Sunday, December 21, 2008 8:20 p.m.

The Sunday before Christ-mas. You may wonder why I hyphenate Christ-mas. If you're a believer, you know why. If you're not. . .  why do you celebrate?

What does Christmas mean to you? There are many meanings that people attribute to Christmas, and there are many reasons to celebrate, according to the world-at-large.

But here's what the deal is people: Christ-mas might be a symbolic holiday for the celebration of the birth of Christ.

I am a believer in the teachings of Christ. I believe he is all about unconditional love, about being bummed by the sin, but forgiving of the sinner.

Let's look at the meaning of unconditional love.

LOVE WITHOUT CONDITIONS; LOVE REGARDLESS OF______________ (fill the blank with your own no-way-item).

Duh.

So, no more 'if you love me you will or won't'...

No more 'I'd love you if you were or weren't'...

Love everyone. Even if you don't know them. Love doesn't have to be some over-the-top freak-fest either. There are all sorts of love - and when I use it here, I mean friend-love or family-love. Let's not start some weird kissing-random-romance-love-thing. That's just too weird.

Just assume the best about someone before (and if) they will prove you wrong. Don't see the bad in a person based only on appearance, skin colour, shoe choice, job choice; whatever idiotic prejudice you use. See the good. Choose your battles in life based on this rule - NO conditions. You'll be amazed how it will change your life.

I Don't mean to be preachy, just know what I'm talking about.

So no judgement. It's not your job.

Everyone is your friend, regardless demographic what-EVER. We're all just people.

As Avril Lavigne sings, "How does it feel to be you, are you different from me, are we the same? How does it feel?"

Anyway - practice the art of unconditional love this season and every day thereafter. I am absolutely convinced that if we could all do that - there would be no such thing as war, hunger, or homelessness. Poverty, crime and abuse would be non-existent.

Quite a concept, right?

Okay, I know I'm being sappy. Maybe it's Wynonna singing on an episode of Extreme Makeover, Home Edition. David Beckham was on, and I'm just all mushy with unconditional love for him. . . .ahem.

How to Avoid Being Eaten by the Holiday Greed Monsters

So the season is upon us. White and crisp and Decembery, Christmas is only a few weeks away.

Suddenly, I hate going to the grocery store, the mall, or any other place that is stacked with consumers who are head deep in gifts for their loved ones, their credit card balances growing while their bank account is shrinking.

This is the most wonderful time of the year? Really?

What is it about the holiday season that sends most of us into a shopping tizzy? Why do we go crazy like this every single year? Stressing over who to buy for, what to buy, how much to spend and will they even like it? Should I get gift receipts with everything?

Gift receipts. It’s a cop-out. Getting a gift receipt with a present is like an admittance of guilt from the gift giver. A gift receipt says I-really-didn’t-know-what-you-wanted-and-I-know-you’ll-hate-this-so-here’s-the-receipt-you’re-going-to-ask-for-anyway-to-go-buy-what-you-really-wanted.

And the people that it’s hard to shop for? How many headaches do we need to ‘prove’ our love or kinship by buying as many gifts as our pocketbooks can possibly handle? And really, how do you know that your gifts are re-gift proof?

Here’s what I think.

The holiday season started in order to celebrate the birth of Christ.

Christ was born in a stable. Every one should get hay for Christmas to remember that.

Three kings came to visit the newborn babe. And sure, they brought gifts fit for a king, but still, Jesus was a newborn. If we’re going to remember the reason for the season, everyone should get diapers, wipes and a couple of baby bottles, wrapped in smelly barn hay or something.

The kings each brought ONE gift. Just one. So Jesus received three presents in total. Four if you count the little drummer boy’s ode to the newborn King.

So let me ask you this. If Jesus only got three presents, and it’s His birthday, what on earth makes any of us think we deserve more than that? In fact, what makes us think we deserve anything at all?

How about if we all trim back this year? Let’s not go into massive debt to please those we love with material shows of affection. Let me ask you this. What present do you like better, the one you expect, or the one that someone brought you because they thought of you, and there’s no special day to mark the gift?

