Dear Diary – Week 4, 2023

Tags

dear diary, family, humour

Dear Diary – I just read that 1/4 of all toy sales are adults buying toys for themselves. Based on the adults I know, I honestly thought that number would be higher.

I’ve put a lot of thought into it and I just don’t think being an adult is gonna work for me.

Unknown

Dear Diary – Look! Quick! The sun is shi- Never mind!

Dear Diary – I forgot how therapeutic hand embroidery can be. It also keeps me from snacking in the evenings.

My mother and I lost a lot of weight the winter before my brother’s wedding because we were working on quilt pieces and if we snacked, we’d have to clean up before we continued, and we were too lazy busy to make that long walk to the sink to wash our hands.

When it came time to quilt it at my Grandmother’s house, however, she insisted on tea and cake when we finished our session for the day.

Five ladies worked on this quilt: Nana J, Nana R, Auntie M, Mom and me. And I gotta say, by the time the wedding rolled around, all of us…and the quilt…looked great!

You’ll have to take my word for it. I couldn’t find the photo! 😦

Dear Diary – Political correctness takes another shocking descent into ridiculous chaos.

How can primary coloured candies with limited physical features and varied shapes and sizes, be “polarizing”? If anything, don’t these iconic candies embrace the human race in an inclusive manner? Honestly, in the venture to be inclusive of all people regardless of race, gender, etc. we have become more intolerant.

If we spent less time bashing, ghosting, shaming, whining, and being offended (very vocally I might add) of stupid things of little importance, and instead focused our attention on instances of genuine injustice and intolerance, we might actually make the world a better place. Like the one we’re all talking about. Like the one we want for our kids and the generations to follow our short time on earth. Perhaps if we loved more and belittled less, we would start heading in the right direction!

Dear Diary – I found a sweet way to clean out a kitchen drawer…I baked and decorated cupcakes.

Dear Diary – This weekend we’re lined up for a family photo shoot. The last time we had professional family photos taken, Sears was still open AND Youngest Son was 2. He’s 17 now. He still hates having his photo taken but he’s going to suck it up for his Mama. This photo shoot is part of my Christmas present and I’m very excited.

My only regret is that I have no idea (or time, money or closet-space) to coordinate “outfits” for us that would rival all the other lovely families who posted family pics this Christmas on Facebook. I’m talking the perfectly coiffed, barn-don’t-need-painting, white toothed families, from head to toe “instagram-worthy”-type of families frolicking on a woodsy path. Complete with the family pet!

My family looks more like this:

Endearing for a home photo but not the high caliber of photo for which I’m praying envisioning.

Especially when I can’t wear my sexy boots. Or any boots!

On Sunday afternoon, Hubby and I drove over the park where we’re supposed to meet our photographer, just to get the lay of the land. The smooth path we were promised was thick and chunky with frozen footprints in what used to be mud. Everywhere else pretty much was mud. The trees were bare; there was no snow in sight. Or birds. Or squirrels. Or any sign of life. There was also no sun or clouds, or rather I should say there was one giant gray cloud which covered the entire province. Which made for a remarkable lackluster backdrop for our family photos.

We’ve been told it will snow this week…a lot, promising a dreamy backdrop of white to go with our forlorn landscape. But then they also predicted a nasty spot of freezing rain last week which cancelled school buses. We got rain, without the freezing. So I don’t entirely trust the forecast.

I know I’d be better off worrying less about the final product and just enjoy the experience. It costs enough. And in the end, while the photographer hasn’t got a lot to work with, it’s her reputation on the line. I doubt my family will show up on her website (everyone wants to see the darling tiny people anyway). But they will get hung in my living room and I will love them. Because they are of my family and I know their beauty is more than just skin deep.

Dear Diary – Well, this time they were right! It did snow…profusely, sideways, and for hours. It was a great day to hibernate in my sewing room and dream of summer. Until school was out and I knew Youngest Son was trudging home in it. He made it home okay; his navy hood no longer navy, but white. And he had news. His English exam, scheduled for the following day, has been postponed due to “inclement weather”.

I guess this means we can both sleep in!

If people were meant to pop out of bed, we’d all sleep in toasters.

