Veronica (played by Sarah Manderville) performs a solo of "Silent Night" at the Mountain School Christmas program.

My Mountain School Christmas
by Kellie Underhill

This year my Christmas festivities started early in December when my mother, Pauline, sister, Sherry, and I went to the Kin Centre around the square in Newcastle, Miramichi to attend a special dinner theatre performance.

A local theatre troupe, The Heritage Players, were staging their latest production called “A Mountain School Christmas.” The play was written by my aunt, Valerie Stewart, and it was about celebrating Christmas in 1960 at the one-room schoolhouse in Grey Rapids, NB that my mother and many of her siblings attended when they were children.

We sat at a table with other family members—my aunts, Noreen and Vida; my uncle, Hayward; and my cousin, Lorelei with her husband, Brian. Looking around the room I saw many familiar faces, more aunts and uncles, several cousins and their children, as well as other people from “up home” in the Blackville area.

On a snowy night like that one most people don’t like to drive too far if they don’t have to, but this was a very special occasion. Before the show began when my aunt Valerie, who also directed the production, asked the audience how many of them had attended the Mountain School, hands shot up all over the room. They were part of this history. They had been there, lived it. And I’m sure that’s part of the reason why so many people ventured the 20-30 minute drive into town in less than perfect travel conditions.

Rehearsal for the Christmas program at the Mountain School.

As the performance began and the characters started to be introduced, my mother tried to remember if this or that had ever really happened or speculated who the characters might be based upon in real life. She remarked about different aspects of the set that she recalled had been in the original schoolroom. For her this seemed to add an extra level of enjoyment; she noticed little details that the average viewer would probably overlook and they filled her with a happy nostalgia.

But you didn’t need to go to the Mountain School, or indeed any of the other one-room schoolhouses that used to dot our little province, in order to enjoy the play. I laughed so hard at times that tears rolled down my cheeks. At one point I was worried I wouldn’t be able to stop laughing and I’d have to excuse myself to regain my composure. And even though the larger consolidated school was the only school I ever knew personally, I was also moved to nostalgia. Times were much simpler even in the late 70′s and 80′s when I was a young student. I could relate to rehearsing for a school Christmas program and hoping your mother might attend.

An angry parent (played by Dorinda Glover) confronts the teacher, Miss Brown (played by Christina Donovan).

I won’t divulge any more details about the plot on the chance that you might get to see it one day. There currently are no plans that I know of to put it on again, but I hope they will. It deserves to be seen by a greater audience. It’s an important part of our heritage. And I know so many people who were unable to see the sold out show would enjoy it tremendously.

So why put in all the time and energy required to mount a successful dinner theatre for a one night only performance? As entertaining and tasty as the play and turkey dinner were, the reason for the whole production in the first place was the most important part of the evening for me. The event was a fundraiser for the Nelson Doyle Dancers.

The Nelson Doyle Dancers have been performing Irish dance on the Miramichi for 21 years. The group is a large one, consisting of girls and boys from age five to adult. Under the instruction of Ellen (Doyle) MacDonald, students do not pay a fee for their lessons but they are dedicated, practising sometimes many times each week.

A couple of the Nelson Doyle Dancers mid-air.

The group has been invited to Monaghan, Miramichi’s twin city in Ireland, to perform at several festivals there. For a Canadian group to be invited to Ireland to perform Irish dance is both a tremendous honour and also a testament to their incredible talent. But the cost of such a trip for a large group is considerable, so the dinner theatre was one of many fundraisers they will undertake in order to make the trip possible in August. I hope they’re able to raise the money. It’s such a wonderful opportunity for them to showcase their skills on an international scale. Should you come across any of their other fundraising endeavours, please show them your support. It is needed and well deserving.

To top off an already perfect evening some of the Nelson Doyle Dancers took the stage and showed us why the former mayor of Monaghan, Willie McKenna, extended the invitation in the first place. If you’ve never seen the group in action before, I urge you to seize your next available opportunity to do so. Words can’t begin to describe their talent or the feeling it evokes in the audience.

