The Homecoming

During the last week of school in devotions, the kids kept bringing up prayer requests for their family members travelling "home" for Christmas. Some were coming, some leaving. I started thinking of this whole idea of the homecoming, especially since I too would be travelling home for Christmas. And so I give you my journey home that began long before I left Langley.

My baking catastrophe. It's amazing that quickly scrawled baking directions could contain memories of home and smells of a yellow wallpapered kitchen with my mom in her orange "Oh to be single again" apron. You know, I don't even care that my treats didn't turn out. My kitchen transported me somewhere magical right in the middle of a chaotic week. That's gotta be worth $70.

A student returned home from the other side of Canada. She came in for a visit and it was so good to see how a few months away from home has changed her. Stretched her. Clarified so much for her. And I was thankful that my classroom seemed more at home with her in it once again, but this time with the roles reversed -- I learned that dredlocks can be maintained with crochet needles.

A Christmas potluck at a friend's. I remember realizing that I don't even have to knock when I enter her house. In fact, even when it's locked they have this fancy keypad thingy that unlocks the door for you if you know the code (which I remember 60% of the time). Not knocking is a sure sign of coming home. It's reinforced once immediate relaxation and warmth enter the body upon walking into the living room. One of the best feelings in the whole world has got to be standing in front of the fireplace with my feet finally getting warm again from the hot tiles, as I chit-chat across the room with those I love. (I just realized that this exact same situation happened to me today at my friend's house in Kamloops - weird)

Driving into my parents' driveway. Whenever I think of coming home, I always see my mom in the picture window, with her arm wildly waving and the biggest smile ever on her face. Usually she rushes out the door to help me bring in all of my stuff. If I were to look in the freezer, I'd see a pork roast waiting for my tummy, and pretty much most of my favourite food. YES!!

The Christmas classics. A huge table full of every delicious appy imaginable (including CREAM PUFFS!). Christmas Eve service with all the familiar faces and the all too familiar barbershop quartets. Getting yelled at to get out of bed (a text yell to boot). Coffee with eggnog. Stocking stuffers. Unwrapped, crinkled wrapping paper and discarded boxes and ribbons all over the floor so deep a small child could be lost in it for days. Super Scrabble with Aunty and Grandma (my grandma made a word that almost made me pee my pants in fright: porn). Far too much turkey and stuffing. Twiddling my thumbs. Looking at my presents. Watching a movie and curling up on the couch in a semi-concsious state. Purrrrrrrrrrrr.

There were only a few things missing, and let me tell you, they were sorely missed. I missed having to yell over and over, "Would you like a refill, Grandpa?" And I missed being overly conscious that we needed to have more Vegan friendly dishes. And I missed sharing a loveseat with a mini bony bum bum. And I missed my cousin's silly grin, and my other cousin's dimples. And I missed a hug from my special friend who smells like some sort of Old Spice, but mostly of home.

Ah, Homecoming, how I love thee.

Finally Freakin' Friday

Do you ever have those days where when you finally sit down your body literally hums? Or buzzes? Or seems to still be moving even though you've technically stopped? Well, I've logged quite a few of those days lately. In fact, as I sit here, my torso is in a constant state of moving in a circular motion, yet my eyelids have slowed their blinking to half-time.

Oh the joys of the final Friday.

I was thinking about this entry as I drove home tonight. I could write out all the crazy things that happened today, from the time I got to the school at an ungodly hour to begin the pancake breakfast, to the time we had a theft at the skating rink, to the time I frisked students and discovered that kids carry the oddest things in their purses (a crimper to the skating rink???), to the blessing of Sleeman's, and to the point where I dragged my sorry rearness through the bustling stores, wishing I still had my travel mug of coffee and Bailey's and also a stick to knock people out with so I could take their spots in line. (wow, it sure sounds like I'm a violent alcoholic, but I assure you this only happens at Christmas) However, I would wager that most of us had a nutty day today. I can feel it in the air. I can hear the exclamations of shock and see people's eyes widen and their mouths make a big fat ooooooooooo when they realize that tomorrow is Christmas Eve Eve. Yikes!

I'm braving the dreaded, treacherous Coquihalla highway tomorrow morn (soulement avec moi-meme). I have a shopping date with my brother, and some serious Christmas action planned with the rest of the family. Buuuuut, I have to get there first, after I pack my dirty laundry (naturally, cuz Mommy's washing machine gear is inside the house, whereas mine is NOT), after I shower, after I track down all the presents I've purchased, after I clean up my mess in the kitchen, after I get my oil changed, and after I remember to take all of my "baking" out of the freezer to pawn off to the relatives. I'm hoping to leave at 11:00am.

I'm an optimist by nature.

Worth a Thousand Words

I'm finding it difficult to do this blogging business without a camera. I think in pictures.

