Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 52

Tags

Christmas, covid-19 diary, dear diary, family, holiday, humour

Dear Diary – Thursday evening I received a text from the School Board: Schools were closed on Friday due to the storm. Schools never close in the city. Buses are cancelled but, like the postman, any student within “walking distance” is expected to attend in wind, sleet, snow or hail! For both kids, walking distance has always been 20 minutes or more. It always seemed terribly fair that while my kids were expected to slog through knee-deep snow while the north wind peels their face off, the bus kids get to sleep until noon in cozy beds. I walked to school; it was the same for me.

The last I had heard, snow and possibly some freezing rain were coming our way. Crappy for being out in, but we live in Canada, and “crappy” is always synonymous with winter. I decided just to be thankful for the blessing of no class, and keep motoring on. Christmas was just around the corner and I had a chocolate swiss roll to bake for Hubby’s birthday.

Thursday evening, Youngest Son and I had rehearsal for the Christmas Eve service. He was being trained on camera and lights and I was singing Christmas carols. It was raining when we left home…and still raining when we started home. We were both in good spirits and feeling nibbly so I swung into the closest Tim’s to home. The driveway was blocked by cones but the lights were on and someone was inside. We sloshed through the icy water and rain to the front door, but the door was locked. I could see one employee inside, dumping honey dip doughnuts in the bin. “Noooo” I whimpered, but it was too late. Dejectedly we drove to the Shopper’s next door for chocolate.

It was not the same.

Dear Diary – It wasn’t a lot of snow but the wind made it appear so as it tossed and twisted it in every direction for hours. Hubby tried to clear the driveway at one point, but for every shovelful removed, he received three more in the face. I was very thankful I didn’t have to go out in it. I wonder how Santa feels about snow?

Dear Diary – We made it to Christmas Eve! It was bitter cold and the wind was still blowing pretty good, but the sun was shining. I spent the morning washing dishes, cooking potatoes for champ, and getting ready for the Christmas Eve service. Mom called in the morning to wish Hubby a happy birthday and to let me know that their area was in a state of emergency. Roads were closed including over 1,000 km of the main provincial highway. They even closed…the Malls!

It was unlikely there were going to make it to my house on Sunday.

We went for an Irish lunch at my brother-in-law’s place, minus my father-in-law who had decided to stay home before the first flake fell. And after a short visit, we headed to the church to prepare for the Christmas Eve service. The service was beautiful, and I had a first rate seat. As we sang the final carol, Silent Night, I watched flames light up, row by row, in the sanctuary (attached to candles. No one was torching the sanctuary), and all the stress of the last few weeks melted away.

It was snowing lightly when we left, the roads still partially covered where it continued to drift. We passed a few cars in a ditch. Someone was not having a peaceful night.

We had spaghetti and chocolate swiss roll birthday cake with homemade strawberry-cranberry jam for dinner. But not at the same time.

I talked to Mom again. They definitely weren’t coming on Sunday. I was disappointed but I would rather Christmas be postponed than something happen and I would grieve forever.

I talked to Eldest Son too. He only made it part-way to his girlfriend’s and got stuck in a drift. A tow truck driver got him unstuck, and later witnessed Eldest Son spinning out in a glorious display, like a rumba dancer, as he headed home, alone.

I went to bed missing some of my favourite people. I no longer cared about home-baked treats and a pretty table. I just wanted to be together.

I wonder if Mary missed her Mom too.

Dear Diary – It started out not feeling like Christmas. I didn’t know if Eldest Son was going to make it. Or his girlfriend and her sister. Or even my folks and Auntie M.

It was no longer snowing here. We slept in. I put on my plaid dress and soldiered on with my dinner plans.

I talked to Mom and found out they were going to “rescue” Auntie M and have their own celebration and Eldest Son arrived around lunchtime.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Soon the bells will start
And the thing that will make them ring
Is the carol that you sing right within your heart

Meredith Willson

We opened gifts. We basted the turkey and started the stuffing. We dished out pickles and 2 kinds of cranberry sauce. And we waited for Eldest Son’s girlfriend to arrive for dinner. We feasted and curled up in the candlelight to watch a movie. And I went to bed with anticipation. The rest of my family was going to make a break for it and try to come in the morning.

Dear Diary – All is calm. All is bright. Mom, Dad and Auntie M arrived for brunch on Boxing Day, and what a brunch: bagels and cream cheese, crackers and cheese, veggies and dip, mini quiche, homemade doughnuts, cookies and cake! I won’t ever need to eat again.

Dear Diary – I ate again. We did a re-run of the big turkey dinner. And with everyone’s help, dishes were soon washed and put away. Especially those dishes that are used only every 10 years. We opened gifts and played games, and swapped stories of Christmases past. Eldest Son’s girlfriend headed home, and soon after we all kissed good-night.

Dear Diary – I’m so thankful I had accidentally thawed all that meat and was forced to make soup, because that’s what we had for lunch. It was our final hurrah before Mom, Dad and Auntie M headed home. I have plans to join them in a few days. Then we connected with my father-in-law, who managed to dig out and head this way.

No one starved. The toilet didn’t give out until after everyone was gone. And my biggest take-away? I’m not ready to be in charge of the Christmas celebrations.