Nelson Doyle Dancers

There’s something about the beating drums and singing fiddles as dozens of feet furiously pound the stage before taking graceful flight in simultaneous leaps, spins and kicks that seems to call to the very core of my being. I can’t dance with them. I don’t know the steps and am probably too clumsy to execute them even if I did, but watching the performance I felt the Irish dance deep down in my soul. The experience took my breath and this time when tears sprang to my eyes it was because I was overcome with emotion. I sat there thinking, “This is my people, my dance. This is my heritage.” And this wasn’t the first time I’ve seen the Nelson Doyle Dancers. I’ve been to other performances before, and each time I have this indescribable experience of being “home”.

Maybe if half your blood isn’t Irish as mine is, maybe if your family’s roots don’t stretch as far back into the earth of the Miramichi as its first settlers like mine does … maybe then the experience would be less … magical … but I hope not. I think everyone must feel the powerful connection to art of the dance, if not to the heritage itself.

Overall, Christmas 2011 had its high points for me, but they were few and far between. Personally, I had one of those particularly challenging holiday seasons that I’m quite happy to finally be through with and on to other things. But way back on December 2nd, back at the Kin Centre surrounded by family, friends and neighbours, laughing until my sides hurt at a play that took me back to simpler times, enjoying my first taste of turkey for the year, feeling my heart swell with pride as it kept beat with the Celtic drums and followed the flying feet of the dancers onstage … back then the Christmas season had just begun and it held all the promise of being as gloriously wonderful as that first night. That is a memory I will cherish for years to come and think of fondly during future holiday seasons to immediately transport me back “home” and into the Christmas spirit.

Kellie Underhill is the Editor of Bread ‘n Molasses magazine. Her non-fiction and fiction writing have been published in newspapers and magazines across Atlantic Canada, as well as in Ireland.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

A Christmas kitty.

Christmas Kitty
By Jacinta

“Oh, Daddy, please let me keep the kitty,” cried four year old Jessica Wells.

Her father answered firmly, “Pipe down, Jess. You know we can’t afford this kitten.” He drove up to a subdivision entrance and dropped the kitten off, leaving quickly. Trying to get Jess to stop crying, Daddy told her, “See, Jess. Daddy left her in a safe place.”

Jessica cried all the way home. She promised herself she would never be cruel to animals. Jess kept that promise by becoming a vet. She had nightmares for nights after her daddy abandoned the kitten. Jess kept dreaming of the kitten being hungry, or run over by a car. These dreams haunted her throughout her entire life.

Jess’s daddy was so kind in all other ways. So she never understood his cruelty towards the kitten. The incident with the kitten left Jessica with a subconscious fear of abandonment. It affected her relationships, especially with her peers. She always put up a wall, when she found herself feeling close to someone.

Jessica moved to a farming community, becoming the town’s livestock vet. She mostly treated horses, never wanting to be around kittens. Mental images from childhood emerged every time she saw a kitten. Jessica’s business had picked up so much over the years; she needed an assistant.

For some reason, she found something wrong with every applicant. At the end of the first day of interviews, Jessica was mentally fatigued and hungry. She decided to close shop an hour early. Just as Jess approached the door, a man walked in. He was tall and handsome, with coal black hair and gorgeous blue eyes. “Wow!” thought Jessica. “A cowboy if ever I’ve seen one.”

She wasn’t accustomed to feeling attraction, especially not one so strong. Jessica suddenly felt bashful and tongue-tied. The cowboy just grinned sheepishly and told her he had come to apply for the position. Jessica fibbed by telling him the position was filled. He looked really disappointed. Jessica felt badly for lying, but it was too late to back down. They said good night and he left.

The next afternoon, the cowboy was back. He told Jessica, “I thought your position was filled. Then what’s this?” He showed her a note from the front window, “Vet assistant needed. Apply within.” Luckily, the last patient had left and Jessica wouldn’t have to play this scene out in front of anyone.

She looked very uncomfortable, so the handsome applicant told her, “I’ll make this easy on you. You need an assistant and I need a job. I have a little girl to support and the clinic where I worked just went out of business. Give me a try for a month and if I don’t work out, you don’t owe me a penny. Now let’s shake on it and call it a deal.” Jessica shook his hand and he held hers a little longer than was necessary. She felt herself blushing.

