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Sunday, December 27, 2020

How Christmas 2020 Unfolded

 

They say that the way to avoid disappointment is to set up no expectations in the first place. Given that this was our Covid-Christmas year, my want-list for December 25, 2020, was pretty slim.

 

The day leaped into possibility, however, when Santa delivered to all Toronto children their dearest wish: he deposited six inches of bright, white snow on the city. The grey and damp Christmas Eve had set us all grousing, but in just twelve hours life was transformed to sleds on hills, snow angels (I made two), and boots trailed through soft powder creating awesome footprints.

 

From there The Day just got better and better. In honour of my birthday, which I share with my great-nephew Nate, our friend Richard, the Prime Minister of Canada Pierre Trudeau, and Jesus himself (though some say they got the date wrong), we began the day by popping open a bottle of biscuity Champagne to sip as we unwrapped gifts, just the two of us.

 

The focal point of the two-person brunch that followed was one burrata, two additional cheeses, three kinds of homemade bread, and a bowl of delicious potted shrimp. There was no partridge in a pear tree.

 

Then, in order to make snow angels I put on snow pants, a long, hooded winter coat, boots, hat, scarf, and gloves. DinoVino swept a path across the back deck, as if for the queen's passing, so I could reach the level ground of virgin snow outside our fence, where I made my two snow angels. There would have been more, but it's harder to get up from the angel-making position than it used to be. Two was enough.

 

Back into the house just in time for the Zoom birthday party my children had arranged. What I didn't know was that they created a surprise party by inviting siblings, nieces and nephews, and cousins—a whole Zoom-screen full of people I haven't seen for too many years. Despite the built-in awkwardness of the Zoom format, it was a glorious success.

 

The Day proceeded after the Zoom call, but I won't tell you every little thing. I'll just say that it was a beautiful day, and one that carried me over the Slough of Despond that sometimes accompanies a birthday (Onward and Upward, every year, every year) and allowed me to soar with the angels.

 

I hope all of you had Christmases that were equally surprising in loveliness. And that 2021 will meet our modest but hopeful expectations.

 

 
Copyright © 2020 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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Sunday, December 20, 2020

Snow Days

When it snows,

the seed-pods of the Echinacea plants

generously bordering the sidewalk

are topped with snow caps

and each pod becomes an elf

whose only wish

is to make us smile.

 

When it snows,

the festive balls

(plastic but resembling glass)

that I hang on the elderberry shrub

in front of the house

put on comical, conical white hats,

which they sport

until the sun shines.

 

 

Copyright © 2020 Ann Tudor
Musings blog:
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
Audible.Ca: go to https://www.audible.ca and search for Ann Tudor
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Sunday, December 13, 2020

Playing with Words When They've Flown the Coop

All those "-ation" words could lend themselves to something funny, couldn't they? Imagination is funny (it makes a cloudy day sunny . . . ). Or provocation leads to escalation landing you at the station that you started from.

 

Well, the idea, Ann, is to have it all make sense, not just to incorporate "-ation" words. The situation at the station was intolerable until the destination became clear.

 

Y'know, I used to be able to riff on words this way, and I really enjoyed it. It was both fun and funny. But now? Now, nothing easily springs to mind that is both fun and funny. I wanted the latter in order to lighten the load for us all. But funny is as funny does. (This is based on my mother's invariable response when I would ask if I was pretty: "Handsome is as handsome does." What kind of support is that for a kid? Not much of one.) But I'm not here to bash Eileen. As little as I know about her mother, I could tell, even as an adolescent, that Eileen had never been cherished by her own mother—for whatever reason that might have been—most likely based on her mother's own life. If it's not one thing, it's the mother, as far back as we can trace. Clever remark, with truth in it. And the role of the fathers—as far back as we can trace—is not mentioned. What was the role of the fathers—as husbands and as upholders of the patriarchy in general—in shaping the mothers' reactions to the children?

 

Where on earth was I before we got onto this? Oh yes: funny is as funny does. Our usual family humour now has an edge to it. The Covid malaise is affecting everything. Everyone. You can find, if you're lucky, a thought to smile about, but forget about guffaws. Forget about bursting into laughs that make your stomach muscles hurt. Forget about tears-in-the-eyes laughter with friends.

 

I want to laugh. HA-HA-ha-HA! Isn't that a Broadway song? I love to laugh! Maybe I can coax a little smile. I hate to say it, having said a version of this every week for past two months, but my sourdough starter makes me smile.

 

And there she goes again! She's off with another sourdough story!

 

I take it from the fridge, where it lies dormant, smoothly solid with a quarter-inch of liquid on top. I scrape it into a bowl, which probably feels nicely warm to the starter, and add half a cup each of flour and water. I mix it together until it's more or less smooth, then I put the bowl on top of the chest freezer with a pretty tea-towel over it, and I walk away.

 

When I return, the starter has awakened. It is frothy, with bubbles all over the top. It looks light and lively. I reward it by adding more flour and water, equal parts. It's so much fun to do this that I often keep feeding it all day long and end up with cups and cups more starter than I actually need. But I won't throw it out, of course. I'll just make more bread. I love my sourdough. Does anyone need bread today?

 

 

 
Copyright © 2020 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
Audible.Ca: go to https://www.audible.ca and search for Ann Tudor
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Sunday, December 6, 2020

Accept the Gift (after Jane Hirshfield's "Each Moment a White Bull Steps Shining . . . ")

What an order. How foreign the notion of accepting whatever it is that comes. The poet speaks of the jewelled silver bridle for her bull, but my bull's bridle would be of braided silk, strands so soft and warm, so comforting, that the Beast would welcome its bridal bridle.

 

But for me? For me to accept the unexpected? That will require deep breaths, trust, an overall recognition that gratitude is always appropriate—nay, necessary—when gods give gifts. And what better manifestation of gratitude than the full-hearted acceptance of the gift, no matter how strange, no matter how unexpectedly frightening. Gods' gifts don't always answer prayers but may represent the next level—a path we with our limited vision would never have been able to foresee. Accept what will take you beyond, for that will always be where you need to go.

 

 
Copyright © 2020 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
Audible.Ca: go to https://www.audible.ca and search for Ann Tudor
Audible.Com: go to https://www.audible.com and search for Ann Tudor