Too much of too much

Well, so much for posting everyday throughout winter. I should have known that was an impossible task considering the presence of Christmas holidays and all the preparation and post holiday discombobulation that accompany it this time of year. Having the chance to finally clear the post-Christmas fog, and reflect on the last several days, this morning I came to the conclusion that the birth of  the idea of the "seven deadly sins" must have taken place at this time of year. At last count, I could account for at least five out of the seven being displayed in plain view within the last several days.

People, usually kind, motivated, restrained and charitable, are now transformed into greedy, slovenly and glutenous creatures, seemingly overnight. ( I use the collective "we" here) The overabundance of food and free time has played to our lowest common denominator and transformed us into the kind of human being the bible has long warned us about. This, of course, is on a level that only hints at the what is possible if left unchecked. I, as well as many others, already feel the nagging longing for life to "get back to normal." We've had enough of staying up till morning, sleeping till the afternoon, eating till we feel we will burst and scouring the flyers  for yet another electronic gadget .

Don't get me wrong. I would never deny any one including myself, the pleasure of a tryptophane fog, the sweet and spicy heaven of a gingerbread cookie or the anticipation of opening that shiny package under our bejeweled tree. It's the quantities I object to. Too much shiny, too much sweet, too much of too much for my liking. Bring on the New Year and the slow but relentless build up to Valentine's day.

Can I pay you to read this?

What greater wish could a parent harbor than to have their children living a life that they find fulfilling and one that brings them closer to their desired goals? I can't think of too many. Even if our personal wishes come to fruition, they can't shine as brightly when the children are struggling, when their path is strewn with quick sand or pot holes.

Today, one of my and my daughter's Christmas wishes came true. As she so aptly put, "Kids, Santa is real!" All she, and in turn I for her, wanted for Christmas was to get a job. Any paying job would have been good, but a "big girl job" is what she really wanted. A full time job, in her field of study, that allowed her to "be paid to read." Since this has been a goal of hers for a long time now, albeit, a goal she considered very unlikely to meet, in the near future anyway,we were all "over the moon" when "the call" came this morning.Yes sirree, 9-5 of reading book manuscripts in final preparation for print. This is a girl who would read if she had to pay to do it. And here, they were offering to pay her. How is that for a Christmas miracle?

That brings me to the question of wishes and the miracle of having them come true. The way I see it, we might as well set our sights high. I mean, wishing to get something totally within reach, never results in a miracle, but going for a goal that seems like a "pie in the sky" is what miracle workers specialize in. Whether your miracle worker's name is God or Santa, or good old fashioned Perseverance and Serendipity, there is nothing like the feeling of putting your faith in something beyond yourself and just "going for it" with every fiber of your being.

This Christmas will be a special one at our house. Both the kids are working hard on their chosen paths and I know that miracles will continue to pop up for them just as surely as the pot holes that are are a part of every road. Look how far they've come already. They are fine examples of all that is good in the world and why it's always a good idea to plan for the miraculous in our lives.

Jamaican Me Crazy

The thing about flavoured coffee is that it smells much better than it tastes. I know. I've tried many a caramel, vanilla, fudge toffee varieties with and without dessert and in my opinion they are just not coffee. They may be a confection similar to coffee, or a hot coffee-like treat, but the act of adding any flavour to the coffee bean immediately negates it's "coffee"designation and enjoyability factor, or so I used to think.

Walks in friend and unassuming coffee saboteur Bonnie, a few years ago at book club, and in one fell swoop changes my previously held views on the above position a full 179 degrees (all other flavoured coffees are still taboo as far as I'm concerned). After spending the last hour or so, gushing over the genius of Abraham Verghese's Cutting for Stone, the book club contingent sat relaxed in the afterglow of good conversation while she innocently slipped an unassuming looking cup of Jamaican Me Crazy to our unsuspecting taste buds.

That has been at least two years ago. I can not count the number of times I have stopped by every Winners and Home Sense in my path just to check out their coffee section to see if this ground gold was sitting on the shelf. It appears a few times a year and then again performs a disappearing act for several months at a time. I have been known to empty their entire supply on occasion and stash it in my freezer for safe keeping.

Here it was two weeks before Christmas and several months had gone by without a sighting of Lansing Michigan's own Paramount Coffee's, Jamaican Me Crazy. Perhaps this is one reason I have found myself rather stressed of late. I asked the elfish shelf-stockers about it on more than one occasion as Christmas drew closer and was met with a smirk and a rolling of the eyes. Apparently a few employees in the know had their antennas set on Jamaica as stock came into the store. A couple of days ago, my coffee addiction received it's early Christmas present. Two pouches of the Jamaican gold sat waiting for me as innocently as sprinkles on a doughnut. I snatched up both and rummaged through the entire shelf just to make sure the elves were not up to their irritating tricks. Two, just two 340 gram packages to do me through the holidays.

My name is Eva and I am an addict. Thanks a lot Bonnie.

Hot Tamales

I made Mexican tamales today. I know, it's the last thing that I'd thought I'd ever be making, especially at this time of year. But the opportunity landed in my lap and considering that I 'd never get the chance again, I welcomed the chance. My little sister, technically a cousin, who's been spending a considerable amount of time in Mexico, arrived home for Christmas with a big idea under her belt. Tamales, a staple of that culture, are apparently available on every other street corner regardless of the village or town. The fact that they are not a part of the menu at most of our local Mexican restaurants or available as a ready to assemble kit on our grocery store shelf, probably has something to do with the fact that they it took us two afternoons as well as several ingredients, that are not usually present in my cupboards, to make approximately 30. I understand that once you know what you're doing, and you have all the necessary things on hand, you can probably churn out dozens per hour. Fortunately for little sister, she is willing to do what many in our fast paced, fast food society are not. We used duck confit, a few different varieties of chillies, tomatillos, several kinds of mushrooms, cilantro, lots of cilantro, a specially treated corn flour and reconstituted corn husks to hold it all together. And here, I'm just naming a few things that passed before my eyes on their way to or from the fry pan or food processor.We were her official taste testers and pass the test she did. The beautifully wrapped parcels of yumm are now resting in my freezer waiting to be brought back to life when the entire family has gathered. The foodies in Toronto are going to be licking their chops when tamale chef extraordinaire unleashes her creativity and tamale making energy on them. Check out the info on this amazing dish and the chef who's going to make it her business.


https://www.facebook.com/#!/tasteyourfreedom

Pass the borscht

Since I'm feeling uninspired at the moment as I have been the entire day, but feel determined to post every single day, I have come up with another recipe for a staple at our Christmas Eve dinner. Easter European barszcz or more commonly known as borscht is enjoyed by Poles, Ukranians, Russians, and Hungarians as well as many North Americans of that ethnic heritage. I must say, since I have never been a soup eater, it has taken me almost 50 years to participate in this Christmas Eve ritual. Last year I distinctly remember having a few spoon fulls as many others oohed and ahhed around the table. Here's a look at a simple way to make this traditional soup. My mother always adds red wine as well as pickled plums and only serves the broth, plums and dumplings (uszka) but I'm sure there are as many ways to make it as there are families who enjoy it.