That trial month passed quickly. They got acquainted, exchanging names and life stories. Beginning to feel comfortable with her new cowboy friend, Jessica told him of her emotional fear of kittens and of the fear of abandonment that had haunted her all her life. Her cowboy, Owen Tate was easy to talk to. He had been a widow for a year. His wife, Alice had died of cancer, leaving him to take care of their four year old daughter, Caitlin. Owen and Alice had been high school sweethearts and married at 19. They had been married 10 years before his wife’s death. Theirs had been a fairy tale life. Now, life was lonely.

One month slipped into two and soon a year passed. Owen had inherited his childhood farm and Jessica spent many happy hours visiting there with Owen and Caitlin. The farmhouse was a two-story, gingerbread style Victorian. It was beige, with pale yellow shutters and a stained glass door. There was a pond and an acre of farmland. It was such a wonderfully peaceful place.

When Jessica and Owen weren’t working, they were playing with Caitlin. The three of them were inseparable; romping across the farmland like children, fishing in the pond, and picking vegetables from the garden. There was a chicken yard and the three of them gathered eggs. Owen laughed when Jessica fed the chickens and they pecked her feet. He was secretly dropping feed on her shoes. Jessica would scream, until Owen picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the chicken yard. The trio was having such a wonderful life together. Jessica had long ago let down her guard with Owen.

Christmas Eve arrived and the couple accepted an invitation to a neighbor’s party after getting a babysitter for Caitlin. Dancing in the moonlight in the arms of her cowboy, Jessica felt loved and secure for the first time in her life. She knew she had found someone who would never leave her. Owen was someone she could trust for the rest of her life.

Christmas morning there was a knock on the door. On the porch was a basket. Inside was a precious black kitten. A note taped to the basket read, “Please give me a home and marry your crazy old cowboy.” She looked up when she heard someone say, “Well, will you?” Jessica threw herself into her cowboy’s arms and never left them again.

Jacinta is a 60 year old writer, residing in Louisiana with her husband, oldest daughter and puppy named Mimi. She hopes to become a children’s book author and has frequently participated in Bread ‘n Molasses magazine’s 12 Days of Christmas event.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

Wish scroll materials.

New Year! New Wishes!
By Patricia Anne McGoldrick

Make a wish scroll for 2012. What are your wishes for this upcoming year? List three or five. Then start to make your wish scroll.

This is a wonderful gift for someone in your family, a friend or relative. It is also a special present that you can gift to yourself. As you move into the New Year, it is great to look back at your scroll, to see all those wishes coming your way!

Materials:
Paper— one-sided print sheets, a piece of wall paper, a soft card paper stock
Container— a small tube container or paper roll tube, or a dowel on which to attach scroll for a wall hanging
Utensils— Markers, pens, coloured pencils, stickers, cut-out pictures

Two steps:

First, select a piece of paper that is easy to roll up into a tube. Decorate it with a border, some trims, cut-out pictures, a sticker or two. Then print your wishes, or write in calligraphy, paste a list of wishes made on your computer (this is great for choosing a special font.)

Second, decorate your container as you wish—maybe, draw a large 2012 on the outside. On each side of the tube, insert a small hole. Attach a piece of yarn or string to it, if you wish to wear the scroll, or attach a dowel to the top and bottom of the scroll. Attach a cord or picture-wire to prepare for hanging the scroll on the wall. On a picture hook, hang your wish scroll!

Wedding wish scroll unfurled. (Photo courtesy Brian St. Denis http://stdenisphoto.com)/

By the way, this is a great individualized gift for other occasions as well.

Last year, I made a wish scroll as a wedding gift for my daughter and her husband. Wish scrolls can be made for any special celebration or new start in your life—a new home, a new job, even a brand new school year.

Also, a wish scroll can be a green opportunity, a chance to upcycle some items into a special gift!

Make a wish scroll for the New Year!

Patricia Anne McGoldrick is a Kitchener, ON writer whose poetry and reviews have been published in the Christian Science Monitor, The WM Review Connection,  and Chapter and Verse.ca to name a few. Patricia is a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and the League of Canadian Poets. To find out more about Patricia or to read more of her work visit her website or blog or follow her on Twitter.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

While gifts are nice, they don't represent the "true" meaning of Christmas.