After years of travelling with kids and guinea pigs, I sometimes wondered what Christmas would look like at home. I don’t know if it’s because I’m older, and the kids are too, but Christmas has lost some of its magic. Seeing how much work goes into organizing the meals (I had 5 lists to keep me organized) and other assorted items (like t.p.), I much more understand and greatly appreciate all my Mom has undertaken year after year, to keep it magical. From the decorations to the pretty table, from the pickles to the turkey, it’s a stinking lot of work!!

The most magical part of all was being together. Once we were under the same roof, everything was alright.

How many of us, I wonder, can recall that childhood moment when we experienced happiness as a state of being. That single moment of untarnished joy. That moment when everything in our world, inside and out, was alright. Everything was alright. And then we became adults…

Professor Coreman, Hector and the Search for Happiness

Dear Diary – I just heard. There will be no Christmas next year. Santa got arrested on Christmas Eve.

Dear Diary – I’ll see you on the other side!

I’m heading to my folks for New Year’s Eve with Youngest Son. It’s possible Eldest Son will be coming too. Right now, he’s torn about where to spend New Year’s Eve. I told him we’ll take him whatever he decides, but it is one of the first big Eve’s he’s had a girl to kiss at midnight, instead of his ol’ ma! 😉

Welcome change, embrace adventure and make this new year one you’ll never forget!

Dear Quarantine Diary-Week 51

Tags

baking, Christmas, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, food, holiday, humour, shopping

Dear Diary – We made the mistake of going to the Mall Saturday afternoon. The word “zoo” was fitting in some ways. The parking lot was quite full; cars circled like vultures hoping for a spot. Heaven help anyone who even considered swooping in to steal it. Cars crowded the entrances/exits to the lot from the main road and car horns punctuated like angry geese.

The tension in the air was palpable.

Inside, teenage girls in crop tops meandered in small herds like sheep, each one grasping bubble tea. They blocked entrances and aisles as they huddled around displays discussing the latest gossip. Shopping was a social event. A few shoppers reminded me of bison, as they bullied their way through the crowds, bumping and banging anyone in their path. While still others vacant-eyed with red, rosy cheeks and stooped shoulders from heavy winter clothing, and hands laden with coloured bags. They scanned shelves in desperation for one. more. gift before loping down the hallway, like injured rhinos.

We headed to the shoe department, where a weary grandfather nodded and grimaced like a hyena at his granddaughter as she fawned over little pink sequined shoes. Obviously the hordes were getting to him. Or he was tired of entertaining his granddaughter while Mom or Grandma shopped somewhere else.

Youngest Son needed winter boots. He’d outgrown his during Covid shutdowns, and since he had no need to go out (or even get dressed every day), we didn’t notice.

Youngest Son does not enjoy shopping, or crowds, or trying on boots. His feet are also a common size, so his options were limited. We found a pair. Then he tailed me like a baby duckling to the check out line at the back of the store, while Hubby went to look at winter jackets.

I should have known better.

It was the last Saturday before Christmas Eve day. The line was at least 30 people deep, some with carts piled high. Most only had a couple of items clutched to their chests. The only thing they all had in common were glazed eyes, like koala bears that have sampled too many eucalyptus leaves. We slowly shuffled forward like penguins in a line as the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Though dressed in a Fall jacket I soon too started to overheat.

Eventually Hubby came looking for us. He had been waiting “awhile” and thought maybe we miscommunicated where to meet. He texted me…but I forgot my cell phone at home.

After we purchased the boots, Youngest Son and I went to Indigo while Hubby ventured to the far end of the Mall to look at coats. Brave soul!

I purchased one of Hubby’s gifts when I purchased Youngest Son’s birthday present online. But I couldn’t find the gift. In the house. Anywhere. Online it said it was delivered with Youngest Son’s gift, but I had no recollection whether it had or not. The packaging box was still in the office but it was empty. I checked the bin where I hide gifts…for this very reason! I lose them. I didn’t really want to purchase another one because a) it’s not something you need two of, and b) I knew as soon as I did, I would find it.

I left the store empty-handed. It might have been in there, but my claustrophobia kicked in. Instead, Youngest Son tailed me as I slowly walked up and down the hallway waiting for Hubby. I desperately wanted to look at women’s clothing, but I couldn’t shake my duckling.

Once Hubby returned, after what seemed an eternity, I begged for one minute to pop into a store. My duckling followed me…closely followed by Hubby. I don’t know if you’ve ever shopped with 2 men who would rather be anywhere else, but it is not relaxing. I can flit through a store like a hummingbird when I’m short on time or I’m looking for something specific. Either they do or don’t have something that catches my eye. But with these two in tow, I was in and out of there like a hummingbird high on sugar syrup!

We made it to the car, although the guys had to wait for me. The number of predators circling the lot had doubled. So had the level of impatience. I was amazed we escaped in one piece. I was also thankful we had gone when we did, as hundreds of cars with Iranian flags and effigies, filled the main street in a peaceful protest. It was a good reminder that I live in a city of many cultures, and that we are blessed here in Canada in so many ways. We have much for which to be thankful as we gather with family and friends this season.

Dear Diary – I baked a beautiful pumpkin swiss roll for a Christmas party, which I did not attend.

My guys used the joke, “what’s brown and sticky?” Normally the answer would be: “A stick”. Their answer was “Mom’s log”. To which Hubby added, “and it has a nice swirl”.

