Traditions of Love

The holiday season for me and my family is Christmas - or as my semi Jew-ish daughters like to call it - chrismukkah. The Popsicle stick Star of Davids that adorn the tree - a subtle reminder of our diverse family.

Something that me and my girls share is the love of our traditions that have been lovingly established over the years. We are staunch keepers of the "traditions" and there is little wiggle room for change. Suggest that the rustic garland made of cereal (an art project from yesteryear) not be put on the tree and you risk mutiny and a chorus of jeers and protests. We are however open to starting new traditions ...

And that is what I did. In these times of excess and commercialism, I wanted to give an experiential gift to the women in my life who guide, support and love me. Thus the annual Christmas Tea for the Ladies in My Life was born. Today we celebrated our second such gathering. The rustic high beamed inn was decked out in full seasonal finery, complete with roaring fire in the over-sized fireplace, garlands dripping with ornaments and a tree that was so bedazzling I was hunting for my shades. Not even the hot flash power surges that were plaguing me could compete with the warmth that I felt sitting with these lovely ladies all around me. How lucky am I?

Truth be told, the sandwiches were a little dehydrated, and the whole food part seemed much like an afterthought. However these minor disappointments weren't enough to dampen my spirit - nor the ladies'. For a few hours we came together to catch up, laugh together and share stories. It is my gift to them -- but mostly a gift I give myself. I love these women and I don't think I can express it enough to them.

Our tradition of love has started strongly, and I can only hope that it will be one that we honour for years to come. Counting my blessings this season of peace and love...

The ladies in my life - 40's, 50's, 60's, and 90's

Remains of the Day

Kitty can't wait!

Things haven't turned out exactly as planned. Somewhere along the line my perfectly concocted activity timeline fell off the rails. So I am kind of in a state of disorganization -- or what I like to call organized chaos. To save myself a thousand words, here are some pictures of my current state of affairs ...

Pre-platter fruit for Christmas morning ... laying in waiting.

Adventures in baking - currant and cranberry scones.

 "Green" adventures in wrapping.Tea towels anyone?

Casualties of baking ... mess!

And more mess ... how many sleeps until Christmas??

So these busy, crazy days leading up to Christmas are to be cherished and enjoyed. So what if the cookies are a little burned crunchy or the house - a little cluttered; that's what closets are for! I am staying the course and avoiding the "stress" word. It's all good. The gift of Christmas is in the doing, not the booing. And this good cheer is a present to myself.

Two more sleeps ...

Sunday Cooking Bliss

Gord Lightfoot is crooning "Softy" in the background - and there's no one around (but Fritz) to complain. Perfectly chilled glass of wine - the white variety - poured in a stemless - seemed more practical for cooking to sip as I cook. Chopping carrots, parsnips, onions and rutabaga (we called them turnips when I was growing up - and I still do) for the oven roast. Bliss. That's what this ritual of cooking Sunday dinner is ... pure bliss.

I rubbed the sirloin roast with the mixture of herbs and spices I pulled from our cupboard collection. I try really hard not to lick my fingers as I cook ... I try really hard. A quick blast in the fry pan to brown it and then the slab of meat was popped into the oven, with only the veggies to keep it company.

Now comes the pay off ... the homey aroma of  the meat roasting is filling the house. And it's making me a little weepy. No - it isn't the wine! The aroma (and Gordon's lyrics) trigger memories of countless Sunday dinners cooked by my grandmother, my mother, my father, my husband, my father in law ... and now me. They conjure up the sights and sounds of an overcrowded dining room table, loud chatter, people reaching across to pass the food, a spill or two (usually caused by me), and pure bliss.

I miss those who are no longer among us to sit around our table ... but I remember them all. And I work hard to continue the tradition. Actually the tradition is in the gravy making ....

Gotta go -- Early Morning Rain is playing and it requires my full attention. Gosh - am I hungry!

Good Friday!

The sun came screaming in through my kitchen window this morning. SPRING!! I knew you would be back. Let's home this time it's to stay. Nothing says spring like deeply coloured tulips so I couldn't resist picking some up when I was out doing some last minute errands. With the holiday most of the stores were closed - except (thankfully) for the Indian owned Hasty Market and the little convenience store down the street. I spent a good part of the day at my daughter's place helping her prepare for the Passover seder. We laughed as we cleaned, chopped and boiled and had a chance to show her the gravy secrets first hand. Watching her carefully set her table, making sure each detail was in place made me feel so proud of her appreciation for her family traditions and her willingness to make sure they continue.