Merry Christmas

So many people seem to have forgotten
the true meaning of Christmas spirit
so eager to spend; to receive and to give
they lose sight of what’s important.
While gifts and the sort are rather nice and
It can be fun to get that special someone
the gift that lights their eyes when opened
I feel like there’s more to Christmas than that
~
Every year, they trek to the stores
They beat the crowds to get their wares
Wrap them ever-so-delicately in beautiful
strips of paper; shades of colorful
With their ribbons and their bows
Their tags and their bags
Every year, the same old thing
~
I think people have forgotten the most important part
the part that comes; most naturally; from the heart
They go and spend all of their money
They stress about not having gifts to give
To me, it all seems to be quite funny
And rather; just a little bit; ridiculous
~
While gifts are nice, both to give and to receive
It should be about the time you spend with friends and family
For those are the moments to truly be treasured
Not some gifts of which wealth can be measured
The good times shared; the laughing and catching up
If you’ve missed out on this, I don’t envy your luck
Because, for me, it has always been about this,
Not some random array of gifts
So, with ‘this’ in mind, I wish you all a Merry Christmas!

– Christopher Brown

Christopher Brown was recently published in the July/August 2010 edition of Bread ‘n Molasses and currently lives in Graham, WA USA.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

There is a great French song called “Noel N’est Pas Au Magasin”. “Christmas is not found in the stores” but in our hearts and in our hands. I find myself humming that song this time of the year and thinking about the words. I love Christmas and I would like for other people to love it as well.

However, for many people Christmas is a time of fear, loneliness and stress when it should be a time of peace, love and happiness. How do we change this? Are we over doing it when we try to please other people? Does our ego sometimes get in our way and we end up over spending?

We tend to get caught up in the commercial side of trying to please others and sometimes over spend, buying things that most people never use or at least only use for a short period of time.

We tend to look for happiness on the outside, as the song suggests, instead of in our hearts and in our minds.

There are so many ways to enjoy Christmas without going through all the hassle. As this holiday season comes to a close, I suggest that you take a few minutes to sit down and write up what you would really like Christmas to feel like for you next year. What do you want out of the Christmas Holidays? How much money do you want to spend? Don’t be afraid to tell people that you are cutting back on the material side of giving. You will find that people will respect and understand your decision.

Telling someone that you love them and appreciate them is a much more valuable gift than trying to please them with material gifts that you cannot afford. Personally, I love getting al nice note from people wishing me, my wife and family a Merry Christmas.

It doesn’t cost anything to compliment people. If you can sing and you have the time, join a Christmas choir and make use of the gifts that you have been given. Volunteer to take someone who doesn’t have a car grocery shopping, offer to spend time with your grandchildren. This will give their parents much needed time to spend together without having to worry about finding a babysitter. Not only will this be a great gift, but there is nothing better to put you in the Christmas spirit than spending time with children.

For those of you who know someone who is particularly down this holiday season, maybe they have lost a loved one or perhaps a job or they just won’t be able to get home for Christmas to be with their families. You could offer to take them out for a coffee or help them decorate for Christmas, perhaps just go for a drive and look at Christmas lights.

Maybe you are the one who just can’t seem to pull yourself up this holiday season. Take a moment to call someone who makes you smile. Fill your home with the sounds and smells of Christmas; this might help you get into the spirit of the season.

It is my hope that you all take the time to count your blessings this holiday season and embrace all the possibilities that are on the horizon for the New Year. Wishing you all a very happy Holiday Season from my family to yours.

Conrad Toner

Conrad Toner is a certified Law of Attraction Facilitator & Trainer who owns and operates Conrad Toner Coaching. He lives in Grand Falls, NB, with his wife Linda. Together they have raised four children and now have 10 grandchildren. For more information about Conrad’s coaching services and seminars visit his website at www.ConradToner.com.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

An angel.

Angel Robe
By Jacinta

“Momma,” yelled five year old Sebrina, as she rushed through the door. “I’m gonna be an angel.” Then she giggled, “I mean an angel, in the Christmas play. Mrs. Kathy chose me. It is the specialist part in the whole play.”

“Most special,” corrected her mother, Audrey. “Do you have to bring your own costume?” she asked her daughter.

“Yes ma’am,” answered Sebrina.

Faye was concerned about the cost. They had been living on a fixed income, since her husband’s death a year ago. Her waitress job didn’t leave room for extras. Sebrina would have a very meager Christmas this year. Faye prayed, asking Jesus to provide a way for her to make the needed costume.

