A little soul-soothing...

Just because I really needed to hear this today.

"Ubi Caritas", performed by The Cambridge Singers and arranged by John Rutter.

Back soon.

I promise.

Come Hither, Boys...

This Valentine's Day would not be complete without a tribute to the men I love... The men who make a difference in my life almost EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Selfless and considerate, they never ask for anything in return. And yet, I'd be their love-slave any day.

Thanks, Boys... this one's for you.

(cue the music)

The one, the only, Mister Clean. Ooh, Baldie-- SCRUB. MY. TOILETS!! Yes! YES!! YESSSSSS!!!!

Ben and Jerry. Two men, AND ice cream. Need I say more?

Mister Rooter. No comment, no matter how tempting it may be. This is a "family" blog. (Or, at least, it WAS, till your filthy minds kicked in just now... Of course, the lewd wink doesn't help...)








The Man from Glad. He can take my trash to the curb anytime.

Mr Christie. Mmmmm... cookies.

Chef Boyardee.

and Earl Grey. A couple of "hot" older men...

And with the past year having been the way it was, I would be truly remiss if I didn't give an honourable mention, and pledge my undying love to:

Jim

Jack

Johnnie

and The Captain (I've always had a bit of a THING for pirates)

I've saved one of the very best for last, however... And my deepest sympathies to those of you non-Canadians who have never experienced THIS gentleman:

Tim, I couldn't live without you-- you make my world turn.

***WHEW***

I think I need a cigarette...

Don't worry, I don't smoke.

Not even Joe Camel is attractive enough to make me try THAT.

Ew.

To My Valentine: Why do I put up with you?

Oh, yeah...

Because YOU put up with ME.

"Everything I've Got", sung by the exquisite Blossom Dearie

Damn Cupid...

This morning's grand exit was extra-cacophonous around here, complicated by all manners of Valentine paraphernalia.

There were the 70-some-odd Valentine cards, paintstakingly written and folded and sealed with tiny sparkly stickers... Little foil-covered chocolates attached, and pencils-and-decorative-erasers for the older, "cooler" crowd. There were the treats, in the form of trays of freshly baked cupcakes, adorned with sticky icing and a confetti of coloured sprinkles.

To top it off, I was in the classroom again today, and was dragging my own bag full of supplies, including a hastily assembled arsenal of Valentine-themed story books. (Quite honestly, I don't know WHAT I was thinking at ten o'clock last night when I pulled them all off the shelves... Little brains and bodies hopped up on **SUGAR!!** cannot be calmed by even the most brilliant and entertaining authors, as it turns out...)

Contrary to the theme of the day, there was a considerable amount of shouting and screeching and name-calling as the females of the household attempted to bolt out our back door in time for the bell. Such was the stress of the moment. But somehow, we managed to get all the right stuff in all the right backpacks, and everyone dressed in the full winter uniform of coats-boots-hats-mitts-and-YES-you-HAVE-to-wear-your-scarf...

I was about to pull the door shut when my husband caught me by the arm, and waggled his eyebrows.

Him: Have a good VALENTINE'S DAY! I'll see you tonight!

Me: (fretting, and in a hurry) Yep. If I live that long...

Him: You'd better. I'll be waiting for you!

Me: (eyeing him suspiciously) Hah. You're just afraid I'll leave you alone with three kids to look after...

Him: No, seriously. It's Valentine's weekend!

Me: (rolling eyes and sighing) Dear man, we've been THROUGH THIS. There's a recession going on! And we've been manacled together for nearly twenty years, now, in a bond so tight we couldn't escape one another if we TRIED. We agreed! Low-key Valentines this year. No shopping!! NO SPENDING.

Him: (gleefully) Oh... come on! I never agreed to that.

Me: Yes, you did, as a matter of fact. And you'd better stick to it. I haven't done anything for you except buy you a card, and if you do any more, you'll make me feel guilty.

Him: (swaggering off) Babe, THAT'S what Valentine's Day is all about.

Crap.

I wonder if it's too late to start knitting...

Never underestimate...

...the Importance of raising the next generation.

Questions? And Answers.

The lovely and talented Multi-Tasking Mommy, of "Circle of Life", recently sent me five questions to answer. Here, at long last, are my answers, MTM-- hope everyone at your house is feeling better soon.

And if anyone else has more for me, feel free to ask...

My life isn't quite an "open book", but I'll do my best!

1) If you had unlimited resources, where would you travel to and why?

Oh, my... child-less, or with children??

Child-less, I would tour France and Italy. Because, let's face it, they have it ALL: art, food, fashion, and WINE. This is a trip that I would like to do alone, because I would love the opportunity to comb through every. square. inch. of the museums... to savour every. single. flavour. of the restaurants and wineries... to peruse the fashion houses (and drive the shop-keepers MENTAL by turning the garments inside-out to examine how they're made!!) without worrying about anyone else's bliss BUT MY OWN.