I also spent the day with hubby cleaning and getting ready for our big Easter dinner we are hosting tomorrow. It started off with only 8 of us and as the week progressed, more family members signed on ... and I couldn't be happier. Definitely the more the merrier. So it will be ham and turkey tomorrow and that's just the relatives! My parents and a nephew will be the only ones missing this holiday so we will raise a glass to them - and they will be there in heart.

As I write this, middle daughter and Fritz and I are snuggled on the couch. Daughter is watching a rerun of Friends and Fritz is snoozing with his head in the space between my laptop and my tummy. He gave up on trying to get me to hit the sack and checked out early.

It's been a wonderful day - and tomorrow will be even better. It wasn't just Good Friday -- it was a great Friday.
Fritz being a helper in the kitchen ...

It's The Real Thing ...

Today was a great day; one that marked a very important tradition in our family -- decorating our Christmas tree. Old dusty boxes were retrieved from the various storage nooks and my hubby set up and readied our artificial tree. Yup - artificial. For years I felt that I was taking the environmentally friendly option by not killing a living tree for the pleasure of having it in my living room for a mere two weeks. I now feel very differently ... regrets -- I've had a few.

I am embarrassed by my unnaturally perfect, unnatural tree - that - once I am finished with it - will end up in a landfill, not decomposing forever and ever. The other problem I have is that half my family (me included) are seriously allergic to the live trees. What to do??

For now I have decided to keep using my already purchased artificial tree until it can be used no more. It would be pointless to retire it to a landfill prematurely solely to assuage my shame and guilt.

One thing that isn't artificial though - the warm and fuzzy feeling I get watching my girls "Christmasize" our home. Lights, stockings, garlands and ornaments. Finally - it's beginning to look alot like Christmas -- and it's the real thing!

Sunday Night Dinner

There was a moment, just before falling asleep when I asked myself what I would do differently if I knew I only had a few months to live. The answer was a simple - nothing. I wouldn't do anything differently with one exception - I would have dinner with my family more often.

So - at the beginning of the summer I made a goal to have my Dad and his wife over for dinner every Sunday night. The thought was that even though there would surely be some Sundays that we would have to cancel, we would get together more than if we didn't plan.

Sunday night dinners can be alot of work. More importantly, they can be a magical time for families - special times that make all the work worthwhile.

It starts with a quick knock at the door followed immediately by the sound of the door opening and greetings of "hello -- we're here ...". Chaos ensues - Fritz (our mini schnauzer) barks wildly, crushing hugs are exchanged with kisses and greetings and laughter. We relieve our guests of their culinary contributions of pie plates and roasting pans - the whole time busily chattering. Corks are popped, wine flows, and the family affair swings into full gear!

There is a scene from "Annie Hall" where Diane Keaton and Woody Allen have dinner with Woody Allen's character's parents. Everyone is yelling across the table at one another, standing up to reach for things, engrossed in their own conversations. The conversation was the main deal - and the food - secondary. Kinda like our family dinners.

Tonight our table included my dad and his wife, my husband and two daughters, and my step-mom's 91 year old mom. It wasn't long after my dad retold the story of his childhood friend Stumps that conversation turned to debate - about the US presidential election. Things got lively! My dad played devil's advocate and my daughters bit. The 16 year old gave three minute dissertations with barely a breath and my 25 year old served as fact checker, correcting as she saw fit - quoting bits of wisdom from the blogs and boards.

We have a nasty habit of finishing one another's sentences and talking on top of one another. My husband has pointed this out to me on several occasions. Maybe that's why he pops a Motrin before dinner and gently massages his temples amid the chatter.

At the end of night, just as we started to leave, my dad said that he was so pleased that he had two granddaughters at the table who were interested in and knew about politics and what is going on in the world. Of course he extended his pride to his four children (me included) and used the moment as an opportunity to expound on the importance of voting and participating in the democratic process.

The wine was corked. The table cleared and the cooks praises sung. Hugs and kissed were exchanged amidst giddy agreements that tonight was great; that our family is great; and aren't we lucky to have more to look forward to.

I am lucky. My girls are lucky. Each dinner is a treasure trove for the memory box and satisfies our hearts as much as our bellies. Sunday night dinners -- a sacred tradition - worth the effort.