On the night before Christmas of 2019, I sat in a cozy corner by our slender lit tree. Minutes earlier I’d stood in the backyard, waiting for our shaggy sheepdog, Cash, to finish his business, and feeling particularly UNfestive. After the hype leading to the 25th, the harried schedule, decorating, …
Sitting pretty atop elephant, camel and stallion, the three Seekers navigate the perimeter of my living room. For the last two months, those three ceramic magi have migrated (with a little help) from surface to surface. They’re at the south end of the piano now. Still seeking; looking steadily skywards. …
Music and lights, family, food and fellowship…Christmas washes over the land like a warm sigh. But the experience of Christmas changes as one ages. Gifts with my name on the tag took top spot in my earliest memory. Things shifted when I realized that Christmas meant giving as well; that …
I’m sorry. That’s all I can say to those who feel the joy has been sucked from their Christmas because they’ve encountered less-than-charitable Christians who stridently insist everyone use the phrase “Merry Christmas” rather than “Happy Holidays.” What disturbs me most about that is that from what I’ve observed, the …
Thirty-six square feet. Nestled near our clothesline cross, under a towering maple, my tiny backyard retreat stands tall in the snow; a startling slash of crimson on an unblemished canvas. A tangible, colossal exclamation mark. The odd building with the duncecap roof and the screened lift-up sides sits just a …
My favourite childhood Christmas gift showed up beside our scrawny tree on Christmas morning, unwrapped. To Beverly and Kathy. Love, Mommy and Daddy. My father spent part of his adult life as a construction worker. He built churches – a prelude to the later decades when he and Mom propped …
Scene 1. OutsideWal-Mart. December, years ago. A loaded buggy rolls down a slight incline towards me. We collide. “Whoa!” I grab its side to stay upright. A cherubic face peers from among piles of bags and boxes. Wide eyes meet mine. They belong to an infant. “I just got run …
“A woman is born. A lifetime later, she dies. And between those two moments, that woman shops.” Not this woman, though. At least not in stores, though I can easily fill an online cart at Amazon.ca. Thankfully, the Preacher does most of our household shopping. He enjoys visiting in the …
“Uh, oh. Little horse, big trouble,” I thought. But it made sense that seven-year-old Sherah (the smallest of our three-person team) would choose the Shetland pony from the line-up of horses. The others towered over her. When Amanda had called to see if I’d accompany her and the eldest four …
The future sat beside me at the annual Christmas banquet of a community organization. Five fingers old, big eyes, bubbly and adorable. With her mother busy on her left, and the Preacher watching activities on my right, I engaged her in conversation. She’d already visited Santa and Mrs. Claus, perched …