When I signed up for my cell phone (which I avoided as long as I possibly could), I deliberately didn't get a camera phone. The little lens bit creeps me out - looks like a cyclops. Apparently I am an idiot. Now I'm trapped with a phone that pretty much does nothing - I'm sooooo sick of looking at the frog wallpaper that came with it. So, for Christmas I've asked for $$$ towards my very first digital camera. That way I will be an independent picture getter.

So, I got curious as to what pictures I even have on my computer. Seeing that I don't have a scanner, I've always had to rely on people to send me stuff. Uh, so, I don't really have a lot. For your viewing pleasure, I will provide a mini montage of what pics I have available. Feel free to email me any must-haves.

(Just so you know, I'm tired of fiddling with the formatting. Someday I'll get it right.)

Me and sister Raeann in Red Rock playing dress-up in our mom's old lingerie.

(below) Me and Rae Rae on a hike in Nova Scotia this summer.

Me and lil' bro Keithy after he helped me get ready for a goth themed lingerie party.

Me scaling rocks in a sea cave while in bare feet. Shortly after this, I fell and scraped up my leg.

Me and the boy.

Oh.

So.

Dreamy.

I do have parents and other friends. Honest.

Just Christmas Stuff, I Guess

I currently have six pans of fudge sitting in a dumpster. I don't want to talk about it.

Once again, my lovely roommate has taken the Christmas season by the throat and loudly proclaimed its presence with a beautiful tree and sparkly lights and decorations. We have a fire place, too. You might be thinking to yourself that this sounds quite magical. Perhaps you imagine yourself sprawled on a rug with a nicely chilled glass of eggnog (sent from heaven itself) and a book that you have been meaning to read for quite some time.

Um, yeah, no. I don't think of that.

I see all of that and get angry. Angry because I don't have TIME to enjoy the season. Angry because something as festive and fun as a baking swap sapped all of my energy and made me want to cry. I haven't even started my Christmas shopping yet! My calendar is filled with functions and phone calls and practices and meetings. My best friends have become This, That, and Other.

I'd like to know where I plan to "fit in" the baby Jesus. I've been thinking more about what to buy people (and WHEN) than I have about a birth that I claim to be the basis of what I believe in. A thought hit me in church on Sunday: Do I really care about this birth? Cuz I sure don't seem to.

I don't even know if I'm bothered by my lack of caring, and that worries me.

Classic Cheryl

I left the Christmas party early tonight to get a head start on my Christmas baking. You see, a bunch of us gals are getting together to do one of those fancy baking swaps. I'm pretty stoked because being invited to one of those pretty much means I am a grown up - and I bake. However, I didn't really think about what baking six dozen of something entailed. Nor did I consider that my baking experience hasn't really ventured much past muffins and cookies and, well, Betty Crocker (bless her).

I wanted to expose my dearest friends to the delicious experience of the mint chocolate meringue kisses. Those little suckers are good for popping in the mouth since they dissolve into minty chocolatey goodness. And anyway, who isn't up for a Christmas kiss?

I zipped over to my Save-On, and naturally they were out of the mint chocolate chips. Grrr. I went to IGA. Again, no mint chocolate. This baking thing is pretty darn stressful. Staring at the chocolate chip section in remorse, I whipped out my phone and dialed MY MOTHER. Oh sweet mother of mine, please rescue me as only you can.

New plan: fudge. From scratch. Cooked by me. Six batches. Got it. (This is definitely gonna be less stress.)

With my phone shoved between my ear and my shoulder, I started piling ingredients into my basket. The basket thing was a bad idea; my shoulders/arm sockets will be sore tomorrow, I'm sure of it.

At the checkout everything was rung in: $67. Blink. Gulp. Swipe.

Back at the ranch, I prepared myself for the baking (except, did you know, fudge doesn't require actual baking?). Apron, hair tied back, tunes (U2), clean counters, recipe. Then I began. I made a complete disaster, but everything went rather well; I only forgot the vanilla for three of the batches. I also discovered that I bought far too many supplies. Apparently four batches can really pass for six. Neat.

So in the end I had six glistening pans of chocolate fudge (it's still a gamble whether they will set properly, or whether they will be edible). My roommate came in to admire my handiwork, but when I told her how much my supplies cost, she died laughing.

Apparently I could have gone to that Rocky Mountain place and bought a WHOLE freaking log of fudge for cheaper. And no mess.

My Breasts

I received a note in my box this morning:

Cheryl,
Your breasts :) are in the freezer.
-Pim

After a pause (did he just write about my BREASTAGES?) and a smirk, I quickly ascertained that my chicken order had arrived.

It is a well-known fact that I'm a sucker for fund raisers. So far the band trip has cost me $75.

It is a somewhat known fact that I'm also a sucker for fancy cookware. You don't even want to know what I once spent on an electric frying pan. It is affectionately named "The Jag".