A place called Christmas

Christmas seems like a place entirely of its own. It is a town we live in from mid November till New Year's day. It's a place we create that has constantly sunny skies, smiling, congenial neighbours, pleasant holiday music, a crisp chill in the air that warrants the use of a colourful scarf, hat and matching mittens. It is a place where everyone gets what they wish for, Christmas is spent with the ones we love and the whole experience is tied up beautifully with a coordinating ribbon. Try as hard as we may, we can not always remain in this place but we do everything we can to get back there with fierce determination. Like a dream that we are strangely aware of dreaming, we fight to succumb to it's delicious abandon even though we know we can not stay asleep for ever.

Reality of life has a way of punching through that dream now and again to remind us that mittens get holes, sunny skies turn to rain, neighbours get cranky and loved ones are not always able to be with us even though the annual Christmas card picture would have been more complete with them by our sides. And yet we feel compelled to decorate our front doors, light the mantle candles, baste the turkey and don our finest and brightest in preparation for the big day.

How do we live our lives in the moment, acknowledging the fact that friends get sick, our parents are graying and forgetful, children are facing issues in their lives we did not have to deal with, while at the same time allowing the sweet smell of fresh cut Christmas trees to take us to that place that only your favourite Christmas carol can?

Finding this balance is not only the answer to how to reconcile Christmas in our very real lives, it is also the answer to how to reconcile the good and the ugly of every single day. The welcoming of new possibilities, of nurturing innocence and promise among cynicism and despair, of allowing hope to take root in our hearts and to celebrate each day for the chance it affords us to make these choices is the prescription given to us by sages and enlightened minds. The trick is, finding a way to do it that has meaning to us.

While I shop for those last minute gifts and bake those last batches of cookies, I will think of those who will not be with us this Christmas while I listen to their favourite carols, I will hope for new beginnings for those starting down new paths and I will keep reminding myself and all those that will listen that Christmas is a state of mind and you can visit there even in mid July.

Home made pierogi

In preparation for making the annual Christmas pierogi, I looked through some recipes to see the different methods and ingredients people use when making this traditional Wigilia staple.  I can't say I make pierogi any other time than Christmas, so every year it takes a bit of organizing to get all the ingredients and implements ready. Usually we make two types of pierogi. Potato and cheese are the most widely known and are also available at most supermarkets these days in the frozen food section. The other type of pierogi that we have made on Christmas Eve for decades are the sauerkraut and mushroom kind. These are a little harder to find if you are looking to purchase them ready made but can usually be found at specially food stores that feature ethnic dishes. Locally they can be found at the European Deli on Walker Rd. at Ottawa St. We, of course, will be making them by hand. My daughter has already asked if we will wait for her to get home before we start the yearly tradition. Here is a look at one way to make Potato and Cheese pierogi. It is very close to the way we make them. This year, however, I will have to scout around for some different recipes for fillings that do not include cheese. The effects of lactose intolerance are not a pleasant thing, especially at a time like this.
My grandmother used to make meat filled ones when I was a child but those won't do on Christmas Eve. She also made all kinds of fruit filled ones in the summer. I still remember the strawberry ones my aunt made a couple of years ago when we visited Poland. These are served with sweetened cream or sour cream insted of the fried onions which usually accompany a dish of pierogi. The warm juice that spurts out of the pierogi and mixes with the cream as the fork pierces the dough is something everyone should taste at least once in their life.Maybe this is the year to add the sweet version of pierogi to our repertoire.This may be an opportunity to come up with yet another non-traditional tradition.

Anticipation

As well as the usual presents one can wrap and place under the tree, I have the additional, although happy task of shopping for a box spring mattress. An odd time for an odd purchase, you might think. But, that's the way life is. It sees you juggling a dozen balls and it it sees it as a good time as any to throw in a few more.
The recent trip to Toronto, meant to bring bedroom furniture to our daughter who is now in her own apartment, has left her old room empty outside of the colossal dust bunnies that refused to move out with her. Luckily we kept a bed and mattress she used several years ago as a back up but the foundation and new mattress made its way up north with practically everything else she owned. I had visions of taking leisurely strolls through post Christmas boxing day sales to pick up just the right things in order to make the now empty space into a guest room extraordinaire. It occurred to me shortly after our arrival back that the room will need to be functional again way before the red tags hit the merchandise. And, to make matters even more urgent, the prodigal daughter will need a place to sleep, not just one that looks pretty. Luckily, there doesn't seem to be that many people concerned with box springs at this time of year and the sales person at the local discount furniture store almost seemed euphoric when I entered the store. I left the place relieved that they will be able to deliver the box spring later on in the week and the delivery will be free of charge.
It hit me as I was recuperating from the several hours of madness among last minute shoppers, that we will now have the happy task of waiting for our daughter to make her way home every holiday season. Until now we looked forward to seeing cousins that we often only see at this time of year but now we will add the anticipation of seeing our girl to the many things we look forward to at Christmas. Can't wait to have you home again Alex!!

Too sick for Christmas

After whining all day yesterday about not being able to find my favourite brand of lemon tea, I picked up a grapefruit flavoured one today at the European Deli and Paul came home with one I have never seen before. Lemon is it's main ingredient. Just goes to show you, you whine loud enough and someone will make it a point to shut you up. As it turned out, it's a good thing we have all that lemon tea on hand. Both of us are feeling under the weather and hunkering down with a steaming cup of the citrusy  brew. Figure skating and hockey over with, Sherlock Holmes is playing on the television while the last batch of cookies is cooling in the freezer. A busy day considering that drinking tea is all I had planned on doing all today. Here's hoping it's curative powers do the job by morning. Two weeks before Christmas is no time to call in sick.

