Funny how traditions get started in our family.  I do something once, everyone likes it...presto chango...a new family tradition.  

This is not just a Christmas phenomenon, this goes for everything from our annual summer KFC picnic to watching Groundhog Day on Groundhog Day, to my yearly birthday getaway to Niagara-on-the-Lake.  

I sometimes think no one has noticed when I do something new, but invariably the next time around, I get flack for not having our ‘traditional’ finger food New Years supper or our road trip scavenger hunt on summer vacation.  Heaven forbid if I can’t find Rosettes cupcakes for the Demolition Derby or Taveners Fruit Drops for car trips.  High school interview day warrants a fast food lunch treat and April means a trip to Stratford to watch the Swan Parade. 

It’s getting so that I have to be very careful before I do anything...I could be stuck with it for life! 

I have a couple of friends who have written pieces for a bullying anthology.  It made me think of my own school days.  It wasn’t the most pleasant time I can remember.

    

I was a bit too stubborn and pig headed to play the game.  You know, the “do whatever it takes to be liked by the popular girls” game.  Never did well at that.  I marched to my own tune and paid the price for it.  My reports cards were riddled with “Does not get along well with others”.  

I did eventually learn how to get along with others and now have some of the dearest friends anyone could have.  

But I still don’t play the game.  

   I just came back from a two-week adventure in Africa with my DH.  We spent one week in Egypt gaping at colossal statues, walking through beautifully decorated tombs and climbing inside the Great Pyramid.  

    I don’t think I can even pick just one favourite 

creation of this awe-inspiring ancient culture.  It boggles the mind to understand what stunning architecture and monuments they created so long ago.

    From Egypt we flew on to Nairobi for a week’s stay in two game reserves, up close and personal with Kenya’s wildlife. 

    Kenya is a wildy beautiful country with the friendliest people and stunning scenery.  With the help of our expert guide/drivers we saw and photographed the Big Five.  Elephants, cape buffalos, leopards, lions and rhinos are the Big Five, not because they are the largest animals but because they were known to be the most difficult to hunt, back in the days when hunting large animals was considered sport.  

    Now they are shot with cameras and the rangers are on site to protect them from poachers and over-zealous tourists. 

    We had so many incredible moments on this trip and had so many fantastic experiences.  Africa will live in a part of me for a long time to come.  

  

     I convinced my DH that on our way to Africa it would be good for us to first stop in Rome for a few days to get over a bit of jetlag.  It was one of my better ideas.

    We spent today wandering the streets of Rome.  It seems you can’t turn a corner in this city without finding a stunning fountain, an ancient monument or impressive architecture.  

    We started out visiting the Colloseum and the Palatine Hill and Forum.  By the end of our walk, we were almost in a daze from the sheer magnitude of artifacts and ruins.  It must have been an absolutely incredible section of town when it was in its glory.  

    Then we had lunch of freshly-grilled paninis while sitting on the steps next to Trajan’s Column staring at the carved story that winds its way up the pillar.

    We slowly wound our way back towards our hotel through alleyways with quaint little cafes with elegant  little tables outside covered with linens and fresh flowers.  

    A quick stop for some delicious gelato (Italian-style ice cream) and we finished our stroll through the gorgeous gardens of the Villa Bourghese.  

    Is there a more romantic city than Rome?  I think not.  

    

 DH and I are getting ready for the first vacation we are taking alone since we had kids.  I talked him into an adventure holiday with a week in Egypt and a week in Kenya.  

    Staring at 4,000 year-old temples and tombs is for me, the safari is for him.  It’s pretty exciting to be going to such exotic locales and imaging everything we’ll see and do. 

   Oddly enough, the biggest hurdle we have to overcome is not the vaccinations, medicatiovisas, or major preparations for leaving the kids with our parents.  The problem is the packing.  

