Friday Follies - Is There a Christmas Without Tradition?

The whole Christmas celebration is based on traditions - Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, the tree, the gifts, Santa and the elves and reindeer...it goes on and on.  But within these larger cultural conventions, each family has its own holiday traditions that they hold near and dear.  As the kids grow up and form their own families, some traditions are added, some are dropped, and so it goes for the next generations after that.

Oh, the struggle is real.

When we were little, the Christmas Tree did not get put up until after my birthday.  Having a December birthday is always difficult, with all of the special annual celebrations lumped into one month.  Birthdays often get pushed to the side or the gifts put together with a combination birthday/Christmas gift.  People are busy and can't come to parties and it all just becomes a messy few weeks.  Mum and Dad tried to counteract this by not having 'Christmas' appear in our house until after my birthday.  It was only a few years ago that I realised that I'm actually an adult now (okay, I realised I was an adult before that...), and I don't have to wait until after my birthday to decorate our tree and our house.  Phew, that's a load off my mind as I can now do it when it is convenient, not cram it in when I have little time.

The after birthday tree

Another family custom emerged from our family being a mix of Canadian and Australian.  As Canada is a day behind Australia, it was decided that one - and only one - Australian Christmas present could be opened on Christmas Eve, as it was already Christmas Day in Australia.  That was a pretty good tradition to have as a child.  Of course, if we were German, we could have opened all of our gifts on Christmas Eve as is their tradition.  Thanks Mum and Dad.....or is that 'danke'??

Mum created another routine for our family on Christmas Eve.  She knew that the next day would be full of kitchen duties, and usually there was a lot of cooking involved in parties and pot lucks leading up to the big day.  Being a practical woman, Mum decided that Christmas Eve dinner was always take-away, and usually Chinese.  I love this tradition and while we may not always have Chinese food, we definitely don't do any cooking on Christmas Eve.  For those who know me, when I say we, I mean me.

Another offshoot of being part Aussie is that we grew up having a Santa Sack, which was the size of a pillowcase, and we pinned it to the arms of the couch or a chair.  All of our Santa gifts went in there (unless we were lucky enough that they were too big).  I'll never forget the first time I realised that this was not the norm in Canada - it was Christmas Stockings all the way.  The other kids thought we were greedy, but we weren't - we got the same amount of gifts, it was just that more of ours were in the Santa Sack.

At the bottom of our Santa Sacks were usually some type of chocolates - most years it was a bag of gold chocolate coins.  Christmas and Easter were the only times that we were allowed to gorge on chocolate before breakfast - and we took full advantage of it!

When we moved out, we had our own places and of course had our own trees to decorate.  With that came the tradition of being given at least one Christmas ornament or decoration every year.  I love this one, and whenever family travels overseas and is able, they get me a new Christmas decoration.  My tree is now full of ornaments that have memories attached to them, and each year I love decorating the tree, rediscovering and reminiscing. 

You can't go wrong with cat Christmas decorations

My brother went down another road in his mis-spent youth.  When he lived in a share house in university with 3-4 other guys, their tree was decorated with condoms.  It did throw my grandmother for a bit of a loop when she realised what was actually on the tree.  I'm pretty sure that my brother would not like to carry on this tradition now that he has kids...although they might think it's hilarious!

The struggle is real

Decorating the tree is another time that family traditions die hard.  In our house, Mum and I used to go and choose a real tree.  It was Dad's job to untangle, check and hang the lights.  This was a very involved job that required at least a couple of glasses of scotch, volumes of swearing, and everyone else leaving him alone until he was finished.  Once the lights were twinkling on the tree, Mum and I (sometimes my brother...not so much when he got older) decorated the tree.  The tradition sort of continues at our house now, except I don't drink scotch while doing the lights, but after our first year together, I wrote a 'Christmas Light Agreement' that Shawn and I both signed, and it states that I will put up the lights on the tree, and I will do it alone.  This agreement has done wonders for our marriage, and I hope it will continue to be honoured into the future.  Once the tree is decorated and other Christmas delights are placed around the house, Shawn puts the star on the tree as the final touch.