The play was to be presented Christmas Eve night. It was now the beginning of Christmas week. Audrey sure hoped her beloved Jesus would act soon. There was less than a week to finish the angel robe.

Audrey was dragging the tiny artificial Christmas tree and box of ornaments from the attic. Suddenly, she saw her wedding gown inside a plastic garment bag, hanging on a nail in the wall. Her memories called to her.

She was remembering happier times, when she and Jack were newlyweds. They had been high school sweethearts. Audrey was a waitress at the local soda shop. Jack came in one night after a football game with his team mates. He smiled and winked at her across the room. Audrey’s heart had done an instant flip-flop.

Soon, they started dating and were inseparable. They both attended the same college for a year. They quit college to get married. Jack became manager of the local hardware store, where he worked for 10 years. They had bought this little house and lived a happy carefree life, until his death to cancer, last year.

Audrey’s thoughts were interrupted by her daughter’s voice, calling, “Momma, where are you?” Audrey returned to the living room. The pair decorated the tiny tree, drank cocoa and went to bed. Audrey’s sleep was invaded by mental images of her husband. She eventually gave up on sleep and decided to get a cup of cocoa.

As she sipped the hot beverage, an inspiration came to mind. She would make an angel robe from her wedding gown. Tears came to Angie’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks as she thought of having to cut her dress. Her love for her daughter outweighed her personal feelings.

She sewed all night, finishing the angel gown just before awakening Sabrina for school. The morning before the play, Sebrina found the angel robe draped across a kitchen chair. The twinkle in her eyes and the beautiful smile on her face were thanks enough. Audrey had sewn the gown by hand, not owning a sewing machine. She had learned from her mother, a professional seamstress. Her stitches were all uniform and quite tight.

Angel wings were made of cardboard and a halo of bent clothes hanger. Both were spray painted gold. Audrey had found the paint in a clearance bin at the corner store. She only paid a dime for it. Jesus had indeed provided a costume, in answer to Audrey’s prayer.

Christmas Eve arrived. Sebrina was so excited; she hardly ate two bites of supper. At last, hand in hand, the pair walked to school. The play was a great success. Sebrina made a beautiful angel, with her blonde curls and green eyes. Audrey was very proud of her. She felt her husband’s presence, smiling at the loving sacrifice his wife had made. What better angel robe than one made of a sacrificial wedding gown?

Jacinta is a 60 year old writer, residing in Louisiana with her husband, oldest daughter and puppy named Mimi. She hopes to become a children’s book author and has frequently participated in Bread ‘n Molasses magazine’s 12 Days of Christmas event.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

This post was submitted by Mary Achee'.

The theft I experienced was more ominous than missing stuff.

I’m Onto Your Tricks, Mr. Grinch!
by Judy Bowman

For many, many years the Grinch stole my Christmas right out from under my nose. It was insidious, so quiet and sneaky, that only recently with episodes of flashes of silver joy and moments of deep blue peace, did I realize it had been missing.

Had I called the police to report the theft, I would have to admit that nothing material had been taken: The tree was there in all its glory, hauled up from the cellar, bedecked with silver and banked with presents. The cards still formed chains across the arches in my livingroom. The wreaths tossed around on their ribbons on the front door.

The theft I experienced was more ominous than missing stuff. My spirit of joy in this season had been stolen and left me uncaring about the peace promised so long ago; worse, thinking it was an illusion.

But, clever as the Grinch was on his getaway, he didn’t realize that bits and pieces of Christmas fell out of his loot bag in a trail behind him. I found Christmas by looking for clues in each present moment and in the past.

As a child, to me, winter was one big Christmas. We started counting down the days right after Halloween. Since the days were so short, time traveled faster, at least that was what I was told. In November, I skated on the ice in the ditches, not easy to avoid the long grass sticking through but that was preferable to skating on the yellow ponds outside the cow barn. My friends and I watched the shell of ice form on the river and waited for adults to test the safety.

In just two days this year, the river froze. The ice grows thicker daily. The sound of blades scraping across the ice and bumping over frozen ripples echoes in my mind.

