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Northern holiday: long story

Weather: Excuse me, but we did not drive 800 km north for a GREEN Christmas. Prince George was a half degree off the 1947 record for the warmest-recorded Christmas day. Wrong. Wrong. In every way wrong. We were looking for more of a ‘Walkin’ in a winter wonderland’ vibe. And thankfully, the weather turned on Boxing Day and we got a foot of fluffy white in which to ski, sled and snowmobile for the rest of our holiday.

Singing: W-hoo! Strolled my brother, Mike’s street with my sisters, admiring elaborate light displays and carolling. We sang Noah’s favourite version of Jingle Bells. As Noah sings it: "Dindoo bewws, Batman smewws! Wobin waid an edd!" Followed by huge belly laughs.

Two of the four times we went to karaoke (that’s right, FOUR), there were hardly any singers, so I got to sing, sing, sing. It was SO cool. My favourite was when my sister, Brenda sang ‘Leader of the pack’ and sent half the patrons into apoplexy when she screamed, with extreme authenticity, “Look out! Look out! Look out! Look out!”

Catch-up: I got to visit with high school friends (it still stuns me to think I’m old enough to have a friend who’s a doctor and the head of her department at the hospital), and family I don’t get to see often enough. We met for dinner at Mr. Jake’s, a childhood favourite, and breakfast at the Hart Wheel Inn, where everyone stared at us until we sat down where my Dad was waiting. I could see them thinking, “Aaah, one of Pat’s girls home for the holidays.”

Relaxation: Grandma got up with Noah almost every day, cooked us lovely meals, and fattened us up with ANZAC cookies and Christmas pud’. Grandpa kept the fire going, fixed snowmobiles, hauled out sleds, and loaned us winter gear. Staying at Steve’s parents is fabulous. A log house on the lake, hot tub on the deck…Wait. Click this link for a few thousand words’ worth of pictures. (Steve’s parents rent out the house in the summer while they’re off hiking and kayaking, and generally worrying their poor children.)

So here we are, home again to early mornings, cooking for ourselves, working, bookkeeping, and all the rest.

A final, unrelated thought. What possible use is the highest setting on a toaster? So far, this is the only scenario I see: “Oh, Fire Inspector Jones! You say the fire started with the toaster? And nothing is left of my cramped, hopelessly-outdated kitchen. Oh, the tragedy!”