Beginnings and Endings by Nancy M Bell

It's that time of year again. Another old year is almost over and a new one set to begin. Christmas is almost upon us and this year I find myself reflecting on years gone by. My own children are grown with children of their own and yet I still feel like a kid myself sometimes. This year is a bit of a milestone. I turn sixty on December 20th. It doesn't seem possible, but there it is, the numbers don't lie. I thought I'd share a bit of Christmas history with you and take a walk down memory lane, full of candy canes and snowmen.

Our Christmas Eve was always a variatiohn of the same theme. My parents would pack up my sister and myself and later my brother and set off in the car to visit my dad's sisters who lived in various parts of Toronto and the outlying area. Aunt Ola and Uncle Bunny lived near Whitevale, Ontario on a farm with the most amazing white farm house. The floors were always polished mirror bright and I loved the huge kitchen. We'd play hand off our gifts and receive the ones to go under our tree when we got home. Then it was off to Aunt Joy and Uncle Norm's and a houseful of cousins in Mississauga. There was always lots to do at Auntie Joy's, games to play and outside fun. The food was always great and my cousins had all the latest games and toys to play with. Presents were exchanged we were off again.
Aunt Gloria and Uncle Tommy used to live in Caladar, near North Bay when we were really young and we visited them on New Year's Day, but later they moved into New Toronto not far from Aunt Loral and Uncle Bob. We added them to our Christmas Eve jaunt. Dad's other sister, Aunt Irma lived near Ottawa so we saw them less frequently.
My grandparents used to winter with Aunt Gloria so we got to see them as well. Grandma and Grandpa Rafter owned a store on a lake near Norland, Ontario and spent the summers there, but when the weather turned they would come to Toronto and stay with my aunt.
Aunt Loral had a small house, but the coolest tree topper. It was multi-coloured and rotated like a disco ball, although this was long before disco balls were the norm. There were a million of those little Wade figurines out of the Red Rose Tea boxes lined up on the slim ledge of the door frames in her kitchen.

Photo taken in Banff Alberta

When we were young we lived in a two bedroom house with my mom's parents. Grandma and Grandpa Pritchard made the dining room into their bedroom, my older sister had one bedroom and my sister and I slept in bunkbeds in my parent's room. One Christmas Eve we were just getting home and as Dad parked the car in the drive who should we see coming down the neighbour's drive? SANTA CLAUS!!! We were both pretty young because my little brother wasn't born yet, so we were maybe 5 and 6 years old. We screamed and raced out of the car, up the step and leaped into bed with our coats and boots still on. Both of us refused to get up or take anything off for fear Santa would show up and not leave us any presents. True story.

Okay enough reminiscing. The faces at the table have changed over the years, as young ones are added older ones pass on. But at Christmas everyone, past and present, are with us as we celebrate the joy of the season.

The third book in A Longview Romance series is now available in paperback and as an added bonus the novella A Longview Christmas in included. Peace, Joy and Happiness be yours.

Remembrance of Christmas Past - Who Took The Chocolate Ornaments

We all have Christmas memories and I was thinking about some I remember from the past years is when the ornaments disappeared from the tree. The tale begins with Robespierre, not the French cleric, but a Maine Coon cat with strange tastes.


I found these wonderful ornaments. Wrapped in colorful foils, shaped like bells and ornaments. Wouldn't they look wonderful on the tree. I bought them, took them home, hid them from the children. When the children were tucked tight in their beds, my husband and I decorated the tree. The cat stayed in the family room. He seemed to be asleep.


Once this was completed and the presents were under the tree and the stockings hung on the bottom of their beds, I felt my job was done. Robespierre still slept, curled on the hearth. My husband and I went to bed.


Imagine our shocked expressions in the morning when we saw bits of foil with a little chocolate on the floor and some of the shredded ornaments still on the tree. There sat Robespierre looking a bit like the Cheshire cat. I know chocolate isn't good for cats and worried. The cat seemed to have no problems. There were times when he thought of himself as a human.


The children missed tasting the chocolate ornaments and learned one lesson. When they had chocolate milk or some chocolate flavored cereal, they had to guard the glass or bowl. Robespierre always sat and stared waiting for a spill or an absence.


Next year perhaps I'll share another memory.

Time and the unfolding unkindness of body parts

The Twisted Climb

There was a time, not very long ago, when my body parts scoffed at age. Pah! Who's getting old? Not me!

And then I began to hear a sound. Muffled but steady. At first, I couldn't tell what it was. But over time my hearing became wiser (I like to say), and, in direct contrast to my eyes focusing only if the object was at the end of my extended arm, I got it. The sound, that is. The source of that clicking sound.

Now I'm not talking about regular clicking, like a clock clicks, or water drips, or the sound a bird-brained cardinal makes when he's attacking himself on the window pane. I'm talking about clicks. Body clicks. Ahh, now do you get it?

I've been fighting it for a long time - the source of the clicks. Sometimes it's from a knee joint, sometimes a toe knuckle, even the back of the neck. That neck sound is a deep, cavernous click. Makes me shiver in response. But that doesn't bother me so much. It's the clicks and clacks and tearing sounds from my shoulder that jolts me. These aren't the sounds of a young person. Nay nay. These are, um, it's hard to put into words and thus give them credence, but these sounds are from an old person.

What happened?

Wasn't it just last month when I sang my babies to sleep and wasn't it only a few weeks ago when I played ball hockey in the Provincials, and really, wasn't it just last week when I held my first grand child?

Time, thou travels much too quickly. And I respectfully request that you slow down. Because if you don't, my legs won't - can't keep pace and I'm afraid that the cricks and clicks in my body will take over my brain.

My age and time are not always friends. I'm trying to make them be friends but my body is not being nice and keeps getting in the way. My age is just a number, I tell myself. I like to repeat that to my body. Age is just a number. To that, my body looks pensively in the distance, as if willing my body to reflect the age I really, really want to be. 39 seems like a good age. Or 49.

For now, I'm going to ignore the clicks and clacks from my innards. Especially my shoulder. Yes, that I'll ignore until the sound is too loud and the pain too strong. Then, and only then, will I say 'yes' to age and yes again to Advil. Or wine.

In the spirit of Christmas, I would like to wish you all a joyous and loving season and a year of prosperity and adventure in 2017.

My first grandchild, Kealii, October 2009

Kickboxing Orange belt 2016

Shoveling 200 ft of driveway, November 2016. That's crazy.

Grateful to have age and time as my friends.
Joanie
aka J.C. Kavanagh
The Twisted Climb
A novel for teens, young adults and adults young at heart.
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