Christmas 2013

Christmas Again!

I thought I had  beaten the blues and actually responded quite cheerfully while I was out for coffee the other day with a friend.  She had read my first blog where I came out of the closet as a Christmas grinch.  Well not a grinch exactly just a deflated elf. She asked how it was going this year.

Surprised , I answered , good, quite happy really , no problems.  It was true.  I hadn’t given the season a thought other than buying a few gifts here and there and doing some baking , which is a self defeating occupation ; I have baked and eaten the Christmas bark three times.  The fourth batch might make it though the next three weeks.

I was taken off guard with the question about my annual blues.  And I was very pleased.  Perhaps this year I would get through without a tear………

Then today I heard a carol that set the water works aflow.  Tears streamed down my face as I gave  myself permission to mourn the people who are not going to be with me ever again for Christmas.  One new one this year is my childhood friend who died about eight months ago. I remembered her standing outside my door in her snowsuit , mittens and boots. Large snowflakes alighted on her head , nose, eyelashes.  She stuck out her tongue to catch them. She was about seven and it was the first snowfall.  “Come out. It’s snowing!”  Her enthusiasm was compelling and I rushed to get my suit on just to spend ten minutes in our magic kingdom of the first snowfall.

The memory is bitter sweet.  So many memories.  I should collect them and get comfort from them. But I find my heart grows heavy with the wanting them back again. Or maybe it is just that  I would like to share the memories with the people who were in them.  That is the sad part.

My “coffee “friend lost her mom only a few weeks ago.  She will have her moments too this season.

The only really bright light in this time of the year is in the luminescence of my grand children, especially my grand daughter who is four .   Her enthusiasm brings back the memory of the magic of Christmas.  Today she had to make a snow angel in a mere dusting of snow that covered our deck. Barely enough to swish into a design but she managed.  And I was happy watching her and thinking how wonderful it is to be young and untouched by heartache.  If I could grant one wish for us all it would be to have her imagination and joy.

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Delicious Christmas chews

Some recipes are so simple that I wonder why I wasn’t able to come up with them myself. This recipe is an adaptation of one that my daughter found on Pinterest.  I have changed some of it because the original required a  pan that was too big for my small oven .  It takes no more than 20 minutes to make and the same length of time to put an extra inch on your waistline.

You will need:

20 soda crackers |( salted or unsalted doesn’t matter)

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup butter ( not margarine)

1 cup chocolate chips

( optional)Coconut, craisins, nuts or other garnish

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Line a rectangular pan with foil wrap and grease the wrap lightly.  Spread the twenty crackers evenly over the pan to make a single layer.

Heat the butter and brown sugar in a sauce pan and bring to a boil till sugar has melted (about 6 minutes).

Pour this mixture over the crackers while still hot.

Bake in the oven for around 10 minutes  or till the sugar mixture is bubbling over the crackers.

Remove pan from the oven and drop the chocolate chips over the hot mixture.  Allow to sit for a few minutes till the chocolate has melted.  Spread evenly with a knife.  If you wish to add some crushed nuts ,  coconut, craisins or whatever strikes your fancy  do so now.

Let cool till the chocolate is no longer tacky and cut into squares or crack it into irregular shapes. Try not to eat it all in one sitting.

Enjoy!

Gray Christmas!

A year ago I wrote a post called Christmas Melancholy.  I looked it up again today .  I just wanted to see if there has been any change in my feeling about the season.  There is none.  The blues struck hard this morning.

I rose early , made my coffee and set out for Signal Hill.  There were two reasons to go there.  The first was I wanted to see where the sun rose on the first day of winter.  And the second was if there was to be a Mayan apocalyptic event I wanted a front row seat.  The latter was not the most important .  But while I was sitting on the hill I listened to the  local radio announcers give this non news event undeserving air time.  Go figure.

And the sunrise?  It was very unspectacular.  One would think that in view of the hype surrounding the day there would be at least a solar extravaganza.  I was out of luck.  It was the grayest, dullest, most uneventful dawn I have witnessed  among all the mornings I have gone to the hill this past year. Normally I would get some pleasure out of even the flat colourlessness of a predawn seascape .  I would marvel at the gray, blue- gray, black and silver lustre of a calm sea.  But not today.  After all it is almost Christmas.  I don’t do Christmas well.

