The Unwrap

 Christmas has come, and my family has come and gone, well fed and bearing gifts. Mind you, they came bearing gifts.  The YD took a photo of the table loaded with turkey goodness.

I think there is also a shot 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. 

Most confusing is that 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. Still, I am left trying to decide who is walking with Mrs. Obama in the shot described above. Captions, sigh.

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.)

Solstice

 

Winter solstice:

'Tis the Season

 What follows  is a holly, jolly babble about Christmas folly, by golly.

I think all the snail mail Christmas cards are done. If I have missed someone, they will probably think I have up and died, or ‘passed’ as most obituaries say these days. I can’t figure that and I have no intention of passing, thank you. Ave, amicus, morituri te salutant. Or something like that. My Latin is a long way behind me and I was never very good at it. Now to get the cards in the mail. They will probably arrive in 2026, but, hey, I did them.

I have just printed off calendar planning sheets for 2026, speaking of the next year that is almost upon us. We do have Christmas in between. I am Going to Get Organized. (Hey there, ML). Actually, I am probably not going to be organized at all, and my memory banks are going to be as full of holes as my favourite colander, but we will have pages on a clipboard onto which is supposed to be entered all of our appointments with times and locations. This may even happen, but will the sheets get read? Come back next month for a new and enthralling installment. Yeah.

If I sound cranky, it is because I am cranky. Getting Organized is Not Fun. I have lost the last bill from the propane fill, I have not sent off JG’s magazine renewal and it needs enough postage to take it to the States, unless I phone it in, but I have two sets of errands to run tomorrow, AM and PM, so I can’t call until Monday.  Grumble. Must check the wrapping paper supply since I will be next to the source of all things Christmas tomorrow afternoon. Our local dollar store is a festive sink of Christmas Stuff. I am adding a note here that one of my errands got cancelled. The event was a visit to my doctor to have a non-working finger examined. Doctor called in sick and so the finger will now be examined late in January. Must remember to enter that on the calendar sheet.

Anyway, the tree is up and peacefully drinking its water and not shedding. Much. I have not managed to kill my beautiful poinsettia by either over or underwatering it. Yet. My creche is up. Pluses. On the minus side, the downstairs bedroom is covered in storage boxes and I have yet to set up the wrapping station or wrap a single gift. In fact, I have more of this item to buy. Gifts, not wrap. And inspiration is in as short supply as feelings of holly jolliness. Scrooge and me, best buds for the season. Adding a note here that the wrapping station is now ready and three presents (wow) are wrapped and under the tree.

On the other hand, the bank account is in good shape and I can write l holiday cheques for dearest if not nearest. I always loved to get money at Christmas so that I could hit the sales and pick up stuff that I had been craving but would not let myself purchase at full price. You know, I sort of laugh at my daughters’ economical natures, but I have to admit that they are chips off the old blockhead. When they were teenagers they used to grab me and haul me bodily past sale tables. Now we all stop and run an eye over bargains.

The cards I wrote this year were purchased late last December. I have been known to buy gifts through the year when the price was right, hide them and forget either that I bought them or where I hid them.  As a relatively young woman, I did that. Never have had a good memory for necessary stuff. I once lost my car keys for months; they came to light in my summer raincoat pocket when I got it out of storage the next spring. However, I can remember yards of the poetry I learned as a girl, lots of the words of songs, and other bits and pieces. I recite at odd times and get odd glances. Note added here that I just found one and wrapped it. A gift, not a car key. Or a poem.

If foggy, proceed with care. At least the colander is useful.

Never Say Never

 

I have a rather beautiful dining room table. It opens out and leaves can be added to suit the number of diners. At full stretch, with two leaves in it, it seats ten. Because the wood is so pretty, I cherish it. I put on a ‘silencer’, a pad that fits, under a tablecloth if I have guests. And so I have acquired three sizes of tablecloths and underpads, for the closed size, seating four, the single leaf, seating six, and the full size, seating ten or twelve. The photo shows the table at full length but with only three chairs to the side. Four people on each side is quite comfortable, with two smaller chairs added to what you see.

I have hardly ever needed, over the thirty years we have had this table, to seat ten, and for many years I only had one tablecloth to fit the full size, a dark green that worked for Christmas but was okay all year. A few years ago I bought a lovely silver one for Christmas and decided that I would only need it. I gave the underpad to the YD to protect her beautiful centre counter and did something, I have now no idea what, with the green tablecloth.

This last weekend we were visited by two of JG’s nieces, with spouses and one daughter, to visit with our daughters and with us. My wonderful and highly skilled YD volunteered to cater for this visit. If you follow the count, there were ten people to feed. And so we dug the second leaf for the table out from under the bed where it lives, collecting dust and lint, cleaned it, and installed it. I messaged the YD to ask for a loan back of the underpad. But, where was the green tablecloth? The silver Christmas cloth would not do.  I had no idea about the location of the green one. No memory of what happened to it at all. It is quite possible that in a fit of tidying, I gave it away.

I spent a fruitless time searching every drawer and shelf where I thought it might have gone. No green tablecloth. Muttering, I dug out the next biggest one I own and found that it covered the table with no drape at the ends but would have to do. I have cutlery for twelve and plates for that many, so no problem there, and it was not very noticeable that the cloth did not quite cover. Except to me.

My wonderful YD planned, sourced and cooked the meal in my kitchen, with some help from the daughter of the younger niece. This lovely young woman is studying at Queen’s and is on a placement in Ottawa, staying with the YD. It seemed to the nieces to be a good time to visit, seeing her and us at the same time. They had a fraught and snowy trip from the Big City, but made it intact. And the YD arrived with a car full of food, soup, fish and all the trimmings, plus ‘starters’.

She and the daughter prepped, cooked and served a delicious meal. I contributed one pie for dessert. After the meal I found the ED in the kitchen. She had loaded the dishwasher right up to its maximum and was handwashing the residue. Other than the pie, I did nothing. I sat and visited with the family while the whole thing was rolled out, perfectly. I don’t think that at my best I could ever have done it, solo, with such panache.

The menu? Squash soup, two kinds of fish – salmon and whitefish – with baby potatoes, vegetables and trimmings, apple pie and ice cream. And a whole pile of shrimp and two kinds of cheese ahead of this feast. All cooked perfectly.

So, the ‘never’? I will not ever, (oops) tell myself that I will never need something again. Because, as sure as paint, an occasion will arise … yeah.