I Love Lemon

It was cold today, colder than it's been in some time. I spent most of today driving around town dropping in on some old and new advertisers just to say hello. Did I mention it was cold? The only thing that kept me going was the thought of a lovely cup of lemon tea when I got home. Not just any lemon tea, oh no, not for me, I Love Lemon by Bigellow is what was going to be my just reward. I have tried many teas in my life and many of them are still in my kitchen cupboard. But the one tea that I most look forward to, especially on a cold winter day is I Love Lemon. The only problem was I was out; out of doors on a cold sun-less day and out of the one tea that could make it all better for body and soul.
You would think that picking up a new box of tea would be an easy task, so did I, at the beginning. After leaving the second store empty handed I was starting to have my doubts. Determined to stay positive, I stopped at store number three, and headed over to the designated tea/coffee section. If the shelves did not hold every imaginable flavour of tea, besides lemon that is, I would have been hard pressed to think of one. Everything from Green tea with ginger to Mellon Mango and Chai were present and accounted for. But where was the lemon? At this point in the day, I would have been happy to find any brand of lemon tea just to keep my taste buds from salivating and my toes from freezing. We are talking simple lemon tea here! Back in the day when there was only coffee or tea, Orange Pekoe and Lemon were the only choices one had in tea if one did not count Camomile, and Camomile never counted according to me.
But, there I was, cold, tired, cranky and in dire need of the only thing that would now do. I drove home, tore apart the tea cupboard, yes I have an entire half cupboard dedicated to tea, and just as I feared, came out empty handed. It would have been easy enough to brew a plain cup of tea and put a slice of lemon in it but you see, I Love Lemon is an herbal tea and the English or Irish Breakfast or the always tasty Earl Grey would not make a good substitute. Never one to give up easily, I remembered once drinking a delicious cup of hot water steeped with lemon peel. It was apparently a common southern Italian drink and lucky for me, easy enough to make. I peeled half a lemon, placed the zest in a mug, poured boiling water over the lot and immediately felt my self start to relax.
There is nothing like a hot drink on a cold winter day especially if the drink is a steaming cup of tea. If that tea is I Love Lemon, all is right with the world. The lemon and hot water substitute is a darn good stand-in, but just in case you need a more potent facsimile here's a recipe for home made Limoncello, with just enough time to make it in time for Christmas!

Can you say Sledz?

Since it's just a few days more than two weeks before Christmas, I have been finding myself thinking about Christmas Eve dinner more and more often. Having the piernik already made and frozen allows me to focus on the main part of the meal and all the special ingredients that need to be purchased. At our house, Christmas Eve is celebrated the traditionally Polish way. It is called Wigilia.
According to a very old custom, Wigilia dinner is served right after sun down and is usually comprised of 12 meatless dishes. We've always stuck to the meatless rule but have never served the 12 dishes. I guess you can consider this another non-traditional tradition, but we are full enough with the five or six we make every year to consider adding any more.
Every family has their favourites but we have been lucky enough to have my mother make, red barscz with uszka (beet root soup with little dried mushroom-filled dumplings), Greek fish (a white fish served with a carrot, celery and onion sauce), two kinds of home made pierogy, potato and cheese as well as sourkraut and mushroom ones, breaded shrimp and breaded calamari rings with sea food sauce( this has become a custom to appease my children who didn't like the barscz or fish), a fresh salad and usually a hot vegetable or two.  Since all that cooking has been getting too difficult for my mom to do on her own, I have been getting more involved over the last several years. Last year, my daughter and I made the pierogy. They were not exactly up to my mother's par but I'm sure they will get better the more often we make them.
The one traditional dish that our family shares with most Eastern Europeans and Scandinavians is sledz.(shle-dge) or pickled herring. I didn't mention it till now because it's a dish we normally put on the table and soon after take back to the kitchen. It is one of those things we feel compelled to keep preparing even though I can't think of a single person at the table who eats it. I must admit, I did eat it as a child and even enjoyed it. As the years went on, it became less appealing and went the way of other foods I no longer eat such as smoked eel, headcheese, blood sausage and galareta (pig feet aspic).
There are countless stories of my husband Paul first joining the family for Christmas Eve and feeling obligated to at least try the dreaded stuff. I should have known he was a keeper after he tried more than once to acquire a taste for something that I think you have to grow up eating in order to appreciate. It is pickled in it's raw state, it is cold, it is salty, it is vinegary and fishy. There are many recipes available for trying to make this delicacy palpable but my earliest memories of sledz are of men eating it straight out of the jar and following it up with a shot of vodka. Even the promise of Vodka didn't make it worth trying the third time around. He is now an unabashed sledz hater and not afraid to say so. You, however, may be one of the lucky ones who will welcome a new reason to drink a shot of good Polish vodka after every bite. Here is a look at how others enjoy it.. Cheers!

Christmas Oranges

As the saying goes, we all sooner or later turn into out mothers and fathers. The way we laugh, what we feel compelled to laugh at, our love of music or sports, our dislike of rutabagas or our love of water. It is all mostly genetic. Once we get to that certain age, the age where we tend to notice things like this, we will often catch ourselves saying something or responding to something exactly as our mother or father would have. Often when we are young, we are aghast when something like that happens and vow to never let it happen again. But being the creatures of habit that we are, we will find ourselves being like our parents more often than we are not. There have been many times, that I stopped mid sentence almost, to swear the words that just came out of my mouth could have come from my mother's. That is also true when I'm cooking or shopping, cleaning or crying. My mother and I both have the misfortune of our nose turning red and our eyes almost disappearing in our faces when the tears start to flow.
I should not have been surprised then, when my daughter, who has never shown any particular enthusiasm or interest in being crafty, posted a picture of some Christmas decorations she crafted for her new apartment. The picture was not that of a store bought Santa, a preassembled Christmas tree or anything else that would have been convenient for a young girl, short on cash, and busy making her way in the big city. It was a picture of a pair of clementines studded with whole cloves the way I used to embellish them when she was young. I do not claim that embellishing clementines is a genetic trait, but it says a lot about how we feel about home and the things that we find comfort in when we need to make a home of our own.
Just out of curiosity, I will have to ask my own mother whether my grandmother studded oranges when she was young. I have a feeling I know what she'll say. Maybe that is the reason I always associated the smell of citrus with Christmas and still do to this very day.

After a week or so of thinking that the next day would be the day that the Christmas tree would finally go up, we decided that there was no better day than today. We hauled up the box and assembled the evergreen in its intended spot. As usual, Paul spent the next hour trying to remember which lights we had used last year and why we hadn't thrown out the ones that did not work. Grumbling as he plugged in one string after another and finding only two that lit up, he threw the entire bunch back into a box and declared that he was going to buy some new ones once and for all. Deciding that I should probably pick up a few things at the grocery store while he was going out, we both headed for the door with a list in each of our pockets. This was 7pm.

We arrived back home just before 8, I with six grocery bags and Paul with several new strings of lights. Soon after I had started too put the groceries away I heard my husband declare that he needed another string or two. By now it was 8:30pm and my enthusiasm was leaning closer to the comfortable couch than another trip to the store. I asked Paul to spread out the lights while I opened one cardboard box after another. Ribbons and garland, glass bulbs and angels, feathered birds and hand drawn pictures affixed to cardboard by little hands twenty years ago, stared up at me from within.

I pulled out one object after another and placed the shiny loot on branch after branch. The fact that I had to stop several times to inspect each piece as I tried to remember when we had bought it or who had given it to us or how old the children were when they made it, might have had something to do with me finding Paul on the couch asleep.The next time I looked at the clock it was 10pm. I wound some ribbon around the tree and finished off some branches with little wired bows I had made several years ago. I stepped back, took a look and decided that the deed was done. Tomorrow I will tackle the mantle.
Here's a look at a professional decorating a tree. Don't let the weather in the video fool you, decorating Christmas trees is serious business, even in California. It doesn't look like she used any hand made ribbons or children's art work but you may get some ideas for when it's tree time at your house.