I'm sure that Tangle Fairies live in storage with the lights

Probably my most popular tradition is my Christmas baking tradition.  I must have started it in my 20's.  I love Christmas and I love baking, so it all seems to work out pretty well.  I usually start baking in late October, early November, and I try and make a variety of different goodies.  I always include Scotch Shortbread, using my Grandmother's recipe.  I can never get it to taste quite as good as hers did, but I feel close to her while I'm making it (and eating it!), and I will continue to make that every year until I die.  Which will make everyone around me happy as I am pretty sure that there would be a rebellion if I ever stopped my annual gifts of assorted homemade Christmas treats.  I love doing it though, and I can't imagine Christmas without those wonderful smells in the kitchen.

No dogs were harmed in the making of this baking

Traditions are wonderful things, comforting you and making you feel secure because you know what is going to happen and when.  They make occasions special. I think it's great for traditions to be adaptable and flexible, helping them to endure in some form through the generations.
And so I wish a very Merry Christmas to all, and an amazing 2018 to you and your families.

Why doesn't Santa get me these stockings??

(I will be taking a break over the holidays, and will see you back here in 2018!)

What If The Pet Was in Charge of Christmas?

Christmas is such a magical time of year, inspired by tradition, family and friends.  But have you ever wondered what the festive season would be like if your cat or dog was in charge of it all?  Well I have, but only because my mind works in weird and mysterious ways...please don't question it, it is what it is.

Purrkins might not be the best candidate.

What if my Cat was in Charge of Christmas?

Cats, we love them, but let's face it, they have attitude.  Lots of attitude. 

The first thing Cat would do would be to change the name from Christmas to Catmas.  Cat's were worshipped by the Egyptions, and quite frankly, they don't understand why it would be any different now.  Christmas should be all about cats.  During Catmas, it would be mandatory for each household to decorate at least two full size Christmas Trees, preferably more.  These trees should be covered in lots of fun, dangly ornaments, ready to be batted off any time.  Boughs are spaced out in a manner that makes climbing easy and accessible.  Tinsel will be prevalent, but not so much so that it impedes progress up the tree trunk for the prize at the top.  Trees will also be wobbly enough to be knocked over, but not too wobbly - these things shouldn't come easily.

Do you like my beard

The base of the trees will be filled with gifts, such as dead mice and birds, and the odd cat toy infused with catnip.  For that child that has been really, really good all year, a hairball will be coughed up, preferably in an area where it is not seen until it is stepped on in the middle of the night, creating squishy goodness between the toes.

Cat Santa would be the bearer of these hairballs, as he grooms his long beard and fur trimmings on his suit and hat.  He would descend the chimney with great aplomb, always landing on his feet.  On the odd occasion that his landing did not go completely to plan, he would jump up quickly, look around to make sure no one saw, and have a quick groom to reassure himself.  Cat Santa is nothing if not cool, and must maintain this image.

The traditional milk and cookies are welcomed by Cat Santa.  He would save the milk for last as it is his favourite, and kindly knock the glass to the ground when he is finished.  Again, a little grooming session would be his reward for all of his hard work.

Clawde would make an excellent Santa.

Cat Santa photos and the shopping centre will be lots and lots of fun.  He would greet the children with a meow and a purr, and allowing his lap to be sat upon for exactly 6.345 seconds, before latching his razor-like claws into an arm or leg and biting, all the while his dilated pupils watching for any reaction.  The humans would continue to line up to do this as they love their cats and are determined to show that Cat Santa really DOES love them.  He doesn't...or at least he doesn't show it.

What if my Dog was in Charge of Christmas?

Dogmas would be a very special time of year.  If you thought Santa loved you, Dog Santa would love you one hundred percent more.  He'd scramble down the chimney making an awful noise, while ensuring that as much soot as possible was caught up in his fur, before shaking it off on the hearth, coating everything in a black dust.  He would be torn whether to go for the cookies and milk first or to bound into the bedroom to greet you (which, strictly speaking, goes against the Santa Policy of never being caught in the house).  Of course, the cookies would win, and Dog Santa would heartily gulp down the cookies before slurping the milk, making a terrible mess and keeping just a bit of it for later on his beard.