Selfish?

Absolutely.

But it would be ABOUT TIME.

And, with my children?

I would go back to The Beach... THIS BEACH. I have never been to such a blissful, relaxing, and beautiful place. This family holiday is perfection.

2) You have to give away all of your material possessions, not including the roof over your head, but you can keep three things. What are they?

Of course, the maternal impulse is to say that I would let each of the girlies choose one thing... I can live without any of my material possessions, so long as I have the three of them.

But, if I HAD to choose, it would be my desk-top computer (it has all of my music and photo files on it, and there's NO WAY I could live without email), my make-up kit (how shallow is that??! But seriously, NO ONE should have to see me without my "personal armour"), and my Scottish grandmother's beautiful star-shaped pearl brooch, which was bequeathed to me when she died. That brooch is a story unto itself-- it has been lost countless times, and even stolen by burglars once... but amazingly, it has always been returned to whomever in the family has been in possession of it. It has a very special place in our family lore, and I am honoured to be its' keeper, for this generation. I'm guarding it with my life!

3) How has your parenting style changed from having your first to your third child?

It has changed in nearly every way imaginable... except for the fact that I have always approached parenting with as much light-heartedness and humour as I possibly could. When I die, I want my kids to always remember the laughter, the fun, and the FUNNY we had together.

That said, I remember how completely paralyzed and terrified I felt as a first-time mother. My eldest child and I are survivors of post-partum depression, and I now try very hard to reach out and support as many new mothers as I possibly can. Becoming a mother is an incredibly overwhelming experience, and it takes time to "unclench" and relax into the role. I remember the days of endless worry, of sterilizing and laundering everything the baby touched, of obsessing about food-intake and poop-output... Of thinking that everything had to be perfect for my child-- especially ME.

But now, two more children later, I understand that there is truth in the saying "If Mama ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy!!!" The mother sets the tone for the household. And "perfect" simply isn't within the realm of anyone's ability.

The ideal of the Perfect Mother is a myth. A myth most likely created by certain Victorian men, in an attempt to control women. (And don't challenge me on this theory, I have studied the history of the family ENDLESSLY during my academic career, and am prepared to defend my argument to the death if necessary...)

The FACT of the matter is: the mothers who make a real effort to be good parents, and who do the very best that they can for their children, are perfect in their children's eyes. And let's face it, no one else's opinion matters beyond that.

I am absolutely secure in the fact that my girlies love me. I adore them, and I do the best I can for them. My personal best varies from day-to-day, and I am far from perfect (believe it or not-- I know you're all reeling from THAT little confession...) But after thirteen years, and seeing the happy, bright, relatively well-adjusted fruits of my labours, I am pretty confident that my best IS good enough.

4) What is your favourite activity to do with your family/kids?

Thankfully, my girlies enjoy doing a lot of the same things I like doing. I love being able to share my interests with them, and they are very creative little souls. We love going to the theatre, and watching movies together. I have taught them to sew and to knit... We often combine a few activities, and knit while watching an old musical on TV!

We also enjoy gardening together-- we comb the nurseries every spring, and each choose plants that we would like to grow.

The girlies and I also love to cook together-- mostly baking, or sweets and candy! They have inherited my sweet-tooth (much to our dentist's chagrin).

5) Name your top 5 favourite children's books and/or authors.

"Lucy Brown and Mister Grimes", by Edward Ardizzone. Long out of print, but one of the most-loved tales from my childhood. It is a simply beautiful story of a lonely little orphan girl, who is adopted by an elderly "grandfather". The trust, respect and friendship that develops between the child and the elderly gentleman is so beautiful, and so heart-warming.

"Milly-Molly-Mandy", by Joyce Lancaster Brisley. Another book that my parents read to me, and I have passed on to my children. It is a collection of tales (there are actually three books combined into my "Omnibus") about a little girl who lives in rural England, early in the last century. The stories are delightfully short, simple and absolutely charming.

"The Wind in the Willows", by Kenneth Grahame and illustrations by E. H. Shepard (no other illustrations will do. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is.) My paternal grandfather died the same year I was born, but the way in which I have been able to come to know him has been by listening to the hours and hours of reel-to-reel audio tapes he made during his lifetime. He faithfully recorded weeks of installments of a radio-drama version of this book, made for the BBC in the 1950's. The performance is so completely perfect, it defies description. My family has listened to it from start-to-finish, every Christmas, for as long as I can remember... It is the reason why I know so much of the book by heart. A few years ago, my father made copies of the recording for all of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren... I do hope that my grand-dad somehow "knows" that he has given us all such a gift-- such incredible pleasure-- over fifty years after he made the original recording.

"Weaving the Rainbow" by George Ella Lyon, illustrated by Stephanie Anderson. This book is a story about a woman who raises sheep, and not only spins and dyes wool, but then weaves it into beautiful tapestries depicting her sheep in the glorious Kentucky countryside. This story is a feast for the eyes, as well as being an homage to the creative spirit.