So, I'm back from Toronto. Delivering bedroom furniture from one city to another, a four hour drive away, is not as effortless as it sounds, especially when it involves the actual planning, disassembling, packing, carting into the truck, unpacking, and hauling it up the stairs into it's new home. The effortless turns quickly into daunting when you're well into your fifth decade. At one point close to the end of the two day process, it suddenly occurred to me that I had done this before. Twice, as a matter of fact. I was birthing the daughter into her new life.
Looking out the window just a few minutes ago, I was relieved to see that the two day rain had finally turned to snow. The process, though not unexpected at this time of year, seemed prolonged and anguished, unable to settle on it's preferred state for any longer than an hour or two. The scene outside changed from a light drizzle to heavy rain to a mixture of rain and snow and back to rain within minutes at times. The birth of a new season, I thought. Profound thoughts or weather-headache induced delirium?. The latter is the most likely explanation. But, when things are  a struggle, and enormous effort is needed to just get through the hour, most often our thoughts turn to all kinds of self-reflection. But the reality is this, all change is the birth of something new. Whether it be a new address, a new season or a new life. It is always messy.

Screaming down a mountain side

So it seems that many, many people all around the world like to strap long, thin, slippery pieces of wood on to their boots and launch themselves from steep, snow covered hills and sometimes even treacherous mountain tops. So many people, in fact, like this winter time activity so much that it was given a name and a whole industry has developed around it. You can now participate in the sport of alpine skiing anywhere the presence of snow meets adequately hilly terrain. Considering the fact that I live in Canada, you would think that skiing is something I learned to do right after I mastered the skill of walking. That may be for many Canadians, especially the ones living in the northern reaches of our country but as for me, it took some 16 years before I had the pleasure of screaming down a mountain side.
 When I say I screamed down a mountain side I mean it literally, sort of. I did plenty of screaming but the mountain part isn't exactly accurate. I happened to be on a "bunny hill", or what can also be described as an almost imperceptible dip in elevation. That should have been everyone's first clue as to the mismatch of  my temperament  to this particular sport. I also have to brag that I actually made it past the "bunny hill" and onto a tow rope and eventually the chairlift. But, since I'm being honest, I should also mention that the screaming part remained a constant part of the entire experience.
I was 16 then, and being the eternal optimist, I returned to the mountain and strapped on those dreaded planks of wood at least two or three more times. Unfortunately, not much changed with each experience. But, as I couldn't help but notice, many, many others managed to refrain from screaming and actually seemed to enjoy the experience. It wasn't till a year or two later that I discovered the sport of cross country skiing. It was more my speed but the snow and the slippery lumber were still part of the deal.
What can I say, it seems that I just wasn't meant to be a winter girl. Even though the sport of skiing did not become a part of who I am today,I can't help but laugh when I think back to those days and way I enjoyed sipping my hot cider as I watched the rest of the skiers from the comfort of the lodge.
Here are three looks at the sport of skiing. One sensible one and two fit for much more adventurous sorts.

Can you smell that smell?

Today, as I was walking through the parking lot toward my neighborhood grocery store I was snapped out of my mental grocery list rundown by a most subtle and beguiling smell. No, it wasn't the usual rotisserie chicken and wedge fries-to-go that scented the air, it was the the smell of an evergreen forest on a cool winter day. I followed my nose and there in plain view was confronted by the ultimate proof of how close we really were to Christmas. Freshly cut Christmas trees in various sizes and varieties leaned against the store walls, lay in heaps on wooden pallets and unwittingly did what they do best, make us feel that un-describable pang of nostalgia. Oh I know,they are a pain to drag into the house, their needles fall and make a mess for months, you have to remember to water them and often times they start to look tired before you are ready for them to. But that smell!!

I have to admit that we too caved a few years ago and finally went the artificial tree way. We spent almost 30 years driving to various lots to find just the right specimen or to the cut-your-own establishments to get one as fresh as they come. And yes, I was the one that finally put that good thing to an end. Years of sweeping pine needles from corners, under carpets and from the inside of the car trunk (you have to get the tree to the tree recycling depot somehow after you missed the curb pick-up date) had to finally become a memory. I had given in to a few years of " Not this year, one more year, please?" And how could I blame them? I had my own memories of a fragrant, fresh, cool tree coming into the house and setting the mood for the next week or two by its heady smell and regal presence. But now, it is at times like the one today when I walked by a stand of freshly cut trees that I returned to early childhood, my own and my children's and to the way Christmas smelled then.
If you are still one of the brave and determined ones that venture out into the bitter cold to hunt down just the right tree for your home, here are some things you may learn.

The white stuff

The picture outside my window shows rain, as it has since yesterday evening. The picture on the Weather Channel is a raindrop along side a snowflake. It had to happen sooner or later, the fist snow has to come sometime. Even though we are located in the southern-most part of Canada we've had our share of the white stuff most winters.
I have vivid memories of skidoos driving down Wyandotte St. E circa 1974 and my mother walking home after having walked for over an hour to get to work, not trusting that her car would make it through all the snow. We've had some unusually warm winters too, like the one around 15 years ago when it was warm enough on Christmas Eve for me to dash outside in my shorts in order to throw out the garbage. But, as much as I don't like the cold, there is something unnatural about temperatures that hover above 10 degrees in the thick of winter. Maybe I'm channeling my early childhood, but even I feel a certain sense of anticipation when the weather man calls for the first snow of the season.
Here's a clip from The Snowman, an animated British film about a boy and a snowman. I don't know why but when the kids were small, I looked forward to watching it as much as they did. If you have children between 3-10, I'm sure they will love it.

Have yourself a zen-like little Christmas

Christmas shopping can be your greatest pleasure or your worst nightmare depending on how late in the season you've left your shopping till. For many years now, I have vowed to have all the gifts purchased and wrapped before the end of November. Unfortunately, this year again, will not be the year that that comes to pass. Even though I've been keeping my eyes open for the perfect "thing" for those on my shopping list since September, and have slowly accumulated a sizable pile in my newly "extra" bedroom, there are still a few things that need picking up. I feel relatively at ease and don't feel the panic  rising yet, as it has many times in the past. The ritual of doing a book exchange in lieu of gift giving has slowed down the frantic pace of shopping and forces me into one of my favourite places in the world. The only dilemma becomes finding a book that you think will appeal to the person whose name you've drawn. But imagine the bliss while having to find it. Often times, I find a pile to add to my wish list in the process. And think of the coffee that needs picking up while on your way out the door. Books in one hand, a tall Mocachino in the other; does Christmas shopping get any better when time is on your side?
Well friends, its November 28th, exactly 26 shopping days left before you need to resort to your local Mack's Milk. If you plan it right,you can have a zen-like 26 days in preparation for the big day. Hmmm, books, coffee, tea, lotions and potions from the Body Shop? Who says you can't treat yourself in the process?

