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.

SUNSHINE AND HISTORY

I’ll set the scene a little here: I’m sitting under a sun canopy on the top deck of a yacht under sail to yet another of the many islands in the Adriatic Sea.  The tour excursion guide has told us repeatedly how many islands there are but my poor aging brain only has so much storage capacity so I’m letting some of the details slip.  We are a group of 34and I haven’t even got half the names straight yet, let alone who the married couples are.  So far I haven’t missed the boat or been late for dinner so I’ve the important things covered.

Our first two days in Croatia were rainy but we are back to hot and sunny now.  Regardless, we went on the walking tours to learn about the history of the place.  The details of names and dates are lost on me but the gist of it is that this region has been taken over/conquered/annexed multiple times over the last 2000 years and each period shows a different type of architecture, and depending on how much was destroyed when the next batch took over, there can be three different styles of buildings on the same street.  (And by ‘street’ I mean tiny cobblestoned passages between buildings.). The way my brain picks up information I tend to store bits of trivia, hence I know now that if you see the symbol of lions with wings it means that the Venetians have been there.  I’m certain that will come up in conversation some day ….

The first couple of days was all land tours.  We have traveled by bus to different places.  We have hiked up and down canyons along a little chain of uniquely blue lakes and countless waterfalls, and we’ve seen several places that were used as sets for Game of Thrones.  The main industry here is tourism but they also grow olives and grapes for wine.  I think today will be our third oil and wine tasting session.  If I keep this up I should be pretty good at it by the time I get home.

Everyone has their own point of context though.  The young people come to destinations like this to party.  The older ones come for warmth and to see the world.  While I am in that bracket, I am also a farmer.  As the bus, and now the boat, travel past the countryside a little voice inside my head keeps asking “why on earth would anyone want to conquer this land?”  There is nothing here but rock.  Oh okay, there’s that wine and olive oil thing, but really? There has got to be easier places to grow them.

Regardless, they came and they conquered.

Repeatedly.

This morning as the party crowd and the adventurous swim off the back of the yacht I’m sitting on the upper deck and pondering the skyline.  When I travel west on #1 between Swift Current and Medicine Hat I am always struck that the land is so open and vast and vacant.  What went through the minds of the first European explorers and settlers when confronted with such endlessness?  Weren’t they afraid of the unknown?

And now I gaze out over the Adriatic Sea from my perch on the top deck of a modern yacht and try to put myself in the shoes of the ancient mariners in their tiny wooden boats.  How fearless they must have been. How did they know where to go?  How did they stay safe from storms and dangerous shores? 

Maybe they didn’t conquer for any other reason than they had found solid ground and weren’t going to give it up again.

 

AS SOON AS I GET BACK FROM EUROPE

The windows need washing.  They are all dirty but the bathroom window is atrocious – robins built a nest just above it and left a full bird family’s excrement over the summer.  Numerous species of flies have tried to match this gross calling card on other windows too.  As disgusting as they all are though, I’m not going to wash them yet. I will do the job when I get back from Europe.

Isn’t that a cool thing to say when you announce your plans to procrastinate?  Just out and say “I’ll do it as soon as I get back from Europe!”

Firstly, it sounds so blasé and worldly, all at the same time.  It’s out-of-the-ordinary and has a lovely fairy-tale ring to it. 

I know; I live a boring life and am easily charmed.

Secondly, I am a world class procrastinator.  If procrastination were an Olympic sport, I would have a room full of gold medals.  Mind you, they would all still be in boxes because I would never get around to displaying them - that’s just how good I am. 

What greater way to say “That’ll never get done” than to put it off “till I get back from Europe”?

The thing is I am also a truth teller.  As bizarre as it sounds, I am about to go to Europe, and not a word of a lie here, I do not intend to wash my windows until I get back.  I only have four days left before departure.  I don’t have time for windows right now.

What I do have in front of me is a list of more immediate concerns … like my hair and nails.  Obviously, I am a procrastinator with a vanity problem.

On a more serious note, I plan to prepare two weeks worth of meals to keep my husband from starvation while I am gone.  It’s not that he can’t cook for himself but at this time of the year he works long hours.  Microwaving a prepared meal is way easier than starting from scratch.  It also keeps the man-cooking mess to a minimum.  I’m all for that; I already have all those windows to do when I get home, remember?

The other biggy on my ‘To Do’ list is packing.  I’ve been kind of working on that all summer, trying to picture what a person wears while touring medieval churches and wandering down cobblestone streets.  Do I have the right clothing for sipping coffee at a quaint little sidewalk café? The itinerary mentions a day at a national park – I will need good walking shoes. There will be beaches to explore and we are warned to bring water shoes.  Part of the trip is sailing between islands on the Adriatic Sea with our final evening a fancy Captain’s Dinner – I better bring something nice for that.  Or, maybe I can buy something ‘European exotic’ instead?  Now there’s a thought.

So far all I have is an open suitcase on the guest bed with my passport, a European power converter plug, and an envelope of Croatian Euros in it, plus a whole bunch of clothing laid across the bed in my ‘possibility pile’.  I will get there.  I do still have four days.

I seem to have come to a transition in the last day or two.  Up until last night, whenever I woke at 4:00 am to ponder middle-of-the-night problems it was the regular stuff that wouldn’t let me go back to sleep.  Last night I got to thinking about the details of this trip.  The flights I would be on, the time zones I would be in, the people I would be meeting.  This has been in the works since Easter but now it’s getting real.  I’m about to explore a foreign land, soak up history, try local cuisine, travel on a yacht, plus a hundred other adventures with a bunch of other people who are interested in, and looking forward to, the same things.  It just doesn’t get any better than that.

I’ve got to clean up my garden and defrost the deep freezes too.  I’ll do that as soon as I get back from Europe.

I just like saying it.