Garfield

Dear Diary – As I settled to sleep last night I realized that 33 years ago, my Mom and I pulled an all-nighter as we awaited the imminent arrival of Eldest Son. So while I did sleep in this morning, I also crept down the stairs at 5 a.m. to get my cell phone and I called him at 6:55 a.m. to wish him a Happy Birthday! He was already in the truck yard waiting for his partner.

I could write pages and pages about my surprise baby and all the wonderful surprises he brought to my life. I could also write about the wonderful ways God walked with us, often in ways unseen until we looked back. He has been one of the greatest joys of my life and I can’t wait to journey together and cheer from the sidelines for the next thirty-some years!

J-

I love you forever. I like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be!

How fast he went from 3 to 33!

Happy Birthday !

Dear Diary – Week 3, 2023

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, hair, haircuts, humour, midlife crisis, school

Dear Diary – Once again, that awesome job of grocery shopping has come around again. It come around so often that I feel like I’m feeding an army, even though there are only 3 of us in the house!

Occasionally I pick up a few specials at a local store. But generally, even though “everyone” says “Covid is over”, I’m still ordering online and picking them up curbside. It has its downfalls at times. Selection is limited, and I have to trust the shopper choosing my fruit and veggies. Sometimes the expiry dates are a little too close for comfort. But it beats dealing with stupid people and that one shopping cart with the wonky wheel.

This week, I was running late and the store was moving slow. It took me 10 minutes to get a live person on the phone, just to tell them I had arrived. As if they were waiting with bated breath. I feel guilty, as if I’m some sort of entitled princess, too good to shop for her own groceries., so instead of have an underpaid, underappreciated serf roam the aisles and slog through the slush so I can fill my gob with yummies. But, to be honest, with my bum ankle, it’s been a real blessing. And I don’t miss the cold slush sloshing over the top of my sneaks.

I was supposed to meet Youngest Son at the strip mall across from the school. It would save him from walking home in the fog and drizzle, and it would ensure I had help getting all the bags inside the house. It made no sense. Somehow, I defied all known universal laws and I pulled into the lot as he was crossing the road.

I whipped into a parking space and beeped the horn.

He did not appreciate that!

Sometimes grocery items get missed, and I have to call and complain. Usually I just get a refund. This is the first time the store noticed I was missing some items and called me. I don’t know how I missed missing a giant slab of pork ribs and 2 cuts of pork tenderloin. Still, while my freezer is now less pork-less, and I have no idea if I’ll actually get my refund (and what to cook those nights the pork was planned), the store didn’t miss passing on some free samples !

What a creative product name!

I started this blog over 10 years ago to enjoy my mid-life crisis. How? By pushing myself to go new places and try new things. And I did…at least at the start. I got a tattoo with great meaning. I nearly died ran in Mud Hero with Eldest Son – also a BIG deal. I tried axe throwing and shooting firearms. I had no idea I had such good aim in real life; I can’t seem to hit the side of a barn in video games.

Soon the adventures slowed down to dabbling in photography, dusting it up with baking, and learning Italian (in the hopes of an Italian adventure). Covid ruined the Italian adventure. I spent my 25th wedding anniversary eating take-out Italian and sipping wine in front of the t.v. on my burlap sack couch!

And this…[Scroll to view]

• 

• 

• 

• 

There were no places to go. Even the parks were overrun with people desperate to escape the four walls of their homes and I couldn’t snap any shots without infringing on the 6 feet rule.

All this to say, I threw caution to the wind and I drank my Not Milk.

It was delicious – rich and very chocolaty. And free. It was free!

Dear Diary – It’s been almost 2 weeks since I had my hair cut and I still haven’t decided if I like it or not. But I thought if I attempted to style it and take a selfie, it might help.

I’m still undecided.

I used to be indecisive but now I’m not sure.

Unknown

Dear Diary – It’s Youngest Son’s final 6 days of Semester 1 in Grade 12, and this semester has been nothing short of an uphill battle. He’s smart. He’s articulate. He’s responsible. Or so I’ve mentioned to one of his teacher who has emailed several times. With every email, my PTSD kicks in. Getting Eldest Son through school felt like a full-time job. But we did it! One day. One class. One bloody assignment at a time.

