The Pear Tree Blog

Archive for December, 2009

I’ve been a cat person for as long as I can remember. When I married a dyed in the wool dog person, he accepted the resident cat and even made an effort to connect with her (although he was mostly left bewildered by the inner-tickings of the feline species). He’s a bigger person than I might have been, I blush to admit.

And then I had a son, who seems so obviously to have inherited his father’s dog-loving tendencies. So much so, that I’ve been thinking since last summer that this is a boy who needs his own dog.

For those of you who don’t know me or my disdain for animals that jump on, sniff and lick people, I must stress how big this is of me to put myself aside and think of the wants (not even needs!) of another person in this particular situation. It’s huge!

After months of contemplating, researching different breeds of dogs and feeling sorry for the cat, who is up to here with being chased and squealed at and having things thrown for her to fetch (which she will NOT condescend to do), I told my husband that maybe we could get a dog for our son next summer, for his birthday. But only if it’s one of three easy-on-the-eyes breeds: a miniature American Eskimo, a Cairn Terrier or a West Highland Terrier.

Just days – DAYS – after that conversation, I got a phone call from my sister, telling me that a woman in a nearby town had a litter of Westies for sale, ready in time for Christmas. So, two days before Christmas we met up with the lady to pick up our new little girl, Maisy, to present to our son on Christmas Day. (We also picked up a little boy pup, Snowy, for my nephew from his mom).

And I’m going to admit that, while I’m still not a dog fan, I am totally in love with this tiny, quirky little ball of fluff! It didn’t take her long at all to ingrain herself into the heart and soul of the family, and we are (and I am) looking forward adventures to come – not to mention the incentive to go for a walk every day.

We were blessed this year with lots of presents, from family and friends. But there’s nothing like the gift of a little life to make the occasion extra special. I know a certain little boy who thinks so, anyway. The jury’s still out on what the cat thinks.

I’m not OCD, I swear I’m not, but since having children I’ve been washing my hands a lot. Some of it is because of an increased concern about germs and spreading them to new immune systems. But while I admit I’ve vamped things up since the H1N1 pandemic, a lot of the washing has more to do with my thoughtlessness than hygienic thoughtfulness.

For example, a common scenario is as follows: I change my son. Naturally, I wash my hands right after. But then I think, while I’m in the washroom anyway, I might as well use the facilities. Another hand wash. Then I change the baby’s nappy, which requires, yes, yet another hand wash. I’ve now washed my hands three times in the space of about seven minutes. Add to that baths to give and dishes to wash and meals to clean up for. And now that I’m toilet training my son the number of times my hands are lathered up in a given day has multiplied enormously. It’s a wonder I get anything else done.

While this is little more than an amusing anecdote during the balmy summer months, come late September, when the weather makes a turn for the colder, my hands really start to suffer. Remember that lotion commercial (I can’t remember the brand) that featured a crocodile as the dry hand mascot? Yeah, that’s me. Except my knuckles are red. Dry and red.

To help counteract the effects, I’ve amassed quite the collection of hand creams. I have bottles stationed all through the house – the bathroom, my desk, the front door, the kitchen and the powder room. They’re all different brands, and seem to do well while they’re on … however, it’s a constant battle and if I’m not reapplying every time I wash my hands my inner reptile rears it’s ugly head.

Here is my current line-up, in no particular order:

Green Tea Ginger by Pureliving. I have a deep-seeded adversity to lotions that don’t soak into your skin right away, leaving you feeling slimed until the next time you wash your hands. This one – and all of the ones featured – soak in quickly and leave the skin feeling soft and silky. The fragrance is subtle and light. I got this one at The Water Garden on Ellis Street in Kelowna, after spending about 15 minutes exploring the lotion section. Yes, I’m a bit picky.