"Library Lion" by Michelle Knudsen, illustrated by Kevin Hawkes. The story of a lion whose passion for literacy leads to a "job" at the local library. Everyone learns that sometimes "rules" are made to be bent, if not broken! A lovely and light-hearted read.

Would you like me to send you some questions to answer on your blog? Here's how it works:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

There's one in every class...

This morning, I "held court" in Wee Three's junior kindergarten class. The children had all been remarkably well-behaved, and I had managed to maneuver everyone through their various tasks smoothly enough.

We settled into "carpet time" and twenty-four little people looked up at me delightedly as I announced show-and-tell. I consulted the class list, and asked the five children who were "on" to go to their backpacks, and bring out their treasures for all to see.

There were battered toy cars. And beloved stuffed animals. Even a music box that played a beautiful waltz while a carousel horse spun around on the top.

When my five-year-old friend Calvin swaggered to the front of the room, however, I noted that he was uncharacteristically empty-handed.

"Forgot my show-'n-tell," he declared, as he beamed at his audience.

"BUT... I DO HAVE... THIS!!!" he chortled, as he whipped up the front of his shirt, unveiling his belly button with pride.

For precisely one nano-second, I was unsure of how to proceed. And then I remembered a wonderful day, several years ago, when I was observing a seasoned veteran of the kindergarten teaching profession conduct a show-and-tell session. Her grace, empathy and STRAIGHT FACE when a little boy named James whipped a large baking potato out of his backpack, was a marvel to behold. No doubt, she was thinking that poor James' exhausted, post-partum mother hadn't had the energy to check the contents of her eldest son's school bag that morning.

"Well, James, that is interesting..." the sainted woman remarked, putting her arm around the little boy.

"Tell us, dear. WHY did you choose THIS to show us today?"

"Because," wee James replied enthusiastically, rotating the potato for his classmates to see, "Because it's SHAPED LIKE A BUM!!"

The crowd roared appreciatively, and the potato was passed hand-to-hand for all to admire.

To her great credit, the teacher RESISTED the enormous temptation to drop to the floor in hysterics. She took the entire situation ab-so-lute-ly SERIOUSLY, praised James' evident powers of observation, and allowed him to feel proud.

Yes, Calvin showed off his perfect little "inny" bellybutton at our show-and-tell today. He briefly discussed the pitfalls of having an "inny", rather than an "outie"-- lint from his pj's and fuzzy sweatshirts can often be a problem, apparently... Though the variety of colours it comes in are endlessly fascinating. Luckily, we didn't go much further into the subject during the question-and-answer session, other than to mention that babies "eat" through their belly-buttons before they're born, when they're still in their mummies' tummies. I wrapped things up pretty tidily after that, preferring that OTHER mummies take on the task of explaining the intricacies of THAT subject. No doubt over lunch or dinner tonight...

As we were driving home from school at noon, Child Number Three declared the morning to have been an overwhelming success, which warmed my heart.

"BUT," she added thoughtfully, "Dat belly button was YUKKY."

To be frank?

Ever since that brief nano-second of hesitation I felt this morning...

I've just been thanking Almighty God that Calvin chose to hike up his shirt, rather than dropping his pants, instead.

Reason number eight hundred, nineteen billion-and-one why I love this man...

In the news this morning:

WILLIAMSBURG, Va. — A fired-up Barack Obama ditched his TelePrompter to rally House Democrats and rip Republican opponents of his recovery package Thursday night – at one point openly mocking the GOP for failing to follow through on promises of bipartisanship.

In what was the most pointedly partisan speech of his young presidency, Obama rejected Republican arguments that massive spending in the $819 billion stimulus bill that passed the House should be replaced by a new round of massive tax cuts.

“I welcome this debate, but we are not going to get relief by turning back to the same policies that for the last eight years doubled the national debt and threw our economy into a tailspin,” said President Obama – sounding more like Candidate Obama than at any time since he took the oath of office less than a month ago.

Obama, speaking to about 200 House Democrats at their annual retreat at the Kingsmill Resort and Spa, dismissed Republican attacks against the massive spending in the stimulus.

"What do you think a stimulus is?" Obama asked incredulously. "It’s spending — that's the whole point! Seriously.”

Stabbing hard at Republicans who once aligned themselves with his predecessor, Obama made it clear that the problems he seeks to address with his recovery plan weren’t ones of his making.

“When you start hearing arguments, on the cable chatter, just understand a couple of things,” he said. “No. 1, when they say, ‘Well, why are we spending $800 billion [when] we’ve got this huge deficit?’ – first of all, I found this deficit when I showed up, No. 1.

“I found this national debt, doubled, wrapped in a big bow waiting for me as I stepped into the Oval Office.”

After his remarks, Obama, clearly caught up in the moment, made the party get-together feel even more like a campaign rally with his signature call-and-response chant.