I don’t know how, but despite loving school at home during Covid, Youngest Son has lost his love of school. Actually, “love” might be too strong a word. He loves sloppy joes. School, he tolerated. I don’t doubt that the looming deadline for college applications and just plain being sick of school has done a lot to dampen his motivation.

I can remember “hitting the wall” and having to push myself to get to the end. But I had the perfectionist, “good girl” type of personality on my side, as well as a deep desire to move out of my parents’ home. I had the added responsibility of a precious little guy and I wanted to give him a “good life”. I didn’t want to be stuck on government assistance, barely scraping by and wondering what might have been. So I worked. Hard.

I know we’ll get through this (Grad photos were taken yesterday). Grade 12 is just one of a series of challenges to come. In comparison, though he may not believe me, he’ll look back and Grade 12 will seem like a breeze. I’m not telling him that though. He may decide that if this is a breeze, he’d rather spend the rest of his life in bed. And since his bed is in my basement…my lips are sealed.

Being a parent means spending half your life convincing people to stay in bed and the other half convincing them to get out of it.

Unknown

Dear Diary – Have you ever noticed that when you’re waiting in a cold car, you suddenly and desperately need to pee? I had to see my Dr. last week for an ongoing toe issue, but she was running late and I was asked to wait in the car. She’d call when I could come up.

It was a long 30 minutes.

The more I thought about not peeing, the more I had to pee. Watching the snow melt and slide down the windows didn’t help.

She put me on antibiotics, which thankfully has not caused any dietary distress. My toe, however, seems no better.

I see her again tomorrow. I won’t drink tea beforehand just in case. I’m praying she’s on time!

It’s going to be cold enough to snow and snow…

It’s so cold outside, I just farted a snowflake.

Unknown

Dear Diary – Week 2 – 2023

Tags

dear diary, family, holiday, humour

Dear Diary – I took the boys for our annual shearing, and what a mop of hair on the floor when our favourite stylist was done! Youngest Son is scheduled for Grad photos mid-January…and I just wanted a change.

Now that my bangs are shorter and thinner, I can actually see myself in the mirror. I haven’t decided if I like it or not. It’s probably a good sign that the people who saw me this week noticed nothing! So at least it’s not worse than where I started.

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.

Coco Chanel

Dear Diary – I finished Mom’s Gnome post-Christmas. Unfortunately, Little Gnome got into the pile of candy Eldest Son brought, and put himself in a candy coma.

Dear Diary – It’s a shame people don’t know how to spell; we’ve come to rely on “Spellcheck” too much. I’ll never forget one of my law teachers talking about an administrator who sent out “trail date notices” instead of “trial date notices” because she relied on Spellcheck.

Eldest Son received a new game, or rather an old one. It was, apparently, popular in the 1980’s but I had never heard of it: Airport. But whoever produced the game ought to have proofread the cards more carefully. I’m pretty sure Deijing and Cario are not countries.

I hate spelling errors so much. You mix up two letters and suddenly your post is urined.

Unknown

Dear Diary – There was a thing on Facebook that said the most popular song on your 23rd birthday will predict to your 2023!

I don’t like my song.

It’s too close to home given what September may (or may not) bring – the sudden and painful first step of Youngest Son leaving the nest for college or Uni.

Unless he doesn’t pass English, in which case, the nest may be full a little longer.

Either way, while it’s true that Youngest Son will always hold a special place in my heart and I love him dearly, the song also held dark and disturbing imagery of a suffocating “Smother Mother“.

We were as one, babe
For a moment in time
And it seemed everlasting
That you would always be mine
Now you want to be free
So I’m lettin’ you fly
‘Cause I know in my heart babe
Our love will never die

No you’ll always be a part of me
I’m part of you indefinitely
Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me
Oh darlin’ ’cause you’ll always be my baby
And we’ll linger on
Time can’t erase a feelin’ this strong
No way you’re never gonna shake me
Oh darlin’ cause you’ll always be my baby

Mariah Carey, Always Be My Baby

Dear Diary – I helped Mom with her quest in life to rid the house of extra crap downsize by bringing home a new piece of furniture. Well, it’s an old piece of furniture but new for me!

