Still Mindfully Thankful

"Never a Christmas morning,

Never an old year ends,

But someone thinks of someone;

Old days, old times, old friends."

                       Author, unknown


I just refilled all the bird feeders.  This aroused a lot of interest from my bird friends; they were flocking around even as I was walking away. The dogs with me did not deter them so I am thinking those poor birds are desperately needing lots of seeds to maintain their body warmth.  It is -28 degrees C and there is a frostbite advisory in effect.  No sun, no shadows; the sky is a perfect pearl gray.  The snow underfoot is bumpy and crunchy; yes, the last day of the year is a cold one  in Canada's national capital.
I can't help thinking about those birds; how do their tiny, spindly legs not freeze?  What are their ways to keep warm?  I think just the freezing air today would overtake their feeble limbs and minuscule organs.   Somehow they survive.
Tonight is New Year's Eve.  In my younger years, I often celebrated the occasion; these later years I do not.  In fact, I will probably be asleep for this year's countdown.  But I will be having a treat for supper...hot and sour soup and suishi and all the shrimp I can eat.  Tomorrow it will be back to the traditional fare of another turkey dinner. 
So the last day of the year finds me mindfully thankful for my warm fire, my good food, and having enough to share with my feathered friends. 

End of Year Thoughts

A tiny selection of angels...I like to group things together so here are the ladies all huddled together on the hall table.  I can still take pleasure in these old symbols of Christmas.  As the sands of time for 2013 are draining,  I can't help but think of how life as we know it keeps changing.  If you are like me, you can still remember how things were in and about the middle of the last century when we were born.  I can still wrap myself in the memories of how things used to be when I need to.
Looking back the extent of my ignorance of  many things but especially technology was breath-taking. I thought I was going to be retired before computers became a mainstream item in schools.  Instead I worked a full decade with computers before I left my career.  I thought it would be like television which took about ten years before it was commonplace for every home to have one.  The speed that all this has happened is what I find incredible.  You have to understand that I still feel in awe of the skilled technology that enables voices to be sent through wires; I'm amazed that someone dreamed that up and it worked.
 I know I am at a pre-kindergarten level with all of  this stuff.  Perhaps computer technology has advanced as much as it can for I keep reading that robotics is where the next major developments are going to be made.   I listened to an interview with a robot on radio last week; "she" was able to answer 'thinking' questions.  Imagine that!

Mitzy's Big Adventure

Great golden comma of a cat,

You spring to catch my robe's one dangling thread,

And somehow land entangled in my heart.

                            Lija Broadhurst

Because of all my talk of mice, you may have forgotten that there is a cat in the house.  Mitzy, now 19 years old, has never been much of a mouser and to our knowledge, has only ever caught one mouse.  This she presented to us with a great mewling fanfare; we could only speculate how she managed it.  Did the poor thing run into her mouth somehow? 

Mitzy is pretty; she has four white paws that make her look like she is wearing tall stockings and she's gray everywhere else, a dark gray like the darkest thunder cloud. She was always a bit of a sniffy cat, too haughty to allow hugs or holding.  However, she will let you rub the fur on the top of her head for a moment or two, but that too is, in true cat fashion, like she is doing you a favour.
Since Rex joined our household, Mitzy has preferred to spend most of her time down in the basement.  She has an old wingback armchair next to the furnace where she loves to curl up and dream away her days. She calls to us twice a day to change her water and food; she will only drink fresh water and she is quite insistent about this.

Last year, Mitzy had an adventure, the details of which we can only speculate about.  It was a warm April day, the garage door wide open and an army of flies appeared from nowhere suddenly buzzing everywhere.  Mitzy made one of her rare appearances perhaps enticed by the sunshine or the flies.  I watched as she ventured outside reaching for the thin shade by the gate, stepping very cautiously.  How long since her feet had touched grass? I watched her creep along the fence then suddenly bound towards the barn door for all the world like she knew exactly where she was going and couldn't wait to get there.  I didn't realize it would be six months before we would see Mitzy again.

