Merry Christmas!

It’s early morning and I’m waiting for Michael to wake up so we can open our Christmas presents. The little kid in me wants to pinch his nose until he wakes up to speed things along, but Santa still has time to take away gifts if I’m naughty.

I’ll be nice and sit here, try to be patient, sip my coffee and type out a Christmas message to all of you.

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Here in Edmonton, it is -24C (-29C with wind chill) this morning. The sky is inky black, with vapour clouds looming over the buildings. It is deliciously quiet. No trucks blading the accumulated snow on the roads, no brain spearing beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep of snow removal equipment stuck in reverse. All I hear is the hum of the refrigerator, the crackling Shaw fire log on TV, and the assuring tink tink BANG tink tink THUD of our hot water pipes heating our place so it is cozy (some say unbearably) hot. One little nudge on the thermostat and we are plunged into cardigan and sock donning chilliness. So we take hot.

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Thank you for reading Walsh Cooks. I enjoy writing this little blog of mine, and if it makes you smile, teaches you something, makes you roll your eyes, or even have a laugh, I am content.

To each of my viewers, from the one who tip-toed in from the Seychelles, to the hundreds of you from the UK to the thousands in North America, and everywhere else in between; whether you have children running amok this morning, if you are happy, sad, alone, too busy, too big, too small, sick, in pain, hungry, a bit kookie, homeless, deliriously happy, lonely, trying to sell me Ugg boots or in a place of heavenly peace, I wish you all joy and the miracles of the season.

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Signs of Christmas

A rutabaga in your cubicle is a sign of Christmas.

I bought this bad boy for my annual contribution to our family Christmas Dinner, the Turnip Puff.

A co-worker and admirer of door photographs, brought in some of his Moroccan wife’s bean dish for me try. A generous Christmas gesture gratefully received.

An amazing dish, which can be described as having garlic, beans, garlic, tomatoes, garlic, exotic spices, garlic. And we aren’t talking a little bit of garlic. We are talking WHOLE CLOVES OF GARLIC. It was delicious, hearty and a lovely lunch. I am waiting for a recipe that doesn’t exist, and am  hoping that he can glean some more details from the Mrs. so I can try my hand at this at home.

Sex seems to be the topic of the day. Lately. Just saying. Perhaps its the winter solstice, perhaps its us Canadians getting a bit squirrely with the weather, but today’s conversations included stories about testicles, as well as a telling video: I Just Had Sex. The fact it was sent to me because I was in a particularly good mood this morning is another matter, and I have to wonder why that’s the assumption. Maybe, just maybe, I had a really good floss.

What does sex have to with Christmas? Come on people. For the last 2010 years, everyone talks about Mary and Joseph this time of year, raising eyebrows and talking in hushed tones around the water hole, trough, well, pump, fountain, cooler.

That’s a banana. It has nothing to do with Christmas, but there is an on-going argument that is getting more wide-spread. Michael and I both peel the banana completely, and eat. “Some” people out there insist on being monkeys and eating them with the peel. Does it matter? Not at all. But its interesting that people even comment that there is a “right” or “wrong” way to eat a banana. Even though unwrapping it, disposing the peel, and pulling off the stringy bits, is the better way.

And lastly, Christmas is here when you wander through the Legislative grounds, see the lights, listen to the Christmas music, hear the carolers at night in the Rotunda, and see a happy sentinel snowman watching over the Ledge in the late afternoon.

Christmas time is good.