I was convinced it would have to wait until another trip to come home because I had all the crap luggage I had brought for the post-Christmas vacation at my folks, as well as the bin of crap stuff Eldest Son picked up for me at the house, because I forgot crap stuff.

Eldest Son was undeterred.

It was a proud Mommy Moment – I have taught my boys how to pack, like a game of Tetris. They not only safely installed the wash stand and buckled it in, but packed all the other stuff in too.

I was tossing the final things in the backseat when I noticed a black blob amongst a collection of fluffy, white circles on the underside of the stand. I blew on the blob…and it moved.

“There’s a spider on that washstand,” I announced. With panic rising in my voice, I also announced, “it’s alive and there are egg sacs. Someone’s got to kill it or get it out! NOW! … Dad?”.

Dad may have considered it “just a little guy” but I disagreed strongly. I stared at the black blob through the open car door as Eldest Son wrestled with the seatbelt, willing the spider to hang tight. “If you lose that spider, I’m not going home,” I declared, still staring. I stared right up until the stand was outside my car. Dad brushed off the spider and the fluff, which turned out to be just fluff and not babies. In my defence, I wasn’t getting close to confirm it.

Disaster averted, the furniture reinstated, I said my good-byes and headed home.

Eldest Son was driving separately and while we left at the same time, we had different stops to make on the way out of town.

We were nearly an hour into our drive when Eldest Son called to see where we were. Did we want to meet for a bite halfway?

Ah….yes!!

I could see his little blue car pulling into the service center as we pulled off the highway. We grabbed a bite. It was a lovely way to round out the holiday…time with my boys.

I wish I had taken a photo.

I watched his little blue car pull away and head for the highway while I pumped gas and I whispered blessings over him.

Now I’m back at home, trying to eliminate tissue paper sparkles and cracker crumbs from the carpet, pack up the decorations, and restore a sense of “normality” at home.

I haven’t been very successful.

Or terribly motivated!

Last night, I found the missing piece for the Swedish Angel Chimes, something I took from my grandparents’ box of decorations. My parents had one too and I remember watching the candles dance and listening to the angels chiming when I was little.

I lit the candles and just sat watching for awhile.

I felt sad and I finally figured out why.

It wasn’t so much because the season was over and I was packing all the pretty things away. It was because I miss the people who made that season special and magical.

I guess there was another truth in my 2023 song by Mariah:

No, you’ll always be a part of me
I’m part of you, indefinitely.

What’s in my Cup?

Tags

food, humour, New Year's, resolution, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea photography, tea time

Well, here we are! The first Monday after the holiday break. That “new year” smell still in our nostrils, our toes itching to jump into new opportunities. It smells like “hope” and burns like toe fungus.

Who am I trying to kid?

The few pounds I lost before Christmas came back, with friends. If I’m lucky, I will be wearing jeans by Spring. Hello stretchy-pants! That will be about the time I finally eradicate the glitter and sequins from the dollar store sparkle tissue paper, in my house. I like sparkles, just not in my underwear. Of course there’s a story, but one of my resolutions is to be more lady-like. 😉

I’m not holding my breath!

So in an effort to stave off a Christmas hangover, I am settling in today to make plans.

I didn’t say what kind of plans!

I’m also eating the last stale doughnut and chugging black tea by the potful. Caffeine kicks in within an hour of consumption, creating an energetic and alert sensation. It also helps to hydrate…which leads to the need to tinkle. The only exercise I get can’t come from long walks to the fridge! Too much caffeine can have side effects too! Black teas have less caffeine than coffee but still pack a greater punch than green or white tea.

This girl needed a punch this morning. Getting out of bed for school and food shopping was really painful. I’d much rather roll out closer to noon and slowly melt into the day. A girl can dream.

Or plan…

I don’t like making plans because then the word “premeditated” gets thrown around the courtroom.

Unknown

Dear 2023 Diary – Week 1

Tags

dear diary, family, holiday, humour

Dear Diary – I had a Snacksident. I snacksidentally ate the whole bag.

Dear Diary – I have decided that rather than tediously review all of 2022 with you at the beginning of this new year, I am going to review each month of 2022 at the beginning of each month of 2023. It will help me lower the bar to meet my comfortless expectations set the bar so I can aim for a better things!

