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| February 11, 2019 |
Winter white rabbits ignored me, intent as they were on their meagre fare in the park. They even ignored a third rabbit who could have been sending a silent request to join them. No predators about, only the well fed two legged variety, but all were busy with things more important than a few bunnies at an early dinner.
“Dinner is not what you do in the evening
before something else. Dinner is the evening.”
~ Art Buchwald, American humourist, 1952 - 2007
Remnants of an old tragedy
singed the edges of my soul ~
a phantom threat to joys
of the season until I saw
this overgrown boulder and,
along side it, a tender tree
dormant in the cold
silent life resting in
strengthening roots and slender form.
Then I knew ~
I had wrapped grief
around me and when its warmth stifled
let honour take its place ~ honour
for my mother and the life
she may have wanted.
“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together,
keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”
~ Winnie the Pooh
“What are we going to do for snow? There’s no white in the markers.” Putting the baking dishes in the sink, Martha's daughter, Joanie Richardson washed her hands. “Ben, go get my crocheting basket from the living room. I think I might have something in there for snow.” He groaned. “Where is it, mom?” Drying her hands, she smiled at her cranky son. “Beside my big chair, Ben. Where it always is. And get my white scarf from the coat hook by the front door.” With a sigh, he stood and slumped to the living room. “I don’t know where my pleasant boy went. The closer he gets to his birthday, the grumpier he gets.” Leaning over to Abby and her work, she praised her daughter. “You’ve thanked your brother for helping you?” Abby nodded, still examining her work. She looked up at her mom. “He told me reindeer don’t fly! That’s not true is it.” Joanie’s thoughts went back to the times when Ben had asked her the same questions. What had she told him? “Well, most reindeer can’t fly. Have you ever seen the real Santa Claus?” Her daughter screwed up her face, thinking hard. “Um, no I don’t think so. Those Santas at the mall are just his helpers, right?” Joanie let go a little sigh of relief. “Yes, honey. And I’ve never seen the real Santa. But I believe he’s real. I’ve never seen a real reindeer, except on the Nature Channel. But I believe that Santa has reindeer that fly.” Although that seemed to satisfy her daughter, her precious little face was still troubled. “There’s lots of things in this world that we’ll never see but we believe in them.” Abby brightened. “Like what mom?” There it was. A tougher question to answer. “Well…..” She was stumped.
“Mom, here’s the basket and the scarf. What do you want me to do with them?” Saved! For now. Maybe Abby would forget the ‘belief’ question and whether reindeer could fly or not. Or, it would give her time to mull it over, talk with her dolls about it and then they could talk it over again. “Thanks Ben.” From the bottom of the crochet basket she took out a wad of white batting. She stacked up some books and spread the white scarf over it all. While she did that, Ben put the pieces of the Christmas display together. Joanie showed her daughter how to arrange the white batting in front of the little woodland scene. “The cocoa’s ready, kids.” Three Christmas mugs on the cupboard, Joanie poured hot chocolate for them each. Marshmallows on top, cookies disappearing hand to mouth, the little family admired their handiwork. With her mouth full, and a marshmallow moustache, Abby said “Believing is a funny thing, isn’t mom? I guess Ben can believe what he wants.” She took another cookie and smiled knowingly at Ben.
”Grown-up people do not know that a child can give
exceedingly good advice even in the most difficult case.”
~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot
Unicorns and wood fairies
dress up in winter finery
snow sparkles their wings ~
look closely at the fall
of snow from quiet clouds or
against the dark night sky ~
see their magic dance on the wind.
"Imagine, and it shall be.
There are no limits."
