Gingerbread houses have always been a big deal in our house, which is not to be confused with us being good at decorating them. When the kids were little I found a great kit at the Whole Foods in RI that we’d bake and decorate, then later they made ready baked ones which made things easier. Those kits would get packed in our suitcase and travel home to Alberta with us so we could build with cousins and grandparents.
This year the boy had the Millennium Falcon, the girl had an Oreo cookie house, and I had a Troll Doll village. Just in case anyone is wondering, the Troll Doll village is the lowest quality crap house I’ve ever bought.
So, as I was struggling with my house, discovering none of the walls and roofs lined up, that some of them were missing from the box, and that the whole thing was made of such poor quality cookie it kept crumbling, the kids started laughing at my village. At one point I got so frustrated with a house that I may have punched it out (which felt great), and it ended up in the trash. When I was done, the kids announced that it looked like Santa’s crack village.
And that’s when things became fun. The girl made Christmas Trees that looked like the Pillsbury Dough Boy had diarrhea, the boy laid out Santas along the path, unable to get themselves home. Then the girl decided she didn’t want her Oreo house next to Santa’s crack house, so she started building a wall… out of Santas… to protect her home.
By the time we were done, the houses still looked like crap, but we were laughing, covered in icing, and quite pleased with ourselves. For me, this is the magic of the gingerbread house. We have very little skill, and rely on having good quality houses (not this year), and a ton of extra candy to create yards for our houses. But no matter how bad we are, or how bad the houses are, we laugh and truly enjoy the moment.
While the Falcon was easy, it was pretty plainThe crack village and the wall Apparently this Santa is breaking in looking for candy
The announcement of our lockdown has confirmed what I was trying to deny, which is that we will be having a quiet Christmas at home this year.
For years, I would look forward for months (sometimes the whole year) until I could come home for Christmas and see my family, spend time at the ranch, and chill in Grandma’s kitchen. A few years we had our trip extended by bad weather, and the kids and I would spend anywhere from 10 days to 3 weeks without leaving the property. Never once did that feel like we were trapped at home, instead we had the luxury of spending quality time at the place we loved (and where we were loved) most.
So, as I sit and look out the window at the snow, thinking about how we need to get a tree and decorate soon, I’m reminded of how much I love this place, how being home for Christmas was often the only Christmas wish I had, and how grateful that now this is home all of the days of the year.
And, having a quieter Christmas has blessings too. Although we love the sledding and visits with family, and we will miss that part, there is a certain kind of peace one can find in the quiet moments. One of the best (and most emotionally difficult) Christmases was the one the three of us had with mom right before she died. We all stopped and really lived in that moment because we knew there weren’t going to be a lot more of them. Like we learned in Inside Out, joy and sadness need each other, they compliment each other, and we can tolerate them when we are open and present in the moment.
Yesterday the boy and I made a trip to Costco to mass buy water so that when it gets to be -30 I don’t have to drag the big bottles through the parking lot. It’s an issue when we don’t have water that is safe to drink to make sure that we never run out, so usually around this time of year I stock up. A lesson I clearly learned from my mom, as it was a good 6 months after she died before we ran out of either water or toilet paper here.
I did feel a bit like an “end of the world” person at Costco since my trip came the day after the announcement of our upcoming lockdown, but we can’t always help timing. And I did add in a couple (yes, more than one) of containers of those raspberry crumble cookies to kind of even it out.
On the way to the car, the boy showed me why it’s a great idea to fill the carts full of those giant water bottles. We were walking, each pushing our cart full of water, when suddenly he grabbed his cart, did a couple of running steps and then jumped on the back of the cart and went for a ride.
Not knowing what else to do, I did a couple of running steps myself and followed suit.
While others in the lot probably thought we’d lost our minds, I really needed that moment of simple joy. As we climbed into the car, the boy expressed a similar statement. Sometimes you just need to let go, jump on the cart, and yell “weeeeeeee”.
I waited a full extra day this year before starting the nonstop Christmas music, but it’s now going strong. Really, Christmas is just a time when I can play my favourite song of all time over and over and over and over….
I kid myself that when I put Mary’s Boy Child on repeat that the kids are singing along, but I’m pretty sure it’s just the “Oh My Lord” part, and I don’t think they’re singing. They’re good sports until they get tired of it and then I have daily limits.