    Now, I’ve packed for six people for years and for every conceivable type of vacation; camping, cottaging, hoteling, visiting, cruising.  But this is the first time I’ve had a weight restriction.  Before this the only restriction has been how much I could cram into the van.  And most times it has been an engineering masterpiece how much I can fit into a van and still leave space for the kids to breath. 

    Because we will be flying on very small aircraft to remote camps, we are allowed only 33 pounds including carry-ons.  I have accepted this as a personal challenge; to pack clothes, accessories, toiletries, medications and extras for two and a half weeks and still be under the weight limit.  

    It hasn’t been easy.  I was over by eight pounds the first time.  Out came the extra shoes, the second bathing suit and the hair dryer.  Then I discarded the rain jacket, spare shirts and two pairs of pants.  Still over, I took out a book to read, a sweater and extra bug spray.  I was getting desperate and resorted to counting Q-tips and pouring out some of the shampoo.  

    But in the end I have succeeded.  Just.  And sorry kids, but everyone is getting papyrus as a souvenir.  It doesn’t weight much.  

    

    We are making our annual trek to Sauble Beach soon, but this year we are camping instead of cottaging.

    You would think that living in a tent with no electricity, cooking over a fire and having to hike to a bathroom or shower would meet with some resistance from the kids.  Nope.  They are genuinely excited about going.

    Their excitement has nothing to do with communing with nature or getting away from it all.  Their reason is much simpler.  When we camp there is a total relaxation of the rules that normally govern our home.    

    I blame my german background for the fact that I  find dirt, noise and confusion generally irritating. When we camp, all rules are thrown out the window.  Or tent flap, as it were.

    Cookies for breakfast?  Have at it!  Crumbs and spills?  It’ll feed the wildlife!  No regular schedule for eating or sleeping?  Who cares!  Potato chips as the vegetable for supper?  I’ll join you!  Personal hygiene at an all-time low?  No one knows us here!

    It’s not how I would want to live my whole life, but for a brief time in the bloom of summer it is a freedom we all enjoy.  

 An unusual bird arrived in my backyard the other day.  It was so bright and colourful that it caught my eye immediately.  A bit of googling solved the mystery: a baltimore oriole had dropped by.

    Apparently they are not too common this far north, only migrating into southern Ontario in the summer.  It’s a shame, because they are beautiful.  

    He was only there for a few moments and if I had blinked, I wouldn’t have seen him.

    It made me wonder how many other things I might be missing as I race around my day at top speed.

    Four leaf clovers?  I probably mow ‘em down. 

    Meteorites?  I'm usually out like a light as soon as the sun sets.

    Ghosts?  That seems to require hours of sitting in abandoned buildings at night holding a digital recorder in the dark.  See ‘meteorites’ above.

     Aliens?  They could land on my front lawn and I’d likely not notice as I sprint to the van to drive one of the kids somewhere.  

    On the other hand, there are some things I would gladly not notice: earwigs, nudists, runny cheese, telemarketers, maggots and men in Speedos.  

       Maybe its a good thing that I’m busy.

Confession time:  I am a bakeaholic.   

    The pages of my cookbooks will attest to this.  Entire sections including fish, salads and casseroles are pristine.  I believe some of the pages are even still stuck together.  

    It’s not that I don’t enjoy cooking, I do.  I even modestly admit that I’m pretty good at it, too.  But for true enjoyment in the kitchen, I turn to the baking sections.  

    Some books open automatically to the dessert chapters, the spine has been creased so many times.  In others, bookmarks mark my favourite lemon roll and homemade coconut cream pie recipes. 

    Spatters and spots are like a rating system for the cookies and squares.  A five stain ranking is high praise indeed!

    Comments like Awesome!  Use double icing!  Pecans instead of walnuts!  or More chocolate chips! are added in a moment of enthusiasm as I sample the result.  

      And that’s why I always serve cakes and squares pre-cut on plates or platters: so no one will see that there is a corner missing in the pan. 

