind me of this time and I treasure them and the memories they evoke as I place them on my modern, pre-lit, artificial tree.

Life goes on though, and Christmas has evolved.  There were the years when the kids were so little they didn’t help but were transfixed by the pretty lights and drawn to the packages beneath.  There were a few incredibly sad Christmases where we only made it through under the steam of other people’s engines.  I remember those too.

The busy years.  The whole-house-is-full years.  The empty nest years.  And now, the aren’t-grandkids-the-best years.  My containers of different decorations represent all of these times and tie me to loved ones who are no longer here.  I treat them like talismans – holding them connects me to a different time and place.  In this way I welcome them into my house for Christmas.  It’s a little thing, but it feels good.

A few weeks ago my grand daughter sat me down to teach me everything she has learned so far in Grade One.  My assignment was to repeat the letters of the alphabet after her but I mis-behaved and sang the A-B-C song instead.  After being reprimanded I was told to begin again.  Being a bad Grandma I sang it a second time.  When I was done she stood there, hands on her hips, and said “I am going to have to call your mother!”  I guess that’s the ultimate threat in her world but the more I think about it, the more I wish she would have.  It would be great to talk to Mom again even if it meant getting an “E” on my report card. 

 

 

GIFTING

I have before me the beginnings of what I will try to accomplish in this next month … my all important “To Do” list.  I’ve written it down, managed to stroke two of the items off as done, and added three more.  So far there is no stress building.  I’m fine.  After all, it’s still November.  Just barely.

Although I’ve broken the categories down to individual tasks there are only three main jobs on the list: baking, decorating, and gifts.  Baking will take place closer to the big day so I only have to do it once.  Decorating is a day I love – a quiet afternoon, a glass of wine, and just me, Christmas music, and my memories.  #3, the gotta-get-the-gifts category is not so magical.  There is too much pressure – to find the right thing for everyone, to shop local, to keep within a budget, to keep it even.  Some years it’s not too bad and others it’s torture.  It is easily my least favourite part of the holidays.

There is magic in giving, though.  Serendipity stepped in a few weeks ago and treated me to the most wonderful experience.  I’m still basking in its warmth.

A few months ago I happened to be at the right place at the right time – the dog wanted out at the exact moment when the sunrise was spectacular.  I took a picture and much to my surprise it actually showed the light, the mist, the silhouette of the tree and rocks in my garden, even the sunflower petals glowed golden in the light.  I posted it on Facebook and got a lot of “ooos” and “ahhhs”.

Fast forward to when I was on my trip with a group of people from Ontario.  Inevitably I would be asked where I was from and when I said Saskatchewan you could see the pity fill their eyes.  Little do they know about the Land of the Living Skies.  Their pity was (mostly) feigned but one of them – the gal at whose invitation I was on the trip – knew better.  She has been to our prairie place, sat on our deck, and relaxed in Saskatchewan ambience.  Immediately she would speak up with “Show them the picture, Jocelyn!”  It truly is a beautiful picture of a beautiful place and I think she loves it even more than I do.

Another bit of fast forward and I am at home again scrolling through my phone for gift inspiration when an ad pops up for taking digital photos and putting them on canvas.  In a heartbeat I knew what I needed to do. 

This lady isn’t on my Christmas gift list, but that didn’t matter – this isn’t a Christmas gift.  It’s a ‘just because it’s the perfect thing’ gift.  The Internet made it easy, it wasn’t expensive, and I knew she would love it; bing, bang, boom and it was done.  I went to bed that night light-hearted in anticipation of her happiness and smiled every time I thought of it for the next eight days until I got a text from her asking if I knew anything about a mystery parcel she had just received.  This is what they are talking about when they say “It is better to give than receive.”  She is happy with her gift and I am delighted that I hit that one out of the park.  I neither want or need anything in return.

I wish I could manage the same magic with all of the actual expected gifts on my list.  I wish there was the perfect thing for everyone, but that is unreasonable and impractical.  And, even if it were possible, the word ‘perfect’ would lose its power if it became a daily occurrence.  I will just do my best to avoid the over-commercialism of the season and hope my butter tarts will make up for any short fall.

Besides, there are other ways to get that happy buzz from giving.  There is the Salvation Army, women’s shelters, aid for Ukraine, sponsoring kids through World Vision, helping the damaged and dispossessed the world over.  Or, you can look closer to home – the neighbour who lost his job, another whose house burned down, someone dealing with debilitating health problems, time or money donations to the food bank.  The opportunities to be Santa’s helper are endless.

My wish for everyone this holiday season is that you come away from which ever gift giving you choose feeling as joyful as I did while denying I knew anything at all about that random picture showing up on a doorstep in Ontario.

Now, back to my list … I just thought of a couple more things that need to be on it.

 

UNWANTED RENEWAL

We seem to be going through a period of renewal around here.  It isn’t planned.  It is not welcome.  And it doesn’t appear to be letting up either.  The only people happy about it are the folks at the appliance store.

