Category Archives: Christmas and other celebrations

Remember, but do not stay tied up in memory

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May the New Year unfold in a tapestry of joy, woven with threads of
love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

As Christmas dinner unfolded, each shared laugh and exchanged glance around the table felt like a testament to my sister, Jackie’s, enduring spirit. Her philosophy had always been simple yet profound: to nurture the bonds of family and friendship with unwavering kindness and caring. It was Jackie who reminded me always that connections, like the finest tapestry, are crafted with patience and love.

Gathered around the table, as we passed around dishes filled with delicacies which guests had also contributed, I realized how each recipe was more than just a meal; they were stories, memories, pieces of our collective history. The platter full of charcuterie Juan and Angelica provided, the savory aroma of the turkey, the sweet tang of the Bourbon cranberry sauce made by Tamara, the aromatic carrots Laura contributed and the delicate miso infused broccoli from my daughter and her partner, each had a story to tell, a memory to evoke.

Unbeknownst to me, Tim, my daughter’s partner, had decided the meal would not be complete without Jackie’s mashed potatoes and arrived with a casserole dish he’d baked up using her recipe. It was a thoughtful and caring gesture that reflected how Jackie, in her natural way, left her mark on each of us at the table. Her absence was palpable, yet her presence was equally so. Through our shared meal and rituals, her laughter seemed to echo, her smile appeared to light up the room, and her warmth seemed to embrace us all.

And still, amidst the laughter and chatter, the joy and aromas, there was a moment when, as I looked around the table I’d decorated with such loving care and gazed upon the faces of our guests aglow in the twinkling lights, my heart gave a tiny tug on the ribbon of memory that wound its way through Christmases past. Without missing a beat, I felt the ache of loss stirring.. And then, in the next beat, with the gentleness of angel’s wings brushing against my cheek, I heard my sister’s voice whispering in my ear, “Remember me but do not stay tied up in memory.”

Smiling as I passed the gravy, my heart flooded with gratitude. Gratitude for the past that shaped us, for the present that holds us together, and for the future that awaits, filled with the promise of continued connection, love, and shared joy.

May the New Year unfold in a tapestry of joy, woven with threads of love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

May you know the blessing of unquantifiable, every-present Love.

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There are countless things in life we cannot quantify, yet we invariably depend on them. The number of breaths carried by the wind remains a mystery, as does the exact count of feathers that grant a bird its graceful flight. The river flows with an untold number of droplets, just as uncountable snowflakes vanish under the warmth of the sun in this unusually gentle December.

Equally immeasurable are the memories of my sister, Jackie. I can’t quantify the number of times she crossed our home’s threshold, her arms brimming with her world-famous mashed potatoes (described as such by my daughter) and a myriad of treats for everyone – humans and dogs alike. She always brought along her favorite chilled white wine wrapped in a freezer sleeve to ensure it was ready to savor with our dinner.

I cannot recall the last Christmas dinner she wasn’t present at our table, always there to remind me to fetch the potatoes from the oven and to ensure everyone’s glasses were filled. Her mischievous request for “just one more wee drop of Scotch” from my husband, accompanied by a playful twinkle in her eye, remains a cherished memory.

I’ve lost count of the times she rang to remind me of a family member’s birthday (knowing my penchant to forget), or to check if I’d seen a post from The French Connection in our Grand Famille WhatsApp group. And, even though I cannot count the number of times she graced our home at family dinners, or brought over a meal when my husband was ill, or I was away and she was worried he was not eating, or how many times she phoned to say she was thinking of me, or called my daughters to let them know she was thinking of them, or asked about a friend she met but once at our dining room table, I could always count on Jackie to remember people, what they liked to eat, and didn’t, and to ensure whether the dinner was at our home or hers, that there was a special dish to please every palate.

It’s who she was. She cared. Deeply. Her life was an embodiment of selflessness. She was a pillar of strength and support for our mother, stepping into the role of caregiver after our brother’s passing in 1997. For 25 years, she was more than just the eldest daughter; she was our mother’s confidante, champion, a constant source of support and love.

Her caring nature knew no bounds, touching countless lives, though the exact number of people she affected with her kindness is beyond my grasp.