Happy Santa!

Once the snack was completed, Dog Santa would have to give you a big lick on your face to wake you up.  This is a bit unfortunate as Dog Santa had an earlier snack of reindeer poop.  Hopefully the cookies and milk washed all of that nastiness away.

A quick trot back to the living room to chew on the corners of the gifts and maybe water the on the tree to make sure that everyone knew he was there.  After all, trees have a special place in a dog's heart.

Shopping Centre Dog Santa would be much more of a hit than Cat Santa.  Everyone would get lots of kisses, and Dog Santa would spend a lot of his time on his back getting belly rubs.  While he would tell all of the girls and boys that they were good, in the back of his mind he would always need reassurance that HE was the good boy.

Manu is a good Christmas boy.

So Meowy Christmas from Cat Santa, and have a Barky New Year from Dog Santa!

Friday Follies - Ghosts of Christmas Past

Canada vs Australia

Growing up in two different countries on opposite sides of the Earth meant that I got to experience Christmas in both winter and summer.  Most of the holidays of my youth were celebrated in winter, so I think that's where my heart lies when it comes to Christmas.  It never feels quite right to be hanging decorations with sweat trickling down my butt crack.

You have to love a real Christmas Tree - it even looks good
surrounded by 1970's décor.

Christmas always felt cosy and comforting with the snow outside, cushioning our house from the world.  If you were particularly lucky, big fluffy snowflakes would be gently falling, covering the world with a calm quiet while reflecting all the colours of the twinkling lights.  Christmas lights hung on the eaves of a house take on a magical quality with snow capping the roof like icing on a cake.  It's something out of a fairy tale.  The fire would be warmly crackling in the fireplace, it's glow reflecting on the tinsel and baubles that were hung on the tree.  Pets would be stretched out by the hearth, warming their full tummies, dreaming of ways to sneak some of the Christmas treats. Mum would always have some baking on the go, scents of cinnamon, cloves and ginger tantalising us as we waited for Christmas Eve.  These are the memories of my childhood.

Ooo, lights and snow!

Christmas in Australia is a time of heat, sun and beach.  Quite often Christmas Day is stinking hot, with everyone hiding in the air conditioned chill.  Presents for kids tend more to the bikes, boogie boards and bathing suits, unlike the toboggans, skates and scarfs that are gifted in Canada.   Dinner consists of cold meats, salads and seafood - except on the years that we all decide to go back to a traditional hot meal.  After sweltering for hours in the kitchen it is usually decided that it was a mistake, but oh so yummy!  If you can, a dip in the ocean or the pool is definitely on the menu.

No matter what hemisphere you live in, I think everyone has one or two special Christmas holidays that they always remember. 

Even Santa likes a swim

One of my very favourite memories of Christmas is from when we were little - I'm not even sure that we were in school yet.  Christmas still had the joy and mystery of Santa, and we believed in him wholeheartedly.  As December approached, it was the time to be mindful of your behaviour and make sure that it was the very best, after all, Santa was watching!  Christmas lists would be written and placed on the fridge for all to see, and as Christmas Eve drew closer, the anticipation made it harder and harder to sleep.

Another great Christmas Tree when we were young.

This particular Christmas Eve we went to an annual celebration at a friend's cabin on the lake.  The decorations were always immaculate and their tree was real and full of ornaments, tinsel and lights.  There had been a big snowfall, and to be honest, the only thing I remember about that night at the cabin was that all the kids had lots of fun tobogganing down the hill to the frozen lake.  I'm sure we were fed until we couldn't be fed anymore and played games until we were exhausted.  The drive home was quiet as my brother and I fell asleep in the backseat, snug, content and loved.

Playing in the snow at the cabin.

Before we had left home, we had decided that we would leave a note by Santa's cookies and milk (in later years Santa had asked if we could leave pretzels and Scotch, but that's another story...apparently it's cold out there.) asking if Santa could please leave one present at the end of our beds, to be spied the minute that our eyes opened in the morning.  Mum told us not to get our hopes up, that Santa may not have time to read the notes, but we could leave them anyway.