After much discussion, I decided last minute that I didn’t want to risk getting Covid. I let the organizers know that I wasn’t coming BUT I would still deliver my dessert (and gift for the game) when I delivered Youngest Son at his party at the church. We were taking a chance there too, but after years of isolation, he needed to be there.

The plate (and my gift from the game) was returned on Sunday and it was empty. I guess it was good! 🙂

Now I have to make a chocolate one for Hubby’s birthday. He was born on Christmas Eve…so double the shopping. Just not this close to Christmas!

Dear Diary – Since Hubby is home all week on vacation, he’s been picking up Youngest Son after class. Yesterday I didn’t go with him because I was making our cranberry sauce (and measuring out the ingredients for the spicy cranberry sauce). I went ahead and made Kraft Dinner for lunch. Hubby surprised me by bringing home Wendy’s fries. Youngest Son piled both in a bowl. His reasoning? They both get topped with ketchup!

Dear Diary – I gave Hubby a deadline: clear the dining room table by 9 a.m. Friday morning. It’s covered in boxes and piles of paper and binders left from the months he worked at home. Post-Covid, his office also moved locations so he has less space for his stuff, which is why it’s still living here. But I need my dining table for Christmas dinner.

So far, he has emptied many binders but most of the paper has to be shredded. We have a shredder, also in the dining room, but it can only handle 1 sheet of paper at a time…and it overheats after about 20. Then it won’t work for an hour. We have enough paper to last all next year. Our home is small, our possessions meager, and at this point, I’m not sure the deadline will be met, but on the plus side, our kids will inherit a lifetime supply of paper clips.

Dear Diary – Hubby took his car to the dealership to get some work done this morning. He texted that the mechanics saw the mouse in his air filter. The mouse moved in during the months and months that Hubby was working from home during Covid. It left evidence of his presence last Spring in shredded napkins on the floor, a gnawed granola bar in the glove box, and poop in the coffee holder. With no new evidence we had assumed he moved out when summer temperatures soared.

I asked him if it was alive. He replied that “apparently there was some yelling in the shop”. Did that mean they got it? He didn’t know. I told him to find out. I might recoil if I encountered a snake, but with a mouse, I scream and flail like an inflatable windsock guy before I run away. I’m so thankful it never ran under my feet when I was driving. I have driven with spiders in the car, even stopping at a stop sign once and evacuating the car, much to the surprise of the driver behind me. I shudder to think what would happen with a mouse.

Apparently the mouse is now living in the car bay at the dealership. It ran away. The mechanics found a huge nest, as well as a dead mouse in the air filter. Perhaps there’d been a game of thrones scenario under the hood and dead mouse was a trophy? We’ll never know. The car’s been sprayed with mouse repellent, but I plan to continue avoiding Hubby’s car as much as possible. One can never be too careful!

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

Unknown

Dear Diary – This week has been all about food! With Christmas counting down and an edited baking wish list, I baked sour dough muffins with craisins soaked in rum. My father birthed the sour dough starter during the pandemic and he continues to supply bread, muffins and pancakes from it. He shared some with me a few months ago and I have kept it alive despite not using it as regularly as I should or feeding it properly. Between my last bake and this week, it has doubled in size inside the fridge. I’ve nicknamed it Frankenstein.

I baked more shortbread cookies…because we are all the others. Low on time, I opted not to decorate them. I used sprinkles instead. As they cooled, I remembered…I still have earl grey glaze in the fridge.

I made Salvation doughnuts yesterday, something I remember making with my Mom and grandparents, and something I have done with my kids. This recipe was used by Salvation Army volunteers in abandoned buildings near the front lines during World War I. They hoped to improve the morale of the soldiers far from home. In less than ideal conditions, helmets were sometimes used to hold the oil for frying. I used my Mom’s deep fryer instead.

I had to wait until Hubby got home. I couldn’t get the bottle of oil open. The lid just spun and spun. He tried that too…until he noticed…it just popped off.

Some would say love is the key. I say…it’s this:

Nana’s thimble!

Dear Diary – Christmas is only 3 sleeps away, and I hear Santa has the Blues.

Be kind to him and have a Merry Christmas!

Chocolate Babka

Tags

baking, bread, Christmas, food, holiday, humour

I often hear devoted bakers say cheesy things like “the secret ingredient is love”.

“With enough butter, anything is good,” said Julia Child, and I agree.

Especially when I’m the baker.

Certainly there is joy in making something for someone special, and a real sense of accomplishment when they enjoy it (and it turns out right – that’s when I really experience joy). Baking can also have a real zen effect on some individuals and help them cope with stress or mental illness. The rest of us end up breaking down and sobbing on the floor like a toddler, with brown paste on our faces and flour on our clothes. So why do I do it? I have yet to answer that question.

With Christmas morning alarmingly close, and the foreknowledge that there will be more bodies in my house than my house can comfortably accommodate (but we’re family right?), I’m editing my baking “wish list” and focusing on the items that I most want to provide (and a few that Eldest Son requested…most of his favs are non-bake so much, much easier). That included chocolate babka.