I was given Japanese Cherry Blossom Shimmer lotion by Bath & Body Works by a friend of mine last summer, and I recommend it as a light lotion, for summer – although I’ve been using it in these winter months, as well. While it’s not as thick and doesn’t leave your hands feeling quite as supple, it soaks right into thirsty skin and gives it what it needs. The scent is light, and a bit stronger than the Pureliving. I have yet to notice any shimmer on my skin after applying, however.

Clinique Happy makes me happy. It’s a little heavier but – again – soaks in quickly and completely within a minute. I’m wearing it now, as I type, since its home is my desk. It’s also the one I often choose to apply before going out because the bright, fun fragrance is fairly strong and can stand in for perfume.

The Thymes Sweetleaf Baby was actually a purchase I made for my daughter shortly after she was born because Thymes is, in my opinion, The Best lotion. Not too thick, not to thin. Quick absorption. Wonderful scents that aren’t too strong (not nearly as strong as the Clinique Happy). This one, purchased at La Bonne Vie on Pandosy Street in Kelowna’s Mission, has a very soft scent, being for babies and all, and my little girl loves to be massaged all over with it. I try to resist sneaking some for myself from time to time, but self-control isn’t always my forte.

I save my Clinique Water Therapy Moisture Glove Hand Cream for when I want to pull out the big guns. This stuff is so thick and rich my hands feel like velvet after I use it. I only use it at night, before I go to bed, so that it has hours of uninterrupted time to nurture my skin. When I wake up in the morning the deep, dry crevices on my hands are nearly non-existent (at my age, nearly is as good as it gets). But then the process starts again – washing, drying, freezing, and slathering on of the goods.

It’s not easy being an old hand – but at least there are a few perks.

I’m not a big one for change. While there are rare exceptions, I think I’d rather grow bored with something than see it extensively reworked – especially when it involves a long-standing tradition. Even when the change is for the better, it takes me a while to re-acclimatize to it. And when I don’t feel it’s to anyone’s best interest I have an even harder time.

With that in mind, I was thrown for a small loop when I arrived at the 18^thannual Living Nativity at the Willow Park Church in Rutland last weekend. You see, the three-part production switched the order of the three parts around, beginning with the Great Hall (live mannequins, Christmas scenes) and ending with the Town of Bethlehem instead of the other way around. Admitting that this speaks more to my neurosis than anything, it was just plain wrong.

There was something key about exploring the recreated Town of Bethlehem, complete with donkeys and sheep, pushy market vendors and heavy handed Roman guards, first, as in past years, before watching the First Christmas drama inside and then heading to the Great Hall for the quaint vignettes and a hot drink and cookies. Maybe it had to do with what I perceived to be priorities. History first, then the fun stuff. Do it the other way round and it’s like eating dessert first. You don’t have as much room for the nutritious stuff. Which brings me to the hot drink and cookies. Serving them at the end in the ancient Town? Outside and not in? Not the same. I want the mob-capped servers back!

That said, there was still inspiration to be found. The drama was thought provoking, and the live mannequin scenes were lovely. And I’m never not impressed by the dedication and professionalism of the church members – just ordinary people who pull together to pull the event off year after year. Whichever order they organize it, it remains one of my favourite traditions of the season. Here are a few scenes from this year:

Live mannequins re-enact an old-fashioned Christmas Eve.

A Medieval Christmas scene.

A detail from the Medieval scene.

Vendors in the Little Town of Bethlehem.

The Roman soldiers keep everyone in the little town in line.

Those who don’t comply spend some hard time in the pen.

Not far from where my fingers click away on the computer keyboard sits a stack of Christmas cards. Blank Christmas cards, waiting to be filled out and sent away.

Yes, I’m a fan of the old-fashioned Christmas card. Especially now, when the trend is to say what needs to be said via email or, for the even more lazy (and yes, I’m guilty here), status updates or tweets.

Then again, I’m a fan of snail mail in general. There is something so tantalizing about opening your mailbox and finding an envelope NOT containing a bill or business matter – something that is such a rarity these days. But I will save my thoughts on that for another entry. Today, I’m thinking about Christmas cards.

