Over the years, I’ve shared many of my favourite things about the holidays. To me, Christmas has never been about one day, or the presents under the tree. It’s about all the small moments and simple joys that make this time of year special and bring me happiness and peace.
Frosty cold mornings and snow laden trees And favourites like Elf, Home Alone and White Christmas on TV
Pretty green garlands of fresh spruce and pine Glasses of egg nog, hot cocoa and wine
Local church concerts and carols sung on high Finding the perfect gift then waiting for the Amazon guy
Filling the gaps in our old Christmas tree With shiny bright lights, homemade ornaments and memories
White chocolate-dipped Oreos and Mrs. Garrett’s butter tarts Nanaimo bars and haystacks and shortbreads cut in hearts
Candles glowing softly and red cardinals in the air Reminders of those we’ve lost but still with us everywhere
Bowie and Crosby, The Pogues and Buble Handel’s Messiah king of kings on Christmas Day
Gatherings with neighbours and laughter with friends A time to reflect and to make amends
Fighting over the chocolate in the advent calendar And constantly refilling the Scotch mint candy jar
The anticipation Christmas Day brings These are a few of my favourite things
This week’s #HappyAct is to enjoy your favourite things in the lead up to the holidays. What are your favourites?
Don’t let anyone tell you there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
This past month, I’ve enjoyed four free lunches, making me an official pensioner. I come by it honestly. The Swinton family motto after all is, “You can call me anything you want, just don’t call me late for dinner.”
My first free lunch was the annual Celebration of Friends of Empire Life retirees and 25-year employees. It was a wonderful afternoon of catching up with old friends and colleagues at the Kingston Marriott. Three hours flew by, and I realized I didn’t get a chance to talk to even half the people that were there.
My second free lunch was a thank you from my dear friend Pamela who is turning 92 this month. I drive Pamela to writing class every other Friday and she suggested we have lunch before class at Hattie’s Cove, the Senior’s Centre restaurant. They offer a free lunch to members each month celebrating a birthday.
My last two free lunches were volunteer appreciation luncheons hosted by South Frontenac Township and Southern Frontenac Community Services where Dave and I volunteered this summer in their garden. They were catered by Rampart Kitchens, a wonderful local caterer and we enjoyed eating the delicious Greek-themed meals, chatting with other volunteers in our community and listening to live music at the Grace Centre.
So, the next time someone tells you there’s no such thing as a free lunch, follow the Swinton rule.
The holiday season and New Year always provide ample opportunities to snag free nosh. Shop at stores that offer free hot chocolate and snacks, attend a dinner or craft night at your local church, or watch for invitations to a New Year’s Levee in your community. Many service groups or churches also offer a free Christmas or holiday meal at this time of year. Happy munching!
Note: While this post is meant to be tongue in cheek and a thank you for my free lunches this past month, food insecurity is a growing issue in many communities. Food Banks are in desperate need of donations, so if you are able to give, please give to your local food bank this holiday season. And if you live in South Frontenac, the Verona Lions host a free Christmas dinner every year on December 25 at noon at the Verona Lions Hall. They ask you register on their website so they have an idea of numbers.
Conversation with Clare over FaceTime this morning. She’s cooking a turkey for the first time for her friends in Halifax. We’re in the car driving to our local conservation area to walk off last night’s Thanksgiving dinner:
“I’m cooking a turkey for our Friendsgiving tonight. How long do I cook it for?”
Dave: “How many pounds is it?”
“18 pounds.”
“6 hours at 350 then.”
“6 hours? I ain’t got time for dat.”
“I hope it’s unfrozen. Did you take it out of the freezer?”
“I don’t know, it’s been in the fridge.”
“You better check to make sure it’s unfrozen or it won’t be ready in time. What time are you having dinner?”
“6 pm” (it’s 12 noon in Halifax already). Yells to her roommates: “Make sure you turn the fire alarm off”. Then, “How do I tell if it’s unfrozen?”
“Stick your hand inside it and see if it’s hard.”
“Oh lordie, lordie that’s cold. It’s a little hard but I think it’s mainly unfrozen. What do I do next?”
“You have to look for the neck and giblets and take them out.”
“Jib what?”
“Giblets. They’ll be in a little bag.”
“Okay, I got them. What was the other thing?”
“The neck.”
“Huh?”
“It looks like 4-inch penis. You have to pull it out.”