I first attempted this sweet, braided bread or cake last year. It originated in the Jewish communities of Poland and Ukraine. It literally translates as “grandmother” in Polish. Made with yeast and enriched with loads of butter, it is truly a labour of love. Or at least serious “like” because making it is a commitment! It takes 2 days.

Is it worth it? Yes. Yes it is!

Step one was making the actual dough and I used my mixer and dough hook. Normally, I opt for kneading by hand, but this time a dough hook is my best friend. Why? Because the dough is super sticky. Once it’s on your hands, it will require intense scrubbing, the kind your grandma invoked when she washed your face after dinner, leaving your skin burning and red.

Judging how long to mix the dough required some intuition, something that long been established is not my strong suit. The recipe simply said “until the comes away from the bowl” about 10 minutes. Having made bread in the past, I know what that looks like, but Hubby challenged my abilities, creating doubt. He’s not the bad guy, however, There is such much butter that the dough never really “comes away”. In fact, when you scrape the sides of your mixer bowl, the dough just kind of smears like…well butter. Eventually I made the call. I oiled it, wrapped it in plastic wrap and tucked it in the fridge for the night.

Sunday afternoon, I hesitatingly pulled it out. As it started to warm up, I set about making the filling.

The first task was chopping my bittersweet chocolate…8 ounces of it! Again, this recipe said to chop it medium fine, which led to a family discussion about what constituted medium. I knew it was going inside the dough, so I wanted it to be at least as small as my fingernail. But I wasn’t the one chopping, so we compromised and I moved on the second task: The Chocolate Mixture.

The filling is a mixture of sugar, cocoa, cinnamon and more butter. I decided to use my hand mixer because my stand mixer bowl was in a pile by the sink waiting to be washed, the edge cemented in in yellow dough. Within seconds, I was enveloped in a brown cocoa cloud. On the plus side, my hair now smelled like cinnamon, but my lungs were complaining. Even though the butter had been sitting on the counter for more than 24 hours, it was still firm. Using my creativity, I carefully draped a hand towel around 3/4 of the bowl and prayed that the towel wouldn’t mix with the beaters, and that the butter would mix with everything else.

Rolling out the dough went smoothly and I started to feel optimistic once again. It’s also a great upper body workout.

Sure my rectangle wasn’t quite a perfect rectangle, but it was close. This wasn’t baseball. It was more like horseshoes or handgrenades.

Now for the fun part – spreading my chocolate mixture on my dough. It proved to be both a difficult and messy task because the dough was super soft. It was kind of like trying to spreading diaper cream on a squirming toddler. Funny I should mention toddler, as the chocolate mixture was firm yet sticky, and brown like poo. I started having flashbacks, and not good ones.

I sprinkled my questionable medium blocks of chocolate, rolled that dough and stuck it in the freezer. Unlike last year, they looked like squat and rotund, but it was too late.

I preheated my oven. I lined with loaf pans with silicone mats…because I was too lazy to carefully cut parchment paper to fit.

And after 15 minutes, I sliced my beautiful babies in two and twisted them together. Hubby helped me shove manhandle slide the maimed loaves in the pans and I tucked them into the oven to become soft, flaky deliciousness.

I should have read the instructions more carefully. Something that should be posted in large red letters in my kitchen. Once the loaves were baked (Yes Hubby, I was sure), I pulled them out to cool on the rack. Mistake! They started to fall apart. They’re supposed to cool in the pan for awhile before poking them and pouring over a sugar syrup. Instead I poked and syruped on the rack, with a cookie sheet underneath for drips. I can learn from my mistakes!

As soon as they were cool and before the wolves descended, I wrapped my babkas and they are now sleeping with the fish sticks. The kitchen is a disaster. There’s flour, chocolate, cocoa and cinnamon on every surface, and I may never remove the cement from my mixing bowls. My cookie sheet is covered in a pool of sugar and I have to bake more shortbread cookies because they’re all gone.

But I can proudly display my striped babka turds on the dining table, assuming all of Hubby’s boxes are removed, at Boxing Day brunch. I’m sure it tastes better than it looks!

It will go great with a well-deserved cup of tea!

Happy Monday!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 50

Tags

bad drivers, Christmas, family, humour, pets

In the past, I have encountered the odd parent who stops just short of the driveway to the parking lot to drop off their precious darling. Occasionally they stop in the entrance to the driveway, but with some deep breathing exercises, I’ve learned to hold off road rage long enough for their precious darling to get out and parent to move on.

I was not so fortunate today. There was a car blocking the entrance to the parking lot, which not only blocked me from getting in, but also blocked someone from getting out. The exiting car was able to squeeze through (once the car that was stopping on the opposite side of the road, gave up and let his precious darling out before moving on). This parked car did not have a child inside, nor were any children visible to the naked eye (save the one who risked exiting on the opposite side).

Parent proceeded to sit for well over a minute, possibly playing on his phone. I know because I timed it. After 1 minute, I pipped the horn. I smiled and waited. He did not move. I pipped again, a little longer this time. I smiled and waited. By now the seconds were ticking down to 2 minutes and cars were starting to pile up behind me. May I add that there were 2 1/2 car lengths between him and the stop sign. Or, he could easily enter the parking lot and, I don’t know, maybe park!

