Christmas Eve, Midnight Mass

Growing up, my favourite part of Christmas was always Midnight Mass. This was back when midnight masses were actually at midnight.

I would be a little bit giddy from being up so late.

I would be a little bit squished because the church was so full.

I would watch as those coming in from the local pub would make their way to the only remaining seats at the front of the church.

I would watch them as they fell asleep.

I would listen to and sing along with my father as he sang those beautiful Christmas hymns, sometimes in Latin, that most ancient of languages.

I loved the stained glass windows reaching high up for the ceiling. The acoustics in the archs reflecting the angel voices below

I remember the humble nativity scene where I would stand in wonder as I looked down at the face of little baby Jesus asleep in a manger of hay.

I loved looking up as large, white, flakes of Christmas snow fell from the wintery sky as we exited the church.

For this short period of time, we were all the same.

……………………………………………………………………..

Tonight the mass was at 9:30pm and I am wide awake.

The church is not as full. There are a few but not many, empty pews

I had forgotten the beauty of this old historical building. The qualities of the wood, the curvature of the arches, and choir rail. The ornate statues that graced not just the altar area but also the sides and back of the church.

I had forgotten the smells of the incense and the sound of the bells and the folded hands of the altar boys.

The voices of the choir that rang through the choir were divine. My father’s voice was missing, but he was probably listening.

The faith of the people was strong and obvious.

A nativity scene graced the back of the church, beckoning the children, both young and old, to stop and wonder at the face of the little baby Jesus.

I’m very happy that we decided to stop by tonight.

…………………………………………………………………

John 3:16 “For God so loved the world, that he gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.”

The Sounds of Christmas..

‘*Ring the bells that still* can ring. *Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’ Lenard Cohen*

White Chapel bells rang through the Simcoe County Museum during their Victorian Christmas celebrations, playing Christmas Carols as their audience quietly sang along.

White Chapel bells are also the makers of the Liberty Bell, and the bell that rings from England’s Tower of Big Ben.

Love when a small community gathers together, in a beautiful church, for an old-fashioned Carol sing.

All the while caring for the more vulnerable members of their town.

*The Huronia Symphony Orchestra presents ‘A Swinging Christmas.’*‘

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me what sounded like twelve drummers drumming,

Eleven organs pipes the walls bedecking.

Ten brass instruments deep tones richly playing.

Nine woodwind instruments gracefully their melancholy sounds making.

Eight violins, times two, quivering.

Seven strings a stringing, with cellos and the beautiful upright bass richly haunting.

Six trays of cookies for eating.

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS

Four children for Santa watching.

Three conductors being amazing.

Two piano players vibrating.

AND ONE SOLD OUT CROWD!!!!!!

*Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!*

Christmas Carols from the Forest Floor

On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, and Vixen

The Holiday Train

After 25 years of the Holiday Train stopping in our area on its journey through Canada and the United States collecting food and funds for local Food Banks, we were finally able to witness the event.

We followed our Mayor from the Simcoe County Museum through a winter wonderland of pine trees and snow to the spot where the train would come to a stop. Along the way, our Mayor gave us a quick education on controlled burns, tree planting, and the tree Museum.

We met jolly old St. Nicholas, dropped off our donation for our local Food Bank, zipped hot chocolate, and enjoyed the music of the Anyway Gang.

I dropped by our local food bank about eight months ago offering my services as a volunteer. They added my name to their waiting list. Prehaps I’ll get a call in the new year.

Giving Tuesday

Matthew 25:40, ‘The King will reply,’I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'”

Giving Tuesday, founded in Canada, in 2013, is a wonderful way of focusing on giving instead of consuming.

Active in more than 80 countries, its common mission is to make giving a part of everyday life.

Matthew 25:45, “‘He will reply, ‘ I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'”

Scars

A scar
is but a jagged line.
Left for years 
to refine.

The pain is big.
The pain is small.
Sometimes,
there is no pain at all.

There is a scar
in the tree,
from where 
this branch used to be.

The blue birds move
nearer the tree.
Nearer the tree,
but further from me.

Oh, to be a squirrel….

Oh, to be a squirrel

Find a comfy branch

Give your tail a swirl.

Find a nut!

Sit on your butt!

Keep your mouth shut!

Maybe, a chair

Can relax your hair.

Knowing that there is nothing

You need to share.

When you don’t have a nest

But need a little rest

Sit on someone else’s house

Leave a big mess.

Give a loud scream

You’re not very mean.

Oh, to be a squirrel

In this crazy old world.

Pumpkin Patches

There was a little pumpkin 

in a pumpkin patch.

He sat amongst them,

smiling, 

Looking at his stash.

There were orange pumpkins

white pumpkins, yellow pumpkins,

And pink pumpkins too.

Perfect for a big batch

Of delicious pumpkin stew!

Tiny wee ones,

Ones with tiny tails.

All scattered playfully

Amongst the hay bales.

He is a precious little pumpkin 

This beautiful baby boy,

Brought into this world,

Spreading great joy!

Singhampton Sculpture Forest…..

Birthday tea, in the forest.

Tucked neatly into the forests of Singhampton, you will find Studio 124.

Surrounded by trees and art, the Singhampton Sculpture Forest is a forest of art and trees.

The sculptures and the art are the creations of artist Marion Bartlett.

Frank and his friend, Frank the Frog.

Faces in the forest.

Joy, pure joy.

Take a walk in my shoes….enjoy the breeze , coming through the trees.

The art of reflection….seeing ourselves in so many different ways.

The door through the forest, it is always open.

Feeling the healing powers of the forest….

When Your Right Hand Can’t Right….

What do you write
when you're writing hand
can't write.

Try as you might,
you just can't get it right. 

It's either too dark,
or maybe it's too light.

Or prehaps I'm gripping 
my pencil to tight.

It's becoming a fright,
this inability to write.

I may fight,
this desire to write.

It gives me a fright, 
as I sit here all night,
bathed in artificial light.

Studying this hand on my right,
which, at this moment, 
cannot write.

Try as I might,
I can't allow my left hand
to take over for the right. 

To write.....