It is a part of who I am that I have the blues at this time of the year.  So I choose today to wallow.  That is why I am writing.  I have to get it out of my system. I have to mourn the friends and family that are not here any more.  I must cleanse my mind of the thoughtlessness  and yes hurtfulness of people who are or have been a  part of my life . I must turn off CBC, CNN, CTV ….Some news events are just too much to bear and the “joyful season” makes them that much more poignant.

I will  make my mind put everything negative aside.

I will listen to Christmas carols, see friends, kiss my grandchildren , drink a glass of wine or two,  turn on the fireplace channel and put aside all the world events that can disturb my peace. And just in case it works, I will send out happy thoughts to all of you.

Merry Christmas!

How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ in Newfoundland

How the Grinch nearly Stole my Christmas

I thought it was an exaggeration.  I thought that only young people were guilty of it.  I thought that I would never be exposed to it.  I was wrong!

What are you talking about, you ask. I am referring to a recent Christmas outing  to a dinner theatre called How the Grinch Stole Christmas _ in Newfoundland.  It was my gift to me -big event of the year, expensive, dressy affair, with a group of women all middle aged or senior  and, unexpectedly for me , their i-phones.  ( I don’t have one)  There were six people.  Two  were empty handed , my friend and me.  Unfortunately she was not sitting next to me ; an i-phone with a human attached sat between us.

We made eye contact, my friend and I.  I could read her thoughts. You see we were more advanced than the others.  Our mental  acuity surpassed the electronic media.  We didn’t need a phone to communicate.

Her eyes said ; You see that?

Mine replied : yes, phones everywhere. Can you believe this?

I could read her thoughts.

Well isn’t this a wonderful social evening!

My mental response : Not very polite, are they?

Her quick upward flick of  eyebrows , twisted lip , and shrugging shoulders told me how she regarded our companions. I could read her thought : How boring!   Her yawn confirmed I had read correctly.

Four heads were looking downwards.  The faces reflected the glow of their gadgets.  Too bad they weren’t looking in mirrors to see the  twisted brows and biting lips of intense concentration.  I wondered if they were talking to someone, looking at pictures or playing solitaire.

I amused myself with chatting across the table to my friend using  telepathy, head movements and lip reading.

I tossed a glance around the dining hall .  To my amazement at the very next table sat a woman with the same glowing  face, head tilt and hand position of the Stepford clones that surrounded me.  She held her phone slightly beneath the lip of the table supposedly to  be unobtrusive.  Her friends seemed to be engaged in the primitive form of communication which consisted of lip movements ,vocalizations,  smiles, laughter, hand gestures and body language. I envied them and wondered how this misfit came to be seated there and not with our group.

It was fitting that the entertainment was  a  musical about the Grinch.  I wondered if he would have an i-phone too-   a sure way to ensure that all of  Whoville would rue the holiday season.

Travelling the Newfie Bullet

St. John’s was not a significant part of my life as a child.  Up to the year I started university in the capital city I had  been to “town” as we called it only once .  So the year I began my studies at MUN was very exciting to me for two reasons.  One, I would be totally responsible for myself , living away from my parents and two, I would experience life in a big city . I never thought I would actually look forward to going home for visits during Easter and Christmas breaks.  But I did.

I did not have a car.  Most students who came in from other parts of the island, didn’t. We relied on our two legs and city buses to get around.  When we went home during breaks we took either a plane or the train.  Flying was an affordable option then.  For twenty dollars and using my Swing Air card I could fly return to Gander.  Swing Air was a stand -by arrangement for students.  My father picked me up in Gander and we travelled by car for the remaining distance to Grand Falls. The total time from St. John’s airport to my front verandah was around two hours.

The train trip took much more time but it was very exciting.  One trip I remember well happened in January of 1967 or 68.   It is a memorable trip because that particular night something unusual happened.

I had gone to a dance at St. Joseph’s Parish in Windsor.  I kicked up my heels for a couple of hours before my father came to bring me to the station.  I got aboard along with scores of other students who were all heading back to the city.  We pulled out promptly  at 11:00 pm and headed for the next stop in Bishop’s Falls.  Once again the platform was lined off with students, suitcases, parents and other travellers .  There were so many people that more cars had to be added.  Three hours later we were still in Bishop’s Falls , a mere ten miles from home.  No wonder the train was jokingly, however affectionately, given the name Newfie Bullet. In fact I would wager  there are few people who would know the real name of the train was the Caribou.