We quickly brushed our teeth, changed into our pj's (flannel, of course) and jumped into bed.  Even though we tried desperately to keep our eyes open in order to catch Santa in the act, the fresh air and fun had made sleep inescapable.

Presents!

Morning came, as it always does, and what did we see?  A present!  I cannot tell you how excited we were that Santa had read our note and then left us one present each on our beds.  If that wasn't proof of the old guy's existence, we didn't know what was.

What a perfect Christmas spent playing in the snow with friends and then Santa loving us enough to take the time to make us happy.  It really didn't get better than that.  If I try really hard, I can still vaguely recall what that felt like, that magic of Santa.

More presents...but why is my brother not wearing pants?
Note pillow cases used for Santa Sacks on the chair.

That was my favourite Christmas because it felt like what Christmas is supposed to feel like as a kid, and something to be treasured for all time.

Another of my favourite Christmas' was the year that all of the Australian relatives made the trek over to experience a white Christmas.  Our house was full to the rafters, and Mum had gathered winter coats, etc from friends far and wide so that we had enough items to cover all of the Aussie body parts.  So much laughter and love that Christmas, it was noisy and crazy and wonderful.  And such fun watching the Australians discover things that we took for granted.  It was a particularly harsh Christmas that year, with record low temperatures.  The Aussies learned that snot did indeed freeze, the ice was really slippery and really, really hard when you fell, and that it didn't take long for beer to get cold if you put it in the snowdrift when the fridge was full.  They also learned the joys of extremely dry air, jolting themselves with static electricity at every turn, and learning that your skin can get dry enough that it cracks.


Christmas in Edmonton



As much as they enjoyed that Christmas, they said that it didn't feel like Christmas to them as it wasn't hot and they couldn't go to the beach.

Although sometimes it seems like Christmas is prescribed by the media, and it should be this and it should be that, Christmas is highly personal to everyone.  It's what you grew up with, what you loved, and what traditions your family made.  No Christmas is better than the other as long as it is spent with family and friends, but I still miss the white Christmas.  For me, it was enchanting, and the cold and snow just magnified the beauty of it all. 

Is that Santa?

But don't get me wrong, sipping ice cold champagne by the poolside has it's merits too!
Enjoy your Christmas, whatever you are doing, and make memories for the future.

A Christmas CATastrophe

Cute, but evil

In honour of the destructive and wicked ways of a recent family addition, an evil kitten named Archie.  This week's blog is dedicated to him and all the crazy cats that we have had before that seem to particularly love this time of year.

Twas the weeks before Christmas and all through the house

An evil was stirring, it wasn't a mouse.

The kitten sat proudly, his eyes all aglow

Soon his intentions would everyone know.

 

The Christmas Tree stood pride of place in the room

Its lights shining brightly under light of the moon.

His whiskers twitched knowingly, full of intent

So full of energy, none of it spent.

 

Before

He walked over slowly, so quiet on foot

And gazed up at branches dripping in loot.

His muscles coiled tightly as he launched in the air

Eagerly landing on a newly found lair.

 

The limbs on the tree quivered softly in fear

Knowing that dastardly deeds were so very near.

The tinsel it shook while the baubles all swayed,

Archie's cruel intentions were soon to be made.

 

Whiskers full forward and ear tips erect

The full force butt wiggle soon took effect.

Those shiny bright ornaments standing so still

Soon went flying over window and sill.

During



Santa rapidly bounced from the tree to the ground

And Rudolph fell next barely making a sound.

Archie just buzzed he was so full of glee

There was so much to do, it was not time to flee.

 

He batted at tinsel, at boughs and at globes

He swatted the glitter, the stars and the orbs

Garlands unwound quite free from their hold

Who was this kitten, getting ever more bold?

 

Eventually calm, he jumped from his perch

What was left of the tree wobbled with a great lurch.

Happy with self he started to groom

Before quietly stalking away from the room.
 

After



The sun filled the sky with its warm gentle glow

The cat's tail still calmly moving to and back fro

Mum entered the room, sleep still in her eyes.

Yet unaware of her festive surprise.

 

Archie rubbed on her leg with a soft little howl

Hoping she'd soon start to fill up his bowl.