We knew she was missing when there was no sign of her later in the day.  We kept the garage door open for the next few nights hoping she would see the light and be lured back home.  A search of the barn revealed no Mitzy.  Every day I walked the woods path calling her name and tinkling a little bell, but there was no sign of our poor cat anywhere.  We hated to think of her, a docile and thoroughly domesticated little being, at the mercy of the wild creatures.  However,we were assured that if she was still in the barn, she was well sheltered there; it is heavily insulated and completely dry.  It is home to countless generations of mice and Mitzy is not declawed so maybe she could fend for herself, we thought. 

As the weeks passed we started to give up hope we would see her again.  Her empty armchair in the basement was a constant reminder of her absence.  One day, hubby saw a cat in the barn but dismissed the idea that it was Mitzy.  The cat he glimpsed was swift moving and about half the size of Mitzy.  Oh, did I forget to mention that our cat had become a bit of a butterball.  Even though the cat he saw seemed to have white paws, he couldn't be sure so assumed it was one of the barn cats from the farm next door that occasionally stroll our property. 

It was our talk at tea break, though.  If it was Mitzy living in the barn, how dark and strange did she find it?  Did she face down anything unfriendly there?  Or was she perhaps the unwelcome presence?  Was she finding it cold now that summer was gone?  Did she long for the comfort of her old chair?  Why wasn't she coming back to the house, literally yards from the barn?  That last question really had us stumped.  But who knows the thoughts of cats...

October and I hear hubby yell from the garage; I open the door and something rushes past me and runs down the stairs.  It is Mitzy home again; a much, much thinner Mitzy but seemingly none the worse for her adventure.  She resumed all her habits like nothing had happened; a year later and she is a bit of a butterball again, ordering her fresh food and water twice a day and allowing only the occasional head rub.

Feast of Treats

Christmas itself may be called into question

If carried so far it creates indigestion.

                   The Unwise Christmas, Bergengren

My grandfather, who didn't have an extra ounce of fat on him, used to always say just before a big Sunday dinner...eat to fill yourself but not to kill yourself.  Those words are rather wise in this age of  food addictions, overeating, obesity and all the resultant health problems.  However, I probably shouldn't beat myself up so much about the food I typically indulge in at this time of year.  In my defense, I can never refuse food offered when I am in someone's else's house for fear of offending whoever made it.  Consequently, I often eat food I do not want (need just doesn't enter the picture in our overfed world). This is an old habit originating in my childhood; we were always told to eat what was put in front of us and say thank you for it.
 My taste buds recognize salty foods with relish; I've never been as keen on sweets so therefore, have no problem passing up desserts, candies or cookies in my own home.  However, I'm wondering who came up with the idea of combining salt and sweet to make kettle corn which I do like.  Then someone had to invent salted caramel ice cream, again with that deadly good combination of salt and sweet that makes it so hard to resist even by folks like me.  Hubby has a sweet tooth and he likes to have a little something sweet to finish his evening meal; he is lucky though, because he is able to control his portions very precisely. For instance, if I give him a piece of pie that he thinks is too big, he will have me cut the extra off...now that's control.
In the photo above are some of the extra treats that appeared this Christmas.  Candy cane ice cream seems to be available here only at this time of year.  Marshmallow  Christmas trees and boxes of chocolates are pure indulgences of the tempting kind that signal the holidays.  I remind myself to relax and enjoy for I know I will soon have myself  back on track, yes, I will.

Slipitis

Long before the "I've fallen and can't get up" commercials highlighted the dangers of falling in your own home, I suffered from slipitis.  Perhaps I have always been sensitive to the fear of falling just like I have a natural fear of heights.  Having slipitis as I call it means the winter season is fraught with danger underfoot for me.  Icy patches, black ice, and freezing rain coating the whole laneway with ice are all scary and concerning to me.  I've noticed in these late years, I choose my winter footwear with consideration for the soles rather than style; I really need to have a sense that the tread can afford me traction in slippery conditions.  I just reread that sentence; how old am I getting!
However, this falling business is not to be taken lightly.  Over 20000 people in North America die of falls each year; I wonder how many of those involved ice.  I know you can just as easily fall in your home (the bathroom being the main danger zone).  Remember the story of the mountain climber who had scaled Mount Everest three times, only to slip on a rug in his hallway, hit his head and die as a result?
I used to work at a children's hospital and one day happened to voice my concern about falling in the icy parking lot.  One of the doctors told me how to walk to minimize the effect of a fall....bend slightly forward from the waist, make sure your weight is leaning forward, and take small shuffling steps.  That way if you slip, you will more than likely fall forward and your knees and hands can help break the fall.  You probably won't fall backwards and hit your head; something you should try to avoid at all costs.  Yes, I know I look like a little old woman walking like this but I don't care; vanity, with age, is losing its grip.