It started off innocently enough.  I think the first thing to quit was the kitchen clock.  In an age of everything digital we still have a big, old wall clock – numbers from 1 to 12 and the full complement of hour, minute, and second hands.  I know this is old fashioned, but it’s also comforting to know what time it is even when the power goes out.  Sometime earlier this year it started slacking on the job.  Some days it kept time, some days it couldn’t be bothered.  Changing its battery had no effect.  With nothing to lose I also took it apart and cleaned it as good as I could.  No dice: it was declared dead.

Not to worry: there was still the one in the office.  I could just switch it out.  But no, apparently they belonged to the same union and were both lobbying for early retirement.  I told them I could get replacement workers.  They said go ahead and try.

While contemplating my options I went to pour myself a cup of coffee.  From a pot that wasn’t that old and had worked just fine at breakfast time.  Nope.  Dead too. 

This was days before I was abandoning my farmer for two weeks to lolly-gag around the Adriatic Sea on a yacht.  It didn’t matter if this was another appliance job action, or not.  Coffee is not an optional part of his diet (or mine either, but I was pretty sure the yacht would have coffee).  Coffee is actual sustenance.  It is required to fire brain cells into action.  I went to town immediately and bought a new coffee maker.

And then I came home and washed one last load of laundry as I packed my suitcase only to discover a small puddle on the laundry room floor when it was time to move the clothes to the dryer. 

“No problem” I told myself.  “It’s only a small puddle.”  It’s not like Mr. Farmer was likely to do a whole bunch of laundry while I was away.  I would just deal with it when I got back.  That logic lasted an hour or two until I had to go to the basement for something for supper.  Whereas there had been a mere puddle upstairs, there was a lake in the room below.  How the water that had cascaded through the dryer vent hole and the drain tube hole hadn’t managed to short out the deep freezes and the water system pumps I don’t know, but I’m grateful.  Obviously, this very unwelcome development could have been even worse.

It was a wet harvest day so we took some togetherness time and dismantled the washing machine, found a toonie-sized hole in the pump, and pronounced that machine dead too.  He left for swathing, I did a quick tour of Circle M’s website and ordered a new one for delivery the week I would get back.  As I drove away I wondered if that was the end of things falling apart.  What would I come home to?

I don’t know if the toilet counts.

It had been giving us trouble for maybe six months or so, but it was while I was gone that it was out-with-the-old-and-in-with-new.  I came home to empty toilet packaging and a derelict washing machine on a trolley out on my deck.  Everyone knows that there is an acknowledged period of mourning for all redneck furniture and appliances, where said items ‘lie in state’ on a deck or front lawn until they are finally taken away.  I was glad to see that this process had already begun without me.

But, this disease of disfunction isn’t done with us yet.  Now my cooktop isn’t working.  It’s not the end of the world – it’s only the center ring of the large element, but wouldn’t you know it?  It’s my favorite element!  I use that one every single meal I cook.  The outer ring still works but the heat is not distributed evenly.  My favorite frying pan doesn’t fit on the smaller elements.  My husband doesn’t think it’s a big deal, but he’s wrong about that.

I’m contemplating what my next move it and meanwhile I finally ordered a couple new clocks.  At least I will be able to see what time supper won’t be ready at.

 

THE OLDER MAN MYSTIQUE

I’ve been in on a few really good conversations lately.

You know the kind: good friends revealing memories and observations, telling their stories, sharing with warmth and laughter the wisdom gained over the years.  Time well spent.

Curiously these conversations weren’t inspired by happy circumstances, but by a couple of recent funeral announcements.  You never know where good conversations are going to come from.

You see, my friends and I are of an age where members of our generation are showing up in funeral announcements on a more regular basis.  We’re not old – well, not that old – but we’re not the robust, invincible, unscarred people of our youth either, and both of these obituaries belonged to guys we had gone to school with.  It got us to reminiscing about those long ago and faraway days when we walked the same hallways our children (and even grandchildren) have walked in this 21^st Century.

How this is even possible is another conversation for another day.

Both of the deceased had spent their entire adult lives elsewhere making our only memories of them 50 years old. The magic of speaking their names conjured up stories of those times, the friendships we were a part of, school experiences we shared with them, and expanded on to include others we hadn’t thought about in decades. These guys had the luxury of never aging in our experience.  Their hairlines had never receded.  They had not developed middle-aged bellies.  Their skin was firm, their smiles dazzling, their voices thrilling.  They were still the ‘hunks’ they had been in the early ‘70s.

Which, of course, lead the conversation in another direction … what is it that puts a guy in the category of ‘hunk’ anyway?

Thankfully as we had matured and actually went looking for life mates our criteria for desirable traits had also evolved, but back then – in junior high – it was all about being an athlete, being cute, and most importantly … being at least one grade higher in school.  We agreed that a guy in your own class could overcome this age standard but he had to be a super athlete and super cute to pull that off.  From what little I observe of adolescent life these days nothing has changed.  We didn’t make this up in 1972, it seems to be hard-wired into the psyche of teen-aged girls. 