Her eyes glanced over at her once pretty tree

She was stopped in her tracks by what she did see.
 

Way After

All her hard work so quickly undone

By one little brat, there could only be one.

She looked at that face all sweetness and light

And said 'It looks like you've had a very good night."
 

Time to relax

 With a sigh and a groan, she picked Archie up,

'You're such a bad kitten, you're worse than a pup.

But love you we will, despite your mad ways"

And with that she kissed him with love in her gaze.

 

To all the bad cats, I wish you goodnight.

You can be so naughty but try as we might

Hate and disdain cannot ever live here

We'll love you forever and ever, my dears.
 

Still loveable, despite everything

 

Friday Follies - Fifty and....Fabulous?

Yes it is!

Here I am, on the eve of my 50th birthday.  A half century, mid-life if I'm lucky.  Oh, the horror.

I was told my 30's would bother me.  They didn't.  In fact, my 30's were pretty great.  I was told my 40's would bother me.  They bothered me a tiny bit, but not that much really.  I was told 50's would be a breeze.  Uh, no.  I have not been handling this milestone as well as previous ones.  I should, there is a lot to be happy about, and I have a pretty great life.  But I'm not.

50?  50?  When on earth did this happen?  And how did it happen so quickly.  Sometimes it seems like it's gone by in the blink of an eye, but then sometimes I realise that it's been a long time, and there are bits that have been boarding the departure train of my memory, and I don't like it.

My friends and I used to talk about partying, men and what we might do when we grew up.  Now we talk about menopause. Double ugh.

In the pursuit of trying to make myself feel better, I've come up with some positive thoughts.  Logically, I know there are lots - just tell that to my wrinkles, sagging skin and aching bones.

1.  I'm still alive!  It's simple, but it's a biggie.  I know of lots of people that never made it to this age, and it's way too young to go.  I still have pretty good health, minus some minor but manageable issues.  I don't take it for granted that I'm still around, it's a blessing that many don't have.

2.  The phrase 'I'm too old for that' can come in pretty handy.  From avoiding activities that I actually don't want to do, but would have looked like a pussy for avoiding when I was young, to avoiding BS... it's a useful phrase.





3.  I don't sweat the small stuff as much as I used to.  Of course, the small stuff still gets to me, and I do tend to let it because honestly, it's in my nature, but I can quickly get over it now. Nothing lets you deal with things better than experience and the knowledge that most things don't really matter, and that with time they will blow over like Donald Trump's 'do in the breeze.  Things that seemed so traumatic and important in my youth are barely a blip in my memories now.  If I do remember them, I can see that they didn't really make a difference, or, in fact, were good things in disguise.  This experience has also helps me to pick my battles wisely whereas in the past, I fought way too many of them.

4.  Getting taken advantage of on holidays by people spiking your drinks isn't a big worry.  A few years ago in Thailand we met some young Aussies on the beach.  After chatting for awhile, we found out that most of their group had had their drinks spiked a couple of nights previously.  When your fat and old, the chances of this happening to you are on par with the chances of Russian athletes testing clean on their urine samples.  So relax and enjoy the cocktails.

5.  Nanna naps.  No one looks at me with a funny side-eye when I say I love nanna naps now. In fact it's almost expected that you have them.

6.  You can come to the rescue by whipping out your reading glasses when someone at the table can't read the menu.  And you all agree that they are making the writing smaller and why the heck doesn't someone turn up the lights so you can read the damn thing!

7. I now pay attention to all of the ads for over-50 insurance and discounts. Exclusive age-related groups only seem to apply when you are young or when you are old, not in-between.

8.  I have hit an 'invisible' age.  While this can be annoying when you are trying to get someone's attention at a shop, sometimes it's nice to not be noticed when you are carrying out your daily activities.  This doesn't apply if you have a bit of breakfast on your face or your fly is down.  You are never invisible then.

9.  A kind word is always welcome. I have learned how much a kind word, compliment or thank you can change my day and I try and put that into practice with others.  After all, we are all in this together and there is enough nastiness around us every day.  Why not make the world a better place, even if it's only a little bit.

