Karma Kardmelion

Okay, so Boy George wouldn't much like the way I've rearranged that name. I've been up to my elbows in making and sending out holiday greetings to family and friends, people I don't see often enough. With some of them, it's because they're too far away, be that England or Australia. If I had a transporter beam, I guess visiting would be easier. But since I don't (and I don't think anyone outside of Star Trek reruns does), cards are my best bet for staying in touch. 

The dining room table's been pretty much out of commission, owing to the invasion of the cards, though I admit the mess of them strewn across that surface has at least started to diminish. 

The other day I mailed out over 30. Today was a smaller batch by half. The last seem to mostly be ones where I'm having trouble tracking down an address I know has changed, or other such complications. 

So, where do thoughts of karma enter the picture?

Walking back to my car on my way home from the post office the other day, a flash of blue caught my eye. Sure enough: a small reward in the form of a five-dollar bill lying on the ground. Natch, I bent down and retrieved it. 

What can I say, but thank you, Universe!

The end of the End of the Long Dash...

It was November 5th, 1939 that the CBC first broadcast the National Research Council's official time signal. For those in the Eastern Time Zone, that occurred at 1:00 pm each day. For those of us here in BC in the Pacific Time Zone, the beep came at 10:00 am. And that beep after the long dash was a sound I heard most mornings, as that was when I liked to be sure the radio was on so I could hear the day's news. 

Sadly, we're no longer getting this notification. Plenty of reasons were given, though none of them seemed all that important to me. This was just another of those small observances we've become so glib about tossing aside. 

By next year, we may also NOT be going back to standard time, but may instead be making daylight saving time the rule for the whole year, not just the summer months. 

The most ironic aspect of ending the tradition of the time signal is that, if I'm working dates out correctly, it ended on Thanksgiving. Talk about a kick in the head. 

All I can offer is my own long dash --------- 

                        followed, of course, by that clear-toned Beeeeep which for now, I guess, you'll have to play in your imagination. 

Christmas Redux

We must love Christmas more than most people do, as today we're observing it again. Why? Because today is Orthodox Christmas. 

The day started with a big breakfast, one that's lasted us long enough that we can wait 'til supper for a Christmas dinner.

Presents aren't a part of this celebration. In fact, tomorrow we'll be packing away any gifts still sitting under the tree (not an evergreen, a decorated hibiscus). That's when we'll also be taking down the lights and other decorations. 

The amaryllis, now on its second branch of blossoms, can stay for a while. Its beauty helps dispel the mostly rainy days we've had of late and seems to offer the promise of spring. 

One of a kind

At least we're certainly hoping that this Christmas holiday will not need to be repeated. No family gatherings, no Solstice party, and certainly no big gala for New Year's Eve. 

Still, it's giving us memories we won't forget. 

Think of the stories from the pandemic of 1918 -- the year my father was born. I can only imagine how worried my gramma must have been, hoping she wouldn't get sick while she was pregnant. 

We'll all have our own stories, though I'm sure we'll be happier when they're well in the rear-view mirror. 

Onward, towards the new year, but for now, let's celebrate Christmas. 

Neighbourly

The other day, the doorbell rang -- an odd occurrence these days. One of my neighbours was standing on the deck with a mask on her face (but of course) and a gift in her hand. She'd noticed that we still had (have) a pumpkin out front and figured it was time for us to shift seasons. 

She brought us this lovely little wreath she had made. To match the "Peace to all who enter" flag by our door, she made it in the shape of a peace sign (hard to see, as it's now interwoven with the black metal knocker). 

Besides getting me into a little bit of the spirit, the wreath has made me think about just what this year's Christmas will be like. 

It doesn't look as though we'll be able to have friends or family over for any kind of celebrating (not even the traditional Solstice celebration), as with rising numbers, we all need to be vigilant towards keeping safe. 

So instead, I plan to make up tiny gift packets for my neighbours. I'll leave them on doorsteps and pretend that Santa's responsible. 

We can all only hope that this year's Christmas with its restrictions and worries is one we'll never have to observe the same way again. 

The wonder of the light

Today is the 12th anniversary of my mother's death. The little angel in the photo is an item she gave to me -- a gift I am pretty sure was something 'regifted' -- but I'm thinking that makes it all the better. 

I heard part of an episode of Tapestry today, a CBC show that deals with matters that might be called spiritual. Author Richard Van Camp was doing what he does best: telling stories. I loved the one he told about heaven (being like the West Edmonton Mall). But even more, I liked his idea about a full moon practice -- giving things away, which is why I like the idea of regifting, especially of things we love. 

It isn't full moon yet -- not until month's end. But what I'd like to give away today is the idea of forgiveness.  

In truth, I don't think it's all that easy to hold a grudge, but some of us seem better than others at this. 