I have maintained a fairly long Christmas card list of at least a couple of dozen families and individuals, over the years. These recipients include family members, friends both near and far away, people I work with and people I’ve had close dealings with in the past year. To be honest, I don’t know that those included on the list pine away for their yearly card. For all I know, they wouldn’t even miss it if it didn’t arrive in a timely (or sometimes untimely) fashion.

The number of cards hanging from a ribbon near my home entrance has certainly diminished over the years. While some of the blame can be placed on lost contact with old friends, many of my faithful exchangers have simply retired their pens and put their fingers to the keyboard. But while the sentiment should be the important thing, however it’s delivered – whether by card, email, wall post, txt or telephone call – there’s just something so much more tangible about a card, complete with cover art. I firmly believe there’s a piece of a person that is poured out through the ink into their own, distinctive script. And the time devoted to personally selecting (or making) a card and then crafting a sentiment – even a short one – by hand is telling. And let’s not forget the nostalgic beauty of a string or mantel full of Christmas cards.

For myself, I get something out of the ritual of card-writing. It’s often an evening’s job, and includes a cup of hot apple cider or Christmas flavoured tea, as well as a treat or two. I turn on some seasonal music and set myself up near the tree (for inspiration). Shortly after my husband and I got married, we started designing our own cards, to make them a little bit more personal. The message inside is usually not long or complicated. There’s no newsletter-style recap of the year, just a short but genuine message of hope for good things in the coming year. Perhaps I could say more, but my purpose is just to pass along good wishes and to let the recipients know I (or my family) have been thinking of them because they were important to us in the past year.

Which reminds me – that stack is waiting. And time is ticking. So I’ll send my first card out to you. Sorry, it’s not hand written and it’s not in an envelope, but the sentiment is still the same: “Have a very Merry Christmas and a fabulous 2010!”

I was just looking through some old journals, trolling for inspiration for this blog, actually, when I came across this entry from a few Christmas’s ago. It made me smile when I read it, and I thought you might enjoy it, too:

So I’m in the mall, my favouritest place (not!), hanging out near the Santa station. The queue is surprisingly small for some reason, but there’s lots, I discover, going on.

At the front of the line is a tousle-haired blond girl, about three years of age, who is apparently against Santa Claus visits. She isn’t afraid, she isn’t upset. She just doesn’t give a hoot for Mr. Claus or his candy canes – much to her parents chagrin.

They coax, to no avail. They plead, they bargain, they threaten, but there is no convincing tousle-haired child that visiting with Santa has any sort of appeal. Finally, they let, so generously, someone else take a turn. But it isn’t over yet (ha ha, quoth he).

Minutes after taking their reluctant exit, the family reappears with, it seems, renewed vengeance. The parents ask tousle-haired child if she’s ready to sit on Santa’s knee yet. To make herself clear on how NOT ready she is, tousle-haired child sticks her tongue out at the fat, jolly man for emphasis.

“He knows if you’ve been bad or good,” the mother warned. Tousle-haired child looks unconcerned. “So do you want to see him?”

Negative.

“Fine,” says Mother. “That was your last chance. We’re going to see him now.”

Child puts up a fight, so parents agree to go.

Thirty seconds later, who do we see coming around the corner again but the happy family, and it becomes clear to me that they’ve merely circumnavigated the Santa set-up, perhaps in an attempt to make the child forget the bearded man.

“Now do you want to see Santa Claus?”Daddy patiently asks.

“No.”

So they stand around uneasily for a moment. “What about now?” he persists.

“No.”

Funny how it’s obvious only to me that this child has no intention of sitting on Santa’s knee.

Family disappears again, and I watch the other children visiting with Claus. It really doesn’t get any better.

