CMC: Christmas in Alberta

This is part of my Christmas Memory Challenge, a goal I set for myself to recall 25 things I love about Christmas. You can also check out Shannon's memories here.

I've written about Christmas in Alberta before complete with pictures so I'm phoning in this post and instead I'm just going to say go here. Sorry, but there's Grandma's Molasses Cookies to bake today and a couple of other posts to get ready for the next three days when I plan to ignore the online world.

CMC: Church

This is part of my Christmas Memory Challenge, a goal I set for myself to recall 25 things I love about Christmas. You can also check out Shannon's memories here.

While I am not a religious person, members of my family are and so church, more specifically the Roman Catholic church, has played a part in my upbringing. I have to admit that for all my issues with the sexual abuse cover-ups, the amount of tax free money churches generate, and my blatant disbelief in a higher being, I love to attend a church service for Christmas (or Easter or Ash Wednesday, any of the big ones, really). I love to see the place all decked out for the season with candles everywhere. It's beautiful and calm inside a church at Christmas.

Midnight Mass was the best: no kids making a fuss while the sermon was being delivered and dark enough that no one noticed if I fell asleep in the back row after the first five minutes. Midnight mass in Alberta meant walking back to my grandparents, snow crunching underfoot, while my stepdad picked out constellations twinkling above us. It was the best part of Christmas. The hustle and bustle of our Christmas meals for roughly 30 family members were all done, and it was our moment of calm before the hustle and bustle of Christmas morning.

In Switzerland, I attended Christmas Eve Mass with Michael's family. We merrily stumbled down the village lanes, drunk on joy and wine, towards the tiny 15th century church. From every direction, walkers joined us in the short pilgrimage. The inside of the church was lit only by candles placed throughout the nave. Up by the alter stood the towering tree, decked out with candles and nothing else. It was breathtaking in its simplicity.

As we left the church, we were given short white candles which the priest then lit with one of the alter candles. We walked back the way we came, cheering a chorus of Froehe Weihnachten to the groups of twos and threes who left us along the way to head to their own houses until we were the ones receiving the cheer. Once settled in the house with hot beverages and a roaring fire, we used the candles from the church to light the candles on the Christmas tree.

Important Update

I know you will all be relieved to hear that www.ctv.ca is in fact airing multiple seasons of Canada's Worst Handyman. (And I'm sure they'll do the same with Canada's Worst Driver, there were just more episodes in the first season, 8 instead of 6, so they haven't gotten to season two yet.) I know that had all of you very worried. And by 'you', I meant 'me'.

One upside to watching CWH (as well as a few crafty blogs added to my reader, thank you THR) is that I'm looking at a couple of handy-type jobs that I've been meaning to handle for a while and actually feeling inspired to tackle them. It's nothing big like 'renovate a condemned building' (although that would be a great place to play with power tools) but I have my great-step-grandma's* still working 1920's singer sewing machine. If my camera was working, I'd unfold the table and take a picture but I'm missing the USB cord to upload photos (*cough*Darthstillhasit*cough*) so instead:

[source]

Sadly, great-step-grandpa (who I never met) decided to varnish it in the 1960's with something that I don't think was meant for wood (perhaps he should have been on CWH). Now its peeling and catching on the fabric rendering the machine almost useless for its intended purpose. I have stared at it in the corner of my apartment for roughly three years thinking 'some day'.

Well, I've been inspired. At some point this summer, I'll borrow some power tools and remove the sewing machine (because it adds a lot of weight to the table), strip and stain the table, reattach the machine, and then possibly sew something simple because the machine is old and has issues when you do anything other than straight lines in a simple stitch. I'll use my mom's machine for my bigger projects.

As for those bigger projects... I'm sewing shit this summer! Before you think this is some misguided attempt at being crafty which was inspired by a TV show, I've been humming and hawing about it for a while. In one of her many teaching careers, my mom was a Home Ec teacher so I've been sewing on and off for a number of years. I even made a few outfits in my younger days (with appropriately-hideous-only-a-12-year-old-would-pick-it-out fabric... ah, the 80's/early 90's) so I know what I'm doing.

