Vacation Recuperation

My husband hasn’t earned much vacation time yet, but he was allowed to take a Friday and Monday off so we could have an extended weekend away with the kids.

As usual, our vacation consisted of travelling south to see family and friends.  With careful planning, we managed to squeeze in lots of fun and worthwhile things.

We visited my parents (first time since my dad’s heart attack), spent time with my husband’s grandma (she’ll be 91 soon), and stayed and played with two of my sisters and their families. 

We spent a day at Calaway Park, had a picnic at a spray park, visited my Naturopath, played games,

enjoyed a barbecue with friends, walked around a picturesque lake, and attended an uplifting church service where my sister and niece spoke about the lessons they learned during their recent hair-raising canoe trip down the treacherous Milk River.

 

Amidst the fun, there were some unexpected surprises:  a drenching downpour at Calaway Park, a debilitating, day-long migraine for my daughter, and waking up in Calgary the second morning of our trip to find the left back window of our van smashed out. 

 

Now we’re home, it’s time to deal with four days’ worth of laundry, a dirty and broken van, and some coughs and colds.

My grandma used to say (about her grandkids):  “I love to see them come, but I love to see them go!”  I feel the same about vacations.  I love to get away, but I love to come home!

Let the recuperating begin.
 

Home For The Holidays

When I was single and living in Calgary, travelling home for the holidays meant an eight-hour journey through the Rockies into British Columbia.

The first year I took this trip, I put my life in my brother’s hands.  He put me in an old Chevy with a leaky radiator.  It was minus twenty-five and we crawled into Nanton just as the car died.  With cardboard in the grill we continued on, detouring around a twenty-one-car pile up, then creeping up and sliding down Kootenay Pass.  We arrived home after midnight, cold and exhausted.

The return trip was even worse.  Kootenay Pass was closed so we had to take the ferry which, due to high winds, was shut down right after we crossed.  Then we found ourselves stuck in a snow bank on a nearly deserted road.  Fortunately, three big guys in a pickup truck lifted us out.  We continued to Fernie where we spent the night trying to get warm.

The next year I took the bus.  It was a holiday-crowded overnighter and my seatmate was a clean lumberjack-look-alike whose legs were too long for the seat.  When I awoke, I apologized for using him as a pillow.  He said, “That’s okay, you can sleep on me anytime.”

You never know what might happen on a bus.  My dad learned this in 1961 when a large, white-haired woman wearing a red coat boarded and the drunks in the back began to sing Here Comes Santa Claus.  Luckily the woman wasn’t offended and the passengers enjoyed the moment.

However you choose to travel this holiday season, I hope you do so safely.  If you drive, why not tuck a shovel, candle, matches, blanket, and extra drinking water in the back seat?

Season’s Greetings, Merry Christmas, and Safe Travels to you and yours!

The Magic of Giving

My first Christmas away from home was spent in Montreal with a roommate from Italy.  We couldn’t be with our families, so on Christmas Day we went to a long-term care facility to feed those who couldn’t feed themselves.  After lunch we went from room to room, visiting, admiring family photos, and singing requested carols.

One woman scared me.  When we went to her room, she hissed with bared teeth and foul breath, “I’m gonna die!”  Fortunately, a friend who was with us knew what to do.  He removed the angel from his lapel and gently pinned it to her nightgown, explaining that this angel would keep her company.  Her face softened and peace filled her eyes.  I marveled at the difference this kind but simple gesture had made to a frightened woman.

Not many days later we found her bed vacant, and I was extra grateful that we had spent some time and shared a little joy with her on Christmas Day.

Subsequent Christmases have come and gone, filled with friends and family, parties and concerts, good food, and plenty of presents.  Still, something about that Christmas in Montreal stands out from the others.  Gifts were few and family was absent, but joy was abundant as I learned that most important lesson:  When we give, we can’t help but receive.

That is the magic of giving.  When we spread love and joy by selflessly giving to others, we feel love and joy in our own hearts.

There are so many ways to give:  donating to a food bank; letting someone ahead of us in line; inviting a widow for dinner; shoveling a neighbour’s driveway; writing to a lonely uncle…  The possibilities are endless...and so is the magic of giving.