We did a turkey this year, to celebrate our first fully celebrated Christmas in this house, and I decided to brine it. The directions came from a noted chef who shared his recipe in The Globe and Mail, and the timing appealed to me. I picked up the fresh turkey at the Owen Sound market Saturday and put it into the brine -- kind of a pickling mixture including vegetables and herbs -- right away. Bob is carving it as I write this. We roasted it in the oven rather than barbecuing the bird because Bob sprained his ankle yesterday, but he wanted to contribute the carving effort at least. Judging by the bits I grabbed as they fell from the knife, with all dogs standing by for mishaps, the brining method was a success.

Posted by lynda at 03:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It wasn't looking good for a white Christmas yesterday, with everything dripping wet and patches of grass showing on the back lawn. This morning it was postcard pretty again with flurries dusting down. Why is this important? It's very hard to face the dismal green and brown of a popular holiday supposedly all about families being together when family members are absent. When nature helps out with a pretty scene, it's easier to imagine Christmases past, full of snowsuits, wet mitts and hot chocolate. May you all be with the ones you love, at least in memory, this week!

Here's a great corporate card perfect for a work break today or to ease into time off this afternoon. It's a collection of videos from the past year. You'll recognize some if you frequent YouTube. Except for the one called Thriller, which is just weird, all are worth your time. Cheers!

Posted by lynda at 08:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I made time to do Christmas cards this year, not as many as I could, but way more than last year when we were still digging out essentials from moving boxes. I like the old-fashioned feel of the process, though I confess my address list is neatly digitized and set up to keep track of my progress through it with a quick click. The reward comes now when I get everyone else's cards and the inevitable Christmas letters. Most of these I love/hate. Nobody could have lives so perfect as they sound. And of course, part of the reason they are devoid of gruesome reality is that they are mass published to friends and acquaintances. On the other hand, I'm delighted to get any update on people I don't see very often. But a dear cousin has trumped all of them this year by sending us a hand-written personal Christmas letter, complete with holly sketched in the corner! The delicious irony of this is that she and I have a mostly online relationship. We have never met in person but we chat frequently by IM. To those who complain that the digital world has laid waste old-fashioned personal interaction, I say piffle!

Posted by lynda at 11:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tonight was the highlight of my current visit to Toronto: an excellent play at Tarragon Theatre with friends. The serious theatre experience has been one of the few things I've missed since moving north. Every time I come back to savour it, I resolve to make sure I get here regularly. There may be good theatre in Grey-Bruce, but I haven't discovered it yet. The solid performances and outstanding writing and direction I've come to expect at Tarragon will be pretty hard to beat.

Posted by lynda at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

You can't stay discouraged about the state of the world and its future when you hear brilliant scientists like Hans Rosling articulate their passionate and hopeful ideas. Check out his TED Talk from this year's conference.

On the home front, Agnes is back, with a bigger brain and the same tiny footprint that I love, especially on the road. The new kid, Abigail, is pretty attractive though. She's bigger, but oh so fast. I've got all the Macs syncing pretty well so far. Abigail is ambidextrous, ambivalent, trans..., well, she goes both ways, if you know what I mean, but I have yet to install Windows. (And yes, people, I did pay for the MS software.)

Posted by lynda at 09:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)