As the train chugged along there was a constant stream of chatter and laughter. Some people were in various states of inebriation, seeing it was a weekend and they’d had lots of time to down a few drinks before coming aboard.  And there was the hidden bottle that would be surreptitiously shared from a brown paper bag.  And at that time you could smoke to your heart’s delight anywhere. A cloud of smoke didn’t just hang in the air.  It mixed with the air thick and heavy from ceiling to floor. We all breathed it in, smokers and non smokers alike and no one complained.  It was a fact of life.  People smoked in cars, taxis, airplanes , hospitals, university classrooms , school staffrooms and doctors did in their offices.  It was as common as smog  in Bangkok  or fog in St. John’s.  You might as well pee  in the wind as complain in those days.

The only chance of getting away from all the smoke and noise was to go out on the break  which was the area where two cars were joined. It was  a section of the train  where you  embarked or disembarked and it was enclosed except for two half doors that served as gates  absolutely  necessary when the alcohol was flowing freely.   On this particular night I decided to go out and fill my lungs.

There was nothing but darkness.  The sky was overcast and there were a few flurries.  I could see the outline of trees rush past and little else.  No stars shone in the sky .    I was the only person out there so a peaceful feeling  settled over me.  The regular rhythm of the wheels on the rails , the sway of the floor beneath me and the distant sounds of people talking in the car was soothing .  I was alone but not lonely.  I stood hypnotized by the chugging  engine and the touch of the air as it gently lifted my hair and glanced off my cheek.  I stood like this for about ten minutes.

The events of Christmas ran through my head.  I reflected on the season and what it represented.  The memory of Christmas Eve , the Salvation Army musicians playing Silent Night under the light pole just outside our house and the story of the shepherds in the field on that first Christmas night.   All of it played its part in giving me a sense of wonder.  I could envision the scene with the shepherds  and the wise men.  I could see the star in the sky.

I looked up………rubbed my eyes.  Something strange was in the sky.  Way up above the train.

It was a cross!

We chugged along.  It floated above and to the side .  Then we travelled  under it. and past it,  till it faded into the night.

I had seen a cross  in the heavens!   No doubt about it.

I couldn’t tell anyone.  They would never believe me.  I headed back into the car, found my seat and sat down.  For the remainder of the trip I gazed out the window thinking I might see it again and I would watch the other passengers to see their reaction.  There was nothing out of the ordinary so far.

I began to feel holy.  Yes, holy.  Surely I was being “called”.  I knew I should have done missionary work.  It had crossed my mind.  I must give it some thought once again.

The train continued on for another hour or so.   We arrived at St. John’s station after a thirteen hour trip.  The news reported the next day that it was the longest passenger train that had to that point travelled the tracks in Newfoundland. There was even a film clip of it .   There was no mention of any unusual event or sighting.  To my knowledge I was the only one who had noticed the cross.

As time went by I gave up any thought of becoming a missionary which is just as well because I found out I had not been “called”.  My next trip by train was in the daylight.  As we approached Holyrood I happened to be looking out the window and what did I see once again?  The cross.  No divine intervention was responsible.  It was obviously a human construction firmly planted on the top of a hill well above the railway track.

Happy Birthday ! Merry Christmas! # 2

Just got back from  a birthday party. That’s right.  A birthday party.   December 24th . How rotten is that!  Sharing your birthday every year of your life with the most celebrated name in the western world.   Credit cards maxed out , and it is your birthday.  I wonder what Chinese cracker  jack toys he got as presents  when he was little.   Can’t  imagine a worse time to be born!   Who went to his tenth , eleventh or twelfth birthday?  And imagine the night he was born.  Sixty years ago.  Nurses and doctors working on Christmas eve?  Did they get overtime back then?  At least today they are smiling in aniticipation of the nice  check their sacrifice will earn them. But 60 years ago did he slide into the light  in a shroud of guilt?   Oh Excuse me.  You are missing Christmas Eve with your kids?  I’ll just crawl back in there and wait till after N ew Years. Poor child!   He’s  already lost the competition if he tries to outshine Jesus Christ.

No one puts a tree  up for him in December .  And with  that light bill and the cost of Christmas decorations, he is lucky  to have candles for the cake.  My advice to a Christmas baby ? Take the Christmas gift  you would have gotten anyway and count your lucky stars there is no manger in the area.    You’re lucky anyone remembers your day at all.

Just imagine all the scarred people who have birthdays in December.

Anyway the party was very nice.  The birthday boy turned 60 today,  a very special occasion.  Very  special ocassion.  Pension here I come.  Yeah !  I can afford candles.