“Fired up?” he asked the Democratic lawmakers. “Ready to go!” a group of them shouted back.

“If you’re headed for a cliff, you’ve got to change direction,” Obama said. “That’s what the American people called for in November, and that’s what we intend to deliver.”

And we're back... Brrrrrrrr...

Suddenly, it's February again.

I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but time just keeps marching on. And much faster than I would like, let me tell you.

Christmas was a bit of a blur, truth be told, and now feels like a distant memory. January was spent alongside my husband, frantically poring over end-of-year numbers and worrying about whether our small business will survive the current economic apocalypse.

Stress? No thanks, I just had some.

Sigh.

The next thing I knew, Child Number Two was bouncing at my elbow, telling me that some Dratted Rodent had seen his shadow, and we were in for six more long weeks of winter.

February???!

Apparently so.

It's snowing again up here in the Great White North (what else is new), and a "cold weather warning" is in effect for the next few days. I've hauled in some fire logs to supplement the furnace, which is faithfully chugging away down in the basement, and will be socking hot water bottles into the girlies' beds while they're brushing their teeth tonight.

A hot bath will feel good. And so will my softest, silliest flannelette pajamas, paired with the enormous fluffy slippers that reach right up to my knees.

I'm currently knitting blankets out of a rainbow of cosy, chunky yarn for a reason-- there's nothing like a project that you can wear while you're working on it!

It's true that the simplest things in life can make us remember how truly blessed we are.

It is a cold world we live in these days. And yet, my family and I are warm.

For dinner tonight?

A smooth, silky soup that is filling, nourishing, and makes the whole house smell wonderful. While it's simmering, I'll be whipping up a quick loaf of Irish Soda Bread-- the perfect accompaniment, whether it's slathered with butter, or dipped right in the soup bowl!

Yum.

February, you say?

Bring it on.

Potage au Poireau

(just a high fallootin' way of saying Leek and Potato Soup)

1/4 c butter

4 c sliced leeks (which works out to be about 6 or 8 leeks, approximately)

1 small onion, chopped

5 c chicken stock (low sodium is best, or make your own!)

3 c finely chopped, peeled potatoes (Yukon Golds are lovely)

1/2 c light cream

Salt and Pepper to taste

Trim the leeks, leaving about 2 inches of green. Halve them lengthwise, and rinse them thoroughly under cold running water. They are sandy buggers, so make sure you've washed them well!

In a large heavy saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the leeks and onion; cover and cook until softened and not browned-- about 10 minutes. Stir them often! Add the stock and potatoes, cover and cook until the potatoes are tender-- about 20 minutes.

Transfer the soup to a food processor or blender, and puree it until it is smooth. Return it to the saucepan, and add the cream while warming the mixture through. Season to taste.

Makes about 6-8 servings

(for "normal" people... my family of five just slurp it all up in one sitting!)

Thank Heaven.

This piece is somewhat of a "theme song" in our household...

Today is the birthday of one of my favourite novelists, Colette, who was the author of the story upon which one of the greatest films of all time was based. "Gigi" was released in 1958, and starred the gorgeous Leslie Caron, Louis Jourdan, Hermione Gingold, and the one-and-only Maurice Chevalier. Among the many honours and awards "Gigi" received, it earned nine Oscars in 1959. If you haven't had the great good fortune to view this luminous, uplifting film yourself, I simply cannot recommend it highly enough.

File this one under "Ab-so-lute-ly Typical"...

I know exactly how the girlies and I will be spending this snowy, blowy afternoon!

Back soon...

We are enjoying the "boredom" here, actually.

After last year, I'll take boring any day...

May it be so. For all of us.

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends - hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism - these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

This is the price and the promise of citizenship.

... the Change that we seek.

"What Washington needs is adult supervision."
--Barack Obama

Congratulations, America. And God bless you, Mr. President.

I think... I hope and pray... We are finally in the right hands.

How I will always remember him...

Mr Bush? You will not be missed.

File this under "I. CAN'T. WAIT."

TWO. MORE. DAYS.

Found today, in the garden...

Buddy, if you're going to borrow my Noro Scarf...

The least you can do is shovel my driveway.

Dig in, Frosty...

Welcome to Monday.

Help.

W. W. B. A. D???

What would Barbara Ann do???

Yesterday, I went out to purchase new figure skates.

Confession time, here: and those of you who have strong, pre-conceived opinions about what a Good Canadian should (or should not) be... you're probably not going to like this.

I haven't been on skates since I was a teenager. Well, in my early twenties, anyway. Which is more years ago than I care to count.

I know, I know... there are even TELEVISION COMMERCIALS on our Canuck stations extolling the virtues of skating-- especially skating together, as a family... preferably on one of our "outdoor rinks" (in most case, a local pond or lake... and in our case, THE DRIVEWAY...)