As my mom is going camping, I'm taking over her sewing room for the weekend (and also her washer/dryer... bed sheets dried on the line = best thing ever!). I like the idea of having the house to myself while I do this. It's not that I don't want to spend time with my mom, it's because I'd want to spend time with my mom. It's too easy to get distracted by cups of tea in the backyard while we discuss travel plans.

Although I may bring my special mug with me for my solitary cups of tea.

Tea just tastes better in certain mugs.

Finally, I'm looking for ideas for paper crafts. My mom's cousin gave me two books about the history of my mom's home town and while they were fun to look through once (and I do plan on keeping any interesting parts pertaining to my family), they are now just really big books clocking in at roughly 1700 pages each.

I could attach them to either end of a weight bar...

I'm trying to empty my apartment of 'stuff' and these books take up a lot of room. Still, it's nice paper so if I can use some of it for a craft project... So far I've got 'oversized paper weight' and 'ransom note lettering' on my list of ideas. Any other suggestions are welcome.

And completely off-topic of everything I've been talking about (but really, it's me, 'off-topic' is kind of my thing), if you post a comment about Arrested Development on Facebook and you end up with 23 responses which are really just various quotes from the show then you have the best/coolest friends ever.

Just sayin'.

Also, if you've never watched Arrested Development, you really should.

*That's my stepmom's grandma for those of you playing along at home. I called her 'grandma' when she was alive as she was the only grandparent figure that lived within 12 hours of our house, but now I specify so as not to confuse everyone with my stories. I also have an oma (a family friends' mother) I tell stories about. In short, I like to adopt grandparents. If you have any going cheap let me know.

Alberta: Part Two

Part One

Summer in Alberta meant driving to see family; Christmas meant seeing them all in one place. It was a mini-reunion for us every year we were there. This house which was so large and empty in the summer suddenly seemed too small. The adults took over the upstairs, spilling from the kitchen to the dinning room into the living room. Discussions of family updates since the last time they had seen each other, confirmation on who was doing what for Christmas dinner, shouts of 'Ernest' and 'Julio' while bottles of wine were being opened all filled the space not taken up by people.

Ernest! Julio! Uncles Dave and Phil at Writing-On-Stone.

Not everyone actually stayed at the house--some had other family to stay with, some lived close enough to drive--but it seemed like everyone would come each day in the lead up to Christmas Eve. Fourteen cousins would take over the basement, sometimes we'd be a cohesive unit playing 'what time is it, Mr Wolf?' but usually it was a free for all of games, TV, noise and fun. We'd escape upstairs to refill our snack stashes from the goodies table in the backroom and to make sure we weren't missing anything exciting upstairs before getting shooed back downstairs.

To get us out from under foot while dinner was being cooked on Christmas Eve day, we'd bundle those without other family to visit into as few cars as possible and head out. On one of those trips we went curling. I've never been very good at it, but I've had a love for the sport ever since. There were a few trips out to Writing-On-Stone. On one particular trip, there was no snow on the ground but the river was frozen so we had to walk on it.

Victoria and Taber Contingents on the Milk River

Usually we'd go to the farm. Trips out there were different when there was snow on the ground and cows in the barn.

Big Bro waves for the camera and incidentally covers my face. Thanks a lot!

I can't really explain why it always made me so happy to see the cows, but I loved it. It means, however, that there are a lot of these pictures:

I'm going to guess I was around 2 in this photo.

This wasn't at Christmas but while MTV was promoting the Spring Break beach theme,

I was spending my Grade 11 Spring Break in Milk River.

It was the lead up to Christmas that I enjoyed most. Don't get me wrong, Christmas with the entire family is pretty awesome, but you knew that was the beginning of the end. Everyone would dissipate back to which ever corner of Alberta they came from and it would be done for another year. It was that weekend or week before, with everyone under one roof, which were some of the best times in Milk River.

I liked spending time in Alberta in the winter. Not just at Christmas, but also when we'd come out at Spring Break or at Thanksgiving. It's so different to the Alberta of my summer memories. The fields are barren nothingness as far as you can see, there's no seeder or combine to break up the view, and yet I loved the feeling I'd get when I looked out at it. It's an emptiness which begs for you to walk through it, sit down for a spell and just watch the world go by. For better or for worse, I will always love Alberta.

