Kilmeny Liana Jordyn

The guy in the tire shop in Great Falls told me that he was a grandfather already. He was only 42, but had gained his present status through having married a woman who had her first child at fourteen – and that "child" now had children. So I suppose if you want to be really technical, he was a step-grandfather, but who cares - as long as the kids get presents.

Then when I got home I heard about Van Morrison who is a father once more, but he's 64. He, of the "brown-eyed girl" fame is not married to the mother, but is in a so-called committed relationship, his third or fourth committed relationship, I believe.

Uhmm, we probably need to look up the word "committed" again in the dictionary. In today's zany world, "committed" probably means dedicated to one thing until you lose interest in it and toss it away like a out-dated toy.

Let me momentarily link the guy from Northern Ireland with the guy from northern Montana: Morrison's first daughter, from one of his earlier commitments, is almost as old as the gramps from Montana. (No, Horace, I am not making this up.)

Into this world of kid grandparents and elder parents comes Kilmeny Liana Jordyn Mosher. As I write this, she has been at her mother's side for eighteen hours. Many would argue that she is less than a day old; others would argue that she is nine months and a day old. I personally stand firmly, clearly, and rationally in the latter camp.

One wonders where in the world her parents come up with such a combination of names, especially the first one. Well, I don't know for certain, but it apparently shows up somewhere in the annals of Canada's favourite redhead, Anne of Green Gables. Not having read a lot of Anne of Green Gables within the past month – or past decade, for that matter – I can only tell you what I heard, not what I read. It also has Celtic roots, adding to its intrigue.

I thought Craiganne or Craiglynn or even Craigmeny would have been a great name for my/our first granddaughter. (You have made the connection by now, haven't you?) For many of you, having grand-kids is, as they say, old hat. For those of us who are just starting out, it's a novelty, another untrodden path.

It's is also a supreme joy to think that a committed couple – in the true sense, not a merely cultural sense – have been blessed with a fully developed human being. How that all comes together, and I don't mean the birds and bees part, is beyond me. It's actually beyond any qualified scientist or philosopher, for that matter. Human birth transcends all science know-how. To see everything so perfectly formed, so meshed together, so fully functioning, is nothing less than a miracle.

Personally, at 42, I was still having kids (not grand-kids), but at 64, I trust that many more of my kids (not me) will be having kids of their own. And I plan to be still involved in a committed relationship with the same woman I have been for decades already.

If there is anything that has been reinforced in my thinking since I heard of Kilmeny's birth is this: We need to get serious about what I call "generational integrity." I just made that term up, suggesting that we as parents (and now grandparents) need to take our (grand)parenting stewardship seriously and lovingly.

It's crucial for Kilmeny and it's crucial for the future of our nation.

Have Yourselves a Thin Christmas

It's hard to believe that the big day has come and gone. The fat guy in the red suit – that would be cousin Alfred – has already headed back north, somewhere to a mound between Three Hills and Two Hills. (In Alberta lingo, that would make it one hill.) And talk about stuffed turkey(s)! I don't know which is more stuffed, the turkey before it's consumed or the ones after it's consumed.

There are two jobs that will never go out of style in the days that follow Christmas – a return clerk at Wal-Mart and a seamstress. Seamstress? That's an old term for "one who sews," and (s)he will always be busy through to the end of January, turning tight waistlines into the shapes of small counties.

It is terribly unfortunate that we all tend to eat too much over the holidays. I often make cracks about it (read the above), and in general, we all lament the extra calories we take in over this time of the year. This tends to be followed by the primary New Year's Resolution, namely, a plan to shed those extra ten pounds that those Christmas indulgences contributed to. I'll, uh, eat to that.

Sometime next week, I plan to head south for the day, and one of my stops will be the (recently-rebuilt) Golden Corral in Great Falls. The joy of eating whatever I want and how much as I want at the same sitting is countered by the disgust I feel by watching others do the same. That sounds like I'm a hypocrite, so let me re-phrase it: I love the variety that a classy buffet offers, and I like to dabble in as much as I can – operative word is dabble. My outrage is when many (very obese people) load up, wolf down, and head back, time after time after time. I'm thinking of a front-end loader when I write this.

I even heard of one buffet that finally turned down a repeat customer because he ate too much at each meal. Only in Mississippi, they say, only in Mississippi.

Meanwhile, back at the fat rant: One of the gifts that I wanted to leave with people at large (no pun intended) last week was the gift of Self-Control. There is no greater need when it comes to our general eating habits. Whether it is that spoiled brat who won't eat his veggies or that overweight thug who has thirds of everything, self-control is the missing ingredient. Perhaps if Dad and Mom had trained the kid, the adult wouldn't have so many out-of-control issues.

