Chicken Bones Couldn't Sleep

Chicken Bones had brushed her teeth and washed her face. She had on her new pink flowered flannelette nightgown. Chicken Bones’ dad had read her a story and she was safely tucked into her bed. Chicken Bones’ mom was tidying up the living room. Chicken Bones knew her big sister Nancy would be climbing into her bed, on the other side of the room, very soon. Her biggest sister Thora would go to her own room next door a little after that. But Chicken Bones couldn’t sleep. It was Christmas Eve.
Chicken Bones thought about….
• the Sunday school pageant and wondered if she would ever get a leading role. (Chicken Bones was a fir tree again.)
• being born in a stable. She wondered if it was stinky and scratchy in there for that new little baby.
• frankincense. It was scary because it reminded her of Frankenstein.
• her dad struggling with bricks and a pail and the tree. Chicken Bones knew that she should sit very quietly on the turquoise couch while he worked. She knew that he would finally get it standing straight and then she could help decorate it.
• the presents hidden in her mom’s closet. She wished she hadn’t snuck in and looked at all of them already.
• how hard it was to wait.
• her great aunts in Montreal and Ottawa, and the gifts they sent from their travels all over the world. She knew she would get fancy new clothes from Holt Renfrew. She would also get unusual little items like PlayPlax blocks and scarecrow heads filled with even tinier treasures. She already knew this because the aunts wrapped their gifts with only ribbon and no tape, so it was easy to unwrap and rewrap without tell tale signs of snooping.
• being sneaky.
• her mom and dad’s Dutch friends, Paul and Toos. She was embarrassed that she already said “thank you for the chocolate letter” to them before she went to bed, when she hadn’t opened the letter yet. But she knew that’s what she would be getting because that’s what they gave her every year.
• ablekage. She loved it when her mom made this dessert for Christmas Eve because it made the night feel Danish.
• a road race set, a model town, an etch-a-sketch, a Cheerful Tearful doll, a Raggedy Ann and other stuff she asked Santa for.
• Santa. Chicken Bones worried that he might not fill her stocking if she didn’t get to sleep soon.
• Maurice and Dodie. She was glad that they always came out for Christmas Eve to have supper and open presents. Dodie always laughed lots, and Chicken Bones felt happy when she saw them holding hands.
• love.
• her foster sister Marlene and Marlene’s husband Jim. She wished they were there, too because they took such good care of her when she was a scrawny baby, and Jim gave her the special nickname, Chicken Bones.
• feeling small and cozy.
• ribbon candy, mixed nuts, sugar cookies and shortbread.
• pretending to act surprised in the morning.
• the empty glass and plate she would find on the kitchen counter…magical proof that Santa had been there.
• being excited and silly and full and tired and loved.

Good night.

Conni from Clandeboye
December 2010

Hard to wait.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2010

Prairie Islands

He calls them prairie islands.
The isolated yard sites scattered across the Manitoba landscape.

Protective orderly borders of evergreens guard shaky poplars and sweet smelling lilacs.
Stoic four square, two storey houses with hip roofs and weathered siding.
Sagging grey outbuildings and gun metal machine sheds.
A doghouse for a mangy mutt.
Dandelions and hollyhocks.
A buzzing light at the top of a leaning hydro pole marking the spot.
The half-mile driveway, a lifeline to the outside world.

Some might see desolation and loneliness.
Lost lots.
But she sees possibility and hope.
Together, they can build their own prairie island.

A life raft in the blue sea of flax.
A shady umbrella in the blinding yellow canola crop.
A down comforter under the cold cotton sheet of new snow.
An oasis in the wheat field.

Where scrappy scrub oaks support the tender weeping willows.
Cheerful chickadees encourage mourning doves.
Foxtails tickle the bleeding hearts.
And with optimistic apprehension and tentative anticipation, a new family can grow.

Within a prairie island.



 
Conni from Clandeboye
December 2010
 

Wishing for you a safe haven, a secure family, your own prairie island.
 


©Conni Cartlidge, 2010
 

Discovering Diversity

“She’s a witch, Mom.”

“Oh, okay… so does that mean I shouldn’t buy her a Christmas present?”


“He’s Jewish, Mom.”

“Oh, okay… so does that mean you won’t be caroling around the bonfire at your party?”


“I don’t want to sing about ‘The Lord’ at my concert, Mom.”

“Oh, okay… but you were baptized in the Anglican church when you were a baby.”


“WalMart sells sweat shop stuff, Mom.”

“Oh, okay… I’ll try Canadian Tire instead.”


“I’m smudging the house with sweetgrass, Dear.”

“Oh, okay… I’ll blow out my candy cane scented candles then.”


“It’s a right wing capitalist plot to make us consumer slaves, Mom.”

“Oh, okay… I won’t buy or make any gifts for anybody, but can we still have a turkey dinner?”


“I’m a vegetarian, Mom.”

“Oh………okay.”


Welcome to December, 2004.

Diversity has arrived in Clandeboye.

So here’s what I’m gonna do.

I’ll be up all night keeping a solstice fire burning. I’ll provide hot dogs and marshmallows for roasting (but some of them will be soy based). This will keep the vegan, Metis witches happy.

I’ll buy gifts carefully, keeping in mind who made them and under what circumstances and I’ll give them to people who really need them, people who have nothing and no one. This will keep the anarchists happy (I think).

I’ll burn candles and incense and sweetgrass and logs and kindling and anything else that seems appropriately flammable so that we can all have lots of light and warmth and mystical scents to lift our spirits. This should keep the Christians and the Jews and the Buddhists and the atheists and the depressed happy.

I’ll play lots of music, but I won’t do any caroling because I just can’t sing. This should make everyone happy.

And I’ll celebrate moms and dads and newborn babies because every family is a miracle.

And especially, I’ll celebrate my family for opening my eyes to diversity.



Imagine. Peace.





©Conni Cartlidge, 2010