I'm in the process of writing a letter to someone I love, and I'm hoping that his heart will soften enough that we can be close again. 

But the person I'm sure my mother would most like to see in my life again is my youngest sister. The last time she spoke to me was at our mother's funeral. That seems like an awfully long time to lug around whatever transgression she believes I committed against her. And yes, it would help if I knew what it was, as it would make an apology so much easier.. 

But maybe that's the little miracle I can hope for today (or soon). In the meantime, the little angel stands guard over the tealight candle in the kitchen.  

Ghostly

That's kind of how it felt on Halloween. It was the first time in just about forever that we didn't celebrate by handing out goodies to Trick or Treaters. There were quite a few houses decorated for the holiday, but I don't think we were the only ones holding out with the treats. 

And here it now is already November, the day I was raised to believe in as "All Souls' Day" -- a day when we were told we could say a certain set of prayers, and a soul would be released from the agonies of purgatory -- sort of a 'get-out-of-jail-free' card is how it seemed. 

The traditional Day of the Dead (Dia de Muertos) is the celebration in Mexico today, though it doesn't seem anywhere near as grim as the day of kneeling and praying I was supposed to observe. 

And tomorrow, well who knows what that will bring. I can only hope it means a change for calm, respect and peace. Otherwise, it's hard to say what the rest of this long winter might bring. 

As for me and my love of holidays, I can't help but wonder about Christmas -- probably not a long table full of friends and family sharing the traditional Swedish meatballs. 

Still, we can only hope for the best, can't we.

Re-Eastering

We're having Easter all over again, as today marks the observance of Orthodox Easter. It seems to usually fall one week after the Western Christian celebration, though sometimes the dates can be even farther apart -- and sometimes even on the same date. Complicated. Nonetheless, even the pie crow who lives on the windowsill above the kitchen sink seems to be enjoying himself.

We celebrate both Easters, and do so in pretty much the same way, following a number of traditions. Although the menu mostly contains the same elements, the way they're prepared may vary a bit. Last week the main course of lamb was chops on the barbie. Tonight it will be a pair of slow-roasted lamb shanks. Still, the traditional lamb appears both times and, of course, the beautiful coloured eggs are always part of the celebration -- a fresh batch each time.

Last week, I received quite a few Easter greetings, and one of them contained a phrase that made such good sense to me. It referred to the Easter observance as one marking the 'resurrection of life' -- a perfect description of the many forms of new life that occur in springtime.

Everywhere I look, I see the blossoms on the fruit trees, the bulbs now bearing flowers, the seedlings sprouting in the kitchen garden. After a challenging winter, all these signs of regeneration bring hope and the promise of better days.

Getting ready for Easter

Once upon a time I would have spent too much of this afternoon on my knees, singing sad songs in a choir and overall, feeling guilty and shamed. Why? Because today is Good Friday.

I no longer hold to those traditions, although there are many who still commemorate those origins of the day, including some who take the observance to extremes, allowing themselves to be crucified. That's not for me. The breast-beating I did as a child managed to thump any such self-sacrificing notions out of my system.

Yet despite the baggage linked to this weekend (which I remember and probably still cart around), I've learned to make more positive traditions to mark the occasion.

I still colour eggs because I like how pretty they look (besides, who can say no to egg salad sandwiches or devilled eggs?). I hard-boiled a batch this morning and plan to dye them tonight. And I still enjoy finding ways of sharing them, along with chocolates and jelly beans.

One tradition that came as a surprise to me this year -- and for all I know this has been going on for decades -- was a line-up at a nearby mall where kids were getting their picture taken, sitting on the lap of the Easter Bunny. Was this like going to Santa, where children are expected to tell the list of goods they expect to receive on Christmas? I wasn't sure, and only ventured close enough to snap a photo of the creature (whom I found somewhat scary-looking -- "Bunny, please don't show me a mouthful of big teeth.").

Later, I learned that this same Bunny (or at least an underachieving colleague from Alberta wearing an identical suit) was shilling this same gig at at least one other other site, specifically, the famous West Edmonton Mall.

And no, I didn't line up to tell him (her?) what I wanted, as I've already got enough of a treat in store for that day. For the first time in over half a century, my birthday arrives (along with the Bunny?) on Easter. And no, I'm not foolin'.

A wee bit late

I suppose any die-hard traditionalist would find it terrible to be observing Robert Burns' birthday this late in the month. But it turns out this was just the first day we could manage.

Even as we bump along in our non-traditional ways, we try to keeping a few of the 'auld' rituals. One of these is celebrating with a homely version of the Burns Night Supper that isn't exactly what true Scots might be serving.

At least the centrepiece of the meal was the traditional haggis, a food that is apparently illegal in the US.

