Monday, December 12, 2016

Office with a View

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
Kate Chopin, American author (1850-1904) in The Awakening (1899)

Though my office lacks windows, through my door I can look past the cubicles and out onto magnificent masts and water that passes out to the lake and the ocean beyond. The view inspires my imagination to take split-second restorative journeys. What a marvelous window on the world!

Friday, December 9, 2016

Of Seraphim and Cherubim

A song was heard at Christmas
to wake the midnight sky:
a Savior's birth, and peace on earth,
and praise to God on high.
The angels sang at Christmas
with all the hosts above,
and still we sing the newborn King,
his glory and his love.
Timothy Dudley-Smith, English hymnwriter and bishop of the Church of England, in "A song was heard at Christmas" (1978)

Angelic voices soared heavenwards this evening as the Children's Choir presented a carol sing-a-long at Christ's Church Cathedral. I appreciated that they wholly encouraged the less than angelic voices in the audience to join in.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

It's Weather

Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.
Andrew John Herbertson, British geographer (1865-1915)

If you squint, it looks like a snow flurry. I had to look three times and I still couldn't accept that it was rain that glistened on the rink-side tables. I had neglected to look out the office window before heading for the locker room -- why would I need to check on the weather in advance of my second skating lesson? It's December, and we all know that it's cold and that it snows in December. I guess that's the climate of southern Ontario in December. The reality of weather jolted me out of my knitted hat, scarf and mittens. Although a couple of intrepid skaters braved the wet, I simply drank my hot chocolate looking out through the sparkling window -- squinting my eyes.

Friday, December 2, 2016

Friday Night Playtime

My childhood may be over
but that doesn't mean playtime is.

After work, I put on some skates and joined the young'ins on the rink. Boys showed off their prowess with fast swooshes that reminded me of peacocks fanning out their tails. Girlfriends held tight in triplets trying to keep each other upright; and little ones walked pushing a safety cone in front of them across the ice. It all seemed so familiar -- although I used a chair not a safety cone to aid my balance when first on skates on a rink my dad made in the backyard. Good memories as I meandered around the little pond.

Pulling off the skates, I retired to the bar for my Friday whiskey tasting. Tonight Glenfarclas brought Friday to a close. I preferred the younger 10yr old to its fiery 12yr old sibling. Tasting notes on the company's website suggest flavours of Christmas cake, raisin, nutmeg and cloves -- for all of which I could concur -- but also mentioned tobacco and matchbox. I'm sure matchboxes have a scent/flavour but I couldn't conjure it up in my mind and thankfully didn't taste either in my Friday evening drams.

The charcuterie platter included a banana-bourbon jam, which paired divinely with the brie (and the whiskey), so I must do some recipe research to re-create it. Surely now, visions of besotted bananas will skate through my dreams. Sweet dreams!