Two boys, brothers, are sitting on Santa’s knee to get their pictures taken. One looks about seven, the other one five. The lady photographer (a blond, not that that matters) has taken more than a dozen shots of the two, in order to get “the perfect one.” This could take all night.

“Smile!” she demands. They are smiling. “Say ‘macaroni and cheese,’” she recommends. They do, but it’s still not enough.

“You’re not smiling enough,” she tells the little one. If he smiled any broader he’d be grotesque.

“Everyone tickle him.”

They do, but still – apparently – not to the satisfaction of our perfectionist picture girl.

Family returns.

“Are you ready to see Santa yet?” Mother asks, undeterred by her child’s insistence to the contrary. I have come to the conclusion that their cunning plan is to lead the tousle-haired child in circles until she relents from sheer exhaustion, dizziness or deliria. To sit on Santa’s knee will be her only reprieve from this circlish hell. They do not relent.

Having had my fill, I decide to leave. But as I do, I hear the parents give their stubborn child “one last chance” before discussing Plan B.

“Maybe we should just go,” the mother says, sounding a touch resigned.

“Yeah,” the father agrees. “We’ll come back after we do some shopping.”

And you know what, I believe they just might.

I have this tradition I started two Christmas’s ago, of buying an ornament for each person in my family. For the past two years, that included my husband, my son (age two-and-a-half) and me. This year, I have added my four-month-old daughter to the list. The idea is to build the number of ornaments to the point where, when the two kids eventually grow up and move out on their own, they’ll have a collection of decorations to hang on their own trees. And hopefully a stockpile of good memories will hang with them.

It’s a tradition my own mother started when I was about 10 years of age. Sadly, however, most of those ornaments have gone mysteriously missing. She swears I have them, probably tucked away in a box my basement. I, on the other hand, I am sure they are stashed somewhere in one of her assortment of boxes. Wherever they are, I plan to keep better track of this collection of tree treasures.

This year’s pick came from The Water Garden, on Ellis Street in Kelowna, across from the downtown library. I went to their Christmas open house earlier this week, and couldn’t leave without the above-pictured grouping of four retro-styled baubles.  My son loved taking them one by one out of the bag and unwrapping them from their crinkly tissue, promptly organizing which one would belong to whom. The far right one is his, the far left one is his sister’s, the top one is his dad’s and the middle one is apparently mine.

Now all we need is a tree to hang them from …

I love notebooks – especially new notebooks. Their pages are fresh and crisp and full of promise, ready for whatever you want to splash across them.

I remember when I was in elementary school and I’d open a new notebook and look at that first page. White with blue stripes, a light red one running down the left-hand side to mark the margin. It was so clean and tidy compared to my old ones – I was hesitant to write in it.

Putting my pen (or pencil) down on that first page I was always so careful, so very neat. I’d make my letters just so, and think out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it so that I wouldn’t have to scratch any words out. But by the third page things were going downhill, until, again, the finished notebook would look like chicken scratch, complete with tears, frays and folded corners, rumpled cover and the occasional food smudge. Oh, and let’s not forget those awful doodles!

I share this now because this is my first entry on The Pear Tree Blog and I feel a bit like I did then, staring at the blank page – a clean slate, full of promise, and I don’t want to mess it up.

Of course looking back at those worn, old notebooks today, I see how they are so much more precious now, in their tattered state, than they were brand new and looking pristine, but without character.

Fortunately, I’m typing this blog so you won’t have to witness how sloppy my handwriting can get by page five. No such luck with the outpouring out of my thoughts, however. As with my notebooks, I don’t have a clear vision of where this blog will take me – or you, the reader. It might be messy sometimes. There will certainly be some tatters. But if there is any sort of goal involved, it is to make these cyber pages more interesting full than they would be clean and white, but empty.

And I hope to get to know you, dear reader, through your comments and feedback. I hope to create some semblance of a community – a whole library of notebooks! Come along for the journey – I’ll bring the Liquid Paper.