The other day we were at an afternoon Christmas party at the neighbor’s house on the next block. There were lots of introductions back and forth as for the most part, the guests didn’t know each other, and at one point we were introduced as the “new people on Namqua [Road]”. Which prompted the question, “At what point are we not “new’ anymore?” We’ve been here 2 1/2 years now and this is our third Christmas back in Canada, in this town, in this house.
They do have a point, however. It still feels new to me. As one who has lived in 4 countries, 10 cities/towns and 15 different houses (E&EO), Home has been, it seems, wherever I am and not particularly deep-felt. So it may take awhile yet.
I spent the month of November in The Bunkie working on a big project, surfacing to the snow and deep freeze of early December, just in time to decorate for the holidays. OK, I’ll come clean because I’m probably pissing off my pals in Ontario. The “snow and deep freeze” consisted of an inch or so of snow which stayed on the ground for 3 or 4 days, and a night or two of -10 degree temperatures. Extreme for us, but nothing compared to what was going on in the rest of the North America, and is again happening this week I hear. At our place the icicle lights are up in The GreenHouse once again and a tabletop tree in The Bunkie is decorated with miniature masks and peacocks. Presents are all wrapped and shipped or piled under the tree in the main house which twinkles with multi-colored lights and copper and turquoise balls. The star is missing.
It’s just the two of us for Christmas this year, the boys will be in Ottawa, but for the past week or two I’ve had an almost overwhelming urge to bake Christmas cookies. I’ve been resisting this urge because it’s ridiculous, as I say it’s just the two of us, but I think it might be coming from somewhere deep in racial memory. Christmas cookies were big in my family and my own mother, as well as the aunts, used to bake huge numbers of many different kinds which would find their way to our large family gatherings and the multiple feasts of that time of year. When I had my own family, there were some years when I baked too. Best gingerbread men ever, anywhere.
Although those Christmas cookies of my childhood were so wonderful and unforgettable (thanks Mom) I found out much much later that my mother didn’t really enjoy doing all that every year. When I think back on it, she did stay up really late night after night on those baking marathons. This on top of two kids, a household, a full-time job, and part-time university studies plus all the other gift and entertaining preparations going on. She must have been exhausted by the time the 25th came around. Even in the years when I did make a stab at following in her footsteps, the reality of all that mixing and baking never quite lived up to expectations. Seems that for me at least, eating the fruits, er cookies, of someone else’s hard work was far better that doing the hard work itself. Now that the festivities in my life are shrunk down to the quietest of quiets, I certainly don’t need it. Still, the urge to bake is tugging at some heartstrings somewhere. Hard wired.
December 21st is my second favorite day of the year. From now on the days get longer and in a month or so The Fuchsia Ranch will start waking up, and blue poppy seeds and other things will be sprouting in The GreenHouse. Incredibly, I’m seeing signs of spring life as tiny green leaves are already appearing on the cutback stems of the napping fuchsias stored under the benches. Outside, in “I can’t believe what I’m seeing” mode, one of the camellias is starting to bloom. Before too long I’ll be spending more and more time outside or in The GreenHouse. Meanwhile, cozy by The Bunkie’s fireplace, I’ll be working playing on another miniatures project which will keep me well amused in the coming winter months.
Happy Solstice everyone.