I can’t wait for snow; the more, the better. This time of year daylight is rationed. Each moment of light is to be treasured. At sunrise, the sun manages to rise to tree top level where it rolls around to sunset. For just minutes, its rays gild the fields and the tall pines on the Shore Road. Imagine this gold light on snow fields; the hard, dark ground softened and lit underfoot. The light we humans so desperately need comes from the brightness of snow.

I have had to ask myself why, if my joy of spirit was missing, why did the absolute stillness of our river, on so many days this December, bring me to quiet gratitude and reverence for such beauty. To see a silver-gray dawn or dusk, the lines of the Centennial Bridge, reflecting as straight and even below as above, could stop my breath. Each starry, starry, night, with the Christmas lights of my community shining like beacons of hope onto the mirror of river and sky brought me to the delight of my childhood when the lit runways of the air base made me believe they were anticipating Santa all year long.

The Grinch doesn’t steal presents, he steals hope and light. And when people suffer tragedy and loss this time of year, it leaves the door open for continual theft. Just now I think of the first Christmas: a woman nine months pregnant, recently married to an honourable man, both on the road, homeless, penniless, and then a lonely labour in a barn. From all appearances not much hope, yet the story of this small family model hope in dark times. No Grinch or darkness can stand against the promise of that light.

Judy Bowman of Miramichi, NB, is an award-winning writer and columnist whose stories have graced the cover of Bread ‘n Molasses in print more than any other contributor in its entire publishing history. Judy’s fiction and poetry have been published internationally.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

Santa Will Soon Be Here

There’s a bustle in the toyshop
So much work to be done!
The elves are busy as little bees
Making toys for everyone!

Santa in his work clothes
Whistling Christmas tunes!
Working right beside the elves
Christmas will be here soon!

There’s dolls and planes and lego blocks
Bikes and trains and games,
Millions of toys for girls and boys
That Santa knows by name!

The reindeer are getting excited
It’s almost Christmas Eve!
They’ll bring toys around the world
To children who believe!

Mrs. Claus humming softly
A smile on her dimpled cheeks!
She’s making magic cookie bars
For Santa’s reindeer to eat!

Those cookies are very special
And here’s the reason why!
When the reindeer eat them up
They begin to fly!

Santa’s lists have all been checked
It’s the best time of year!
There’s a Christmas feeling in everyone
Cause Santa will soon be here!

– Annabel Sheila

The Joy Of Christmas

Wrapped in warm Christmas memories of yesteryear
Each one of them like a precious knick-knack,
A little worn, faded a bit around the edges
But always worthy of a special place at Christmastime!
A family of nine testing the strength of our little house
That fairly bulged at the seams with happiness and love!
Fresh boughs in the wreath on the front door
Their invigorating scent a warm welcome
To family and friends that come to share good tidings.
The Christmas tree, our gift from the forest,
Far from asymmetrical but perfect!
Shiny lights and pretty ornaments, some of them old as time!
Mom and Dad busy in the kitchen, friends dropping by…
Familiar Christmas songs in the air; everyone singing along
With their own version of the lyrics!
How vividly I remember those Christmases!
And while those days are long gone
The wonderful memories are mine to keep!
I understand Christmastime can be nostalgic.
Feelings in shades of blue tugging at the heartstrings…
But I also realize to have those feelings is a blessing!
For are they not evidence that one has truly known
The joy of Christmas!

–Annabel Sheila

Annabel Sheila is a frequent contributor to Bread ‘n Molasses magazine. She lives in Moncton, NB.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

For more information or to buy Bob's book go to http://www.amazon.com/History-Snowman-Bob-Eckstein/dp/1416940669

Let it Snow
By Anne Lindert-Wentzell

I, admittedly, live a frigid lifestyle. I’m not the best conversationalist. In fact, you won’t hear a murmur out of me. Unless of course we meet, unexpectedly, on a cold winter evening, and you’ve partaken
in too much holiday cheer!

I’ve been known to be a womanizing, alcohol drinking scoundrel. It wasn’t really my fault; I guess the years of abuse finally got to me. But that was a long time ago. I’ve cleaned up my act.

My evolution goes back … way back, possibly to the Ice Age. I was around in the Dark Ages, for sure, a time of social chaos and repression. In fact, in 1511, the city of Brussels was inundated with many of my kind; an iconic presence that though silent, spoke volumes. Our sexually explicit and politically fuelled retaliation expressed an anger toward the church and local government. I had no control in the matter. I was at the mercy of the masses.

