All’s quiet but for the hum of the computer. The only light comes off the screen and through the window from a blazing bulb over the deck. The sky has become a grey-blue so the bare branches of the trees surrounding the house can be seen against it.

Wednesday, Dec. 18
9:33 a.m.

On Monday’s Canada A.M. there was a segment called The Hurried Woman Syndrome. I thought, so there is a name for what I was experiencing? I’ll have to watch that.

Then I forgot, as usual.
Not to worry, for I am hurried no more.

My alarm goes at six, and I snooze through the morning news for half an hour or more while Don is dressing. Then, if Loverboy hasn’t gotten up already, I rise and make my son some breakfast. It’s been pretty easy this week, what with Sunday’s batch of pancakes left over to be reheated in the toaster oven.

For the past couple mornings I’ve been taking my cup of coffee and descending to the couch downstairs, where I can watch the flames sheeting the glass door of the woodstove and find out -- usually five times, unfortunately, if I repose there more than an hour -- what’s going on in the world.

Today they’re raking Ahenakew, a First Nations leader, over the coals for spouting off some racist shit in the presence of reporters. He has publicly apologized, all teary of course, but one interviewee stated this is going to feed prejudice in Canada. I don’t agree. Ahenakew sounded like such an idiot when his original words were recorded that even a bigot might recognize what an asshole sounds like. But anyway, that prejudice is not uncommon. I don’t think his verbalizing of them will strengthen the viewpoint of those who already hold it, or convince anyone who doesn’t to begin believing it.

But the media is overdoing it, for lack of any more important happenings in the world or just-as-easy stories to cover. It’s not as if he said “ Let’s get out there and teach those dirty Jews a lesson, people!” It was just a fool’s sputterance, but there are a number of those fools around.

The other story of the day is that some parents in B.C. have pulled their elementary school children out of class because their male teacher returned in the fall as a female. I cannot believe the parents’ reasoning for taking such an action; even when one of them was interviewed, what she was saying sounded like a bunch of empty words.

It’s not the kids who are upset by their teacher's sex change; it’s the parents whose misplaced caution is skewing their perception of reality.

========================================
6:48 p.m.

I’m drinking rhubarb wine made in my own province, and the boys and I had Kraft Dinner for supper. I was not in the mood for cooking. I was out Christmas shopping and by the time I’d put together a passel of treats for Loverboy to take to Vincent’s Christmas dinner, I was feeling rather festive.

(Vincent is a friend of Loverboy's. Twenty years ago he was electrocuted, and lost one arm and the use of his legs. He lives in a care home in town.)

There is something about giving gifts that is invigorating.

I don’t always go shopping with specific things in mind, or even specific people in mind. I search the aisles, something leaps out and screams at me, and I pick it up for someone I might not even have been planning to buy for. It is a thoroughly enjoyable process and no less pleasant when I dump it all out of bags in my closet and see it again at wrapping time.

&&&& &&&& &&&& &&&& &&&& &&&&

My cousin passed out a couple days ago because of heart fibrillations, and spent a night in a hospital. So I phoned a little while ago and we had a good talk. He seems to feel he’s not stressed, that he’s busy but everything’s going well. I told him the story of my cold sores, about how I thought I wasn’t stressed, that I was handling everything in my life very well, and that L had said I was stressed and didn’t realize it. He said that’s what his doctor said, too. You can be stressed without being aware of it.

9:49 a.m.
Monday, Dec. 23

Still waking up, first cup of coffee steaming in a favourite Christmas mug next to my hand. Loverboy got up and started a fire and went straight next door to his parents' place, a large old farmhouse I call South Forks, to “say hello to my sister and the baby,” who have been here a day or two with L’s two nephews and their girlfriends.

I was not prepared to get up and hurry anywhere, though he was nice enough to say he’d wait if I wanted to go with him. But no, I am happier here in my new housecoat that my best friend gave me for Christmas, all soft and cosy in my own house with over 100 unread emails before me. It’ll be much more than an hour before I am ready to get social.

We arrived home last night to our empty house. Loverboy started a fire to warm it up properly, though of course the old natural gas furnace had kept it adequately heated while we were away, and I busied myself unpacking the shopping bag. We spent six hours in a mall on Saturday and went to a couple other places yesterday -- bought our digital camera and have been playing with that -- and then joined my sister Suzanne at Aunt Ada’s for an hour or two to see both her and the baby.

Babycakes is sweet as pie, of course, and didn’t make strange and didn’t fuss but behaved adorably and couldn’t be kissed and cuddled enough.

Suzanne and her husband had news that his’ best friend’s wife has an inoperable brain tumour that is malignant. So they hopped into their car and drove to Saskatoon, and will be out here Christmas Day.

Loverboy has just come in from the other house with a picture of his baby nephew on the digital camera and an invitation to join the family over there for scrambled eggs. But I am not ready to visit. I am Queen of Content over here and not impatient to spend time with anyone yet. They’ll be here over the next few days and for now, I want nothing more than to sit here and write.

I’ve just called Suzanne. Their friends have monopolized their time since they’ve been in the city and because they’ve been accommodating the plans of others, they are running around more than they really want to. I asked Suzanne to stop in here on their way to our home town on Christmas Day, when they will have Aunt Ada with them. They will be going almost right past, I said, so I’d like them to stop in. I made a point of adding “if you like” but Loverboy later told me I had been pushy when it came to scheduling Suzanne and her husband’s time, so I wanted to make sure they knew I wouldn’t be disappointed if they preferred to carry on straight to Grandma’s that day.

When I told her what my concern was, her reply was “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re my SEEster -- I can say no to *you* -- it’s just these other people I can’t seem to say no to.”

It was nice to see Petra, to get our shopping done and taste the rare baby treat, but it was equally nice to get home again.

A candlelit room next to a tub of warm, lavender-gardenia-scented water was my place of repose for a while, while L sat nearby and we chatted. Then he set the CD-player to “random” and we danced and hugged and kissed and watched the fire and putzed around and listened to a couple cuts off Joni’s new CD, Travelogue.

Loud, and on a decent sound system, the first song we heard blew my socks right off. I couldn’t believe how beautifully arranged it was and how much I loved Joni’s voice. There has been a lot of nasty criticism on the Joni discussion list, as well as heaps of praise and gushing, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t like the second song we heard nearly as much as the first -- as a matter of fact, there were aspects of it that I disliked -- but that is fine with me. I am not looking for perfection to suit my tastes. But Joni has once again moved me magnificently.