After the 2 minute mark, my deep breathing exercises sounded more like the angry puffing of an enraged bull. Probably because I was enraged, incensed, turning green like the Hulk. I hit the horn and counted to 3. I shrugged my shoulders in a “what on earth do you think you’re doing, moron” kind of way. He didn’t move.

I hit the horn again, this time not bothering to count. He had the audacity to hit his horn back for an extended toot before giving me the finger.

I saw red. Blood red.

And I blasted my horn with the full essence of my being. It was no longer a friendly pip or an angry toot. It was a full-on, non-stop blaring, bone-shattering siren of mass destruction. Every fibre of my being willed this idiot to cede his territory and move.

Exasperated, arms flailing in the air before he hit his horn again, he moved. “Finally!” I shouted triumphant yet through clenched teeth. My jaw was now locked. My armpits overflowing. I parked the car, heaved a heavy sigh and smiled at Youngest Son.

He was not impressed.

I felt vindicated.

Dear Diary – I cried like I had just lost my best friend. Like from my toes. And maybe I did!

Hubby shocked me before I left my folks last week, by agreeing to go see a cat who needed a home. Birchall was a 2 year old black cat with an affectionate nature. Purr-fect for us! I have been begging and angling for a cat for over 20 years. I contacted the agency and my application was accepted. But I could not secure a visit until Monday during the day and they don’t hold pets. I would have to trust that if this was “the One”, he would still be there.

I was so excited I could hardly sleep.

But then I got an email. Sorry – Birchall was adopted. I sobbed. Youngest Son heard me and cowered in the basement until Hubby got home. Hubby felt bad for me.

But…not enough apparently. It’s been a week. Hubby is reneging (again) on getting a cat. He wants me to “compromise” and get guinea pigs. I love GPs but I really want a cat! They’re not the same.

I’m very sad.

So, dear diary, because you love me, please pray with me that the right CAT will be available at the right time. I’m trusting that one day soon it will be. Afterall, Hubby decided no more babies. I don’t think it’s fair that he gets to decide this too! 😉

Dear Diary – I had big plans for this week. This last week before Hubby is on vacation until the New Year, and I anticipate will try to sway to “watch” this with him or “play” that, while the unwrapped gifts lay scattered, the dust piles up, and the ambitious baking list remains unchecked. But we all know what happens when you make plans.

On Monday, I planned to sew. I have an order for some gifts and I have to deliver them by Sunday. Around lunchtime, I had plans to meet someone for lunch and a visit. Something we both really needed. Something we haven’t done much of with anyone since Covid came to town. It was all marvellously good.

Until I came home, after dealing with a parental turd unit and I read my texts. Eldest Son was coming for a funeral on Tuesday, but a friend had invited him and girlfriend for dinner Monday evening. Were there any beds available? “No”, said no parent ever. So I commenced cleaning…the bathroom, my bedroom, the office, the living room and the other floors. It would be far from perfect but certainly not in its usual disastrous estate. [If Eldest Son is reading this, don’t EVER hesitate. I’ll take you any time!!]

I had a lovely time at lunch. The house looked great. I was in bed when they arrived.

In the morning, I found out Eldest Son was sick. I think it’s the flu. I did make him test for Covid. Instead of a funeral, Eldest Son passed out on the couch, and his girlfriend spent a very boring day watching him sleep. I worked on my laptop while they both napped. And I slipped upstairs to sew while they watched a movie.

It was not going well. I decided to wrap gifts and watch the movie with them. They had asked me to afterall, and I can sew when they’re gone. I have the rest of the week!

It was when I was gathering gifts that I noticed the blue plastic bag. The one that was supposed to be in the freezer because it was full of beef. Frozen beef. Which was no longer frozen!

With the arrival of Christmas, extra cookies and things have made the freezer full. Which means every time I need a loaf of bread or a package of chicken, I have to unpack and shuffle. I’ve forgotten food before and been forced to throw it out or binge cook, depending on the temperature, so I’m really careful to get it all back in.

Except it still happens. Thus, my afternoon was spent cooking a double batch of cabbage soup and a double batch of beef stew. I peeled a dozen potatoes and half a dozen carrots. I chopped onions and cabbage. I fried meat. I seasoned. At one point I had 2 pots, 1 frying pan, and 1 crockpot on the go.

I washed dishes. So. Many. Dishes.

And I ignored the voice in my head asking me just where I thought it was going to go when it was all done.

And none of it would be cooked by dinnertime. And I have 5 adults to feed.

My ankles swelled. My knee groaned. “Wednesday”, I told myself, “you can stay home all day and get stuff done”.

But dear diary, you know what happens when you make plans.

On Wednesday, my friend called in a panic: could I drive her to an appointment in the middle of the day. How could I say no? I decided to sew until it was time to go. I ran out of thread. It had to be cotton. I don’t have navy cotton thread.

I dropped my friend early at her appointment half an hour from home, and I proceeded to hit an unfamiliar highway and headed for the city. My quest: Fabricland for thread. I crawled through construction zones, I missed my turn, but I made it. I was an intrepid sojourner, and by Rudolph’s cherry red nose, I was going to get something done this week!

I bought thread.

I also bought white cotton for bunny bags, pink and yellow VW camper fabric, and a roll of gray gnome beard trim!

My friend got to her appointment… and the xray place… and the convenience store…and the grocery store…and Tim Hortons. And before the sun set, I got to go home!