Poetry for Christmas

I had a poem written for me today. I simply reached into a basket, picked out three random words and quickly though of three more that I associated with the ones in my hand. The poet wrote them all down and within five minutes used them all to created a masterpiece. And you thought you could only find ceramic Christmas trees at a holiday art fair!
I wondered the halls of the Vollmer Complex and gazed at the many hand crafted wares available for sale. I was in my element. It is holiday art fairs such as this that help me get in the Christmas mood each year. The rain could have been snow, but when inside the building there was no mistaking the time of year. People were picking up, putting down, admiring at arm's length, chatting with the artists and on many occasions even reaching for their wallets.
It was right at the end of one of the corridors that I finally spotted the table I had been most interested in seeing. A poet friend of mine was participating in the show as part of a group of writers. They were reading examples of their work and also offered Poetry On Demand. What fun!
I reached into the basket and after taking longer than I should have to free associate three more words, I handed over my contribution and put them to work. Talk about watching alchemy at work. I could not observe the glassblowers, jewelry makers, or the photographers at work but there I was looking on as the words which were just letters strung together moments before took on the shape of meaning.
Here is just one:(Hand-Heart, Flower-Tulip, Hair-Cut)

Can you feel it?
Inspiration blooms around you
in the colours of a tulip
fearless flower of spring
Flows from your heart
to your writing hand
Makes you shiver
like a fresh breeze
on the back of your neck
after a good hair cut.

And you wonder why it made me smile!
Here's a you tube look at one of my favourite non-local poets. You may consider giving a book of poetry as a Christmas gift. I know I will!

Non-traditional traditions

I spent the afternoon today baking with my mother. Christmas is only four weeks away and time will be more at a premium the closer we get to December 24th. There was no better time than this afternoon to bake the traditional piernik. It is always baked early, wrapped well and frozen or refrigerated until it makes it's debut on Christmas Eve.We planned on baking two and cutting each into three portions, yielding enough for ourselves and several to give away as gifts.
The decision was made to start just after lunch and I came prepared with a couple of extra bowls, spatulas and a fresh box of baking powder. The recipe was laid out prominently and all the ingredients stood pre-measured and at the ready the moment I walked in. I rolled up my sleeves and as my mother tied an apron around my waist I envisioned generations of women in our Polish family mixing the same ingredients and participating in the sacred piernik ritual. As I took a better look at the yellowed recipe scotch taped to a page of a loose leaf binder I remarked at it's obvious age and asked where it had been cut out from.
"Oh I don't really remember," my mother said, "one of those Polish woman's magazines I suppose."
I must have looked stricken. "Do you mean this is not the recipe my babcia made at Christmas," I asked.
"Oh my goodness no," she said. "Have you seen how long and complicated those recipes look? It would take days and I just don't have the time or patience for all that fussing. Your grandmother did not have an electric mixer, does that mean I should stir the batter by hand too?"
"Well, is this the recipe you've been making since you started to bake it," I asked.
" I don't remember," she said again. "I tried it this way and that, but I finally settled on this recipe because it's so simple and always turns out well."
I leaned over the binder again and deciphered the name at the top. Jewish Honey Cake it said. I had to sit down.
"What about the Greek Fish we eat on Christmas Eve," I asked, "and the red borscht?"
"Hmm, I do remember that lovely couple I met when we first came to Canada,' she said, 'I don't remember their name right now, but she served this wonderful fish one day and I asked for the recipe. I have made it for Christmas ever since then,' she said. 'And, the borscht, I always add the pickled plums and red wine. My mother didn't do that, but I think it tastes better that way.'
I returned to the counter and added all the ingredients in the order prescribed in the recipe for Jewish Honey Cake from a 1980's magazine published in Polish by a Toronto publisher. I put the batter in the oven and drank coffee with my 83 year old mother as we waited for the traditional Polish Christmas cake to finish baking.Here's a look at a Polish woman making a traditional piernik. You may not understand her but you will get the idea. If you'd like a really simple version that always turns out well, let me know.

The Soup Nazi

Some people say they could live on it all year round. Most people say it's their favourite winter meal. I only learned to like it, sort of, after getting married. And even then, it has to be just the right kind on just the right kind of day before I'll say yes to soup. Old wife's tales and increasingly often the medical profession tout the healing qualities of chicken soup. Some cultures espouse the aphrodisiac or fertility properties of certain soups. I usually eat it to keep warm. I guess I'm missing something. It must be a genetic predisposition that I'm lacking, something related perhaps to the gene that makes me hate cilantro.
So, inspired by a dish that I saw being made on TV last night, I went out today in search of a pork hock. No simple soup for me, I thought. There will be plenty of time for that once the weather gets really cold. Today I will serve up a delicious German inspired meal. You see, you can do so many things with this particular cut of the pig. According to the very competent looking chef, you can make a delicious dinner using this succulent meat and just a few things that you should always keep in your pantry such as cabbage, sour kraut and Annis seed.  Having spent an unexpected hour roaming the city in search of pork hock, I had little time to hunt down the rest. There I was pork hock in the fridge and the clock steadily ticking toward dinner hour.
Adamant that I would come up with a dish worthy the hour I spent driving around town, I scoured the internet for ideas. Many recipe sites and some helpful facebook friends helped me narrow my options down to baked beans and split pea soup.  I think you will not be too surprised to find out which won out.  Who knows, it may be one I'll add to my soup repertoire. If not, I'm sure my husband, who happens to be one of those that could live on the stuff year round, will be happy that sour kraut is not a staple of my pantry.

Stew

There's not too many things I look forward to more than a sloppy bowl of stew on a cold winter day. The beef is fragrant and soft and wonderful on it's own but even better when paired with other comfort food like mashed potatoes or yams to absorb all those delicious juices. Every family has their own way of preparing the famous dish and I 'm no exception. After many years of trial and error, the family's voice had spoken and it said it preffered Nona's beef stew. I used to dredge the meat in seasoned flour, brown it and stew it in the oven or on top of the stove with stock, onions, carrots, potatoes and peas.It seems that method did not compare to Nona's. Now, I simply brown the beef pieces in hot oil, add onions and carrots, beef stock and a couple tablespoons of tomato paste. Of course we can not forget the rosemary. It would not be Nona's beef stew without the rosemary. The whole mixture stews on top of the stove for just under an hour and voila, you have a soul restoring, toe thawing, lip smacking meal. I guess dishes such as Nona's stew make cold and dreary winter days worth enduring. 
Here's a clip of Julia Child preparing her version of Beef Bourguignon. You may have seen it before or heard of it referred to in the recent movie Julie and Julia. Give it and Nona's recipe a  try and see what you think. I bet you never open another can of it again.