I admit to cheating, and to buying this haggis from our local butcher shop -- and I even admit to quite liking it, though I probably wouldn't want it all the time.

As for the accompaniments, they weren't exactly what they were supposed to be, but made up from ingredients that were in the fridge, the pantry, or the garden.

The pantry and fridge elements lent themselves to the "MacRoni" and cheese -- made with a nicely respectful Cheddar (aged) at that. And the other side dish wasn't exactly 'neeps and tatties' (turnips and potatoes), but a pretty good facsimile with freshly-dug Jerusalem artichoke, one of the items remaining in the kitchen garden.

Burns Night celebrates the life of a poet, so I probably need to cite a few lines of his that befit the occasion:

Some hae meat and canna eat And some would eat that want it. But we have meat, and we can eat. Sae let the Lord be thankit. 

To that, I can only add an after-dinner Amen.

Incongruities abound

Initially eager to observe this year's Canada Day, I hung the big flag outside the front door and charged ahead making a treat I usually only make at Christmas.

Butter tarts, a treat I think of as quintessentially Canadian, even though my recipe doesn't contain that most quintessentially Canadian ingredient, maple syrup.

Yet finding one last bucket of strawberries in the fridge from last Sunday's pick meant I was baking wintry treats in summer -- at the same time I was needing to slice berries for the freezer -- for wintry treats.

This somehow felt like a happy juxtaposition, a sunny kind of parallel, even complementary -- a yin and yang of seasons, of oven and freezer.

Tonight was another tradition -- the fireworks show on the beach in White Rock. As always, crowds of people streamed down the hills towards the sea, looking for the best vantage point for viewing. We managed a spot along the boardwalk, just below the train tracks that run the length of the beach. When we heard a train go by shortly before the show started, we thought that would be good to have it out of the way before everyone got down there.

But then in the midst of the celebratory display, not just one, but two more trains came through. Tanker cars, black. To me, ominous-looking as they rumbled along so close to those thousands of people -- young and old, so many families and groups of friends -- who'd been talking and laughing and pointing at the colours in the sky.

Black metal train cars carrying something toxic. Even their sound overshadowed the fireworks. American train on Canada Day. Talk about stealing someone's thunder.

This was the night

... when we used to hang our stockings by the fireplace, as tomorrow is the feast of Saint Nicholas. I'm pretty sure you were actually supposed to put out shoes rather than stockings and I'm pretty sure that might have been what we did the first time or two. But somehow that tradition didn't last, and we switched to the more conventional stocking.

If memory serves, I was the one who came up with the suggestion for our family to do this -- mainly because I felt my sisters and I were getting ripped off (as if, eh). You see, our parents didn't believe in Christmas stockings. A hideous thought, I realize, and one that must contribute to who I am today.

Anyway, I read a story in some book about how Dutch kids put their shoes out and had them filled with gifts and candies and thought that we deserved to do the same. Maybe it's just because I've always had big feet that this tradition didn't last long, as we were persuaded to use the more modest stocking from the mantle, a tradition we still follow today.

And I realize the stocking in the image isn't the kind that Santa or St,Nicholas or anyone else fills, but it's the prettiest stocking I own, as it was a gift from my loving sister, Lisa.

Happy Feast of St.Nicholas!

Someone special

Today is the anniversary of the day that George's grandmother died. Yesterday would have been her birthday. It seems odd how the two dates are so very near. Celebrating one's birth on one day, dying the next.

But then maybe that's the way life is for all of us. A span of eighty, even a hundred years, is nothing on the timeline of the cosmos.

And maybe I'm just thinking on this kind of scale owing to an animation that came to my attention yesterday. It illustrates just how tiny we really are in the grand scheme of things.

And yes, that's a candle we have burning for her in our kitchen, the part of the house she always knew best. A bit of whisky in a glass for her, along with fresh fruit -- the one in front is a quince, something she liked to bake with.

And to all a good night!

 

It looks a bit like Santa has landed in Hawaii -- all those orchids flirting with him. That's not quite the case. It's just that this year our Mos Craciun finds himself windowside, on our 'plants' table. By luck, all three orchids are in bloom. Even the African violet is still blossoming.

 

Tonight's supper will be the traditional (for our family, at least) Swedish meatballs, though no, we're not Swedish. They just taste good.

 

Whatever the holiday traditions at your house may be, I hope that you'll enjoy celebrating in the company of those you love and who love you.  

In with the new...

The start of a new year means a day of new beginnings. In my case, that even means getting to use some of the new things I got for Christmas.

At last, it seems like the right day to put things into the drawers of my new dresser -- even time to toss the old toothbrush and start using the pretty new pink one.

Of course, no start of the new year would feel complete without a walk down to the beach to watch the Polar Bear swimmers!