I just bought my spanish onion sets a couple of days ago.  I’m what’s known as an impatient gardener.  Barely is the snow melted when I am itching to get my hands in the ground.  

For me the arrival of spring has nothing to do with the Equinox or robins; it is when I can smell the earth again.  

I’m happy that I can plant my onions before the frost date,  because to wait until planting weekend in May for everything else is torture.  In fact, as soon as I finish writing this, I am heading out to my small raised garden to turn it over and press the little bulbs deep in the damp soil.  

Then I’ll try and not dig around them in a few days to see if they’re growing.  Really, I’m that bad.  

But the waiting is worth it in the end.  Fruit and vegetables from the store that have ripened in crates on trucks and then languish in warehouses just don’t taste the same.  

So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to dig in the dirt.

I love lighthouses and tour them whenever I can.  I think they are more than just a symbol of safe passage and a ‘light in a storm’ kind of thing.  To me they symbolize unwavering determination in the face of danger and destruction.

I have lots of favourite lighthouses; Cape Spear Lighthouse in Newfoundland is one.  The keeper’s house was built literally around the lighthouse so one corner of every room was rounded around the tower.  

But when someone mentions the lonely and difficult life of a lighthouse keeper, I always think of the image above, a photograph by Jean Guichard of a lighthouse in Brittany, France.

Can you imagine living there?  No cute little island with carefully tended vegetable garden for him, no sir.  He lives on a piece of concrete that is somehow connected to the bottom of the ocean.  How did they even build that?  

Forget getting a breath of fresh air on a windy day.  One step outside and you could literally be washed away.  It is the stuff of nightmares.  

Luckily I have seen a clip of this moment and am relieved to tell you that he slips inside the door just before the wave crashes around.  Still, I can’t help wondering who is living there now, and marveling at their resilience.

I have to admit, not much got done this month.  I was totally engrossed with watching the winter Olympics in Vancouver.  

For 16 days I watch sports I never give a second thought to for years.  I laugh and cry over the personal struggles and life history of people I’ve never heard of before.  I throw around terms like Telemark landing, fifth end, good turnovers, bad turnovers and half pipe.  

But besides the thrill of watching the absolute elite in a sport perform at their best, the Olympics hold a special appeal for me.

In a world that constantly disappoints and embarrasses me with its wars, terrorism, poverty, ignorance, bigotry and hatred, this is one time when the whole world agrees to get together in peace.  People from practically every country, race, culture and religion live together, eat together and play together.  Sport seems to be able to accomplish what no other group or ideology can.  

My favourite part happens at the closing ceremonies when all the athletes come in together as one great blend of humanity.  For one brief moment I can believe that the people of this planet could someday live united and peaceful and this is what it would look like.

I was thinking the other day that I am rich in friends.   Truly great friends.  They don’t all know each other, but each of them brings something wonderful into my life.

I have some friends that understand the ups and downs that come with raising a special needs child.  To have someone who lets you cry on the phone on bad days, and jump up and cheer over victories that seem small to others on good days, is not something I take for granted.  They make the unbearable, bearable.

I have friends that live near me that I have met through work or at the schools or clubs and activities that we schlepped our children to.  These friends make me laugh at daily life and keep things in perspective.  We complain together, roll our eyes together and even gossip a little.

Then there are my writer friends.  Writing is such a solitary endeavour that without others who understand the alien concept of a ‘great rejection’, the dilemma of simultaneous subs and the crushing value of the three little words, ‘not for me’, it would not be the great adventure that it is.  There is something magical about a friendship that can prop you up when your confidence falters and kick you in the butt when you need it.

My oldest and dearest friend now lives more than a thousand miles away.  But distance cannot break the connection we have through our memories and shared history.  She knows more of my secrets, embarrassing moments and deep desires than anyone else on this Earth.  That is why I would throw myself in front of a train before I would let anyone administer Sodium Pentathol to her. 

How nice it is to start the year surrounded by so many great people.