Hey! It's fun!! It's inexpensive!!! It's GOOD FOR YOU!!!!

Well, I buy all that. In fact, I was a fairly decent skater when I was a kid, forced into lessons by my wise and well-meaning parents. Several times a week, I was crammed into layers of winter gear, laced into a tiny pair of scuffed-up, second-hand figure skates, and pushed through the door in the boards of the Stratford Arena, down on Riverside Drive. There I would spend hour after hour, patiently waiting for an instructor to find the time to tell me what the heck I was doing wrong. My legs became horribly tangled-up during cross-overs (I was crossing-over with waaaaay too much enthusiasm, and losing my balance). I could not transfer my weight between two feet and succeed in propelling myself backwards along the ice, with all my fellow skaters-in-training (I wasn't sticking my bottom out far enough, and as it turns out, it's impossible to skate backwards if your posture resembles a ram-rod).

It took perseverance, that's for sure. Not to mention Buns of Steel, to absorb all of the falling-down I did.

But, I performed in one skating exhibition, and somehow managed to earn several badges, which still sit nestled in a corner of my jewellery box.

Unfortunately, however, I just couldn't get past one thing about skating.

IT'S. COLD.

No matter how fast I skated, or how hard I worked at improving.

I got cold.

I froze, in fact. I can still remember that awful feeling of standing on the ice, waiting and waiting for it to be MY TURN with the instructor, while my toes turned to ten little popsicles inside my skate boots.

I think it was 'round about that time that my sights turned to a "career" in ballet. Which was performed INDOORS. Under HOT LIGHTS.

'Nuff said.

That didn't stop me from admiring those who COULD skate, though. I remember watching all the major figure skating championships on television, sitting cosily on the couch with my mother. Indeed, "The Battle of the Brians" was a year I'll never forget. That, and the magnificent Olympic silver medal performance of our own Elizabeth Manley, right here on Canadian ice...

My mother's enthusiasm for the sport was undeniably contagious. Still is. And it was she who first introduced me to the wonder that is Barbara Ann Scott.

Barbara Ann Scott began skating at a very young age with the Minto Skating Club of Ottawa, Ontario. She was only eleven years old when she won her first Canadian national junior title. Two years later in 1942, when she was thirteen, she became the first female to ever land a double lutz in competition. From 1945 to 1948, she won the North American Figure Skating Championships. In 1947, she became the first North American to win the European and World Figure Skating Championships, making her a Canadian national heroine. After her great victories, her hometown presented her with a new convertible as a gift, but she had to turn it down in order to retain her amateur status so as to be able to compete in the 1948 Winter Olympics in St. Moritz, Switzerland. At those Winter Games, she became the first Canadian to win the figure skating gold medal.

My mother followed Barbara Ann's career with zeal. She had the time to. As a young girl, she was bedridden for nearly a year with Rheumatic Fever, an illness that we seldom hear about now that antibiotics have become a standard course of treatment for strep infections. Not only did my mother comb newspapers for any and all tidbits of information about her heroine, she also became the proud owner of one of the "Eatons Beauty Dolls" that were made in Barbara Ann's likeness.

Oh, how I admired that doll: her lovely, lacy costume with the feathers and frills around the hem, the tiny, perfect teeth, and the weeny pair of skates on her feet... She was placed behind glass in a case in my bedroom when I was young-- and very occasionally, I was allowed to hold her gently in my arms. My mother's fastidious care of the doll has kept her in perfect condition all these years, and I wept when she lovingly presented it as a very special gift to my eldest daughter on her tenth birthday.

Once again, the Barbara Ann doll sits in my bedroom on a high shelf, to keep it safe from little hands... And I wondered what on EARTH Barbara Ann, herself, would have thought if she could have seen the figure skates that I purchased yesterday.

We set out for Canadian Tire, the Mecca of CCM products in our little town... The two eldest girlies were bought beautiful skates with white boots-- the very kind I had worn as a child, and craved to have them perfect and unscathed by black scuffs and blade scratches... Wee Three was bought the tiniest little pair of hockey skates you've ever seen, her father reasoning that skates without toe-picks would be easier for her to learn on.

Then it was my turn. But, unfortunately, because we are somewhat late about visiting the January Sales this year, there were no white boots left that fit this old girl's feet. Pretty amazing, considering I take a whopping size nine-and-a-half... I nearly gave up, but the girlies protested loudly. They want to skate as a FAMILY, without Mother sitting up in the stands with her knitting (hey, I need to keep WARM, remember???!)

So I ventured a little further into the Canadian Tire stock... And I was somewhat shocked to come up with a pair of THESE:

I have NEVER seen figure skates like this before in my entire life. And I'll bet Barbara Ann hasn't, either. They are made by Reebok, and tighten up using a new-fangled hydraulic system-- with the turn of a button, tiny metal threads pull tight around my instep and ankle, automatically adjusting to produce a perfect fit.