What is it with store staff that makes them think that shoppers enjoy hearing Christmas carols the minute the clock strikes midnight on November 1st? It is only the end of November but I feel that I have heard Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman enough times to last me a lifetime. Now that I think of it, if I had never heard those carols at all, it would have been fine with me. I understand the whole psychological reasoning behind creating a gift giving atmosphere but I truly believe that shoppers are fully aware of the fact that Christmas comes less than two months after Halloween. If anything, hearing that annoying music over and over again, entices me to run out of the store screaming rather than shopping till I drop. I think we need to start an Occupy the Mall Parking Lot movement and insist we will not enter a store unless the blasted music is banished. How about some quiet background music that actually soothes our frazzled nerves? Maybe an end of summer seminar for all mall staff in charge of the stereo on-button, I know I am dating myself here, and a field trip to a high end spa that knows a thing or two about the role music plays in mood elevation is what we need to raise Holiday sales figures. And while they are at it, how about banishing the music from mall parking lots period? Is it really necessary to assault our brains the minute we walk out of our cars?

Enough venting. After all, this is a blog dedicated to exploring all the things I like about the winter season. I must say that today I sorted through my stack of Christmas CDs and came up with a line up that will be ready to go once the time arrives. And that time, in my estimation is rarely before the beginning of December. Here a a couple of pieces that I particularly like and look forward to hearing every year.

Sweet

Sweet tooth or not, you just have to bake for Christmas. The season would not be the same without gingerbread and shortbread. Christmas tree, lights, presents and carols can not rival the smell of baking wafting through the house. And, at our house it is the smell of cookies and cakes that we only bake at Christmas, that signal, the official arrival of the season. In case you haven't noticed, it has been raining since noon today. They cold and dreary day had nothing else in store, so after doing the dinner dishes I pulled out the "special", elastic bound bundle of recipes from my file and spread the contents across the kitchen table. I decided that today was going to be day 1 of what is usually a month-long Christmas baking frenzy. Looking through several possibilities and through the contents of my baking cupboard, I decided on my favourite. Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies. They have become a trademark family tradition after searching for years for that one recipe that we would come back to every year. For several years in a row I have had to make these cookies several times because they just seemed to disappear before Christmas even arrived. Even when frozen in the basement freezer, they seemed to grow legs and disappear one by one until I had no choice but to repeat the process all over again. But who could blame the helpless bystander when the memory of these baked beauties refused to diminish even when frozen solid. Imagine a soft spice cookie, enriched by a hint of cocoa and studded with partially melted chunks of semi-sweet chocolate. Now do you understand? No, you say? well here's the recipe so you can see what you've been missing for yourself.

http://www.marthastewart.com/339353/chewy-chocolate-gingerbread-cookies

I

I've got nothing today. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I committed to writing daily about a different thing I appreciated about winter from mid November till the end of March. It has been 12 days and I've been scratching my head for the last four. Coming up against a brick wall tonight, I decided to scour you tube for interesting music with a winter theme or title. Why is this a worse idea than any other I've had for the last week, I thought. And, indeed, I have found some great music I was not familiar with and which I will probably remember for many winters to come.
Here then are a few, in case you feel like checking it out.

I'm not sure what is is exactly, but when the wind starts blowing a little cooler and the thermostat finally gets switched on, my mind starts to wonder toward that certain corner at the back of my closet. What? You don't have that certain corner, or basket, or shelf? You know the one with all the balls of wool, and knitting needles and patterns and half done scarves, hats or gloves? Well if you don't it is high time you did.

There is something almost meditative about casting on a row of stitches and transferring them from one needle to the other. The minutes fade away as you focus your attention on the tip of the metal or wooden needle as it slips in and out of rows of loops while a never ending piece of yarn crisscrosses your field of vision. If that were not enough, once you repeat the process long enough, you are rewarded with a warm and textured piece of work, quietly collecting on your lap. That is why I knit, for the relaxation and the prospect of being able to forget the concerns of the day while I focus on the sound of the needles as they "clack" one against the other. It is almost the winter version of listening to a wind chime on a summers day.


Here's are the basics to get you started.

The Good Old Hockey game.

Hockey is not a sport I grew up with. I vaguely remember snippets of the game being televised on a black and white television in the three room, third floor flat of our four story building in the city of Szczecin, Poland. That was the mid 1960's and our TV was probably one of only three or four in the entire building. I can not say that the males of our household, my grandfather and uncle, were hockey fans either. It would have been hard to be a fan when the games were seldom shown in their entirety and, only focused on Soviet teams. I can be fairy certain that no one, at that time, felt any affinity toward a hockey team with the Hammer and Sickle emblazoned on their jersey. We lived in state run home cooperatives,worked for state run institutions, stood in queues for food at state run shops and gazed at the likeness of Lenin on every other street corner. We watched the one channel that came in clearly enough most nights, and if hockey happened to be what was was being shown then we watched it.

Things changed drastically in 1970 when my mother and I arrived in Canada. Come winter, hockey was the subject of conversation in school, at work, in coffee shops and around family kitchen tables. Children and adults wore their favourite team colours with pride and youngsters engaged in impromptu games on side streets and empty parking lots. The message could not have been clearer. If you wanted to be Canadian you had to know, and better yet, love hockey. I still remember sitting in a crowded school gymnasium and watching a game of the Canada/Russia series with the nuns casting a nervous eye at the television between shooshing boisterous children.

It wasn't till I met my husband-to-be that I got a good appreciation of what it meant to be a hockey fan. His entire family considered the Toronto Maple Leafs theirs to cajole, correct, reprimand and cheer whenever the occasion arose. And, it arose at least twice a week every year, between October and June. Every single member of the family had an opinion as to what every line was doing wrong and how they should do it better and in the event a goal was scored, they announced with a whoop and a solid thump of the foot to the floor that that's the way games got won.

The Maple Leafs have had their ups and downs over the last thirty years but I must admit there is something anticipatory about welcoming a new hockey season and wondering if this is the year it will all go our way. This year things are looking better than they have in a very long time. I may just have another reason to look forward to the cold weather from now on. Come on Maple Leafs, make us proud!

Hibernating

You don't have to be a bear to hibernate, you just have to feel like one. And, for some reason, it is usually the months between November and April that bring on the need to withdraw. It probably has something to do with the bone chilling temperatures or howling winds, or it could be just the dark, you know, the fourteen hours between supper and dawn. I'm not quite sure, but the combination of all of the above are almost guaranteed to chase me into my pajamas shortly after dinner and under a blanket till morning. Maybe it's just nature's way of saying, "slow down, relax, recoup." Who am I not to heed mother nature's wise advice? I have no problem battening down the hatches, brewing up a pot of tea, resurrecting my fuzzy slippers and faux sheep-skin blanket. This is the season for watching entire season's worth of your favourite TV show , movies that you've been meaning to get to, starting and maybe even having enough time to finish a family game of Monopoly, Battleship or Scrabble. It is time to dig out grandma's knitting needles and that dusty ball of yarn, to look up all those things you have been meaning to google, start a novel, take a knife to that small piece of wood brought in as kindling for the fire, allow yourself a three hour bubble bath or finally make a start on that genealogy project. And it's all because of the inhospitable conditions outside. I still remember an evening, not that long ago, when the kids came out of their rooms and into the family room where we were sitting. The electricity went out, the computers were down, and there was nothing left to do but spend time with one another. We lit candles, played cards and were actually disappointed to see the lights finally come on again. I think that winter is nature's way of turning out the lights so that we remember how to light the ones within.