“I don’t see anything that looks like that.”
I’m laughing so hard at this point I miss the turn to the conservation area. Dave has to stop giving turkey instructions to give me road directions.
Dave: “There might not be a neck. Not all turkeys come with the neck and it’s okay to cook it with the neck in if it is there.”
“Okay, now what do I do?”
“Just add some water to the bottom of the pan, cover it up and put it in the oven.”
At this point, she gets distracted and starts talking to Grace about her outfit. “Is that a pink Lululemon top? I love it.”
Grace: “Yeah, I’ll bring it to Halifax when I come see you on the weekend so you can steal it from me.”
She finally finishes covering up the turkey with foil and puts it in the oven. She holds up her happy face oven mitts wide with pride.
“Happy Turkey Day guys.”
To all my loyal readers, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. We were grateful for the family, friends and laughter around our table last night but missed our loved ones far away.
Confession time. I am an addict. I am a candy-a-holic.
It’s been 12 hours since I had my last candy (and it’s only 8 o’clock in the morning).
My favourite hit lately has been a handful of black balls followed by a bump of humbugs, right before bedtime.
The inscription on my tombstone will read, “She died doing what she loved best. Choking on a black ball.”
The OG of candy is penny candy. Before Stephen Harper’s Conservatives got rid of the penny in 2013, a penny could still buy something.
Every time we would go to a cottage or on a road trip, we would stock up on penny candy. Dave and I once drove all the way to Yellowstone National Park on a tub of sour keys and ju jubes.
At the cottage, penny candy is like gold. Sometimes it’s for sharing, sometimes it’s for hoarding. We’ve even had people steal each other’s penny candy in the dead of the night, or worse in broad daylight. The screams of horror and dismay were heard across the lake when the victims discovered their stash was stolen the next morning.
Some friends invite people over for beers and charcuterie, our friends would invite people on the island over for watermelon and peach sours, strawberry and banana cream chews and black balls.
You can spot a candyhead a mile away. I once worked with a guy who went to the gym every day at lunch. This isn’t noteworthy, except for the fact Mike hated working out. I asked him if he hated going to the gym every day, why did he do it? He had an addiction to candy and refused to give it up, so the only way he could manage his weight was to work out every day.
Not all penny candy or candy stores are created equal. Black balls are like a rare black pearl in the candy world. Not all candy shops carry them.
At 60 years of age, I am still discovering new sugar sensations. On our last trip to the Maritimes, I discovered Bonds of London Rhubarb and Custard “sugar-coated rhubarb and vanilla flavoured boiled sweets” (the British have such a lovely way of making candy sound high-brow). Absolutely divine.
Then there are brands that keep reinventing themselves, like Popeye cigarettes, or “candy sticks” which changed their name in 2000 when they realized promoting smoking with kids was maybe not a good idea.
Remember jawbreakers (or gobstoppers if you’re in the United States)? In Grade 8 at lunch time, we’d go to the local convenience store and buy these long-lasting treats that resembled a golf ball with layers and layers of flavours inside them. They were so hard, you could lose a filling if you stopped sucking and chomped down on one. (Fun fact: if you google jawbreaker, one of the searches that comes up is “Can a jawbreaker stop a bullet?”)
You also must have discerning taste when it comes to where you satiate your sugar rush. You have your new, modern high-brow stores like I Love Sugar in Myrtle Beach or Ricardo’s Kandy Korner in the Eaton Centre in Toronto. Sure, they have bins and bins of candy and spaces so sterile you could eat candy you dropped by accident or on purpose right off the floor, but I prefer the good ol’ fashioned general store candy with creaky wooden floors, bins with proper lids, and tiny pincers to fish for the perfect treasure.
Yes, there are Allsorts of candy in this world, you just need to be a kid in a candy store to reach for the sugar high.
Ed note: An interesting side note, one of my most read blog posts is The Ultimate Frozen Treat on the Lola. Do you remember Lolas? Still miss them!
Canada Day is just around the corner, and nothing says summer more than the most unpretentious of barbecue delicacies, the hot dog.
My brother was legendary at eating hot dogs. He once ate 17 hot dogs at a friend’s barbecue when we were kids.
To celebrate summer and pay homage to the humble hot dog, I recently visited the mecca of franks, Easterbrooks Hot Dog Stand in Burlington.