My Tableau to Taber Corn

While while pretending to research online for a blog post but really I was just procrastinating doing my dishes working on the Alberta: Part One, I came across a few interesting tidbits which I want to share.

First, I may wax poetic about how good Taber corn is (seriously, to die for. If you live within an 8 hour drive of Taber, do yourself a favour next August and go get some) to the point where my coworkers just walk away from me shaking their heads, but did you know that there are unscrupulous people out there who actually sell fake Taber corn?!?! That's how good Taber corn is: people are selling knock offs just to make some money on unsuspecting tourists. Apparently you should always ask to see their seal of authenticity. Or you can follow my method and get your family in Taber to go get it because, really, they should know where the really good dope corn is.

Second, the Senior Centre in Milk River is named Heritage Hall. Just think about that for a moment. These people are already aware that they're old, they're going to the Senior Centre to play bridge, do you really need to rub their faces in it by calling the place Heritage Hall. "Hey, old people. Go to the building about old things. Yay, we know there's nothing in there but tables. We want you to be our tableau vivant."

Third, I had forgotten that the river which runs through Lethbridge is called Old Man River. Guess what I've been singing all week.

Hopefully I'll dig up a few more tidbits while avoiding cleaning the bathtub researching for Part Two.

Highlights of an Otherwise Normal Wednesday

1) While at work I received a phone called from my mom who was in hysterics because I posted the Corb Lund video for 'The Truck Got Stuck' on my other blog and she had never seen it ("The part with the Hudderites, hahaha!" You're welcome, mom.).

2) I learned Gordon Campbell was resigning. Gordon Campbell is a bully. Nothing indicated that more clearly than the way the HST was introduced. Whether you support the Liberals or the NDP, his resignation is a good thing... albeit a little bit too late in my opinion. Man, I really wish I was in a Canadian Poli Sci class right now because no one at work wants to discuss the long term ramifications of this on BC politics with me.

3) I had Thai for dinner with a bunch of the fellow MoonDance people. I love living in a place where there are so many good ethnic restaurants to choose from. Variety is the spice of life!

4) My little brother agrees that we need to do a road trip to Seattle for the BSG exhibit at the EMP. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that I'm not the only dork in my family. I was worried for a while that I was going to be the odd one out because my older brother and stepbrother were always waaaaay too cool for me, but Little Bro totally gets it. He also gets Doctor Who and Star Trek and Halo and the Simpson's and South Park and Cannibal! The Musical and Team America World Police and Fawlty Towers and Monty Python and Lord of the Rings and Shaun of the Dead and... well... he gets me. It's nice to have someone in your family who does.

5) MoonDance is talking about going back to Guinea for another dance/drum intensive learning holiday in 2012. Actually, Lynn suggested it a few years ago and then later said it wasn't a firm plan. Tonight Erin and I decided that we're just going to talk about it like it's happening because then it will. So, I'm totally going to Guinea in 2012. You heard it here first.

I'm Not In Denial, I Just Refuse to Believe It

Apparently today is November 1st. I say 'apparently' because I'm pretty sure I've gotten sucked into some kind of time vortex which has created a slingshot effect landing me in a future time line while in my own time line, it's really October 15th.

In this alternate time line in which today is November 1st, I have failed to finish my October book but I'm so close. If I was in my correct time line I would not only finish it, I would perhaps even have time to finish a second book.

In this alternate time line in which today is November 1st, I didn't get all the prep work done for Nanowrimo done that I was aiming for and I've also taken on a few too many tasks for November to truly give it the go that I want to give it. If I was in my correct time line, the prep work would have been done and I'm sure I would have remembered Nanowrimo and therefore would have declined a few current obligations.

In this alternate time line in which today is November 1st, I haven't cooked any of the meals I planned to cook because I'd get invited out or ended up just opting for something less involved. If I was in my correct time line, I'd totally get a chance to crank out a few of those meals, blog about them and even post a few pictures.