I took it all in stride, as best I could, until the late 1800′s. It was then that I succumbed to the bottle and smoking. There’s no denying it. The proof can be found in the popularity of postcards and magazines at the time with myself the winter subject. A 1898 postcard has me carrying a couple bottles of champagne to an office party, already somewhat inebriated smoking a pipe.

By the early 1900′s my party animal instincts were out of control. I was a pickled, skirt chasing lush; a frozen W.C. Fields in look and manner.

With the end of Prohibition in 1933, I had become something of a spokesman for most leading liquor companies as well as personal hygiene problems ads-bad breath, gas and yes hangovers. Oh the shame!

Happy Holidays!

Aside from the pictorial abuse, I was also physically abused. Being the “snow man” target was a favourite past-time for young children in the 19th century variation of the game, “Aunt Sally”. Imagine being bombarded by snowballs all in an effort to score points, or being plowed over by sleds into a state of nothingness. Bludgeoned by brooms. And dogs. Don’t even get me started on that one. Merciless.

My image has changed, thankfully. Frosty, who we all know and love debuted in 1949. Gene Autry brought my character to life in the Christmas song of the same name. Advertising had much to do with my new persona. With an improved image – nicer scarves and a silk top hat, I helped sell everything – tuna, insurance,
even Cadillacs. It seems that society wanted a wholesome image of me, for the sake of the children; a presence that was family orientated and innocent.

Some other facts about me:
* Creating me provides a great aerobic workout, burning 240 calories an hour.
* I’m an art form – Michelangelo sculpted snow figures in 1494 Florence, Italy.
* I’m a reflection of the times; an artistic expression, unique.
* Average number of snowflakes required in my creation: 10 billion.
* The world’s largest snowman: 122 feet, 1 inch, Bethel, Maine, 2008.
* I cost nothing to build – requiring only creativity and energy.
* A detailed account of my evolution can be found in Bob Eckstein’s, The History of the Snowman.

My current concern is that I may soon become a distant memory; a depiction found only in pictures of yesteryear. Global warming and me are not the best of friends. My only hope, as the 1945 song goes, is -
Let it snow …
Let it snow …

For more information about snowmen visit Today’s Snowman or get Bob Eckstein’s book The History of the Snowman.

Anne Lindert-Wentzell has lived in Atlantic Canada for 22 years, being originally from the big city of Toronto. Rural living appeals to her. She enjoys the freedom of her acreage near the sea. Her husband, two dogs, two cats and the occasional visits from Captain and Tennille – two muskrats that now call her pond home – are pleasant company. She has a son in university. Anne started freelance writing seven years ago and has never regretted her career change. She has numerous articles both in print and online.

This story previously appeared in the Chester Clipper in December 2009.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!

My Mr. Claus

As I search through my boxes to gather up Christmas ornaments, I slip back in time. I find myself thinking about the many sacrifices my parents, like many parents, make for their children during this ever so meaningful time of year.

Over the years, Santa has become the human face of Christmas; pictures are seen of him everywhere in his long white beard, red coat and carrying his big bag of toys for all good boys and girls.

It is easy to picture the human face of Christmas, the holly jolly red-cheeked man; because he is the man who we all have come to know as Santa. The image of Santa reminds me yet of another man. He is not bearing a white beard nor wearing red. I picture my Mr. Claus. He is your everyday average man who strived during his entire life to make Christmas a memorable occasion for his family. For all of his married years, I am sure he would attest to his angel-like figure, close to his side, hovering over a hot stove preparing meat pies, wrapping presents, home decorating; making all magical and exciting for his family to enjoy.

The lady by his side hoped for more than presents. She wanted somehow to return to a time in her own childhood, when life was simpler and made more sense. Back into time; before the troubles of adult life arrived at her door.

Behind all the fun and decorations, she somehow tried to bring a message of something more to her family. Some key to life, hope or happiness for all, while bearing the worries of getting it all done and thinking how and who was going to pay for it all.

Being a single mother of three children, I feel the lead up to Christmas to be somewhat over whelming. With the ending of November, every spare minute is spent thinking or preparing for that one single day. Some days, I have to look hard and search long to find God in what we have come to call Christmas. My, how so much has changed.