Easterbrooks has been serving up hot dogs for 95 years. And not just any dogs, footlong weiner masterpieces like the Tear Jerker, a 12 inch dog topped with pepper jack cheese, jalapenos and chipotle sauce and The Belly Buster, topped with melted cheese, mustard, bacon, fried onion, chili and tomato.
When you drive into their parking lot, you feel like you’ve been transported back in time to the 1950s. Red picnic tables pepper the front of the small white building that looks like it belongs more in a beach movie than in a nice neighbourhood in Burlington.
The inside of the place looks like a 50’s diner too with black and white checkered paint and tiles, Coca Cola Classic signs and newspaper clippings all over the wall. A chalkboard at the end of the counter proudly proclaims “Since 1930 we have served over 1823 miles of hot dogs”.
Easterbrooks first opened in 1926 when its matriarch, Mable Easterbrook opened a tea room. In 1930, she started selling hot dogs and the family-run business has been selling dogs ever since (one of the owners brought out our order).
I ordered a Hound Dog, a 12-inch dog with aged cheddar, peameal bacon and sauerkraut while Dave, the OG hot dog lover, went for The Original. The dogs were tasty, but it was the fresh bun with the light crust on the outside and delicious soft chewy inside that made their offerings top dogs worthy of best in show. Their fries were delicious too, not oily, but crispy with a light-coated topping.
As we sat outside toasting the start of summer, all I could think of was how much my brother would have loved this place.
This week’s #HappyAct is to have a hot diggedy dog summer. I hope there are some franks in your future this weekend. Happy Canada Day!
Is there any happier time of the day than happy hour?
It’s the perfect excuse to stop what you’re doing, especially if you’re working, take a load off, enjoy some cheap food you don’t have to make yourself, glug back some cheap drinks, and catch up with new or old friends.
On our recent trip to the Maritimes to pick up Clare from school, it was pouring rain on our final day in St. Andrew’s by the Sea. After seeing the sights through windshield wipers on high speed, and dodging puddles and downpours as we browsed the local shops, we dried off at the beautiful historic Kennedy House Inn where we were staying and popped downstairs for their happy hour from 3-5 for half-price wings and pitchers of beer.
As we played darts and watched the ball game on the big screen TV in their bar, we started chatting with the “locals”, most of whom had moved to this picturesque seaside town from Ontario in the past few years. It was the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon.
“Happy hour” was born in the late 19th century, when social clubs in North America started planning activities in the late afternoon, such as dancing, quilting, games and lectures. They actually included the name “Happy Hour Club” in their titles.
In 1913, the US Navy adopted the idea of happy hour when a group of sailors who called themselves the Happy Hour Social started hosting twice weekly events aboard the USS Arkansas. The navy prohibited alcohol on ships, so the focus of the hour was on entertainment like boxing bouts, movies, and music.
It wasn’t until the prohibition years, the 1920s and 1930s when young people flocked to speakeasies to eat and drink at all hours of the day that alcohol figured prominently in happy hour.
Restaurants and bars quickly realized they could lure patrons in earlier in the day by offering discounted food and drinks before the busy dinner rush and the modern version of the happy hour was born.
In a cruel, cruel joke, I had just turned drinking age when the Ontario government decided to ban happy hour in 1984, claiming it promoted drinking and driving. The government relaxed its rules in 2019 and happy hour happily has made a comeback in the past five years. Now just about every bar or restaurant offers some kind of happy hour specials.
What’s your favourite spot for happy hour? Leave a comment and share the happy!
I made a new friend last night. His name was Alan.
Alan was sitting alone reading the Globe and Mail and sipping a pint of Stella when Dave and I wandered into the Toucan pub in Kingston last night, killing time between two movies at the Kingston Canadian Film Festival.
We got to talking, as strangers are wont to do in a bar, the conversation starting with Trump and the situation in the US, then veering into Alan’s fascinating life.
A son of a diplomat, Alan spent his childhood living around the world in countries like Afghanistan, Pakistan, the Belgian Congo, Lebanon, Portugal, Spain, and Sweden. He shared one story from the time when he was a boy in Pakistan of one of the British dignitaries’ wives separating the children into teams of colonials versus locals for games at a British garden party.