We rang in the new year with our traditional pizza and games, but at Auntie M’s. She tried to luge down the front steps at my folks on Christmas night and was still pleasures of bruised internal organs and outer limbs. It was hard to part with Eldest Son but we did finish our Harry Potter marathon just in time.

It was about that time that I decided I was over winter. Covid restrictions were still in place. I had nowhere to go, or any desire to go!

People talk about Virtual School as a bad thing, but it made an extension to our Christmas holiday possible when Hubby was exposed to Covid. I took advantage of being out of the city but asking Dad to drive me to get my third Covid vaccination.

Soon after arriving home, 40-60 cm of snow dumped in a single day, closing some roads and schools. However, the kids didn’t get a “snow day” because there was virtual school! Hubby tried to blow it off the driveway but ended up with more on his face than on the yard.

Even the birds had some work to do.

My new K’nix body armour bra also arrived. After smothering and sweating, and nearly throwing out my back, I threw it in the corner of my room for a better another day.

Another day, I took Youngest Son, who despises having his photo taken, to have his photo taken for his new health card. Miraculously, we were in and out of the government office in less than 10 minutes. The line up at Tim Horton’s was much longer!

I learned a few new things: how to not get strangled by various wires and straps when leading worship, I should measure 5 times and cut once, and what it feels like to be scanned by aliens. I wonder if a bone scan device could be modified to 3D bodies. Of course, some of us would require more filament than others.

It took 3 tries but my bathroom scales gave me an answer I liked.

Finally, January 9 marked my 10 Year Blog-iversary! Who knew I had so little to say over so many years?

I tried to lean into the word “joy” last year, but circumstances in 2022 made that challenging. But I rarely back down from a challenge. Joy is more than laughter or a warm fuzzy feeling. It goes beyond happiness, excitement or satisfaction. Rather it is a gracious gift and a lasting state of the heart and mind that is fixed on God no matter the circumstances. His joy in me, then, became my source of strength…especially in those moments when I really wanted to cry, not laugh.

Dear Diary – This block of post-Christmas/post-New Year is one I look forward to all year long. Traditionally I get to just hang out with some of my favourite people: my folks and my kids. We eat too much, stay up too late, rib each other over games, and watch movies.

Youngest Son and I headed out Thursday evening to escape driving in heavy rain on Friday. But it drizzled all the way there. We didn’t let the gray sky dampen our spirits as we ushered in the New Year with dinner with Auntie M and a late night movie. Eldest Son decided to spend the evening with his girlfriend. Afterall, as much as he loves me, it’s nice to have a sweetheart to kiss at midnight. Like the darling he is, he called us shortly after midnight. We spent the next day awaiting his arrival and the party really began.

Eldest Son arrived Sunday evening, with a big bag of candy. One bag had giant gummy coke bottles. Eldest Son referred to them as “cow boogers”. I have to say – his description fit of the texture.

As part of our merriment, the boys and I lined up on the couch to watch my parents confer on the best way to reattach Mom’s hood to her coat. Eldest Son tried to record it but his phone didn’t cooperate. I caught the last 17 seconds, including Mom’s reaction when she found out we were recording her.

Someone on Facebook recently encouraged anyone who was reading, to record your loved ones laughing and joking in those impromptu moments that get forgotten over time. One of the things she misses most is her mother’s laugh, and her struggle to recall it only sharpens the pain in her heart.

Life as we know it, can change in an instant. And change will come. I want to capture and savour every moment I am blessed to share with my “peeps”. If not with my camera, then in the still frames of my mind.

Dear Diary – I was given a special piece of fabric for Christmas, one I specifically requested (and couldn’t justify buying myself). It’s blue with video game controllers all over it! While I have an idea what to make with it, I still posted a photo on Facebook to see if anyone had a better idea.

Someone innocently suggested a golf towel.

I never thought about needing to clean your balls before you play with them in public.

Dear Diary – Not every moment in this baby year has been filled with joviality. A special family member lost her husband suddenly and tragically on Christmas Eve. After the celebration of life service, my Aunt K and Mom’s friend came for tea. While I’ve read tea is a “drink which relieves thirst and dissipates grief”, I think it was the act of sitting and conversing together which felt like a soulful hug.