Best of all, though?

THEY'RE INSULATED. For optimal foot-warmth.

My tootsies have never felt this comfortable in a pair of skates... And even though the boots are a little stiff, and my ankle can't bend quite the way it used to in my old boots... It doesn't matter one whit.

I'll be with my girlies, out there on the ice. I'll be warm.

And, I sure as shootin' don't think I'll be attempting to land any double-lutzes any time soon.

The Stratford Adventure

This is the film we were shown repeatedly during our school years, to teach us some of the history of our home-town of Stratford, Ontario.

Even after all these years... I feel such pride to have been a tiny part of it all.

A Life Lesson we never grow out of...

Although, by middle age, I have the feeling that indulging in too many Christmas Treats might have something to do with the not-being-able-to-reach-one's-feet-thing, too...

**Oouf**

(Exit, CGF, as she straggles off to shovel the driveway. Again.)

Well, there's that, too...

Twelfth Night is past, and all of the Christmas paraphernalia has finally been put away for another year. I spent a significant chunk of this week de-frocking the Christmas tree, and carefully re-packaging all of the delicate ornaments that I have collected over the course of our family's history... All that remains today is to finish up the actual "cleaning"-- sweeping up all of the glittery dust, removing the pine-sap marks from the ceiling in the living room (??!), and vacuuming the endless, ENDLESS trails of tree needles from the carpets, the floors, and all those remote little hard-to-reach corners of the house that would seem to be the most ridiculously unlikely places for Christmas Crapola to have collected.

In order to find the proper inspiration I needed to stir my weary stumps and break out the ancient, over-used monstrosity we call a vacuum cleaner (along with all its frightening attachment accessories), I turned to my music collection. When it comes to heavy-duty housework, I usually choose something loud and raucous-- generally of the Aerosmith or ACDC variety-- to get myself moving. But not today, however. Today, I needed something light and airy, to match the mood created by the enormous, lacy snowflakes that have been descending outside my window all morning...

Not the "Snowflakes" from "The Nutcracker", however. Too typical. Too overplayed during the holidays.

No.

Instead, I chose the Scherzo from Felix Mendelssohn's exquisite ballet score for "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

The first few delicate notes rang out, but before I was able to reach the broom closet, Wee Three skidded, top-speed, into the kitchen, froze for a moment in the middle of the floor as she listened... and then rose up onto her tippy-tippy toes.

I watched, entranced, as my littlest girlie moved to the music, clearly enraptured by what she was hearing. Faster and faster she whirled and twirled to the beautiful melody, occasionally leaping into the air as she spun, her whole face lit up with the joy of it all.

I was suffused with delight as I watched, and thought of how wonderful it would be if one of my children could realize the dream I once had, to excel in the art of classical dance. Of what a gift it would be, to be able to interpret the beauty of music in movement, and bring stories to life on the stage.

"Oh, my sweetie!" I exclaimed as the piece ended, and my wee girl finally paused, laughing and gasping for breath.

"That was BEAUTIFUL! Isn't it fantastic, that feeling you get when you just can't help dancing to the music??! Did you HEAR the little fairies flitting about in the forest? And the donkey braying, hee-HAWWW, hee-HAWW... That music tells the story of a play by Shakespeare-- a beautiful, funny story... I could just see you acting it out a little bit! Were you pretending to be like Titania, the Queen of the Fairies?"

Wee Three stopped laughing, and gave me an enormous hug-around-the-knees.

"NOPE!" she called, as she skipped out of the room, "I just like spinning awound and making mysewf really, really DIZZY!"

Well.

There's that, too, I guess...

Lord help the sister...

We were about halfway through breakfast this morning when I glanced over at my eldest daughter, who had clearly dressed for school with special care. Christmas has come and gone, and she has been looking especially swish of late, courtesy of my extremely generous mother, who loves nothing better than to dress her granddaughters up to the nines at every opportunity.

Something else caught my eye, though-- something glittery. I noticed that she was wearing a fine gold chain around her neck, that was strung with tiny seed pearls.

Mother: (admiringly) Hey, looking GOOD today! VERY nice. You are certainly turning into quite the Young Lady these days... Where did that pretty little necklace come from?

Child Number One: (fluttering her long eyelashes and looking very pleased with herself) Thanks. Grandma and I bought the clothes, and then Auntie gave me the jewellery... I thought it would all go well together.

Child Number Two: (gleefully, unable to resist) Yeah. It goes ESPECIALLY well with that big ZIT on your FOREHEAD.

To her great credit, Child Number One did not attempt to flatten her younger sister with one punch... Instead, she sighed heavily, and with a shake of her head, returned her attention to the peanut-butter-toast on the plate in front of her.

Mother: (softly, to her long-suffering eldest daughter) Don't worry... Once upon a time, I had a little sister just like that...

... And she grew up to be a pretty terrific Auntie, who just happens to give great necklaces.