When he graduated from university, he became a land technician with the Ministry of Natural Resources, a job he said he absolutely adored. One project he led was researching all the treaties to create Petroglyphs Provincial Park in Peterborough. He shared how for thousands of years, the various Indigenous peoples of that region took turns scraping the moss from the Teaching Rocks, passing down the teachings from generation to generation.
When I had jokingly said we’d be better off if women were in leadership positions around the world when we were talking about Trump, he smiled and leaned in and talked more about the belief of Indigenous Peoples in Gitche Manitou, the “goddess of supreme being” and how women in Indigenous cultures were tasked with the most important role, taking care of the home and children.
After his time with the MNR, Alan founded his own communications company and started doing documentary work. He travelled to the Congo in 1995 to document the outbreak of Ebola. The stories he shared were fascinating. He said both the US and Russian armies were present, but not to help the dying and suffering. They were there to see if they could weaponize the virus. That never made it into the film.
Over the course of a few hours and pints, we talked about fishing, travelling, our children, the Montreal Canadiens, Canada-US relations and how lonely it can be living alone.
As we paid our bill and gathered up our coats to head out into the chilly February night, I gave Alan a big hug and said I hope we meet again. Two barflys, no longer strangers, now friends after sharing a special bond in a bar.
This week’s #HappyAct is to wander into a bar and make a new friend. Here are a few bar jokes to leave you smiling:
Three vampires walk into a bar. The first one says, “I’ll have a pint of blood.” The second one says, “I’ll have one, too.” The third one says, “I’ll have a pint of plasma.” The bartender says, “So, that’ll be two Bloods and a Blood Lite?”
A bartender says, “We don’t serve time travelers in here.” A time traveler walks into a bar.
A three-legged dog walks into a saloon, his spurs clinking as he walks, his six-shooter slapping at his furry hip. He bellies up to the bar, stares down the bartender, and proclaims, “I’m looking for the man who shot my paw.”
There is something to be said about the element of surprise.
Yesterday, I threw a surprise 60th birthday party for Dave at Spearhead Brewing Company in Kingston. It was meant to be a low-key affair since he is still recovering from knee replacement surgery, but it turned out to be a raucous good time with many friends and former co-workers coming out to wish him well, followed by an after-party at our house with some close friends and neighbours.
Our family has a long tradition of holding surprise parties. When I turned 30, Dave and my friend John McMurray conspired to throw a big party at his house in Erin. I thought we were just having a quiet dinner and didn’t even put on any make-up that night, only to walk into a full room of thirty of our closest friends jumping out yelling surprise.
On Dave’s 40th, I rented the downstairs of a restaurant in Kingston and invited all our friends from Toronto and Kingston. There was lots of food, a blow-up doll and I even roped four couples into playing the Newlywed Game. My friend Jill dressed for the occasion in a leopard jacket and thigh-high boots, and I surprised Dave and my brother-in-law Lloyd with tickets to the Grey Cup the next day.
For my 50th, Dave plotted with my boss Julie to throw a big birthday bash at lunch at a restaurant downtown with all my co-workers from Empire Life. It was such a fun time and I even got the afternoon off.
Fast forward another decade (where does the time go?) to yesterday. It was such a special day. Our friend Lorna showed up with snowshoes and Christmas lights on her back since she was walking in the Kingston Santa Claus parade after with the Rideau Trail Club. Dave’s sister and husband, my brother and our cottage neighbour Mark came all the way from Hamilton and Toronto for the party, and there was lots of laughs had, beer drunk, and fish stories told. As Dave said, it was a wonderful intersection of the many cherished friends and connections we’ve made over the years since moving to this area.
The only thing that could have made the day more special was if the girls and their boyfriends could have celebrated with us, but we had a lovely family birthday celebration the week before.
To all our friends who came out to raise a glass with us yesterday, first, I salute you. You brilliantly kept it secret and a surprise, sending texts with good wishes in the morning so Dave wouldn’t suspect a thing. You are the best!
From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for coming and for making Kingston’s newest 60-year sexagenarian who is usually a grump on his birthday a very happy guy.
Photos: (above) our friends Jon and Mark, my brother Don and Dave; Jon is giving me the finger on behalf of Dave for planning a surprise party behind his back.
Below: Our friends Ally and Tony, me, Carolyn and Michael; the gang having a good time–so great to see everyone mingling!; our friend Lorna all lit up for the Kingston Santa Clause parade; Lorna and our friend John’s daughter Maria; Dave and his sister Liz.