I wish we could do that more often.

Dear Diary – This year is a milestone birthday and I need to start thinking about how to celebrate. Eldest Son suggested a “smash room”. A smash room or rage room is a place where you can smash, hurl and destroy a variety of objects, like glassware or old electronics, to relieve stress or anger. Or just for fun!

That conversation led to another scintillating conversation:

Eldest Son mentioned a movie scene wherein a couple of friends started making out after a smash room session.

Which led to my comments about movie scenes where a couple starts making out after escaping death.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because stress makes you horny?” Eldest Son queried.

“No! It doesn’t!” I said. “It makes me want to go to Tim Horton’s”!

What or where would you do/go, Dear Diary?

That conversation meandered into another disturbing topic: Feet Pics.

Apparently there are folks who are excited by photos of feet. So I googled “what are feet pics” and my search yielded images of feet, as well as multiple websites sharing how to take good feet pics and how to sell feet pics. There are legitimate businesses looking for feet pics, not just people with feet fetishes.

I have wanted a job I can do at home.

It would certainly be a better career option than the one some stranger picked for me…when they used my cell phone on their website.

Dear Diary – New Year. New Haircut.

I’d like a viking haircut…I like this one from Game of Thrones.

But Mom says no.

People will stare. Make it worth their while.

Harry Winston

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

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 49

Tags

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

Dear Diary – I was comfortably settled on the couch Friday morning, happy that I didn’t have to go anywhere, when I heard my cell phone ringing. Upstairs! I thought it was in my purse. I didn’t hustle because I figured it was just a telemarketer. But it wasn’t. It was the grocery store about my order…which I was supposed to be picking up in the next 2 minutes. I had ordered groceries online the day before, but I thought I had reserved a 9 a.m. slot for Monday because I was heading to my folks on Monday and I thought I should feed my family.

As I pulled on my sneakers, listening to my voicemail, I also noticed I had 5 text messages, including one from a friend looking for a ride home from the hospital! I got my groceries; she still hasn’t gotten out. As the shadows of the day grew, so did her list of things I needed to bring her. The only problem was the only person with a key to her apartment wouldn’t be back in town until after 8.

By the time 8 arrived, I was exhausted. It was dark, cold, and drizzling outside (as well as inside my heart) when I walked into her building. I almost didn’t make. One of the senior residents who felt he deserved the entire empty parking lot to circle his wagon before pulling into his parking space, and nearly ran me over. I was okay with visiting my friend, but I didn’t relish being her roommate!

Hospital parking is never straightforward, nor the rates low. After delivering my friend’s bag, pillow and hot coffee, I trudged behind the porter taking her to her room. There were no covid checklists to tick off or hoops to jump through, even though I was entering an overflowing Emergency Room.

It was almost 10 before I headed out into the drizzle again. The ticket machine refused to take my ticket, instead sticking it back at me like it was sticking out its tongue. I maneuvered my car to try the other exit, and after several attempts (and a few punctuated threats), my ticket was accepted and I was permitted to escape leave.

However, the exit didn’t allow a left turn, forcing me to drive west away from home. I pulled into the first street 2 blocks away, and began a tiring suburban drive in a warren of streets that serpentined endlessly. I was beginning to despair that I wouldn’t be crawling under the covers until sunrise when I passed the park and finally knew where I was!

By the time I got home, I wanted a drink…of cranberry gingerale. I vowed that I would not leave the house on Saturday.

It was not meant to be. My friend had another wish list, but this time, I didn’t drive. I asked Hubby to drop me off and spare me another neighbourhood tour. 😉

Dear Diary – Recent stats said my post was shared to 441 email subscribers and 161 social followers. If this is possible, why do I only get, on average, one comment a week? 🙂

Dear Diary – Someone reminded me that I have a beautiful life. And they’re right.

This week the father of Eldest Son’s best friend, S.’ passed away after a long battle with cancer. He lived longer than expected which meant they had one more Easter, one more Thanksgiving, and many more beautiful days. I’m sure they weren’t all weren’t easy. Eldest Son, L. and S. have been like a family since high school, and together these 2 girls have been caring for Dad while Mom is at work. L. lost her father just over a year ago. I admire these brave young women who have already known such deep sorrow and they are on my heart.