~ Evelyn Skye, The Crown’s Game
A Christmas Story
'Once upon a time.....'.... 'Does that sound too corny or too cliché, mom? We're supposed to write some dumb Christmas story. I mean, every year. What gives?! The teachers must crowd around their stupid staff room table and see how mean they can get. Planning and scheming how to make school so boring. Every grade has to write from the same topic! It was okay when we were in Grade Two and Three when we really didn't know anything. Half the kids still believed in Santa Claus." Bert took a breath. Just long enough for his mother to break into his sad story. Just putting the finishing touches on their Christmas tree, she listened with one ear to her son. "Can I talk yet?" She hung up another glittering midnight blue ball and stood back making sure she had it placed just right. "First of all, it doesn't sound too sound too corny or cliché although my own English teacher may have disagreed with me. Secondly, 'every year' ~ not sure that's true, honey. I keep all your stories. You're just annoyed that you put it off so late ~ you did put it off, didn't you?" Marjorie smiled at her son's discomfort. "There, I think I'm done. What do you think? Too many decorations? Too few? There's one that should be moved. It's too close to the other two and there's a space on the other side of the tree. Now, what were we talking about....oh, yes. Your story. You did put it off, didn't you?' Still examining the ornaments and baubles on the family tree, she waited for his answer. Bert was mesmerized by his mother every year decorating the tree. Everything had to be perfect. Colours balanced, size of decorations had to start small at the top and get bigger towards the lower branches. No light should touch any of the ornaments. She was so particular that no one else in the family would help her any more. Bert's father had said "If you're going to move everything I put on the tree, I'm not helping any more." His mother fussed and fumed the next year because he wouldn't help. "I'll put up the tree and you can decorate it." He finalized his statement by swiping his palms back and forth. Bert and his brother's would only bring the ornaments up from the basement. After that, they let Marjorie alone with her tree. "How did you know that I put it off?" His mother just smiled and hung up the wooden gingerbread man with Bert's name on it beside the ones for his brothers. "Because you always do, Bert." Bert grabbed up his notebook got up from the dining room table and said "I've got to go to my room. I've got an idea. I'll let you read it when I'm done." With that he was gone, leaving his mother examining her tree for any neglected spaces or too many ornaments.
~~~~~
"Once upon a time in a land far away there was a woman who lived in a little log house in a dark forest. She had many children who did all her chores. Especially at Christmas. Their father only had one job to do at Christmas, To go into the rest and find the perfect Christmas tree. It couldn't be too tall. It couldn't be too short. The branches couldn't be too long and they had to be exactly the same all around tree trunk. Sometimes it took him three weeks to find just the right tree. So every day he would put his big flannel quilted coat on, pull his brown wool toque over his long braided hair, pull on his heaviest mitts and put on his snow boots that went almost up to his knees. Then he stepped to into the snow, no matter how dee, took his axe from he shed and stomped a path through the snow. Because he went out every day, he kept a path open, If it snowed at night, he would shake his head and tramp 5the snow down again, While their father was out on his hunt for the perfect Christmas tree, the three children scrubbed the little log house from top to bottom while their mother baked cookies shaped like stars and reindeer and Santa Claus, Christmas trees and moons. All decorated with white, green and red icing, or glittering coloured sparkles. The little log house was filled with wonderful baking smelled the busyness of Christmas cleaning, One year, their father came ack on the first day with the perfect tree. The woman declared it was indeed perfect. "It's not too tall!" She was so excited that she danced her family all around their little log house. "There is only one other thing that we need." The dancing stopped and she looked at her little fancy, "I want you to help me decorate the tree this year." Her husband and children looked at her and then looked at their mother. "Really!!? Are you certain?! With tears in her eyes she said "I have seen your father go out in the deep show every year by himself ar my operate tree As you children have grown, every year I have watched you clean eery inch of this house without complaint, and I have been decorating the Christmas tree every year by myself. Our house looks like chirsnas, but it hasn't felt like Christmas for a very long tine. She stopped and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "We've not been much of a family and all because I insisted on making a perfectly decorated Christmas tree."
~~~~
Bert read over his story. He wasn’t sure that he wanted his mother to read it ~ at least not yet. He wanted to hand it in for grading first. If he got a good mark, he would show it to his mother. At first he didn’t know how he would get away with not telling her that he was finished. Then, he had another idea.
He clumped down the stairs. “I’m finished, mom. But I forgot to save it on my computer and I’ve already sent it in by email. It was getting pretty late and I had to hand it in.” The last was a bit of a lie, he really couldn’t have hand carried it in the next day, but he didn’t want to mess up with his mother. He grabbed his coat and put on his boots. “I’m going out to meet Jack at movies. See you later.” The door slammed behind him. “Don’t forget your toque and your gloves!” But Marjorie was too late. He was already gone.
“Christmas gives us an opportunity to pause and
reflect on the important things around us.”
~ David Cameron
