The Unwrap

 Christmas has come, and my family has come and gone, well fed and bearing gifts. Mind you, they came bearing gifts. I think the ED took a photo of the tree surrounded by boxes and bags. Must see if I can add it. We had an orgy of things, including an amazing range of cookies baked for Grandpa by she who is no longer known as Little Stuff. Grandpa was instructed to put some of the containers of these treats into the freezer; he is probably stocked up for months. I got a box of my own, of my favourites. As well as carefully chosen objects of virtue, much chocolate was exchanged. My boxes are sitting beside this keyboard and I think I may have to put at least one into the freezer as well before I expand beyond the capacity of my glorious new sweaters to stretch.

There are two gifts, however, that require description. One is a glorious ‘tabletop’ book, by Michelle Obama.

I have paged through it once and will read it again with more care. The photos are gorgeous, the production of them is excellent and there are, um, a whole lot of them. My one complaint is that the full page spreads do not have page numbers on them, I guess because the producers of the book did not want to spoil the beauty of the layout. This makes it very difficult to figure out who is pictured in some of them. You are directed to go to the notes in the back and there are page numbers with the information there , but there is no easy way to tie these numbers to the photos. 

There is a whole chapter on reception clothing with multiple photos that have no captions or numbers. I finally identified a photo of the reception of the Canadian Prime Minister and his wife (Trudeau junior at that time) by spotting part of his head and Mrs. Trudeau’s shoulder and recognising a bit of her (very  ugly I thought) dress. I now have page 203 pinned down and may have to put sticky notes on the earlier and later full page photos in that chapter, my memory being what it is. Worth it, though.

The book is really a 'must' read, lack of numbers and all. Mrs. Obama and her staff have all contributed full and useful explanations as to why she chose to wear various looks and how they were achieved, providing a fascinating look into a very exotic life event. Specifically for a Caucasian like me who just gets her thin straight hair chopped off at frequent intervals, the discussion of how ‘African’ hair is styled and disciplined is amazing. Would you believe most of a day every week? Yikes.

Another gift that is going to take up most of a week, or probably more, is a jigsaw puzzle given to me by the YD. One thousand pieces and look at it! 

She did say she would help me with it, and that is a good thing, or a week would not even get me started. My grandkid says I will learn a lot about birds from doing it. She was laughing as she offered this comment. I may wait until she visits to start trying to assemble.

I am two chocolate truffles down. I really have to move that box away from here. 

I was given four books in total and am just starting the second, Margaret Atwood’s autobiography – Book of Lives, A Memoir of Sorts. So far I have read about her high school career and was most amused by the description of what could have been, in some parts, my own experience. She has two years of seniority on me and so we suffered through the same events. Departmental exams, for one. I may have to quote that passage, as you almost have to be as old as we are to know what those were. “At the end of Grade Thirteen was a sadistic torture event known as ‘The Departmentals’. This was a series of exams – one for each subject you were taking - set by an unknown committee and written by every student in Grade Thirteen across the province. Your pass or fail and your high or low marks determined whether you would get into a university and which one, and whether you would win a scholarship.” You wrote these in June, in blistering, non-air-conditioned heat. And waited until almost August to get the results. “Torture Event” is not an exaggeration. 

My goodness but that woman can write!

As described, we had a lovely day, with much turkey and all the trimmings to follow the grand ripping. My wonderful daughters, plus the outlaw* and the grandkid, did all the planning and preparation, all the work and cleanup. After sixty odd years of being the madwoman in the kitchen, I found this the best gift of all.

(*My daughter and her partner have been together for over a quarter century. But they are not conventionally married. And so, while he may be a son in common law, I think outlaw works better.)