In this alternative time line in which today is November 1st, I'm still working on part two of my Alberta post which I started almost a month ago. If I was in my correct time line, I'd still be working on it, but I'd take a little over a week, not a little less than a month to finish it.

As it stands, I will have to read two books in November to keep on track for the book challenge. I am doing the right thing and foregoing Nanowrimo this year as I have some writing I have to do (for money) and can't afford the time needed for Nanowrimo. I'm making myself cook in November by setting up a couple of dinner dates at my place. I will have the second Alberta post done by this weekend or I will leave it on my computer forever as a 'draft'.

Obviously, I need to find the Doctor so he can fix this time vortex issue that I'm having because I really need those additional 16 days back.

Alberta: Part One

Maybe it was writing about the family bible.

Maybe it was watching Great Canadian Rivers: Milk River on the Knowledge Network.

Maybe it was the day at work I spent listening to Corb Lund sing about cattle on the old Milk River Ridge and husking Taber corn.

Maybe it was the subsequent conversation with a coworker about how she used to drive from Calgary to Taber on the weekends to get fresh Taber Corn.

Maybe it was realising that this November will be four years since I've been back and that's the longest I've ever gone in my life without a visit, but somewhere in there I started to miss Southern Alberta. Missing it turned into an ache and then it became down right painful. That's right, I miss it so much it hurts.

Big Bro and I at the Alberta-BC border on the Crowsnest Pass

My mom hails from Milk River, a small town situated along the river just a few kilometres north of the Montana-Alberta border. My mom was raised on the family farm a few clicks east of town but by the time I came around, Grandma and Grandpa had retired and moved to town. The farmed passed to my uncle, Phil, and now to my cousin, Ryan. Still, I've always called it "Grandpa's Farm" and I challenge anyone in my family to tell me that it's not (except Ryan because, well, see above).

Grandpa may have retired to town but that didn't stop him

from still working the fields every chance he got.

The only years I don't remember going to Alberta in the summer, I was in Ireland. Those years, however, we often went to Alberta for Christmas so really, I'm pretty sure that my visits to Alberta would average one a year until Grandpa passed away. Although I have never referred to Alberta as 'my other home' like I do when talking about other places I've lived, it really was a second home (although with funny tasting water). The majority of trips were made by plane, but there were a handful of road trips and even a trip on ViaRail.

My most vivid memory of the trip was the drunk guy getting kicked off in the middle of the night.

Hmm, maybe I should do the trip again and make a better memory.

Growing up I used to complain that Alberta was so boring, that it was so flat. I was a west coast girl, with the sea on one side and the mountains on the other, what's there to see in Alberta but wheat, cows, more wheat and more cows? In one moment that whole opinion changed; I was walking south from Milk River Town towards the river, I would have been 17 at the time, I looked out towards the Sweetgrass Hills and it hit me: yes, visually Alberta could be considered plain compared to BC but, my goodness, was it ever beautiful in its own way.

Big Bro in the wheat fields. Somewhere there is the same picture of me but I can't find it.

I loved staying at Grandma and Grandpa's. You'd wake up in the morning, climb the dark stairs out of the basement, and open the door to a bright kitchen. Coffee and tea would be made, cereal would be lined up for the choosing and the cinnamon buns would be waiting for the icing. Oh, the cinnamon buns. They were to die for. Years later I learned that grandma would make a batch and freeze it. When she had company, she'd just warm up a few in the morning, drizzle a little icing and voila, Grandma's 'fresh' cinnamon buns. They were the best part of breakfast.

At some point during our trip, Grandpa would take us out to the farm. If we went in the car we'd be stopping in for a visit to the house, but if we went in his Ford truck we'd be driving out to the fields. He'd tell stories as he drove: who owned what fields, if and how the owner was related to us or someone we knew, what crops they grew every year or if they were experimenting with something new. On and on he'd prattle, eventually landing on stories about great-grandpa and great-great-grandpa living on the farm. I wish that I had thought to write some of the stories down because all I have now are snippets from my foggy childhood memory. I'm never sure how much of the story was told to me and how much is my own memory trying to fill in the blanks.

Grandpa's Ford on the left. I loved spending time with him in that truck. He taught me to drive in it.