The girlies are back in school...

Now, to start shovelling out this bear pit we live in...

*sigh*

Ring In The New!

Bell Harry Tower, of Canterbury Cathedral, England,

once called "the finest tower in Christendom".

Ring Out, Wild Bells

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

"Ring Out, Wild Bells" is a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Published in 1850, the year he was appointed Poet Laureate, it forms part of In Memoriam, Tennyson's elegy to Arthur Henry Hallam, his sister's fiancé, who died at the age of twenty-two.

December 31

It is New Year's Eve, and the final day of December.

Which means, it is time to close another year of The Musical Advent Calendar... today's selection, "New Year", by John Rutter (my favourite choral composer, if you haven't already noticed!), performed by The Cambridge Singers, will be the final one for 2008.

Please allow me once again to thank you all for reading, and for listening every day this month. I have enjoyed hearing from so many of you, from all over the world, and look forward to planning the music for next year's selections! I take such pleasure in knowing that the carols have brought joy to you. And this process has brought tremendous joy to me, as well-- during a difficult time, having this creative outlet to look forward to each day has helped me to focus on the true meaning of Christmas, and encouraged me to get beyond the stress, pressure and fatigue that most mothers face, as they struggle to "make" the holiday for their families. For that, I am truly grateful.

I would be telling a falsehood if I were to say that I am sorry to see the passing of 2008. Without a doubt, this year has been the most difficult period of my entire life. However, I can definitely say that there have been things over this past year that I have been truly thankful for.

I am first and foremost thankful for my family, and for the love, health and mutual support that we all enjoy. I am most thankful that my brother chose THIS year to end his world-travels and return home to us, and to a new and exciting career that has allowed him to live a blessedly short distance away. How I would have managed to come through these past few months without him, I don't even want to contemplate...

I am also thankful for my friends-- old and new. Once I was finally able to share my difficulties with some of them, I came to realize that I am far from alone in all of the chaos that 2008 has wrought. We all have our own trials to bear, hard decisions to make, and new directions to follow. But, if we can bring ourselves to let others in on our burdens, I have learned that they become much easier to shoulder. One of the things that has helped me the most this year has been to be allowed the privilege of emotionally supporting a few of my friends who are also hurting. Not only has it provided me with the opportunity to shift my mind from my own difficulties, but it has helped me to regain a sense of self-worth, to know that simply providing a listening ear and a helping hand has made a difference in the life of another person. And, of course, the deepening and strengthening of a personal relationship is a gift beyond all measure.

To my mind, 2009 should be made the year of "reaching out" to one another. Above all else this year, I have learned how much we all need each other. We need personal connections, and to feel more free about forming new relationships, beyond our "comfortable circles". At times like this, it does the heart a tremendous amount of good to know that others care. And if we could all muster the courage to reach out to a few new people with whom we might not otherwise have become involved, imagine what a difference it could make in the lives of others-- and your own life, too.

A sense of community. A sense of caring.

A strong, mutually-supportive society of friends.

That is my wish for all of you in 2009.

From my house to yours,

Love, blessings, peace...

And the happiest of New Years.

xoxo CGF

Turn your eyes to the light,

Turn your face to the sun,

New life, new light, new love and hope...

New Year.

To answer your question?

So am I.

December 30

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

performed by Heavenly Harry Connick Jr.

December 29

"Adoration of the Magi" by Pranas Domsaitis

Here is the Little Door

a poem by Frances/G. K. Chesterton

scored for a capella choir by Herbert Howells

and performed by Chanticleer

Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift!

We need not wander more but enter with our gift;

Our gift of finest gold,

Gold that was never bought nor sold;

Myrrh to be strewn about his bed;

Incense in clouds about his head;

All for the Child who stirs not in his sleep.

But holy slumber holds with ass and sheep.

Bend low about his bed, for each he has a gift;

See how his eyes awake, lift up your hands, O lift!

For gold, he gives a keen-edged sword

(Defend with it Thy little Lord!),

For incense, smoke of battle red.

Myrrh for the honoured happy dead;

Gifts for his children terrible and sweet,

Touched by such tiny hands and

Oh such tiny feet.

This is a carol for Epiphany, and is sung from the point of view of the Magi, who are approaching the infant Christ, born in a stable in Bethlehem. I find this carol to be positively mesmerising... the cautious anticipation of the Three Kings seeking the baby Jesus is so perfectly reflected in the soft, delicate opening of the piece. The melody builds in volume and emotional strength as the discovery is made, and the gifts are presented... Only to be reduced, once again, in the final line, to the intense humanity of the newborn Saviour, who, in spite of the awe-inspiring life they prophesize for him, is still just a wee babe, after all.

December 28

The Virgin and Child Embracing

by Giovanni Battista Salvi Sassofrrato (1660-1685)

The Seven Joys of Mary

performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

arranged by Stephen Cleobury

The very first joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of one

To see her blessed Jesus Christ

When He was first her Son

When He was Her first Son, Good Man;

And blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

To all eternity.

