Two Days Before Christmas

Not My Thing, Really:
Christmas Baking my way - I took a recipe for Anne Murray's Christmas bundt cake published in TV Guide 45 years ago - and made it into mini muffins. They were a little dry.

Today's December 22. There are two days left before Christmas. In that tight little window, these are the things I will not do: write and send Christmas cards, shop for Christmas presents, wrap Christmas presents, play Christmas carol pod casts or decorate the place.

It's two days before Christmas and I feel like I've already had my holiday.

Here's why:

On December 8, Bruce and I hosted the third stage of a three-part holiday open house at our condo complex. Three units - 14, 7 and us - hosted for an hour each between 3 and 6 p.m. Our guests scurried in the underground passage connecting our units as the call came to move to the next spot. We also invited some friends because ours was the last party and we thought we'd lose a few revellers as the festivities progressed.

Turns out there was very little shrinkage in the crowd, and by the time everyone got to our place, they had already had a couple of drinks. So things were lively. 

The invite said the party ended at six, but that did not persuade the last few partiers, who not only stayed for the "after party", they brought their own guests. Five extras stayed until we shooed them out at 11:30 p.m.

To prepare for the party, Bruce and I had cleaned and decorated the house. You saw the photo of our Christmas coat tree last week. 

I baked. No, really. I made the muffins in the photo above, snow ball cookies and bacon butter tarts that vanished in an eye blink. 

I also made an amalgam concoction, glued together with melted salted caramel chips (instead of white chocolate chips) and crushed candy canes. And I made something called Christmas Crack that was nowhere near as good as the other things. And I candied nuts.

The day after the party, I declared that I'd had my Christmas.

But there was one more thing ...

On Friday, December 14, two years almost to the day that his wife Marna died, Bruce's dad Ken moved into New Horizons Tower, a facility for aging gracefully, conveniently located at the corner of Bloor and Dufferin in Toronto.

He has a charming, spic and span, nicely appointed two-room suite with a mini-kitchen (no stove) and as much of the furniture from his old place as we could squeeze in. They serve three meals and have several activities every day for the residents. 

Bruce has gone to see him (it's an oh-so-easy twenty minute subway ride) every day this week to help him acclimatize. Ken had lived on his own, eating his own terrible cooking and only rarely interacting with other people for two whole years. Ken already looks and sounds better. 

The sweet Fillipina women who comprise most of the staff check in on Ken if he has not made it down for breakfast. When he does come to breakfast they make sure he eats properly (this involves prunes). They make him take a banana with him when he goes back to his room.

The relief I feel from all of the above -- Ken's close by; he's eating proper food; people are looking out for him; he's safe and comfortable -- is the best Christmas gift I could ever have.

I hope your holidays also bring you a good measure of fun, friends and peace.

Merry Christmas!

Karen