Today, as the earth tilts, welcoming back the sun’s embrace in the northern hemisphere, I can count my own orbits around the sun but not the individual rays that have caressed my skin. Yet, amidst all the incalculable wonders of this world, one thing remains certain: the love my sister and I shared. This love, vast and unmeasurable, is my constant. It’s a bond that transcends time, distance, and even eternity.

For this unquantifiable, ever-present love, I am eternally grateful.

Whatever your celebration, no matter your faith, may you too know the blessing of unquantifiable, ever-present love. May your table be a circle of love never-ending.

Poppycock. Memories. And the power of kindness

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Adorned in twinkling lights and festive charm, this angel on our tree is a heartfelt symbol uniting our family with the spirit of ‘Jackie,’ a tender reminder of love and memories shared. I purchased identical angels for my sister, Anne, as well as both my daughters to place on their trees.

This morning, as the sun rose on the day after an evening spent engaging in a cherished activity — making poppycock, I found myself enveloped in a blend of tradition and reflection. For several years now, my friend Jane, her daughter, my youngest daughter, and I have gathered to cook-up batches of this sugary popcorn delight. It’s an evening brimming with laughter, dance, off-key singing and the rhythmic sounds of popcorn popping and sugar melting and cautions to “Be careful. Don’t burn yourself,” as Jane pours the hot sugary mess into the giant bowl of popcorn I’m stirring as her daughtger C.J. turns it to ensure the popcorn is adequately covered in gooey sweetness.

In the corner of our family area, twinkling and sparkling with tiny white lights, our Christmas tree stood adorned in spearkling balls and glitter.

It almost didn’t.

When I awoke yesterday, a realization dawned on me. Among the myriad tasks of the festive season, one significant ritual remained undone – decorating our Christmas tree. This tradition, typically shared with our adult children, had been unexpectedly set aside on Friday night when we’d gathered for dinner and decorating the tree. Exhaustion and emotional drain from the past two weeks, along with the anticipation of my sister Jackie’s celebration of life the next day, had drained me of energy. In the midst of all that had happened and needed doing since she’d taken her last breath on November 24th, the act of decorating the tree, which for me symbolizes hope and rebirth during this season of light, felt discordant with my grieving heart.

However, something shifted within me yesterday morning. I knew the tree had to go up. Even if all I did was plug it in, it had to grace our poppycock festivities.

And then, as I assembled the tree and watched it come to life with its twinkling lights, a gentle whisper from within urged, “It’s time.”

Not just time to decorate the tree, but time… to allow grief to flow, to let sorrow make way for love, and to embrace the season’s promise without the yearning to turn back time to when Jackie’s calm, caring presence filled our lives.

This morning, amidst the remnants of our poppycock-making extravaganza, memories of Christmases past with Jackie and her husband Jim wafted through my mind. Their early arrivals (if dinner was for six I could count on them arriving for 5:30), Jackie’s famous mashed potatoes (always enough for 30, no matter the guest count), and her take-charge attitude in the kitchen are memories etched in my heart. The fact is, I shall miss grumbling under my breath about her bossing me around in my own kitchen and her countless reminders to check the mashed potatoes to make sure they’re not burning!

This Christmas, Jackie’s physical absence will be palpable. Jim will be spending his holiday with one of his daughters. Our gathering will be smaller, with 11 of us around the table. Yet, I know Jackie’s spirit – her generosity, kindness, and the love that never quite grasped my youngest daughter’s humour – will linger amongst us, filling the space where she once sat.

This Christmas will be unlike any other, a bittersweet symphony of memories and presence. It will be a celebration in honour of my sister as we build new memories. Memories that will be embued with Jackie’s reminders of the enduring power of kindness to touch hearts and illuminate the true essence of this season of light, hope, joy, and love.

Reclaiming the Merry: A Tale of Christmas Rediscovered

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Watercolour & Pen on watercolour paper

Maybe it’s because I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately, grappling with worries about my sister’s health (though still in ICU, she’s slowly improving every day). Or perhaps it’s just exhaustion setting in. But this year, contrary to my usual practice of keeping Christmas at bay until after my birthday on December 9th, I’m letting its festive spirit seep in a bit earlier.