Get lost

If you ask me, anytime is a good time to get lost in a good book. However, there is something special about settling down on a cold winter evening with a nice fat tome in one hand, a cup of steaming tea in the other and a cozy throw on your lap. Add a fireplace and a curled up cat and you've got more than you can handle. This is the time of year you want to crack open that fat volume that's been taunting you from the bookshelf all summer. The short days are full of chores and responsibilities but the long evenings and nights call for something you can sink your literary teeth into. Depending on your reading tastes, you may want to finally get through those classics you've been meaning to read since high school or one of the recent Governor General Award winners such as The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt. If you have kids around, take a trip to the library after supper one day or designate Saturday afternoon as the day to stock up on books for the week. The librarian will be more than happy to recommend enough good reads for both you and the children to last  all winter long. Of course there will be those titles you will not want to part with and there are more than one book store in town to make sure you can have your very own copy. Here in no particular order are some books I plan on getting into over the next few months.

David- Ray Robertson
Freedom-Jonathan Franzen
Half-Blood Blues-Esi Edugyan
Villa Air-Bel-Rosemary Sullivan
Angel's Game-Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Fall of The Giants- Ken Follett
World Without End- Ken Follett

I happen to like to read in absolute quiet but on the rare occasion that I feel like some background music, I have enjoyed the music of Yann Tiersen, especially the soundtrack from the movie Amelie. Here is one of the tracks to whet your appetite.
Happy reading!

In the kitchen with Jamie

Today turned into "one of those days." From beginning to end what could have gone wrong did and what should have been good, wasn't. Sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in my hand, I sulked till even doing that made me feel miserable. I looked out the window at the darkening sky, saw the naked tree swaying in the wind, grabbed a sweater from the closet and reached into a newly opened box with the label "Chapters" prominently displayed on  top. I flipped through a couple of books that I was tempted to read before giving away as Christmas gifts but put them down and lifted out the biggest and heaviest book of them all. I have always been a sucker for a beautifully illustrated cookbooks, but when they go for a fraction of their original price I simply can not resist. I looked down at the smiling face of Jamie Oliver and could feel the tension seeping out of every pore. Careful not to crease the pages or crack the spine, I poked around the different chapters looking to see what would catch my eye. It didn't take long before THE recipe appeared before me. Baked Ricotta and Marscapone Tart with Chocolate and Orange, announced the title. Before I really knew was was happening, I had taken out the flour, butter and sugar and was reaching into the cupboard for my tart pan. It wasn't till I read the entire list of ingredients, that I realized I did not have what I needed to follow the recipe exactly. I scrounged around for a ready made pie crust and decided to substitute that for the made from scratch version. Everything else went according to plan. It was the first task that I attempted today that did not end in disaster, well, almost. The ready made pie shell proved to be smaller than the tart pan the recipe called for and some of the filling spilled over onto the pan I had placed underneath. By this time, enjoying the citrusy, chocolatey smell in the warm, bright kitchen, the slight misstep did not bother me in the least. This, after all , was not a dessert made for anyone but me, and the family, of course.
So there you go, I happened on another thing that I look forward to when the winter arrives, without having to wrack my brain. Baking, it seems, is medicine for what ever ails me. When the temperature falls out side and the house is in need of that certain coziness that only the smell of vanilla can provide, I am ready to oblige.
Here is Jamie Oliver whipping up something sweet. It may not be THE recipe that spoke to me today, but it is one I'll have to try in the next few months while I'm waiting for the tulips to bloom again.

Paper Snow Flakes

Who would have thought that thinking of just one thing per day that I liked about winter would be such a chore. Don't get me wrong, I usually come up with at least 2-3, but finding the time to commit to writing about it has been a challenge. But I guess that was part of the point. I wanted to make writing a daily habit and in the process slow down enough to notice things that I usually have a tendency to rush past.
The weather man mentioned flurries today. They aren't supposed to make an appearance till a few days from now, but the word flurries stopped me in my tracks. Here we go, I thought. Images of snow, slush, shoveling the driveway, scrapping the windshield while I'm shivering in the process, came to mind first. While making a mental note to make sure there's a decent scraper in my car, I decided to google "snow" and see what came up. Interestingly enough, the first thing that caught my eye was a picture of a snowflake paper cut out. I hadn't seen one of those since I was a child. In fact, I remember making snowflakes just like those when I was in kindergarten. Any piece of paper and a pair of scissors could magically result in a piece of wintery art. It didn't take me long to find instructions on how it is done just so that the next time I have a quiet moment I may just try my hand at it again. Who knows, the little girl across the street may want to learn something new the next time there's a snow day.

Oats and other hot grub

It seems to me that not too many things go together as well as winter and oatmeal. When the thermometer starts to dip below the freezing mark and the chill in the morning air prevents us from wanting to get out of our beds, it is the thought of steaming hot oatmeal that makes it somewhat worth while. There are a number of ways to prepare this cold weather breakfast. It appears that every cook has their own recipe, from opening up a package of the instant variety to soaking the flakes in water overnight. I still remember as a young wife preparing the recipe from scratch starting with the above mentioned overnight soaking, in fruit juice no less. If I recall correctly, I added raisins, dried prunes and cranberries and sprinkled the whole lot with brown sugar and cinnamon. In the morning all the hubby had to do was to turn on the stove and heat the fragrant mush till bubbling and toss in some fresh chopped apples and nuts at the end. He handled the chore no problem, enjoyed the hot delicious concoction and drove off into the frosty morning with a smile on his face. It wasn't till he had no appetite for lunch and could barely get through dinner that we decided to have another look at the recipe. I had followed it to a tee but failed to notice that it was meant to serve 4. It just goes to show you how good freshly prepared oats with add ons can be. If you google it, you will find enough recipes to enjoy it differently each day of the winter season.
Have a look at this version. Even a restaurant-less hotel room will not pose a challenge.

It's all about the scarf.

I know it's not exactly winter yet but certain days carry that certain chill in the air that carries the promise of  greater things to come. There is not much one can do to dress up a practical, neck to mid-calf winter coat other than to pair it with an equally warm but hopefully attractive winter hat or adorn it with a colourful scarf. Again, if you know me at all, you know that I don't do hats.I have been known to wear them in extreme situations when my ears threatened to break off due to cold or when the unrelenting sun threatened to slay me with sun stroke. Other than that, my outdoor winter fashion statement usually consists of the scarf. They are inexpensive enough that you can own more than one and are available in so many fabrics and colours that you can truly brighten up a gray winter day just by wrapping one around your neck. While you're at it why stop with doing it the same old way? Here are several fun methods of getting that extra layer of warmth around that naked skin. If I practice now, I may actually remember what to do when the occasion arises.