Teen-aged boys are oblivious.  This doesn’t seem to have changed either.

Proof of this was in one of my friend’s stories.  She had recently been talking to a guy who she and several of her class mates had thought was pretty special back in the day.  She had even mentioned this fun fact to him during their conversation to which he had told her she must have the wrong guy.  That no girl from school had ever thought of him that way.  That she must be thinking of his brother.  Even this far into life he didn’t understand the concept of the Older Man Mystique.

My friend and I are five years apart; she is the younger one.  The guy in question was my age, we started school together and knew very well by junior high that there was nothing outstanding about anyone in our class.  No mystery.  No undisclosed talents.  No surprises. 

And yet he had my friend and her classmates intrigued, although in 2023 she can’t remember any specific reason why.  Too soon old, too late smart, he was oblivious to his own perceived charm at the time. He was correct about his brother though; that guy was hot … although in 2023 I, as well, can’t exactly remember why.

Maybe it was because he had a driver’s license.

 

BACK IN MY GROOVE

Remember a month ago when I was all about my newest (and best ever) excuse for procrastination?  Remember how I declared that all jobs around here would have to wait “until I got back from Europe”?  That statement was such a lovely mixture of glorious anticipation-of-new-experiences and a healthy dose of suspension-of-household-drudgery.  A trip like that has to be the best reason to avoid work I’ve ever come up with, but I have to warn you – it was only temporary.  I came home and the work was still there.

Life picked right up where I left off.  In the intervening two weeks since touchdown on Canadian soil I have survived three days of jet lag augmented with a head cold, partaken of two different Thanksgiving suppers, anxiously awaited the arrival of my brand-new washing machine and then did three weeks of laundry, dug and stored my potatoes and carrots, and cleaned up my flower beds for the winter.

During my absence the newest version of Covid had made its debut so I took advantage of the ‘Flu and Covid clinic and spent two more days feeling like Superman does when someone slips a dose of Kryptonite into his back pocket. 

And the very first day that I had the energy and some warmth and sunshine I tackled window cleaning.  The song ‘The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades’ blasts through my virtual replay each time I walk into the house.  It’s really cool for us humans that we can actually see out again too.  It’s not so great for birds who are having a hard time adapting to see-through windows and keep flying into them at Mach 3.  Maybe my next excuse for not cleaning windows will be a Save the Birds defense.  I’m always looking for new material.

Throughout all these chores I’ve been spending time thinking about my European experience, showing people the pictures, talking about what we did, the things we learned, the people I met.

Basically, what an adventure like this does is expand one’s understanding of the world.  Listening to our local guides tell the stories of their history with pride and humor offers insight into culture, architecture, and outlook.  When they go on to answer questions about modern day life, I automatically compare what they accept as normal against what I, a middle class Canadian, considers normal in my world.  I don’t do it in a judgemental way, but more to put myself in their shoes and try to see the world through their eyes.  Their entire economy is structured on tourism.  The vast majority of jobs are to serve travellers from other lands.  I can’t see that this wouldn’t get old by the end of the season. 

I am also struck with how diverse, and yet the same, people are.  How different, and yet the same, our days are.  All of us are wrapped up in our own daily tasks, caring for our families, and paying our bills – these are the same the world over.  But climate, history, and global positioning dictate things like diet, culture, and wealth – these are the things that give us contrast.  Since I’ve returned from this holiday I’ve been spending a moment or two sipping my morning coffee and imagining all the different ways this treat is enjoyed as the sun comes up around the globe.  It makes me smile to remember the lovely meals we enjoyed in outdoor cafes along promenades overlooking Mediterranean harbours; I may never get to do that again, but knowing that such a marvelous thing happens every day is wonderful.

Another happy take-away from this trip was how easy and worry free it was.  The trick is to book with a travel group who will take care of all the details for you.  Actually, if you get a good one (and we did) the whole trip was like having the babysitter of your dreams.  Whether you trip in the airport and possibly break your kneecap, or your brand-new suitcase cracks open like an egg on day 2 of 12, things are magically taken care of.  My new motto is “Never leave home without an Agnes!”

The other benefit of travelling with a group is the group experience.  It’s unlikely our paths will cross again but for almost two weeks we shared experiences, conversations, backgrounds … and the odd glass of wine … with lots of laughter.  There was John and Big John, Mike and Janet, Susan and Marsha who looked like a Susan, Anne, Nancy, Astrid, Maryanne, Deb and Dianne, Dan and Dee, and of course Where’s Doug, plus all the others who I can come up with a face but not a name for right now.  Special mention to Linda – it was her invitation that opened this door for me.

As much as I loved the time away though, it is true … there is no place like home even if it means three weeks of laundry and washing windows.  I’m all caught up and it just feels good to bask in the sunshine and wish my husband would believe me when I tell him I’ve completely forgotten how to cook.