10.  I become more grateful every year.  As I see bad luck, bad times and bad choices affect others, I realise that I need to be grateful for what I have had, what I have now, and what I will have.  There is ALWAYS something to be grateful for, and I try and acknowledge it every day.

And as they say, when you get older you can celebrate getting your head together....finally.  Sadly, my body has other ideas!

One thing that I have noticed about this milestone in my life is that I seem to have joined a club.  50 has a magical and elite feeling about it, as scary as it is.  So here I come, full speed, arms wide open and with a hesitant smile plastered on my face. Don't let me fall!  60 is just around the corner, and I don't know how I feel about that yet.



Happy Birthday to Me!

A Harvey By Any Other Name

Handsome Harvey Henbanger - Ladies Man

It's been almost a year since the prodigal hen, Electra, came home with her batch of chicks and surprised the heck out of us.  After all, we thought she was dead because we hadn't seen her in weeks.  Her two offspring that we kept are almost a year old, and it's time to revisit Harvey Henbanger's evolution into the very handsome boy that he is.

Baby Harvey - strutting his stuff already.

Harvey was one of two roosters and he quite happily let Uno rule the roost, so to speak, and take the lead.  Harvey was a follower, sweet in disposition and happy to hang back and sneak in a quick rendezvous with the girls at any opportunity.  Life was good for Harvey, all of the benefits with no responsibilities.

Uno had to go as we could only have on rooster, and it was decided that Uno had the potential to be a bit too dominant, and I wasn't going to deal with another aggressive rooster attacking me when my back was turned.  So Uno went to a new home, and Harvey Henbanger became the main man.

As I have written about before here, Harvey had a bit of an uphill climb learning his new role and trying to sort out his place in the universe.

He has turned out to be the most delightful boy, with his kind and gentle personality winning everyone over, even my ever-suffering husband who normally has to deal with unruly and ungrateful roosters.  Everyone that meets him agrees that he is something a bit special - in every sense of the word!

I'm special!

Harvey is now an attentive guard to his flock, constantly watching over them, alert to swooping birds and those pesky airplanes.  The girls now (mostly) listen to him, and look to him if they are concerned.  A good rooster will 'gift' the choicest food morsels to his harem before he partakes and he does this with aplomb.  When I give them their scraps and treats in the morning, despite the fact that there is enough to go around and the girls are already tucking in, he magnanimously places food in front of them. This presentation is highlighted with prolific clucking and chattering and a step back to ensure that they understand it's for them, not him.  Their comfort and happiness is his greatest delight.

But don't let his sweet demeanour fool you, he is still a rooster, and a very randy one at that.  The beginning of spring has brought with it an increased fervour within him, and it seems like he is always on top of one of them, proudly dismounting with a fluff of the feathers and a proud chest.  Some of the girls, sadly mostly his mother and sister, are missing some feathers on their backs and wings due to his attentions.

We have also noticed another interesting trait of his personality that has come to light in recent times.  When one of the girls sings the song of her people and announces the great accomplishment of laying an egg, Harvey Henbanger notices.  He must have something in him that drives him to immediately fertilise the next egg in the pipes, and he takes this task seriously.  He can be up the front of the acreage, hanging out with his girls, scratching for bugs in the garden, and the raucous ringing of the hen's announcement travels on the winds up to his little pointy head.  He grows about a foot taller, puffs out his chest, the wings go back at a rackish angle, and he runs.  He runs long and hard and fast, and nothing is going to stop his quest for fornication.  The hen is still singing loudly and proudly, walking around aimlessly when she sees this black and white bullet bearing down on her with dogged determination.  Some will submit, others will try and make their escape, and there is a flurry of feathers running in circles around the yard, one trying to avoid and one trying to conquer.

At heart, he is still a sweet boy and will often give up.  But the pull of rooster-hood is strong, and sometimes he doesn't care what the hen thinks - he has his mission.  He does it often enough that we now call him Harvey Weinstein as consent doesn't seem to be an issue for him. 

But no matter, the girls seem to have taken to him after many months of disinterest and disrespect.  He has earned their love and worked hard to do so, and is now reaping the rewards. 

We love you Harvey, you crazy rooster.

Harvey's Life Plan.