In my studio, I’ve found myself eagerly creating Christmas-themed images – with watercolours no less! A medium I seldom work in. It’s been fun and I’ve even planned the name tags for our dinner table on the big day—a rarity for me, as I often convince myself that working under the pressure of an imminent deadline is the ultimate creativity booster.

However, the truth is, deadlines and pressure don’t really inspire creativity. In fact, I find that planning, researching ideas, and experimenting with different themes and tablescapes are far more conducive to sparking my creative juices.

This resistance to early Christmas celebrations stems from my childhood. My birthday often got overshadowed by the festive season, with ‘the party’ frequently skipped over because Christmas was a grand affair in our home. My parents would be busy in the kitchen, crafting culinary masterpieces with the same zeal I imagine Santa’s elves demonstrate while preparing toys for children around the world.

As an adult, I decided that my birthday mattered and that Christmas could wait its turn.

Despite my efforts, however, the omnipresence of Christmas is undeniable. The moment Halloween decorations are put away, big box stores are awash with Christmas paraphernalia.

It’s challenging to escape the Christmas frenzy, whether you’re a believer in the Christ-child or not. The season’s spirit permeates the air, with twinkling lights adorning lampposts and front doors decked out in festive bows, bells, and baubles.

This year, as Christmas nudges its way into my consciousness earlier than usual, I realize there’s a silver lining to embracing its spirit ahead of my birthday. It’s an opportunity to redefine the essence of this festive season in my own terms, to make it about more than just the glitz, glitter and glam.

The fact is, it’s almost impossible to ignore the commercialization of Christmas. At the same time, however, its important we not lose sight of its true meaning. It’s not about the biggest tree, the most expensive gifts, or the most elaborate decorations. Rather, it’s about the warmth of family kand friends gathered around a dinner table, the joy of baking cookies with children, and the laughter that fills the air when friends reconnect. It’s about the simple acts of kindness, the moments of quiet reflection, and the recognition of our shared humanity.

This holiday season, no matter your celebration or remembrance, I invite you to join me in shifting your focus from spending to sharing, from buying to being. Let’s make Christmas a time to honor the joy of human connection, to cherish the moments spent with loved ones, and to reach out to those who might be alone during this season. In doing so, we not only honour the spirit of Christmas but also enrich our own lives with genuine happiness and contentment.

As I look forward to celebrating my birthday and then Christmas, I am reminded that the greatest gift I can give and receive is the gift of presence. Presence in the moment, presence in the lives of those I care about, and presence in the joyous celebration of life itself.

This Christmas, I hope you join me in stepping into the true magic of the season not through the things you buy, but through time shared with those you love and the memories you create together. I hoipe you embrace the spirit of Christmas not as a commercial holiday, but as a celebration of life, love, and the gift of being together. In that embrace, let’s make it a time to honor our human condition with joy, for that is the true essence of Christmas.

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As part of my ‘self-care’, I am off to coach at Discovery Seminars for five days. It’s an opportunity to be of service and to be embraced in a circle where love shimmers in every shared word, breath and act of kindness. It’s a time to be part of contributing my best to inspire others to find their own light so that together, we can create a world of peace, harmony and joy. And it’s a time for me to be restored, refreshed and revitalized.

I’ll be back Monday.

Until then, Merry Joyful Everything

Ah yes. This is Christmas

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Joyfully, we gathered around the Christmas tree. We hung decorations. Teased one another. Laughed and shared memories of Christmases past and hopes and dreams of Christmases to come.

This morning, I walked into the living room, switched on the tree lights, made myself my seasonal eggnog latte indulgence, sat at my desk, and watched early morning traffic cross the bridge. It is sparse at this early hour. Car lights moving west to east, crossing over the river that flows in an indolent stream of shimmering waters growing ever slower as Arctic air swoops down to envelope us in its icy maw.

Baby it’s cold outside.

Inside, my world is wrapped in the scents and scenes of Christmas á la 2022.

Like pocketbooks all over the country, my yearning to decorate the house is thinner this year. Perhaps the austerities of the pandemic have invaded my senses.

The big [;astoc tubs full of boughs and decorations lay unopened. Some of them didn’t even make it up from the storage room downstairs.