The path I’ve taken may not have been the one I dreamed about when I played with Barbie (I still haven’t walked a Red Carpet). Sure, instead of a castle, I live in a semi-detached house. Prince Charming is an engineer who doesn’t ride a white horse, but he’s no frog. I am blessed with princes. I have woken up on Christmas morning under my parents’ roof for almost 50 years (with the exception of 2020 when we celebrated in a service center parking lot), and I will celebrate with them this year too. At my house. But all of these things, and so much more, has given me a life filled with love and laughter (a lot of it with me and at me), and that is what makes it so beautiful.

I sustain myself with the love of my family.

Maya Angelou

Dear Diary – The last two days have been crazy. I headed to my folks where I baked a crunchy mess, stole borrowed a Christmas tree from church, and saved a life. I took my best friends and partners in crime along for the ride!

I arrived Monday afternoon to an empty house. The guy installing my parents’ new carpet got sick and the work’s been postponed, so everything in the living room and hall had shuffled, except 3 chairs lined up in front of the t.v. The couch and dining table are now sharing a space; the table covered in Mom’s good china from the china cabinet. The sideboard and the t.v. stand are in my bedroom, but they created a crooked maze almost as wide as me to get to the bed. And a flashlight.

I lost the flashlight by the second night.

I attended a birthday party with my Mom for a lovely lady I have never met. I was promised cake.

On Tuesday, Mom and I muttered in our separate corners of the kitchen while we baked our own cookies. The couch made an excellent surface for spreading out baking utensils, cookie cutters and when you got tired, a soft place to rest. My sugar cookies kept flaking as I rolled them out and they baked crunchy. It wasn’t until the middle of the night that I realized I had forgotten the milk.

Suddenly, Mom gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. “There’s a squirrel drowning in the pool”.

Normally, this would be a “Dad” job, but Dad wasn’t home. I sprang into action.

In advance of the new carpet, Dad had been pulling up the carpet and adding screws to the floor so there was an assortment of tools in the living room. I was hoping for a bucket, but with none in sight, I grabbed the white plastic bowl on the couch and crawled over the back. I ran to the gate, shoved the bbq out of the way, and scrabbled with the lock. I couldn’t see any movement n the water, not even ripples on the surface.

I grabbed the ladder from the side and shoved it into the black water. The squirrel finally surfaced but on the far side of the pool. It was obvious he was exhausted and we didn’t have much time. I ran up the stairs and across the deck, with the bowl still in my hand. I also grabbed a step stool and hopped down the stairs.

My feet were soaking wet by the time I got to the pool. “Where is he?” I called to Mom watching from above, as I dropped the stoll and climbed up. He was just coming up for air when I reached the bowl out to him and he turned to me. I scooped him out and tried to set the bowl on the ground, but still panicked, the squirrel tipped out. Unhurt but still terrified, he started to crawl under the deck into a pile of debris. Mom threw down a dry towel and I did my best to wrap it around him, but I couldn’t pick him up. Once I knew he was safe, I stepped away so he could calm down. He didn’t know I wasn’t going to hurt him.

I returned a few minutes later to see how he was, and I tucked the towel around his little body again. He purred and closed his eyes to sleep. Sadly, when I went back later, he had died in his sleep. I felt terrible.

On Wednesday morning, we went shopping in some local shops. It feels good to support small businesses. I know how much love and attention to detail I put into each of my creations for my Etsy shop. I could certainly see that love in the candles, soaps, pickles and jams I admired.

With Christmas shopping nearly complete, I turned my attention to cookies again. This time I added the milk. This time, they worked. All they need now is some sparkle and buttons.

Last night, like the 3 bears, we partied with chips and a James Bond movie in our 3 little chairs. Except I was in Mama’s leather Chair because I could have both laptops plugged in and lying at my feet. I’ve started the incredibly boring task of transferring files to my new laptop. We sampled some saskatoon berry jam on Dad’s homemade raisin ‘n spice sourdough bread muffins before toddling off to bed.

That means, dear diary, that I have a car to pack and a long road trip ahead.