Anyway so much for him.  It is me I am here to talk about.  Me and aging.

Let me say.   I was the oldest person at the party.   Chronologically  that is .  Actually having a very healthy and active ego I thought there were others who were older than me. And I couldn’t understand why there was no surprise when I very subtly let drop my age.  Why I even engaged several very young , twenty plus year olds in conversation, which lasted a good half hour or so.   They seemed happy to talk about themselves. Who isn’t ?  And one thing I am really good at is getting  people to talk. Plus  there are definitely advantages to being old.  Nobody thinks you are prying when you ask questions  because they figure you don’t have many years left .  Their secrets are safe with you and will probably go no further than the grave.

The martinis were really good too.

Ah those martinis were really good. There I go repeating myself again.  I never did see the bottom of my glass because Birthday Boy made sure it never saw daylight.  And  two hours later I  managed to veto inner wish to crawl out the front door in favour of  walking  out under my own steam.  Now I am home.  It is 11:45.  In 15 minutes there will be another birthday celebration .  But I will join that party around the tree at dawn.  Good night. God bless! Happy Birthday.  Never mind Merry Christmas.  Happy Birthday.

Did I say the martinis were good?

Christmas Memories of life in Grand Falls Newfoundland

You might wonder why I didn’t use Grand Falls- Windsor and Newfoundland Labrador in my title.   Well the time I am writing about is before the birth of those cumbersome names .  So when I speak of Grand Falls I am referring only to the part of the existing town that starts at The Exploits River and stretches north  to the area of Greenwood Ave and possibly another street or two beyond.

It was traditional that every year around Christmas time the entire population of the elementary school would get a special treat. There would be one afternoon when there were no classes.  Instead we’d pile on our jackets , mittens and boots  and walk two by two  towards the downtown part of the community.  We were invited to go to a matinee at the theatre on High Street, compliments of Charlie Edwards the owner and town deputy  mayor.  It was a special treat for and my sister and me  as movies were off limits to us.  How fascinating to enter  the semi lit theatre ! At the front on a low stage stood a large  tree cloaked in bright coloured lights and long tinsel streamers. The tree would flash a blue colour one instan tand a green the next.   A n enormous red velvet curtain in the background accentuated the festive decor. You don’t see curtains in front of screens these days but there is something special about that moment when they part and the projector  kicks in to present the antics of  Tweety bird and the Roadrunner.And  there is little that can match the delightful hum of childrens voices filling a theatre  on a school day.   And to think the teachers agreed to let us miss classes to do this!  As a child it never occurred to me that they would enjoy the break too.  I had to become a teacher myself before that realization came to me.

High street was the main street in the town and there you would find the Royal Stores, the Co-op store, the Bay or Bowrings , the drug store, Alteens jewellers, the town hall and the post office.  There were  a couple of restaurants , a bake shop, candy store and building supplies store.  Our school was on the same street too until they built newer ones uptown when we got into junior high grades.  But the street itself was interesting.  It was very wide and at one end there was an island with a stone cone shaped “dummie” in the centre.  On the top of the “dummie was a light or beacon.  I don’t know if it ever lit up.  My memory fails me.  Beyond this round about there used to be a hotel and just across from  it was a park.  Today there is a bank there.  But I remember the park and its benches.  At Christmas the town erected a massive Christmas tree which really was many trees fastened to a frame.  That tree must have been about 30 or 40 feet high and when it was lit up it was very impressive.

And there was also the Christmas concert.  When I was in primary school in the mid 50’s the concerts were held in the Town Hall which if you visit the town now, houses the municipal offices.  The building looks the same outside but when you enter you see nothing of the auditorium , stage and wings that I remember from my childhood. All concerts were held there as well as the Kiwanis Music festival.  I remember little about my stage appearances but there are little snippets.  For example I remember a little pony on wheels when we were in Kindergarten.  One of the boys in my class , Christopher, rolled it out onto the stage while he sang  , I may be little , I may be small Giddyap giddyap boys It doesn’t bother me at all Gidyap giddyap boys My pony is my bronco he’s my pride and joy and even though I’m little I’m a real cow boy so  giddyyap  giddyyap  giddyyap giddyyap  giddyyap  giddyyap   boys    giddyyap  giddyyap  giddyyap  giddyyap          g i d d y  Y     A    P   BOYS!

It is almost sixty years later and I still remember that song.  I sang it to my children when they were young as I bounced them up and down on my legs.  Today my two year old grand daughter is the cowboy and when we get to the end of the song  she takes a deep breath and shouts  BOYS.