I texted Eldest Son. He’s still alive!

“Thursday”, I thought, “Thursday”.

Dear Diary – Three Canadian teams made in the LegoMasters finale! Way to represent!

Dear Diary – Yesterday morning, after a (thankfully uneventful) trip to the school, as I headed to the front door, I heard a strange “swish-swish” sound. Here was a white van driving slowly down our street with the wipers going, trying to clear a fully frosted front window. Very unsuccessfully I might add. By the time the driver had passed several driveways, which is a terrifying thought since she could see nothing, she got out and scraped it. Just enough for a small square window to squint out.

Amused, I walked down our driveway to retrieve our recycle bin, which had been tossed on the side of the road. No need for an innocent recycle bin to suffer injury. As she got in to drive away, the smell of marijuana wafted over me.

That might explain a lot.

Dear Diary – It’s Thursday, noon.

I have accomplished no baking. There’s half a cup of margarine sitting in a pot on the stove.

One person will get wrapped gifts.

It’s snushing (rain, snow, freezing rain) sideways and Hubby doesn’t want me to leave the house. It’s rehearsal tonight.

Food is drying on the pile of dishes. The wrinkles in the clean laundry aren’t “falling out”.

Hubby is upstairs on a conference call. I have sewing to do!

And I just want to nap.

Last year I accomplished a lot while hanging with my gnomies.

Where are you little guys?

Christmas is almost here! And I have an ear worm stuck in my head by that same title, mocking me endlessly!

“Friday,” I tell myself. There’s still Friday”.

Christmas is almost here
Aaahhhggggrrr!

Arrogant Worms

Home

Tags

#whatsinmycup, Christmas, family, food, holiday, humour, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea time

December has arrived and with it, a whirlwind of activity. This morning I headed out the door for a power-packed couple of days of shopping, baking, gabbing and tea drinking with my Mom (& Dad, but he’s a coca-cola fan)! What’s in my cup? Pumpkin Chai – because I need both caffeine and spice! Whatever your plans this week, I hope you’ll make some space to spend some time with your favourite people! Cheers!

Home is a comfort and home is a light
A place to leave the darkness outside
Home is a peaceful and ever full feeling
A place where the soul safely hides

Michael Card, Home

Dear Quaratine Diary – Week #52

Tags

Christmas, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, food, holiday, humour

Dear Diary – The raging inferno of my dying youth has been wreaking havoc for weeks, so on Christmas Eve, I wore my ugly Christmas t-shirt. Just the thought of an ugly Christmas sweater made me break out in sweat.

So did baking pie. I baked a green tomato pie using green tomatoes that were stored in my parents’ freezer. The foil on the top said “Happy Thanksgiving 2020!” I soaked the raisins in rum, which sparked a series of “Jenn’s in the rum” jokes.

And I alarmed Youngest Son when I passed him in the living room and shared that “I’m done decorating Dad’s log”. What I meant was that I was finished decorating his birthday cake, a yule log cake, but you can imagine the terrible mental image I painted for him.

Hubby and Big Guy arrived in time for dinner. It was a slow drive because Hubby’s car was making rude noises on the highway, and he had to take the “scenic route”. I could finally tuck in for a long winter nap with my favourite peeps.

With no little ones in the house we slept in and took the morning slow. I broke out my first German stollen.

https://www.daringgourmet.com/stollen-german-christmas-bread/

We opened gifts and I finally got to see what this was:

We exchanged gifts before lunch, which included silly socks, goofy t-shirts, even a whopee cushion…because the joke never gets old. I could finally give Auntie M her new gnome; I was having too much fun with it.

Gnome-gnomes

Up to gnome good!

Hanging with my gnomies

Don’t worry – Auntie M’s gnome was quarantined prior to the holidays and properly masked with a handmade, blue tissue-paper mask.

Even though we thought we’d never need to eat again, the dinner hour arrived. With leftovers laid out, one by one, we fixed a plate and enjoyed round #2. We also enjoyed a rousing game of Scattergories, which was particularly hilarious with our tryptophan-induced brains.

The day ended with a bang! I asked had asked Eldest Son to help Auntie M take her things to car, then I went in my room to put on my fuzzy jammies. Nice Mama! It had been raining all day but we didn’t realize how much it had iced over. I heard the crash from the far side of the house and I knew it was bad. Both Auntie M and Eldest Son had fallen, but Auntie M wasn’t getting up. Dad is a retired firefighter and we let him take the lead. I called 911 and we paced inside, while Eldest Son and Dad kept Auntie M company and scraped ice off cars and the sidewalk. When they went to move her vehicle so ambulance could park closer, the doors were frozen shut. They also wandered carefully, with flashlights, looking for her car keys, her purse, and the crockpot lid, which all went flying! Thankfully, the hospital wasn’t busy and Auntie M was not seriously injured. She was sent home at midnight. Dad and Eldest Son made sure Auntie M and her pumpkin car, made it home. She’s badly bruised, and in no hurry to get back out there! I wonder if she’s working on the evil puzzle I gave her…

The rest of the week has been spent sleeping in, watching Harry Potter movies, and eating non-stop. We’ve also played board games. Mom got upset when she spotted someone’s trains on “her” track. It was her train. Eldest Son was given a couple of genuine Guiness and the closest thing we could find for a proper drinking vessel was a flower vase. Boxing Night, we watched Christmas Vacation, my all-time favourite Christmas movie. Right up there with…Die Hard!