Ever since I can remember, my chosen vessel of choice has been the humble mason jar.
My love affair with mason jars began in my university days, when my girlfriend Caralee and I would drive up each weekend to Kitchener Waterloo to stay at the Weber Hotel, the name we gave to the party central townhouse a bunch of our guy friends lived in going to Laurier and Waterloo.
When we arrived, the entire kitchen counter would be covered with dirty mason jars. It became a Friday night ritual to wash the jars and the rest of the dishes in preparation for the weekend party festivities.
It’s been a long time since my university party days, but my vessel of choice is still a mason jar.
The mason jar was invented in 1858 by a New Jersey-born tinsmith named John Landis Mason who was searching for a way to improve the relatively new practice of home canning. In the early days of canning, jars were soppered with wax and corks which was messy and didn’t have a tight seal. The revolutionary screw top lid of the mason jar created the perfect seal, keeping food fresh.
Mason jars are cheap, practically indestructible, and can be used for just about anything. Some of my friends they are the best way to keep berries and vegetables fresh. They’re also eco-friendly because you use them again, and again, and again.
Here are some things you can do with mason jars:
Store buttons, pushpins, and paper clips in them
Use them for crafts like candles and birdfeeders. See this website for ideas
Throw all your loose change in them
Fill them with ingredients for soup for a lovely homemade gift
Make rainy day (or retirement!) jars and put ideas in them for family trips and outings
And that’s just the beginning. The website Cotton Creations lists 60 different uses for mason jars.
It’s canning season. This week’s #HappyAct is to pay homage to the humble mason jar. Cheers!
Ed. note: One of my Facebook friends posted the two photos above of the items she keeps in her mason jars in the fridge. I had downloaded the photos but can’t remember who posted them now, so whoever you are, I hope you don’t mind me sharing the photos and thanks for sharing your love of mason jars!
Last week, Dave’s sister and I took the girls to Nordik Spa in Chelsea Quebec.
It was a combination graduation gift and final girls’ trip before Grace and Clare leave for university this fall.
A day at Nordik is the ultimate in indulgence and relaxation.
As you walk up the several flights of steps to the impressive main lodge with massive wooden beams, you are welcomed by the sound of trickling waterfalls and the smell of burning wood in the fire pit cradled by bright red Adirondack chairs.
I’ve been to Nordik once before with my girlfriends and I remembered it takes an hour or so to fully embrace the spa experience.
The spa is divided into three main sections, Borea, where you can talk in whispers and low tones, Panorama, where you can chat freely and Kaskad, where there is complete silence. Thermal hot pools, some with waterfalls are interspersed with cold pools and saunas. Lounge chairs, hammocks, hammock chairs, and reading pavilions with wood fires are available for those who just want to sit and read and relax or listen to music.
Nordik spa is designed around the ancient Nordic ritual of thermotherapy, a treatment that alternates between hot and cold temperatures, followed by a rest period.
Thermotherapy deeply cleanses the body, eliminates toxins and can help with injury, chronic pain, rheumatism, arthritis, depression and sleeping. To truly embrace the full spa experience, you’re supposed to complete the entire cycle three times.
We started the morning in the social area with its infinity pool and magnificent views of Gatineau Park and the city of Ottawa. It was a cool, cloudy day, so the warm bubbles of the thermal pool felt wonderful as we chatted and caught up with Dave’s sister.
Clare embraced the full spa experience, opting to do a cold plunge next, but I figured I get enough cold water immersion experience swimming in my lake, so I went for a sauna and some hammock time instead.
Grace’s favourite was the heated rock bed sauna. It was so relaxing, a person fell asleep and was snoring!
After a few hours of thermal pools and saunas, we enjoyed a delicious lunch in their Finalandia restaurant. One of the things I love most about Quebec is you never get a bad meal and their restaurant is excellent. We enjoyed a cheese board, roasted red pepper hummous, broccoli soup, brisket sandwich on focaccia bread topped off with a tiramisu cheesecake and warm chocolate brownie with ice cream.
As the afternoon sun finally peeped out, we finished the day where we started, chatting in the thermal pool and looking over the gorgeous views of Gatineau Park.
Grace kept asking me what we should do next, and I would reply, “Whatever you want, that’s the beauty of this place.”
This week’s #HappyAct is to pamper yourself at a spa day. Enjoy!
Happy Act 