My own part in this production was a breeze.  And I mean  I starred as a Breeze. Sound strange?  I always have to explain that one.  I was a breeze , You know.  A gentle wind.  North south east or west .  I’m not sure which one.  My  costume was made entirely from crepe paper .  It was a pink tunic with long strips of paper hanging from the waist and shoulders so they would flutter  as if a breeze were moving them.  I remember my mother’s reaction when I told her I was a breeze in the school play.  I can imagine  she was at  her wits end as to what the costume would be.  And if I remember correctly Mrs. Ivany another parent eased my mothers burden and made the costumes as her daughter was a breeze too.  I don’t remember if I spoke in the play.  But it didn’t matter because my mom and dad were as proud as peacocks to see my debut and I was just as proud to be giving it.

That was a fabulous experience for all of us as it still is for many children today .  But one activity that you rarely see today is choral speech. We did it  as part of the choir practise but it seems to have lost its attraction these days.  It was good for our memories and exposed us to some poems that I remember still  for example John Masefield’s Sea Fever and another unknown ( to me) poet’s , Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore  .  I don’t believe the Christmas concert restricted itself to only Christmas items as the concerts are inclined to do today.  But my memory may be taking in many different experiences and combining them. But all in all the concerts were special in our community.

I don’t recall the lengthy build up to Christmas that there is today.  The shopping was generally restricted to The Eaton’s and Sears Catalogue.  And we had our parents well versed in what not to buy and what to buy.  Usually there would be one main item of interest.  I recall wanting a doll.  I had told my mother and she did her best to get it for me but unfortunately that one sold out before she could order it so I got a replacement .  It was just as good as the one I’d wanted so I was happy.  A week or so before Christmas Eve I would spend searching through closets , under the beds and in drawers to see if I could find the presents.  Some times I had success but as I grew older I lost the desire to know and preferred the surprise on Christmas morning.

Christmas Eve I remember especially for the visit from the Salvation Army band.  They would cover the streets of the town and stop under various light poles and play Christmas Carols.  I really enjoyed that and it is one of my most pleasant memories.  I didn’t know then but I think now that they did this to raise money .  Someone would always come and knock on the door .  I thought they did it just to wish us a merry Christmas but now I think it was probably to solicit a donation.  Nonetheless the memory is special to me. It epitomized the spirit of Christmas .

And I wanted to believe in Santa even when I had reached the age of 11 or 12 where reason prevailed.  But I clung to the hope that it was all real and almost convinced myself that I could hear the reindeer and Santa land on my roof.  When I was very young I actually crept down the stairs to a turn where I could peek over the rail and gain a view of the fireplace.   It was my hope to catch the jolly old man at his deliveries.

We hung stockings.  We were lucky enough to have a red brick fireplace which resembled the ones we saw in the magazines and story books of the day.  And the grout was actually white.  Today it would be challenging to find a fireplace like that. And our stockings were not fancy or elaborate.  They were usually just our ordinary everyday stocking.  And if we were really optimistic we would hang a long stocking, the kind that required garters or suspenders , and  let them dangle from the mantle to the hearth.

In the morning the stockings held very simple things like fruit, chocolate or books of lifesavers.  Those lifesavers were really neat.  Toys were meant for under the tree and whatever we received we were happy with .

The next day we spent visiting our friends to see what gifts Santa had brought them.  And of course we ate chips, chocolates and drank soft drinks like there was no tomorrow.  And during the following days every family member got to see every relative which was quite a lot of visiting in the days where uncles and aunts were numerous.  An average sized family when our parents were young was five or six children.  So we were blessed with at least ten to twelve aunts and uncles and their spouses. Then counting  in their children you would have over seventy close relatives.  That was a lot of people to buy gifts for.  But generally gift giving was for the children and from children to parentsand grand parents.

When my own children were young they had two aunts and uncles , three cousins and three grandparents. Ours was a small family but not unusual.  And that size  is even more common today.

And Christmas and snow just went together.  You could count on it.  Icicles clung to the roofs. And when television came to our town in the late 50’s we watched Shirley Temple movies.  Before that we ran home from school to listen to the radio and the series Jonathan Thomas and Christmas on the Moon.  It was all so exciting , so uncomplicated and short.  We didn’t celebrate for three months.  At the most it was two weeks.  And then everything went back to normal till the next Christmas.