These guys really like Cousin Eddie

I also had one final sewing project to complete by the end of the year, which should have been easy peasy. Instead, it took several hours because I’m so talented. I sewed things in wrong and had to rip them out over and over. I spilled warm tea all over the table, and me! Then, with only 1.5 inches left to sew, the machine started to grab and snarl, and make a right mess of it. After multiple stitching and ripping, and with more holes in the fabric than on a tattoo artist, my Dad took the machine apart. Back together again, and with the end so close I could taste it, I started to sew, hit a pin, and snapped the needle.

I finished the bag the next day!

It’s hard to believe that a New Year is right around the corner. I’m not sure yet if we’ll be ringing it in with Eldest Son’s traditional crack of his Terry’s chocolate orange. His girlfriend’s father passed away suddenly from covid; her mother was released from hospital earlier this week. He may be heading home to spend some time with her. If she had called him on Christmas Day and asked him to come, I would have given him my blessing. While there is no better place than with my family around me, I’m well aware that we’re all growing up, and I never want to be an obstacle in my children’s lives. I just pray they’ll still share a slice of their life with me. Afterall, they were once my whole world.

When we took this photo December 31, 2019, I had just quit my job. I had spent November coping with kitchen renovations and December baking up a storm. Youngest Son was facing his Grade 9 first semesters finals, the only ones he’s written to date. Eldest Son was preparing for a career-advancing exam. And my folks were planning their annual trip to Myrtle Beach. We had no idea what was to come…

I still somehow feel like we’ve lost time, 2 years to be exact. As if we have all been hibernating and it’s time for new beginnings and greater adventures. I feel like we should be celebrating the start of 2020, not 2022.

Like we deserve a do-over.

Don’t we? It’s time to re-engage with the great big world beyond our front doors, even if that engagement is a phone call, an email, a handwritten letter. I’m not suggesting we disobey the rules or take unnecessary risks. I never want to put others in harm’s way, but our souls don’t belong to a virus. We can’t let covid hold us hostage any longer. It’s time to resdiscover joy. One day at a time.

Happy New Year! See you in 2022!

The joy of the Lord is your strength

Nehemiah 8:10

Dear Quaratine Diary – Week#51

Tags

Christmas, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, holiday, humour

Dear Diary – It’s Christmas Eve Day Eve Day, and I am home!

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t the house where I grew up! It doesn’t matter that the cookies never got decorated, or that my hair didn’t get dyed, or that my Christmas skirt may not even fit. All that matters is that this year I’m truly in the one place in the world where I most want to be, and in one more sleep, I’ll be with most of the people I treasure.

I know I am blessed.

I know it will not always be this way.

But today, I am here and I will live in today. The present is a gift.

The week has been a blur of activity – finishing gifts, making sponge toffee, and Hubby’s birthday cake. He’s a Christmas Eve baby! Last Saturday I leaned into my German roots and attempted stollen. I even soaked my fruit in spiced rum.

On Monday, Hubby and I watched the Love Nature channel. It’s not really our thing but it’s on free preview and the videography is amazing. In the ad for their channel, they talk about how there are no sleepy Mondays on Love…I say they need to read the room! Sleepy Monday sounded good to me!

My mind has been humming at full tilt, somtimes overheating my body, and I have to step outside to cool off. It’s been keeping running lists of things to do and things to pack: baking, clothing, food, gifts, games and entertainment. Somehow I prepared meals in the chaos, and the pile of dirty dishes never ended. Amazing in a family of only 3.

My brain has been so scattered as a result, and I’ve made several stupid mistakes and extra trips up and down stairs. I posted Wilderness Wednesday a day early, and didn’t realize it until I was waiting in the Tim Horton’s drive-thru at 1 in the afternoon, between a chiropractor appointment and a grocery/gift delivry to a friend. There was no time to stay for tea, hence the Tim’s delivery too. I had to make a last-minute trip for fabric – both for a post-Christmas order for a knot bag and in case everything shuts down again. A very real possibility, so I purchased enough fabric, on faith that I would make some sales, for January projects. No one corrected me to say I was a day early, which I appreciated! 🙂

It turned out I wasn’t the only one confused on days because they had too much going on. Mom read my Monday blog on Tuesday, and thought it was Tuesday all day, and couldn’t figure out why I kept saying I might be coming the next day because didn’t I have an appointment?

My travel plans were precarious, even without the ever-threatening covid restrictions. I had planned to travel on Wednesday, but it was supposed to be a blizzard with high winds. If it was, I’d leave Thursday. But the forecast kept changing, with heavy winds Wednesday afternoon and snow on Thursday. So I dragged Younger Son from his sweet slumber and we ran a marathon to get on the road. He even remembered to grab granola bars because we’re not making any pit-stops on the way. He even brought the chocolate kind I like.

It was sunshine all the way!

Christmas road trips are always accompanied by two favourite Christmas cds: John Denver & the Muppets, and The Arrogant Worms. Even last year when the road trip was only halfway home to trade gifts and goodies with my parents because we couldn’t be together.

Dad looks less like Santa Claus this year!

