Christmas: The best of times

When I was a kid, I loved Christmas. The magic of a pine tree in the house, the smell of turkey in the kitchen and coloured lights strung around the house on the floor to be tested.

Seniors grew up with identical lights, all the same straightforward lines that got put up and taken down every year. My dad loved checking for replacements, wrestling with the tall ladder and stringing the heavy cords up on the rooftop.

There was always a special doll for me, Snow White, with the dwarfs embroidered on the satin skirt, Sonja Heine, with tiny ice skates, and, one year, a Shirley Temple with perfect curls. My brothers had Flexible Flyer sleds and we all skated on the nearby pond at the city park.

My own daughters loved dolls, too. The Betsy Wetsy, the Tiny Tears and the first talking doll, Chatty Cathy. And, of course, horses in any size or shape.

This year, my granddaughter hatched a yet-unnamed creature that included its own crystal nest.

As a young wife and mother, I was often sad and lonely at Christmas trying to replicate my Christmas memories for my children. I was far away from my family, and, like many young husbands and fathers, mine was away a great deal establishing his career. Years passed before I realized how much effort went into all those idyllic Christmases of my childhood. Now I am old and tired and have learned how to make the holidays wonderful by simply concentrating on the one or two things I love most about the holidays: Christmas carols and Christmas cards.

I no longer compare myself to friends who create beautiful baked goods or fashion plaid bathrobes for gifts. Now I am content to hear a choir sing I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day and pick up a mince pie from Pioneer Market.

Our plans to be in Vancouver with children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren did not materialize because I experienced an COPD flare up just as we were packing gifts and preparing to depart for the airport.

My family came here with labradodle, Ginger, and I watched everyone else baste the turkey and pour the eggnog.

The best time ever: Mike in his new velvet jacket stole the show. The dress-up outfit for Mike was an adven- ture in itself. We had gone shopping for the usual shorts and socks when I pointed out a beautiful blue jacket that he actually tried on only to find it fit perfectly and looked sensational. The lining is the most beautiful fabric ever and we even had his initials sewed in.

I am still in a blur to think he even agreed to pants, shirts and new shoes, too. I told him “enough, you are cute enough.” Mike said the highlight of his year was the visit to my brother’s winery near Ukiah, Calif., last summer. For me, it was the B.C. Broadcasters Awards night in Penticton featuring my daughter, Erin, as broadcaster of the year. A night to remember. If the New Year is anything like the recent Christmas, I am prepared for almost anything. I wish my parents were here to see how their grandchildren have flourished.

I hope Mike and I get to have one more kick at a winter get-away. Mike has never been to Mexico, so maybe he will be up for scuba lessons or deep-sea diving in the New Year. The best aspect of old age is the comfortable knowledge that we are OK, that we are still learning, and we are still loving.

Seniors are a happy bunch. They know they have picked a plum from the tree of life, they know the best is yet to come. In my case, I definitely have saved the best for last.

My nomination for Woman of the Year is my old friend, Sylvia C., who brings music to the life of many and gives of her time and talents to young and old alike.

Currently I share her work with seniors afflicted by Parkinson Disease and get inspired to sing out and live happily. My new friend, Jim C., is Man of the Year in my book. His retirement is spent helping others, primarily through his cooking skills. An unsung hero.

I predict 2017 will be a banner year for seniors, all of whom should prepare for a blinding set of unexpected miracles, just like always.

To the seniors out in Daily Courier land, I say Happy New Year to all.

Jeanette Dunagan is an Okanagan artist who has lived in Kelowna for more than 40 years. Her column appears every second week in the Okanagan Saturday. Email her at jd2399@telus.net.