When I was a child, every Christmas Eve my sisters and brother were far too excited to sleep. We were so blessed because my Mr. Claus would arrive at our home early in the evening to sing Christmas carols. While he sang, we kids would whisper amongst ourselves saying, “I hope I get a new pair skates”, while the other would want a new doll. Now kids want a new laptop, a flat screen TV, high priced video games or some other highly expensive toy.

My kids are no different. And I, like most parents, try to give more and more, again and again, in hope that my children will one day come to understand the love and meaning behind giving.

Gift giving was introduced because of the gift God gave to us; his son.

Christmas cards and pictures make Christmas seem so breathtaking and beautiful. In truth, Christmas must not have been what is painted and depicted today.

Should we consider the real setting of Christmas, we would picture a cold and damp journey filled will trials and tribulations encountered by Mary and Joseph along their way to Bethlehem.

The story of Jesus’ birth tells us that he came as a poor and humbled person and not a strong and rich king.

My Mr. Claus sat on his piano stool for hours singing Christmas Carols; often telling the story of his father who loved the song, Silent Night. His father told him that this song reminded him of his own father. He said, “His father missed his own father during the celebration of Christmas.”

My Mr. Claus’ eyes often filled with tears when he sang Silent Night. He did not have to tell me why. I knew he too now missed his father; the man who put meaning into his life.

The legend of Poinsettia; a Children’s Christmas story from Mexico reveals to us that the gift of love is dearer to Jesus than the most expensive present. As the years add on, I understand it is the loss of parental love that my Mr. Claus still longed for.

At 47 years of age, I am realizing that I have become very much like the lady who stood beside my Mr. Claus. I easily picture her face gracefully watching as I gobbled up delicious meat pies. She just smiled as I rushed to be first at her beautifully set table to dig into her perfectly basted turkey. She giggled when witnessing that I was the quickest of all four children to unwrap my every wish under her tree. The tree she took time to decorate every single year.

Her emotional bond to Christmas was fully satisfied knowing she didn’t change the world. She was happy knowing she in some way, gave all that she had, in hope that her children would someday come to know the true meaning of Christmas. For her that was enough.

Christmas means different things to different people. However, hope is the thread that ties a family together on Christmas Day.

Tonight, I find myself thinking about my Mr. Claus and the special lady who stood by his side and by their children’s side. Making perhaps, Christmas a never-ending story; allowing every year for her children to add another chapter to the day we all came to know as “Christmas.” I believe my Mr. Claus and the lady by his side hoped that their children, too, would come to cherish and to share one day, the meaning of Christmas with their own children.

On December 25th, we can choose to remember the birth of Christ. We can follow the teaching of Jesus by reaching out to others and, by his example, love one another. We can offer what help we can to the poor. We can bring meaning to this holiday by being the people we should be and could be, if only we choose to be. We could live out this day, every day of the year, sharing the examples of how Jesus hoped that we would choose to live our lives.

We can remember not to let time slip us by. Before you know it, we will already have sat down to eat turkey with all the trimmings and up to this point, we haven’t spent any quality time thinking of the true meaning of Christmas; bringing for many, love and hope.

My Mr. Claus is my dad. He has been my Santa for 47 years; never changing as years add on. My guardian angel is alive. She is my mother. In me, she instilled the true meaning of Christmas that I hope to share.

As years add on, I realize that I am very much like her. I too want to go back in time. I want to go back to before adulthood arrived at my door. I want to go back into time; when things were just a bit different.

Kim Drisdelle

Kim Drisdelle works with Enterprise Miramichi in Miramichi, NB, where she lives. She is an active member of the community, and for a number of years chaired the White Gold Festival and Miramichi Canada Celebration. Kim completed four years of undergraduate studies at Universite de Moncton in education speciale, as well as two years of undergraduate studies in French Literature and Linguistics at St. Thomas University in Fredericton. The single mother of three children, this is Kim’s first contribution to Bread ‘n Molasses Magazine’s annual Twelve Days of Christmas event.

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of Miramichi author, Doug Underhill’s latest book entitled Salmon Country. We’ll draw one winner from everyone who comments on any of our special holiday themed posts for our annual Twelve Days of Christmas event!