The next good joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of two

To see her own son Jesus Christ,

To make the lame to go.

To make the lame to go, Good Man,

and blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

To all eternity.

The next good joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of three

To see her own son Jesus Christ,

To make the blind to see.

To make the blind to see, Good Man,

and blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

To all eternity.

The next good joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of four

To see her own son Jesus Christ,

To read the Bible o'er.

To read the Bible o'er, Good Man,

and blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

To all eternity.

The next good joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of five

To see her own son Jesus Christ,

To bring the dead alive.

To bring the dead alive, Good Man,

and blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

To all eternity.

The next good joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of six

To see her own son Jesus Christ,

Upon the Crucifix.

Upon the Crucifix, Good Man,

and blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son and Holy Ghost,

To all eternity.

The next good joy that Mary had,

It was the joy of seven

To see her own son Jesus Christ,

To wear the crown of Heaven.

To wear the crown of Heaven, Good Man,

and blessed may we be,

Both Father, Son and Holy Ghost,

To all eternity.

This is another one of the many "counting carols" of Christmas, although traditionally, "The Joys of Mary" has been sung throughout the year. William Sandys, the author of "Carols Ancient and Modern" (1833), wrote that "...this [is] taken from popular broad-side carols, [and contains] rather curious legends, of which may have already been observed in the old carol for St. Stephen."

The earliest known version is in a manuscript of the fourteenth century, where it is entitled "Joyes Fyve." There are many, many different variations of the lyrics, however, and during my research this week, I have discovered as many as fifteen different verses. Of the many variations, the most generally accepted versions are "Joys Seven", and "The Twelve Joys of Mary". It is noted, however, that the extension of the Seven Joys to Twelve is confined to the northern parts of England, hence its tag of "The Newcastle Version".

Life Lesson for the New Year...

Boundin'

from Pixar Studios

December 27

How Great Our Joy

by John Rutter

and performed by The Cambridge Singers

King John's Christmas

King John was not a good man —

He had his little ways.

And sometimes no one spoke to him

For days and days and days.

And men who came across him,

When walking in the town,

Gave him a supercilious stare,

Or passed with noses in the air —

And bad King John stood dumbly there,

Blushing beneath his crown.

King John was not a good man,

And no good friends had he.

He stayed in every afternoon ...

But no one came to tea.

And, round about December,

The cards upon his shelf

Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,

And fortune in the coming year,

Were never from his near and dear,

But only from himself.

King John was not a good man,

Yet had his hopes and fears.

They’d given him no present now

For years and years and years.

But every year at Christmas,

While minstrels stood about,

Collecting tribute from the young

For all the songs they might have sung,

He stole away upstairs and hung

A hopeful stocking out.

King John was not a good man,

He lived his life aloof;

Alone he thought a message out

While climbing up the roof.

He wrote it down and propped it

Against the chimney stack:

“TO ALL AND SUNDRY - NEAR AND FAR -

F. CHRISTMAS IN PARTICULAR.”

And signed it not “Johannes R.”

But very humbly, “JACK.”

“I want some crackers,

And I want some candy;

I think a box of chocolates

Would come in handy;

I don’t mind oranges,

I do like nuts!

And I SHOULD like a pocket-knife

That really cuts.

And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,

Bring me a big, red india-rubber ball!”

King John was not a good man —

He wrote this message out,

And gat him to his room again,

Descending by the spout.

And all that night he lay there,

A prey to hopes and fears.

“I think that’s him a-coming now,

(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)

“He’ll bring one present, anyhow —

The first I’ve had for years.

“Forget about the crackers,

And forget about the candy;

I’m sure a box of chocolates

Would never come in handy;

I don’t like oranges,

I don’t want nuts,

And I HAVE got a pocket-knife

That almost cuts.

But, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,

Bring me a big, red india-rubber ball!”

King John was not a good man —

Next morning when the sun

Rose up to tell a waiting world

That Christmas had begun,

And people seized their stockings,

And opened them with glee,

And crackers, toys and games appeared,

And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,

King John said grimly: “As I feared,

Nothing again for me!”

“I did want crackers,

And I did want candy;

I know a box of chocolates

Would come in handy;

I do love oranges,

I did want nuts.

I haven’t got a pocket-knife —

Not one that cuts.

And, oh! if Father Christmas had loved me at all,

He would have brought a big, red india-rubber ball!”

King John stood by the window,

And frowned to see below

The happy bands of boys and girls

All playing in the snow.

A while he stood there watching,

And envying them all...

When through the window big and red

There hurtled by his royal head,

And bounced and fell upon the bed,

An india-rubber ball!

AND OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,

MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL

FOR BRINGING HIM

A BIG, RED

INDIA-RUBBER BALL!

--A. A. Milne