Exactly.

Three presents. Start a trend. Crash the economy. Teach your children, your teenagers. It’s not about the amount, or the value of the gift. Demands are out this Christmas. Tantrums and gift receipts, OUT.

This year, let’s only buy 3 gifts – and when you’re looked at with eyes of suspicion, eyes of disbelief that the present pile isn’t higher, ask yourself and the person looking at you with expectant eyes what they want, what they’re waiting for.

Chances are, they’ll say nothing. I mean really, who will admit they are waiting for more presents? And if they do ask?

Blame it on me. Tell them some silly writer said that nobody should get more than three presents because that’s all Jesus got.

Yeah, let them argue with that.

Merry shopping everyone. Here’s to crashing the economy even more  (but at least it will be our fault this time) and making a new meaning for the holidays and Christmas season.

Peace, joy and unconditional love.

Facebook – The Ultimate Connector

I’ve written about Facebook before. How it’s a great way to decipher every degree of separation from Kevin Bacon.

And now? I am just about stupefied silent (right) by the people that are reappearing in my life through Facebook. I feel I must tell everyone that Facebook is more than a teenager’s what-are-you-doing-right-now kind of site.

With Facebook, you can reconnect with family, friends and your school mates. Good Lord, you could probably find Jimmy Hoffa on Facebook!

I graduated from high school in 1983. There are a few people that I still communicate with regularly, but let’s face it. That was 25 years ago. Gulp.

People that were important to me back in those days haven’t been on my mind for many years. Except for the three or four that I still talk to – high school has been a very distant memory.

Then one day I log on to Facebook. And there it is, staring me in the face. A friend suggestion from someone in California. Gilbert Daudistel. Eighth grade. Whoa.

I added Gilbert as my friend. Haven’t talked to him, thought of him or anything since we threw our caps in the air at graduation in 1983. I remember his Davy Jones haircut and his mouth full of metal.

With a quick catch-up email through Facebook (exactly how do you catch up on 25 years in a ‘quick’ email?), I learn he is now the father of three or four dozen boys, has a gorgeous wife and has done some serious military service. He is also apparently fluent in Russian.

What happened to the awkward Gilbert that blushed all the time?

And that’s how it began. Now, more than 20 of us from our drama club in high school have reconnected. Even our beloved drama teacher, Kathy Juarez, has reconnected with all of us. It’s plain crazy, people!

Their pictures all look the same. Nobody seems to have changed much. Some have come out of the closet, some have married and divorced more than once, some are still chasing big dreams, and some have made their dreams come true. It also seems that every darn one of us is still involved in creative arts in one way or another. Dance studio owners, screenplay writers, column writers, novelists, actors, teachers. . . it’s just been a really cool experience.

I feel just a little bit younger, and the world feels a little bit smaller.

Until I see pictures of all those children that my school mates have spawned. Many are in high school, some even in university now. The littlest children belong to those friends that seemed to take their time to continue their DNA line. I feel my youngest when I see those toddler aged children standing against the legs of my school chums. Then I feel like the clock is ticking properly, that time isn’t spinning too fast.

I wonder if, 25 years from now, we’ll all be too old to type our status changes on Facebook? Will we go from a status of ‘Joyce is getting ready to party the weekend away’ to ‘Joyce is currently napping away her golden years’?

Will I be Facebook friends with the great-grandchildren of my high-school mates? Will Facebook take place of actual reunions now that we’ve virtually connected?

Really, even if I were never able to ‘see’ these friends again, it might be okay. Without Facebook, who knows when I would have connected with these people again?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving - especially to all my pals having a blast out on Oceano Dunes right now, without me!

Thinking of you all and missing you !

Joyce

Classic Tourtiere - This is What's For Dinner - a First For Me!

 

So I was at this holiday fundraising bazaar selling my fabulous Gold Canyon candles and the big draw was these Tourtieres.

St. James Church in Carleton Place has been running the Partridge in a Pear Tree fundraising event for several years. The meat pies (tourtieres) are baked by many a baker in kitchens throughout the county, all in support of Carleton Place District and Memorial Hospital.