Top Ten Reasons I HATE Wal-Mart

10. I go in to buy a couple things but end up spending no less than $50 every freaking time.

9. They have, like, 75 check-out stands but only ever have about five open at one time.

8. When I walk in the doors I'm greeted by pounds and pounds of tantalizing chocolate that causes me, against my better judgement, to purchase not one but TWO treats. And, because I'm so overwhelmed and dizzy, my reading skills are shot and instead of buying the minty version of After Eights, I accidentally buy the Irish Cream! Siiiiiiiick!

7. I think it's wrong that I can now buy cheese and milk and sausage in a department store.

6. McDonald's spouts out its addicting french fry scent. Gets me almost every time.

5. The most convenient time to go there is after work, when I'm STARVING and weak.

4. Because I'm starving, I scarf down vast amounts of chocolate in my car on the way home. Then feel not so hot.

3. There are too many people. I mean, I like people, but Wal-Mart makes me hate them. Especially when they are in front of me in line or competing with me to cart through the aisles.

2. It is a multi-national corporation that is taking over the world, one small business at a time.

1. I go there even though I despise it -- because it is so darned cheap. And I hate myself for it.


P.S. I just thought I'd mention that today is my special friend's birthday. He also hates Wal-Mart, which is why he's getting a birthday present - and because he has a nice... personality.

You're Welcome

So, I've received some feedback from my "readership", and some people have checked out this here blog, but didn't read it because they realized there was writing on it --and reading, apparently, is not fun. I wish I could come up with a way to fun-i-fy the reading experience --oooh, like I could have a clown named Lusty Lester reach through the screen and pick their noses, or maybe make a ridiculously silly face. Well, I would find that fun.

Or, I could simply allow this blog be what it will be. You're welcome to read, or sometimes read, or mostly skim, or only look at the pictures, or just leave random comments. All or none of that is fine by me.

Choice is a crazy important thing, isn't it? It's freedom at its finest. I've been going through Huxley's Brave New World with my lovely grade 12s, and there is a passage that just gets me every time. Because I'm the sharing sort, I will provide a lovely excerpt for your READING pleasure:

"But I like the inconveniences," said the Savage.

"We don't," said the Controller. "We prefer to do things comfortably."

"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness, I want sin."

"In fact," said Mustapha Mond, "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."

"All right then," said the Savage defiantly, "I'm claiming the right to be unhappy."

"Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind." There was a long silence.

"I claim them all," said the Savage at last.

Mustapha Mond shrugged his shoulders. "You're welcome," he said.

I will say nothing more. Ruminate, if you will. Well, I will say that if you haven't read this book and you enjoy thinking, you should go out NOW and get it. You won't regret it a whit. It is "one of the most bewitching and insidious works of literature ever written." Crazy prophetic, too (written in 1932).

Wow, I feel like a shameless peddler. Ah, well, I'd rather peddle knowledge than the Super Shammy.

Expecting Expectation

Because my roomie is so on the yuletide ball, I found a Christmas calendar filled with milk chocolates on my bed a FEW WEEKS AGO. I gazed at my new (free!) advent calendar, and it made me happy seeing a jolly bearded fellow with children prancing merrily about amidst the snowflakes. It's a little misleading, however, because the "milk chocolate" that's so deliciously promised on the packaging is, in fact, the worst tasting concoction known to man. Ahhh, yesss, I can see the head nods. We are in agreement, methinks.

In any case, I was away this weekend, and so when I returned home I grudgingly grabbed my calendar, took a deep breath, and made the plunge. December 1: chocolate choo-choo train. Though promising in its formation and chocolatey sheen, once in my mouth its true flavours became apparent, and I chewed and I choked on the "chocolate" choo-choo train. Aaaand then I still had two more to go. Brilliant. It struck me that I'm a big girl now, and not only do I not have to eat lima beans if I don't want to, I also don't have to eat the devil's chocolate, either. I've decided that in lieu of eating all 24 nuggets of fun, I am going to hide them around my house. I have since put December 2 in a plant (it's dying anyway), and December 3 behind a kitchen gadget.

I suppose at its genesis the chocolate advent calendar made a lot of sense. I used to pop out of bed in the morning to accost my calendar with a heart of excitement and anticipation. Chocolate has that effect on me, on so many of us. Somehow, though, the chocolate has become cheap, commercialized, disappointing.

Today at church we had the traditional advent wreath with the traditional person coming up, reading a little diddly, and then lighting the first candle. I don't even think I really paid attention. Sometimes I feel a little sad about the way we address advent. Advent is supposed to be significant. Advent is all about expectation, about fulfillment of the promises God made through time. We are not only to remember Christ's birth, life, and resurrection, but we are also to wait in expectation for Christ's return. We often forget to look beyond the manger this time of year -- at least I do.

I find myself opening the doors of my advent calendar, knowing full well what kind of chocolate awaits me, and it lessens my excitement, my anticipation. Maybe it's my own fault. I need to rely on something other than cardboard calendars or fancy wreaths in order to look forward to Christ's return with a little more furvor. In order to salivate once again.