What's on my night table...

 Mary Coin by Marisa Silver tells the fictionalized story behind this famous photograph taken during the depression years in the U.S.  It was shot by photographer Dorathea Lange and titled "Migrant Mother" and appeared in many major magazines.  Mary, the migrant mother, and her struggle to care for her children is a story both heartbreaking and hopeful.  This book is beautifully written and I enjoyed every word of it.  

Old Fashioned Circle of Communication

The Christmas cards  I've received this year represent 32 different views of Christmas.  Two have puppies wearing Santa hats, two feature cats, and one has a horse peaking from his barn stall. There are several with Christmas trees in both primitive dress and wildly ablaze; my elderly aunt has sent me a card for a 'special niece' that is obviously meant for a much younger 'girl' than me.  One has a set of sparkling candles, five have nostalgic type country scenes, and one has a large tree ornament covered in some sort of velvet paper.  There is one meant to be funny...two old people sitting in rocking chairs; his speech balloon says "My butt fell asleep"; hers reads "I know, I can hear it snoring."
None of the cards show families or children.  Only one of my cards depicts a nativity and there are no others with any signs of religious symbols.  Many feature snow which I guess makes sense in this northern climate. Of all the cards, my favourites are those with a personally written note in them and knowing this, I try to include a note in mine that I send out.  By the way, this year the cards I mailed had birds on them and I usually buy those associated with a charity like Unicef.  Like my grandmothers, I hang all the cards I receive over line strung across the inside doorways. 
I think this annual exchange of cards to mark the Christmas season and also wish a happy new year to family and friends far away is important.  I know it is an old-fashioned method of communication but it still serves a purpose; to keep up our connections, old and new. It is sad for me to contemplate that in this ever more technical society, this too is a practice of the sort that is ever waning. 

When More is More

Looks what's under my tree!

"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."

                                                                              Scrooge

I have such a clear picture of my mother at Christmas, half sitting on the arm of the sofa, bent toward the Christmas tree.  She is readjusting the tinsel, that silver foil that hung in long strands over the tree branches.  This is something she did several times a day while the tree was up.  She was very particular about the tinsel and every strand had to hang just so.  There must be a photo of her somewhere doing this.  Tinsel was the most finicky thing you could hang on a tree and with three kids and a dog, it must have gotten tangled quite a lot. 

My mother took a lot of joy in Christmas.  She had a saying herself..."more is more when it comes to a good Christmas", a play on the expression less is more.  Consequently, she always 'over gave' as I called it, when it came to presents. She made sure each of us kids had equal sized piles of gifts which included whatever we had been asking for.

 Mom loved to decorate the house.  She tacked up gold and silver garlands to crisscross the living room ceiling and unfurled large red paper bells in the corners.  These never looked shabby because they would be packed away so carefully at the end of each season.  She would be baking the month leading up to the holiday, everything sealed away in cake tins.

 Like most Newfoundland homes, the special treats included fruit cake, short bread, squares, and always sweet bread, which was homemade molasses bread with raisins. Always on the coffee table at Christmas time too, was a box of Pot of Gold chocolates supposedly Dad would buy for Mom.  Mom's favourite, the hard ones- those with nuts or caramel, were hers to choose first and then we would all get our turn too.  (I always loved the tiny black fluted cups each chocolate sat in.)

Yes, my mother loved Christmas and worked hard to share her love with us.  I hope I showed my appreciation; I hope my face was a smiling mirror so she could see her own joy reflected there.