It’s been a rough couple of days – no real reason – but spending some time this afternoon on self-care has recharged me. It’s the little moments, like a good song, a cup of tea, time with loved ones.
This feels like it’s been a long week. School has been challenging for all of us, we are on top of each other, and to top it off the doggies decided to visit the skunk today.
And yet, no matter what goes on in our human lives, the world carries on. One benefit of life being quieter is that there is more time to notice the beauty that God put out in our world.
Tonight the girl and I were making pizza when we had to drop everything and run outside. Not only is it a balmy 9C, but there was a beautiful sunset lighting up the mountains. I am so grateful this is where we call home, I am grateful I love the people I live with, and I’m grateful we are all healthy and safe.
Yesterday I wrote about Sky Food, and how much fun we have with Bear. It’s had me thinking about just how precious that dog is to our family.
Bear arrived in our hearts a little more than 2.5 years ago. My little Dotted Dog was getting older and having some problems (although she lived more than 2 years longer – she really loved her life with us) and I decided to take a casual walk through the SPCA in town. I’d decided to look at smaller dogs even though I’m not a small dog person. The Dotted Doggie was 45 lbs and I was thinking that one more in the 20 lb range would maybe be easier.
I know there were other dogs there, but all I remember is this big black dog named Shine (it’s still weird to see his “old” name, he’s so clearly supposed to be called Bear) lying sadly at the back of his cage. When I asked about him, I was told that he had been rescued from a reserve in Saskatchewan, had been adopted out of their SPCA three times and had been returned each time, and now was becoming a long time resident. They also said he was wouldn’t be good for long walks because he was quite lazy and needed to live in the country.
2 hours later the kids were back at the SPCA with me walking this 100lb black ball of hair down the road. Sure enough, after a few steps he just lay down and refused to move. After some gentle prodding we convinced him to get back up, walked a while longer, decided we were in love and returned to the centre to adopt him.
I think they thought we were crazy.
He’d torn up the last house he lived in, before coming to the SPCA he’d spent his whole life as an outside dog (and he was 5 at that time). But his eyes. There was something about his eyes.
Somehow in the adoption process, he became the girl’s dog. It’s almost like God knew she would need him and directed us to where we could find him. I didn’t know it at the time, but my girl was in crisis and over the next year or so that dog loved her, grounded her, and helped heal her. I have gratitude for this old man that I will never be able to adequately express.
So there’s the thing about Bear, he’s not the lazy dog I was lead to believe he was. He’s an “independent dog” due in large part to the fact I’m fairly sure there’s Pyrenees in his blood lines. This means that he knows what we ask of him, but he chooses whether or not he will respond. Independent thinking is what makes guardian dogs so good at their job, but when you want him to come inside it is hard to remember that. Just like Bear can go from 50 to 0 in a second, he goes from lying completely still to 100 in the blink of an eye.
Not only has Bear’s loving soul touched the hearts of the humans in our home, but he is loved by all the other animals too. He’s the one who found Jasmine the kitten who had been abandoned by her mom at 3 weeks old. She was screaming in the compost bin in the old garden which was a ways from the house, and in a place where we never would have found her. To this day, if Bear is in the house there’s a good chance Jasmine is attached to him. Abu the anxious has recently started rubbing up against his legs. In fact, it’s not uncommon to walk into the kitchen and find Bear lying on the floor with at least one cat curled up with him.
He is so patient and kind with the crazy bundle of energy puppy I got this summer after my beloved Dotted Dog died. She sits on him and jumps on him, and when he’s tired of it he flattens her with no effort, but has all the patience in the world for her.
When I think of the kind of person I’d like to be, I am inspired by this dog. He is huge, he’s got vicious and powerful teeth, he could rip anyone apart in a second. But instead, he lays down with the cats, he plays with the puppies, he lets the humans hang all over him. And he does it with love and kindness.
He carries with him years of abuse. I can see it if I grab a stick, or move too quickly. Instead of becoming aggressive, he cowers. When he came to live with us, Bear was severely depressed. His entire world had been turned upside down, he didn’t have love or people, he was so, so sad. So he knows there’s bad stuff out there that could happen. But that’s not how he lives. He is basically just a happy dude living his best life with his family – life goals.
A few weeks ago (months? I’ve lost all track of time in COVID) I was bored in the evening and started playing what we now call ‘Sky Food’ with Bear.
