A marker in time. Christmas.
When I was a kid I was allowed to sleep in the living room, next to the tree. I always loved falling asleep to the blinking lights and the sounds of cards and laughter coming through the glass door that separated our living room from the kitchen. Even now, sometimes when I can't sleep I try and imagine myself back in time feeling that sense of anticipation and security as Christmas danced on the horizon and family were every where I turned.
Last Christmas John and I were in Morocco and it was less than ideal, though we did try to make the best of it. It was cold at night and the Riad we were staying at had no central heating (which was the norm) so at night the owners would bring a smoking stove with virtually no ventilation into the common room where we'd oscillate between freezing outside breathing fresh air and smoke inhalation in the warm-ish common room. I was homesick and calling home made it no better, listening to my families enjoyment of their rented cabin in Fernie and freshies on the mountain each day.
(a photo booth near Todra Gorge where we were staying)
It reminded me of when I called my father on Boxing Day from the west coast of India in 1999. I felt a million miles away from everything and everyone standing there in the suffocating phone booth, sweating, rings of dirt around my neck. I was crying and he just said, "why the hell don't you come home then?". It makes me laugh now...you can't call your parents crying on the other side of the world and not expect them to say such a thing. But at the time it was as ludicrous a suggestion as "why the hell don't you join the Spice Girls and go on tour with them?"
I searched online for some way to get home from Morocco but of course it was Christmas and it would have been impossible to change flight and go home without losing my money on the return ticket and likely losing my boyfriend in the process.So I stayed and we spent a shivering, coughing, Christmas eating tagine and scrambled eggs with the chain smoking Czechs, the hilarious Germans, and the hospitable Moroccans.
So a year passed and it seems that life again had it's own plans for me this Christmas.
After successfully finishing a semester in Kelowna I was excited to return to Revelstoke to see friends and then be on my merry way to Red Deer to see my brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, brother-in-law, sisters-in-law, mother. It rarely happens that all four of us kids are in the same country at once.
I made smoky sweet potato soup, bought all kinds of organic veggies for a roasted winter vegetable pasta (with fresh pasta from the Italian deli in Kelowna). I had to make several trips to the car to pack the Petit Syrah, the Champagne, the food, the mandolin, clothes, ski gear, and camera.
Got about 50 km down the highway and after being tailgated by an asshole in an SUV on the black ice I decided to turn around.
Now I was trying to negotiate the black ice while sobbing and snotting all over my steering wheel. Okay enough with Christmas and crying I say!!! I unpacked all the food, the drinks, the instrument, the clothes, the books, etc. and put on my snow pants. Tobogganing in the alley with Carlos, Ruby, Polly, Nelson, and Sophie cheered me up.
And thus the Revy Christmas whirlwind began.
When I was a kid I was allowed to sleep in the living room, next to the tree. I always loved falling asleep to the blinking lights and the sounds of cards and laughter coming through the glass door that separated our living room from the kitchen. Even now, sometimes when I can't sleep I try and imagine myself back in time feeling that sense of anticipation and security as Christmas danced on the horizon and family were every where I turned.
Last Christmas John and I were in Morocco and it was less than ideal, though we did try to make the best of it. It was cold at night and the Riad we were staying at had no central heating (which was the norm) so at night the owners would bring a smoking stove with virtually no ventilation into the common room where we'd oscillate between freezing outside breathing fresh air and smoke inhalation in the warm-ish common room. I was homesick and calling home made it no better, listening to my families enjoyment of their rented cabin in Fernie and freshies on the mountain each day.
(a photo booth near Todra Gorge where we were staying)
It reminded me of when I called my father on Boxing Day from the west coast of India in 1999. I felt a million miles away from everything and everyone standing there in the suffocating phone booth, sweating, rings of dirt around my neck. I was crying and he just said, "why the hell don't you come home then?". It makes me laugh now...you can't call your parents crying on the other side of the world and not expect them to say such a thing. But at the time it was as ludicrous a suggestion as "why the hell don't you join the Spice Girls and go on tour with them?"
I searched online for some way to get home from Morocco but of course it was Christmas and it would have been impossible to change flight and go home without losing my money on the return ticket and likely losing my boyfriend in the process.So I stayed and we spent a shivering, coughing, Christmas eating tagine and scrambled eggs with the chain smoking Czechs, the hilarious Germans, and the hospitable Moroccans.
So a year passed and it seems that life again had it's own plans for me this Christmas.
After successfully finishing a semester in Kelowna I was excited to return to Revelstoke to see friends and then be on my merry way to Red Deer to see my brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, brother-in-law, sisters-in-law, mother. It rarely happens that all four of us kids are in the same country at once.
I made smoky sweet potato soup, bought all kinds of organic veggies for a roasted winter vegetable pasta (with fresh pasta from the Italian deli in Kelowna). I had to make several trips to the car to pack the Petit Syrah, the Champagne, the food, the mandolin, clothes, ski gear, and camera.
Got about 50 km down the highway and after being tailgated by an asshole in an SUV on the black ice I decided to turn around.
Now I was trying to negotiate the black ice while sobbing and snotting all over my steering wheel. Okay enough with Christmas and crying I say!!! I unpacked all the food, the drinks, the instrument, the clothes, the books, etc. and put on my snow pants. Tobogganing in the alley with Carlos, Ruby, Polly, Nelson, and Sophie cheered me up.
And thus the Revy Christmas whirlwind began.
No comments:
Post a Comment