People from as far away as Ottawa travel to stand in line for as long as it takes to be one of the lucky 'first come, first served' for one or a few of the only 250 pies.

When Peter called to say hi and ask how it was going, he also asked if I'd bought a pie.

The thought had never crossed my mind, because I'd never had one before. So now, another Canadian tradition will be crossed off the list.

I hope it tastes good!

Ingredients:

Pastry

• 2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
• 1/2 tsp fine salt
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter
• 1/2 cup vegetable shortening
• 2 tbsp lemon juice
• 6 tbsp to 10 tbsp cold water as needed

Filling

• 1 1/2 cups diced, peeled potatoes
• 1 1/2 pounds ground pork, veal, beef or combination
• 2 x onions, diced
• 1 x medium carrot, peeled and finely diced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 x bay leaves
• 3/4 tsp fine salt
• 1/4 tsp ground black pepper
• 1/2 tsp crushed celery seed
• dash allspice
• dash ground cloves
• 1 cup apple cider
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 egg mixed with 2 Tbsp (25 mL) water for glazing

Directions:

Pastry

1. Combine flour with salt. Cut in butter and shortening until mixture is a roughly even crumbly texture. Add lemon juice and water and blend just until dough comes together.
2. Shape into a disc, wrap and chill for 30 minutes. While pastry is chilling, prepare filling.

Filling

1. Cook potatoes in an uncovered pot of salted water until tender and drain. Roughly mash potatoes and set aside to cool.
2. In a large sauté pan or skillet, sauté beef, pork and/or veal over medium heat until no longer pink. Drain off excess fat, add onions and seasonings and sauté until tender, about 10 minutes.
3. Add cider and water and bring up to a simmer. Let mixture simmer for about 15 minutes, until most of liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat, stir in potatoes and cool to room temperature. This can be prepared a day in advance.
4. Preheat oven to 375 °F.
5. On a lightly floured surface, cut dough in half, roll out to just less than ¼-inch (.5 cm) thickness and line an 8-inch (20 cm) springform pan. Fill with tourtière filling.
6. Roll out remaining dough, cut a hole in center (for steam to escape) and place on top of filling. Pinch edges of crust together and brush with eggwash. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until pastry is a rich golden brown. Let cool 5 minutes, then remove from pan and serve.
7. Tourtière can be made up to 2 days in advance and reheated in a 300 °F oven.

Classic Tourtiere - Food Network Canada

Hangin’ with the Parental Units

When I was first swept away to Canada, there weren’t too many people from the mother land that were very understanding. Not that we knew this until years later, but nobody in California could understand why I’d choose igloo-land over the sunshine coast.

So when my mother came for that first visit, three years ago for the occasion of my 40^th birthday, I was almost anxious with my need for approval. I wanted Mom to love Lanark County as much as I did.

It worked.

When Mom left three years ago, she said she understood why I’d never move back to California. She said she would be my ambassador and let everyone know.

So when Peter and I found out that Mom and Dad were scheduling a visit for October (this year) , I was really excited to introduce Dad to the wilds of Lanark County. Two ambassadors are better than one, right? Actually, I was just really excited to see them, to have them all to myself. I was loving the fact that I didn’t have to share them with my two brothers, one sister or any one of the six grandchildren that live in the vicinity of grandma and grandpa.

I was selfishly giddy, I admit it.

Mom and Dad were celebrating a wedding anniversary – and wanted badly to visit Niagara Falls, as well as experience the fall colours that grace us every year. So, when they landed at night – I’m guessing it was a bit of a let-down for them. The colours, at least, would have to wait until morning.

However, Lanark County knows how to treat its visitors. When we pulled down our road, we slowed to stop just before our driveway. I pointed to the crab apple tree in our front yard, where three does were munching on the trees offerings on the grass below.

While one greedily munched on the small apples, the other two looked up, inevitably startled by our presence. They disappeared after a few seconds, but it was enough. Mom and Dad were suitably impressed.