He was lying on the floor near me and I had some extra cheese so I threw it up in the air and it fell near him but he didn’t see that I was the one who threw it. I ended up breaking up a whole slice of cheese and throwing it in various places for him to find.
Eventually Bear figured out it was me, but because he’s a good sport, he honours the unspoken Sky Food rule and never looks at me or acknowledges that I’m throwing the cheese.
After a while the girl joined me and she’d throw her cheese from a different part of the room
Then Bear’s cat Jasmine (his cat because he rescued her as an abandoned kitten and she adores him) became involved in the game. She yells and runs after the food making sure he finds every piece.
Finally the boy joined us, and now we have a fun family moment every evening where we play Sky Food with the giant dog and the small cat.
These are some of my most precious times. They don’t cost a cent, instead they are like money in my memory bank of loved moments with my family. This is what it’s all about and I’m grateful for it.
Dad would have turned 80 yesterday. I looked for a photo yesterday to post on Facebook with a memory, and was surprised when I typed “dad” into my photo search at what I found. I was expecting lots of photos of him being the “creek monster” in the water throwing grandkids around, or playing in the snow with delighted children. Instead, this search was full of photos of Dad sitting quietly and reading to “his kids”.
What it really drove home for me was how willing he was to give us what is so precious – the gift of time. Both our parents really valued giving us and their grandkids their time. And at the end of the day, while things can bring a certain level of happiness, the memories of spending time with someone is where it’s really at.
So, with that in mind, my sister and our crews went for a social distance walk along the ridge where dad used to take us. It was a beautiful way to honour him.
I had a moment yesterday morning where I had to reflect on integrity, and deciding between keeping myself safe, or doing the right thing. These were things dad and I used to talk about a lot on our walks, and it seemed so appropriate that it was a choice I was given on his birthday. I decided to do the right thing (although I did sit on it for a while because that temptation to stay safe is a strong one.)
There is a certain comfort that comes over my soul when I choose the right thing. in this instance it helped someone out who I didn’t know, but who really needed it. This was a low danger example of choosing between safety and doing what’s right, but it really highlighted for me that I can’t actually feel safe if I’m not honouring what my soul tells me is best.
I’m in the final stretch of the current class I’m taking – psychological assessments and it’s been a brutal class. I have, however been very fortunate and I’ve had an absolutely excellent professor which has made a world of difference in my attitude towards the class.
For me, it’s been brutal because of some self discovery. We had to to 2 psychological assessments on ourselves, and while I don’t argue the results, it was a bit unnerving to see all my shit laid out like it was. They stressed over and over in this class how we are to always read and thoroughly understand an assessment before delivering the results to the client and I now completely understand and support that belief.
Beyond that, it’s helped me change how I will interact in relationships moving ahead as I finally have understood my attraction to bad boys (who really are just assholes) and won’t be heading down that path ever again.
Right now though, it’s just got me tired as I sit at my computer writing my last paper (that’s due tomorrow).
On the page where we write our daily questions, I noticed that our prof left us the kindest and most encouraging message. He not only mentioned how blessed he felt to have us as students over the last 5 weeks, but said that he would love to provide references and is a practicum teacher. He wished us luck and told us that we all ROCK.
It may not sound like a lot, but this prof made this class seem much more personal than many online classes are. It’s challenging sometimes when we are all behind our keyboards at home to find support and feel like we are really part of something, and he managed to create a feeling of togetherness and support. I will miss him, but I’ll be keeping my eye out for him as a practicum teacher! I am very grateful for this experience, even with the tears and swearing that accompany it.
The last couple of weeks, I’ve switched it up from riding the gentle giant thoroughbred to a cute little grey pony. His colouring reminds me so much of my old horse Rolex, but his size and the fact that he’s half Welsh reminds me of Pirate the wonder pony. It’s so weird to be on a pony who reminds me so much of two of my great past horse loves.
Being on him I can remember how I felt on Pirate, they were probably some of the most free moments I’ve ever had in my life. We were invincible together and still when I look back at some of the crazy things we did and the jumps we cleared, I am in awe of our bond and our combined courage.
At this stage of my life, it’s really good to be reminded of how I felt when I was brave and courageous. I actually don’t think I ever stopped being brave, it just got clouded by anxiety and insecurity (and abuse). Every time I go for a ride, I feel like a more whole, complete version of myself.