Blades on ice

It occurred to me today that if it wasn't for snow and ice, the necessity of dreaming up a way to get across a large expanse of a frozen surface, would never have come to be. And, because the human spirit seems to always find a way to express beauty in every way possible, we now have the winter sport of ice skating. Whether it be singles, pairs or ice dance, at neighbourhood ice rinks or world class arenas, we have the opportunity to witness athleticism and artistry in action. I remember taking ice skating lessons as a 12 year old and suffering through the hour session as if in a dentists chair.It was obvious then as it is now that I was meant to enjoy the sport as a spectator. Every fall through the beginning of spring we can watch determined young people strap on boots fitted with shiny blades and place them on the ice. The results can make the long cold months seem that much sweeter.
Enjoy!

 It was another cold day today. OK, it actually reached 5 degrees and when the sun shone directly on me as I sat at the stop light in the comfort of my seat warmed car, it actually felt pleasant. Getting to that point was another story. All of a sudden the light weight, long sleeved t shirts and summer weight jeans would not promise to do the trick. I searched in the deepest drawers and at the back of the tallest closet shelves to find the clothes that got me through last winter. Somehow fur lined parkas and down filled vests seemed a bit extreme for early November. It was then that I remembered all the things that did not seem quite like winter wear that kept me warm when I put them together last year. The summer t shirt that worked solo throughout July and August, now became the first layer of an attire strata. The before mentioned light weight, long sleeved t shirt came next and a lovely thin but warm cardigan finished off the outfit. Huh...the pleasures of layering, I mused. It takes cooler temperatures and the threat of chattering teeth to force one to creatively put together a winter ensemble. Of course, the colder it gets the more layers come into play, and here I have to admit to feeling very lucky to be living in the southern most part of Canada. While my layering adventures focus on fun and lightweight layers designed to be quickly shed or added on to, our distant cousins to the north know the real benefits of proper layering. That benefit is called " being able to return home alive."
Here then is the second thing, in no particular order, that I kind of like about winter; dressing in warm comfy layers that envelop you like a warm embrace.





















































































http://youtu.be/RPRxdxtzQsM

Winterizing

 It hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks today, that even though the thermometer has been hovering in the mid teens lately, winter is fast approaching. Everyone that knows me knows that I hate winter. I don't ski, skate, toboggan or snow shoe. I don't like snow ball fights, making snow angels,driving in the snow, shoveling it or looking at it from the warmth of the house. The only things I like about the season are cold weather drinks and reading by the fire. I'd be OK with a month or two of the dreaded dark and cold but the thing about winter is that is seems to last forever. Since I can not turn back the clock, I have decided to approach it a bit differently this year. I have decided to Winterize my attitude.
 Surely, there must be some good that comes with bone chilling temperatures and dismal gray skies.
I took a good look at the reality of the next four months and came up with a handful of things that actually make me look at winter with softness in my heart. Instead of listing them here and rereading the list daily to remind myself why I aught to be happy about the approaching deep freeze, I decided to make it my daily task to find at least one thing that I I love about the season. Let's see that makes it approximately 120 things that I can look forward to next year.
If you like you can come along for the ride. You may find you have overlooked a few things yourself.

Here's the first thing that came to mind. There's nothing like good music to sooth the spirit and the spirit will need a lot of soothing over the next few months.

A Long Way to Go for Cinnamon Cherry Peanut Butter.

A few days ago we, a group of us that have been friends for over thirty years, got back from a seven night stay at a lake-side house in Traverse City, Michigan. We found the place in the usual way. Our friend and sister-law Shirley, did the leg work by scouring hundreds of web sites advertising rental properties and made sure she narrowed the field by eliminating the thousands of listings that did not meet our criteria. All those that did not have at least 4 bedrooms, three bathrooms, were not situated close to a body of water, did not have a kitchen big enough for several budding chefs, a table big enough to seat us all at the same time, did not have free wifi, and a games room with plenty of space for games of all kinds, were simply eliminated. That left us with several options which we all had the opportunity to inspect and voice our opinions about. After eight unequivocal "we're good with what everyone else is good with," she chose the one that spoke to her the loudest and clearest and sent in the deposit.
We all arrived in the usual way. Several cars arriving within hours of one another full of necessary supplies that one couldn't be without when on such a promising and highly anticipated trip; bags full of board games, water shoes, boccie balls and towels quickly spilled out of the cars and were hastily enshrined in their respective living quarters until the time of their intended use. Beer can tabs popped and bottles of coolers were raised high in welcome to more memories in the making.
We've been to many places over the years. We have cruised the Mediterranean, checked out Chicago on more than one occasion, walked the hallowed halls of Las Vegas, and lately have decided to stick closer to home by taking in the Great Lakes region and inspecting it by foot and water craft.
Whether by coincidence or unbeknown to us, by Shirley's careful planning, our trip to Traverse City also happened to coincide with the 85th annual Traverse City Cherry Festival. The event is an entire week's worth of concerts, craft vendors, air shows and of course a myriad of offerings of everything cherry. After inspecting countless booths full of cherry jam, butter, salsa, juice, sauce and pies, we came upon one filled with jars of natural nut butters of every variety. Not only were they made of nuts raging from peanut to cashew, macadamia and almond but they were also tweaked to tantalize the taste buds in very enticing ways. If you loved coffee there was Mocha Peanut Butter or Cashew Butter, if your passion lay more on the sweet side, you were able to indulge it with Natural Almond Butter swirled with Clover Honey and of course if the reason you were at the Cherry Festival was for the love of the round, red, pitted fruit itself, you were able to spoil yourself with a jar or two of Cinnamon Cherry natural Peanut, Cashew or Almond Butter. Now the funny thing is that I'm not particularly a big fan of cherries. I could take them or leave them and would much rather sink my teeth into a fresh ripe strawberry, peach or apple. But somehow the combination of all those ingredients rolled into one and available on such a sunny day, five hours away from home, on the shores of  the crystal clear waters of lake Michigan surrounded by life long friends whom I love, proved to be irresistible. A large jar of Mocha Peanut Butter and another of Cinnamon Cherry Peanut Butter found their way into my purse before the day was over.
We did it all during that first week of July, we cruised the waters of Long Lake, we walked the shallow sand bar waters of Torch Lake, we shopped the quaint shops of Alden, ate thin crust spinach pizza and creme brule at a side walk cafe, tubed down the Platte River, and of course played countless hands of cards and games of Apples to Apples and Taboo.
On our way home, several hours closer to home, at one of our many stops along the way, I noticed the same jars of exotic nut butters sitting as an afterthought on a store shelf. They no longer had the glamorous appeal of the ones we clamored over in Traverse City. The tops of the jars looked dusty and the small selection seemed lost next to the large display of Kraft and Jiff. I might have even been able to find them at home, I thought. But on second thought, as I think of the time we spent together, laughing and eating all the wrong things, drinking more than we should have, staying up later than we have in months just to get up and do it all over gain the following day, I would not have done it any other way.
Why did you go to Traverse City, someone asked me the other day. They have the best Peanut Butter there, I replied. And I meant every word.