Christmas Melancholy

Why can’t I be filled with the joy of the season?  Why is it that it is the saddest time of the year for me?  A glittery foil covered ornament that reminds me of childhood days brings tears to my eyes. Silent Night or Oh Holy Night arouses the memory of my father who has been gone for over twenty years. And I ache to have him here with us again.   It is expected that one be happy  smiley and filled with wonderment when Christmas arrives.  And there are no doubt many people who absolutely love Christmas.  I wish I were one.  But to be honest I feel very sombre and quite emotional as the holiday gets closer.  Am I alone in this?

For me there is a lot of pressure to do things that do not come naturally to me.  I am not , for example , a shopper.  I hate to shop for myself and am even more averse to shopping  for  an appropriate gift for someone else.  And I do not want gifts that are bought in a store.  The best gift a person can give me is the pleasure of their company and the assurance that they are enjoying my company as well.  I am needy.  I need to feel appreciated and loved.  And gifts by themselves do not do it for me.

This year my only grandchild will have her first Christmas where she is aware of Santa Claus, presents, trees and all the commercial lore that comprises the event.  I am hoping that I will ,through her, experience the magic that has become a vague memory to me.

Let it Go

Recently I have concerned myself with  “letting go”.  The deaths of several people close to me have given me reason to think about how I live my life from day to day , how satisfied I feel, and just what does give me joy. Realizing they no longer have the option  to appreciate the rain, grandchildren, morning coffee  or any of the simple things I take for granted, I began to rethink what is important.   In addition I have turned to learning more about Buddhism.  So I looked up a few sites on You Tube and came across several recordings of Buddhist monks who were speakers at seminars.  Among them was  Pena Chodron and Ajahn Brahm. The latter gave a speech , Four Ways of Letting Go that resonated with me.  It is worth listening to.

It seems that in the world today there is a lot of holding on to thoughts, beliefs and things that harm us and others who are travelling the path with us.  That is no great revelation , I am sure  How many of us really question the value of  what we hold on to and attache great value to .

As long as we attach to anything we are never really free to grow to our full potential spiritually.  The only truly free journey we take is when we die. We reliquish it all and journey alone to whatever comes next, if anything.

Listening to and thinking about letting go I had the urge to examine the song from Frozen that has that title.  I was wowed by the simplicity of the images and the profundity of the message whether or not the lyricists intended the layers of meaning .  Beyond the story of Elsa and Anna there is a message about life in general that we all could learn from.  I am including the lyrics in this post so you can think about it too and garner what meaning you can from it.

Need I say that I think this is a fantastic , insightful piece of poetry.

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I’m the queen.
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn’t keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Don’t let them in, don’t let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.
Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go!
Can’t hold it back any more.
Let it go, let it go!
Turn away and slam the door.
I don’t care what they’re going to say.
Let the storm rage on.
The cold never bothered me anyway.

It’s funny how some distance,
makes everything seem small.
And the fears that once controlled me, can’t get to me at all
It’s time to see what I can do,
to test the limits and break through.
No right, no wrong, no rules for me.
I’m free!

Let it go, let it go.
I am one with the wind and sky.
Let it go, let it go.
You’ll never see me cry.
Here I’ll stand, and here I’ll stay.
Let the storm rage on.

My power flurries through the air into the ground.
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I’m never going back; the past is in the past!

Let it go, let it go.
And I’ll rise like the break of dawn.
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone
Here I stand, in the light of day.

Let the storm rage on!
The cold never bothered me anyway…

Songwriters
ROBERT LOPEZ, KRISTEN ANDERSON-LOPEZ

Read more: Idina Menzel – (Disney’s Frozen) Let It Go Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Arrow Air Crash

This is quite a different post from my past ones.  I travelled to central Newfoundland a few weeks and as I approached Gander I saw the sign for Silent Witness ,the site of the Arrow Air crash of 1985.  I remembered how that tragedy impacted so many people at the time.  I had been bothered by the event for many years to the point that I would not get on a plane to travel anywhere without having to take a pill to calm my nerves.  Thankfully I am past that now.  But that morning as I drove past I was compelled to visit the memorial that had been erected to all those young people who lost their lives just before Christmas in 1989.  It was very moving to stand there and read through the list of names, see the wreaths that had been placed there by loved ones and hear nothing but the sound of the breeze in the silence of a wood overlooking the lake.

I took pictures that tell it all.  No words of mine could do better.  If you wish to read the plaques, click on the picture to enlarge.Image

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