He taught me how to recognize when a Chinook is coming. He taught me that great-great-Grandpa

bought the farm because it had a slough to water the horses. I learned a lot in that truck.

Learning to roller skating on the flat driveway, going to the public pool four days in a row, walking the golf course while Grandpa, Uncle Dave and Big Bro played a round, scampering around the hoodoos at Writing-On-Stone Provincial Park, walking to the Milky Way for an ice cream, picking up the mail from the post office on the way back, watching my brother on the local news being interviewed about the dinosaur eggs found outside of Warner, Ryan teaching me how to flip my eyelids inside out, walking across the Coutts/Sweetgrass border crossing just to play a game of tennis, playing a game of Nerts with Grandma and any other cousins who were around, seeing my first buffalo at the Miller farm, inner tubing down the Milk River, watching old family movies on the wall above the fireplace. There are a million memories attached to summer holidays spent in Milk River, each one a story unto itself, yet Milk River was a just a fraction of the time we'd spend in Alberta.

Writing-On-Stone in the winter. As the name of the park suggests, there are pictographs carved into the rock face.

There were Ellert family trips to Waterton National Park where we'd sleep 20 of us inside the cabin and everyone else outside in tents, where Jolene and I crashed a rented bike-thingy and walked away unhurt, where we took a tour of the Prince of Wales Hotel then took a picture in the wind with our hair going every which way, where I saw the Northern Lights for the first time, where some guy flashed us from the back of his buddy's van while they drove by, where we took a paddle boat around Cameron Lake and made a joke about making a break for the American border, where I read my first romance novel, and where we decided to hike to Little Bertha Falls because the name made us laugh.

We'd visit Taber. My uncle was the principal of the elementary school and sometimes he'd let us 'sneak in' during the summer so Big Bro could play basketball. We once came up with the great idea of getting out as many of the bouncy balls as we could and get them all going at once. You know those old balls, the ones you'd use at lunch time for dodge ball and squares? We made such a racket that my uncle came back from his office to tell us to stop it but he just ended up helping us get even more going. I would play the old family piano in the basement, the same piano that my aunts and my mom learned to play on. It even had some of their old lesson books. I'd pull them out and give them a rattle on the out-of-tune keys. Lethbridge, Calgary, more family, more laughter and more memories.

My one and only time at the Calgary Stampede.

The only trip better than a summer in Alberta was a Christmas in Alberta.

Hwy Thirty-Six

This was originally part of the piece I wrote about Alberta but as I rewrite I'm finding that this doesn't work with the rest of the post. It means too much to me, however, to just toss it aside.

One of my favourite drives in Alberta is from Milk River to Taber. Just north of Milk River, at Warner, we'd get off the highway onto another, well, it's called a highway, I call it a road. It's fairly flat and straight (and boring) until the road dips a little, then it swerves as you drive down between two hills, and then suddenly you're crossing a bridge over a long, skinny lake (the name of which escapes me). You reach the other side, climb up the small hill, and you're back to fairly flat and straight. I loved that moment as a child, I would anticipate the change in the scenery for the whole trip, and I did my best to try and memorize the change in the road which would tell me when the lake was coming up. I made a game out of it. How many false guesses to when the lake would appear? Eventually I didn't need to make it a game. I knew that road so well, I knew exactly when the lake was coming up.

At the age of twenty, after not having done that drive in a few years, my mom and I drove up to Taber to visit our family there. As we approached the dip which proceeded the lake, I found my feet tapping on the floor of the car in time to my fingers tapping on my legs, my heart started to skip a little as noticed the familiar change in the scenery, suddenly we were driving down and as the bridge appeared a huge smile broke out on my face. I wanted to shout and clap, to tell my mom I still knew all the signs but I some how managed to contain myself. When I close my eyes, I can still see the changes I memorized (I wonder if they're still there) and the image of the bridge as you come out from between the hills. If I was an artist, I would draw the scene because it's so vivid in my mind. There is nowhere in BC--no hidden road, no secret forest campsite, no memory-laden beach--which fills me with the glee and excitement of that 2 minute stretch of road in Alberta.