The tree stands tall in all her glittering light, festooned with glass balls and ornaments, delicate butterflies and feathered friends.

I wonder if this simple yet beautiful display is enough.

If maybe this year, it’s time to pare down the excess of Christmases past and cull the bountiful stash of Christmas ornaments I’ve accumulated over the years.

Perhaps, in keeping with the austerity these inflationary times seem to naturally have ignited in so many, it’s time to declutter Christmas.

I sit at my desk and watch the river slowly shifting-shape from flow to frozen shape. The reflection of the Christmas tree lights shimmer in the window in front of me. Darkness holds the night still.

Long before Christianity appeared along the human journey, people gathered around evergreen trees to celebrate Solstice. For our ancestors, the evergreen and its constant colour, needs and scent, represented the promise of longer, warmer days to come.

In our gathering last night, we decorated the tree connected through time to this ancient symbol of the light regaining its strength over the dark.

In our gathering, our laughter, our shared history and love, we wove the magic of time and this season together into a beautiful tapestry full of the promise of Love. Hope. Peace and Joy.

Ah yes. This is Christmas.

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Wrap yourself in loving-kindness

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When I worked in an adult emergency homeless shelter, amidst the joy and laughter, the lights and decorations that adorn this time of year in the rosy glow of family gatherings and festive delights, the air was also filled with the sadness of loneliness and the heavy despair of homelessness.

For those without a place to call home, finding joy always came shrouded in the memories of joy lost, connections broken, family circles torn apart by poverty, addiction, violence and loss.

One year, we invited clients to share holiday messages to post on our website. I was always in awe of how excited those who participated were to have a chance to reach out to family and friends and let them know they were thinking of them and wishing them well.

One of those individuals was Zahir. His nickname was ‘Happy’ because he could always be counted on to lighten even the darkest moments with his laughter.

Zahir was diagnosed with a mental illness when his daughter was three. He was exiled from the family home and his community and began a long journey through homelessness.

He was in his 50s when we did a video story with Zahir one Christmas. We wanted to show the human side of homelessness. To help those who had never experienced it or judged the shelter and those experiencing homelessness, find compassion and understanding for those who used the shelter as their respite.

This video had an even more important purpose which would only be revealed several months later when I received a letter from a woman who had never given up searching for the father she’d lost when she was 3 years old.

As a child, she’d been forbidden from seeing or searching for, her father. As an adult, she made it her mission to find him. One of the things she did constantly, was search the websites of emergency shelters across Canada in the hopes of finding him. In her letter, she told me it was a miracle she stumbled across our video. She had started to give up hope of ever finding her father.

Zahir and his by-then 30-something daughter were reunited. At that reunion, Zahir got to meet his 2-year-old granddaughter and learned that he would be a grandfather again later that same year.

Zahir, despite his daughter’s requests he come live with them in another city, would not leave the shelter. It was the world he knew. And, though he never met his second grandchild, when Zahir passed away later that year, he was a very happy man. He had met the daughter he’d never lost hope of one day seeing again.

In the darkness of homelessness, Zahir held onto hope and loving-kindness.

May we all do the same.

This is the video that sparked the miracle of Zahir and his daughter’s reunion.

2021. High On Expectations

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Bookmarks — alcohol inks on yupo paper

I originally titled this post – 2020! Need I say more?

But then I wondered… what if it’s not about 2020 anymore? (Which btw it isn’t when I look at the calendar)

What if it’s all about 2021? We (as in the entire planet) sure are expecting a lot from it.

How will it ever live up to our expectations? Especially, if as the saying goes, “Expectations are premeditated disappointments.”

Which got me thinking that perhaps the best thing I can do is to stay out of the field of expectations and instead, water the seeds of Love growing in the garden of my heart.

That garden is the one I must tend to, no matter the season, the times, the weather, the state of the world around me. No matter if Covid beats a hasty retreat and we are free to embrace one another again without fearing the worst, the state of the garden of Love in my heart keeps me rooted in grace and gratitude. It opens me up and brings me into the beauty of this moment in which I find myself breathing freely.

May the garden of your heart be full of beauty growing wild and free in all the colours of the rainbow. May you awaken to Love blossoming with every breath you take.