But Younger Son’s tastes in music has changed over the years and he actually prefers silence. I can’t drive in silence, especially for over 2 hours. Normally he doesn’t sleep either but since he’d run a marathon before noon, half an hour into our trip, his head started to bob. I waited patiently until he was “out”, and I slipped in The Muppets first. My uncle H was a fun & fantastic guy, and we’ve missed him for years. I can remember him taking my brother and me to the city to see the first Muppet movie in the theatre. I was 6. He introduced us to this cd, singing alongside, and excitedly telling us to “listen” just before the funny parts. I still listen closely for the “funny” parts!

The other cd has unusual Christmas songs in several genres of music, that also make me smile, like Vincent the Christmas Virus (5 year old Younger Son thought Vincent was a Christmas Pirate) or Daddy Threw Up On Christmas Day. Or the song about Santa getting arrested, the Christmas Fruit Brick, and Santa singing the blues because:

I use to be jolly, now I’m depressed
Had a twinkle in my eye, now I’ve got a bullet proof vest
Cuz if the pace don’t kill me, some gun totting yahoo will
They keep shooting at me like I’m some sort of big fat red criminal

Got the Christmas blues, I’m starting to see
That I gotta be some sort of loser to get paid in milk and cookies

I’ve already listened to Bing Crosby dreaming of a White Christmas, which is better than listening to George Michael crooning about his bad taste in partners when he gave his heart away at Christmas. He’s planning to do it again this year.

So I’ve stitched the last handmade gift and all the gifts are under the tree. The goodies are mostly in the freezer, out of reach. I’ll thaw Hubby’s birthday cake and turn it into a yule log tomorrow. I’ll also thaw my green tomato pie filling, for tomorrow. I can’t snack on either one. I’m also the queen of Mom’s latrine!

After an exciting game of Play 9 (I won!), we settled in last night for another winter slumber. A large moon, nearly full, climbed into a clear sky and rested over a tall pine. Moonbeams glinted off the icicles over the kitchen window, and bathed the fields in white. I stepped out on the deck, in my slipper socks, snow crunching under foot. The sky was so clear, I could see the milky way, and I listened to the silence.

Was it this clear and this quiet on that first Christmas?

While the Town of Bethlehem slept, the moon witnessed the greatest gift coming to earth in the smallest and less likely packagae of all – a baby. Immanuel – God With Us.

Was it this clear and quiet on the first Christmas as the moon shone on plain and lowly shepherds watch their little lambs sleeping. They were unaware that they were about to step into the pages of history as the first to hear the heavenly announcement. Christ is Born.

Was it this clear and quiet on the first Christmas when wise and learned men spotted a star in the sky, heralding the birth of the King of kings, and began their long journey to worship at His feet? The Hope for all the Nations.

‘Cause how many kings stepped down from their thrones?
How many lords have abandoned their homes?
How many greats have become the least for me?
And how many Gods have poured out their hearts
To romance a world that is torn all apart?
How many Fathers gave up their Sons for me?

Only one did for me.

Downhere, How Many Kings

Merry Christmas!

Wilderness Wednesday: Christmas Cardinals

Tags

birds, cardinals, Christmas, nature, photography, snow, Wilderness Wednesday, winter

Love the Giver more than the gift.

Brigham Young

I received an early Christmas gift on a blizzard-y day. The house smelled of yeast and spices, and as I was kneading rum-soaked fruit into my Christmas stollen, I had 2 visitors…

It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air.

W.T. Ellis

Happy Wednesday!

What’s in My Cup: Christmas Morning

Tags

Christmas, food, holiday, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea time

Christmas is only 6 days…Santa is coming!

My plan is to do what I have done every year for the past 40+ years (with the exception on last year): wake up in my parents’ home and celebrate Jesus’ birthday with my family. That’s Plan A. But I also have Plan B. And Plan C. I hope it doesn’t come to Plan C because it involves a sugar-induced coma. And since it’s not guaranteed that I will be embarking on Plan A just yet, I decided to start celebrating a little early with a cup of Stash Christmas Morning Tea. It is a blend of black and green tea lavishing the imbiber with a bold flavour, like English Breakfast tea, as well as gentle floral notes of jasmine.

Christmas Morning Tea is part of the Holiday Family Tea series, which contain an assortment of seasonal flavours and spices in black, white or herbal blends. It’s available in many grocery, drug, and box stores, as well as online. I picked mine up at the Bulk Barn. If you want something spicier, I’d also recommend Holiday Chai and Red Dragon Chai. But after December, they can be hard to find!

I think it’s a welcome change to plain black tea when I’m busying myself with fun, holiday things. This morning I enjoyed a quiet moment at the start of my day, next to the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. And perhaps I’ll savour another as a pick-me-up while I continue baking spiced breads, cakes and cookies, wrapping last-minute gifts, or packing to travel.

It’s possible Santa would appreciate a cup to refresh him during his international flight in only 5 sleeps! I’m not ready….are you?

You better watch out, you better not cry
Better not pout I’m telling you why
Santa Claus is comin’ to town

 J. Fred Coots and Haven Gillespie

CFFC: Holiday Colours

Tags

Christmas, family, holiday, Photo Challenge, photography

My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: Loving others.

Bob Hope

This is my post for Cee Neuner’s Fun Foto Challenge: Holiday Colours.