I couldn’t wait for them to wake up the next morning, so they could see our quiet country street, check out the awesome colours of the maples nearby.

I was like that kid on Christmas morning, waking too early, jumping on my parents’ bed yelling ‘wake-up wake-up!’

Mom, of course was already neck deep in a hot cup of coffee in the living room. Dad was up and dressed, but the shades were still drawn tight against the day. I snapped it up and bright light flooded the bedroom.

“Look dad, look!” I pointed at our young sugar maple in the yard, then dragged him to the back of the house so he could see the back part of our property. “Whaddya think?”

Here it was, what I was waiting for. Dad’s approval. We walked through the sunroom to the tiny back deck.

Dad looked around at our small slice of paradise.

“It’s beautiful, honey. Your nephew would love it here, So peaceful. If it weren’t for the snow and grandbabies at home, your mom and I could see ourselves here.”

Well now. It doesn’t get much better than that, does it?

But seriously. I’d received the approval I thought I’d needed so badly (I don’t of course. I’m ridiculously happy no matter what), I wondered. . . would I really want to live with my parents again?

Everything Is Gettin' Furry

 

Getting those couple of inches of snow last week really put a grump in my step. My plumber stood on my porch and denied climate change as a mixture of snow and rain pelted him in the face. Peter had just secured a firewood order and we were beginning to think about the upcoming season. But when that snow flew – there was no joy. It was still October. SO not ready for it.

And I don’t care if it’s snowed in October before. Doesn’t make it right.

I don't care how pretty it was. Don’t care that it made me stop and look out my back door, wondering how the snow so perfectly coats all the branches of every tree in perfect icy, sparkling frosting.

Maybe my crankiness about the snow was all Cousin Amy’s fault. Amy sent me a text message with a picture of the thermometer in her parents' backyard, the same day we were being snowed upon. The temperature that day in Fresno, California? Seventy-eight degrees. At 7 o’clock at night.

The Facebook status of another friend in Sacramento? I’m tired of wearing shorts, bring on some rain already!

But then the snow melted, and I realized I don't mind winter all that much, because nature does some pretty cool stuff to get ready for the season.

Just about everything is gettin' furry. Driving down the roads of our Lanark County, all the horses are getting those thick patches of winter fur. They may look a little shaggy, but for animals that always have a such a sleek, glistening appearance, I rather like the stuffed-animal makeover of horses in the colder months.

And there on highway 7 – driving between Napoleon and Highway 29 in Carleton Place, are where the shaggy cows live. Anyone that’s ever been on Highway 7 more than once knows of which shaggy cows I speak. Of course, if you’re a farmer, you probably know the actual breed name of these animals. But to us simple-minded folk –they are beautiful, shaggy cows. And they’re getting shaggier.

My yard is totally furry with leaves. I know - they should be raked. But I believe in composting and I had my rake committed last fall for intent to do bodily injury.

The cat and dog aren't shedding quite as much. Wick, the cat, seems to have put on a pound of fur in a matter of one week, and it just makes her belly that much more irresistible as she struggles away from our loving hands. Cats. Sigh.

We're all getting our own layer of winter fur on, as well. Heavier coats, warm, furry-lined boots, gloves and hats. Fuzzy sweaters, socks and scarves are all starting to make an appearance.

Some women will shave less. And really, what's the big, hairy deal? Men grow beards during the hockey season, so let's just say that's what we - I mean, some women - will do as well! Besides, it's an extra layer of warmth, and after a short time, like your manly, oh-so-sexy facial hair, our feminine-soft-and-silky leg hair will feel the same.

And maybe, just maybe, you won't have to hear us - I mean, some women - whine as much about how cold we - er - they are.

Getting furry in the cold months is part of the natural order of things. So let’s all get soft and furry, and stay warm. Maybe then it won’t bother me – um, I mean other people so much when the s**w really hits.

Doesn't This Just Bring a Smile To Your Face?

This is Probably the Most Important Election of My Lifetime

 

So I am keeping well informed by watching Indecision 2008, hosted by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.

Check your comedy network listings for all the historical listings. . .

VOTE!