The Christmas Eve Snowstorm

Source of photo: auto publishers

It was a very stormy Christmas Eve back in 1970 and Dad had finished work at six o’clock. I was eight years old; going on nine; my sister would have just turned seven. Back in those days, the family always met at my grandparents’ house on the other side of the province. It was normally a two-and-a-half-hour trip. Because Dad had had to work right up until the very last minute, Mom had everything ready to go. As soon as he arrived home from work, Dad gobbled up a sandwich as Mom hurried me and my sister into the back seat, already dressed in our jammies.

Advertisement

Oh, Christmas Tree…

Source of image: Canadian Tire

For a few years now, I have questioned the wisdom of purchasing a live Christmas tree. On a moral and spiritual level, I always feel guilt: I believe trees are as alive as I am. Why would I be okay with killing a tree for a tradition? In a time where our planet needs trees more than ever? Well, buying an artificial tree that is not biodegradable and that will absolutely end up in a landfill eventually is just not an option for me, either. And I am blessed to live in a country where live Christmas trees are plentiful. Unlike our parents and grandparents, we don’t go into the forest anymore to cut down a tree that – in time – would have become a giant. Instead, the cultivation of trees for just this occasion has become a tidy part of local business (and I always try to support local business). These trees are specifically grown for exactly this purpose – fields and fields of them, just kilometers from our home.

Circle of Friends

I always wanted a brother: an older brother, to be exact. I pictured him as big and strong and kind and protective. He would affectionately

How Are You (Reposted)

I do apologise. I have not posted in quite awhile. My health is never great at this time of the year and my energy levels always attest to that.

This was my very first post, almost a year ago now. It didn’t get much attention – it’s a bad attempt at poetry, which is not my forte. But the feelings were real. And the words suit this time of year, when it appears that everyone is scurrying around preparing The. Best. Christmas. Ever. Music is sweet and nostalgic; folks are preparing to go home for the holidays; family members are surreptitiously wrapping presents; cookies are being baked and plans being made.