Christmas is a wonderful time of year, apart from any historical-biblical angle. It is a great time to re-connect through actual visits, phone calls, and newsletters. It is a happy time to slow down and take it easy with family and friends. And who can forget the gifts? Even this year I got some great ones that I actually needed.

But the spending and eating and stressing that is out of control is the part that bothers me. Somehow, and maybe this is sort of a vow or goal for the upcoming year, it would be to reign in the unchecked budget, the uncontrolled appetite, and unorganized plans. Whatever your take is on the original Christmas – and please note that I said 'Christmas' – try to organize for a simpler fare for next year. Start now, by laying out some general ground rules for what you are and aren't going to do, whether it be spending or eating.

In the meantime, if you need a seamstress, I have one in mind. She runs a neat outfit in Lethbridge; it's called "Waist Not, Want Not."

The Best Christmas Gift

I don't believe I have lost my primitive curiosity for Christmas presents with my name on them. I understand, at this point of writing, that there are some under the Scotch pine from Cranbrook with my name on them. This is good. All is right with the world.

It is everything I can do within my power to not get down, grab the gifts and shake them.

At my age, I have essentially everything I need – and if I really want it, I would rather go out and buy it myself. I know what type of book, tie, mug, and CD that I want. However, I would not be so crass as to show my disappointment if my child or student were to buy me something I didn't want. I would at least mumble a feigned delight, then move on to another round of egg nog.

Donate it to the Post, yes; make a stink about, no.

But beyond my little jurisdiction down here in the Back Seventy, I would love to give some gifts to others who are in desperate need of them. You see, in the broad range of issues plaguing our world – that would be Alberta, Canada, our friends to the south, and every other nation on this globe – there are many gifts that they need, gifts that they don't have enough of.

For starters, I would give every leader of every country two gifts each: Wisdom and Compassion. Leadership is thankless task – just ask any middle manager or parent – and no matter what one does, there will always be critics. But there is no need to exacerbate any situation with selfish, insensitive, and short-sighted decisions. So, Mister Premier, Prime Minister, President and Ruler-for-Life, lead your people with the gift of wise compassion. It will likely make your people more contented, run your economy more smoothly, and leave your cities more secure. It could also quite likely get you re-elected.

Another gift I would leave under a tree is that of Common Sense. There are a lot of trees that need this one: The afore-mentioned leaders, plus all those responsible for children (eg., parents and teachers), and I would even throw in peace officers of every stripe, need a heavy dose of common sense. It seems when people rule with a code book they leave their common sense behind. Common sense doesn't mean breaking the rules; it means just bending them a little.

Self-control is a gift that so many today need. They need it when it comes to their out-of-control tempers, to eating and sleeping habits, to indulgent and inter-personal behaviour, for starters. A generation that has been given so much, like our under-30's, seems to respond with short fuses, ingratitude, and disconnectedness. Hang out at a mall some night for a sociological study of the species. You may frightened at what the future looks like.

While there are so many other gifts that I would like to leave under everyone else's tree, I sense that I too need these same gifts. Raising a family demands each one of these, as I'm sure you would agree. Every one of our marriages and family lives would be stronger and healthier if each one of us brought a little more wisdom, compassion, common sense, and self-control into them.

Funny how these gifts, once they're opened and worn, if you will, become a natural wardrobe for facing the for New Year. So, even if you don't get what you want later on this week, you may get what you need. And what you need may be the best gift ever.

And that would mean something even greater, namely, the true spirit of Christmas.

Not a Green Christmas, I Hope

 

There are many reasons why I love Christmas. A few columns ago, I discussed why fall is my favourite season; I stand by that sentiment. It would be ludicrous to say that winter is my favourite season, especially in light of the blowing snow, bitter gales, and blizzard-like conditions that we have endured over the past couple of weeks.

Christmas, and this is my first reason, then, is a pleasant break from an otherwise crummy weather pattern – a pattern of cold, colder, and coldest.

I also love Christmas because of all the goodwill that is expressed, both in word and deed. I have no hang-up whatsoever when someone wishes me a "Merry Christmas." (Indeed, I definitely have more issues with a "Healthy Winter Solstice" greeting.). Even more than the stale "Hello, how are you?" I believe people are actually sincere and interested when they greet me that way.

Another reason involves gifts. Strangely, I find giving presents a hoot, but getting presents a pain. My wish list is pretty short: gift certificates, anything Canucks-related, and certain CD's. By the way, in case you are thinking of something special for your favourite area columnist (that would be me, Horace - unless you have a thing for Ann Landers), stick with the gift certificates – good for meals at places that sound like Cheesecake Cafe, Swiss Chalet, and Montana's.

And you can hold off on the ties, mugs, and socks. Please.

The whole Christmas dinner thing – the turkey and all the fixings – is yet another reason I love this time of year. For ourselves, we could have that meal anytime of year (it helps that we grow and sell our own turkeys), but there is something special about Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. For the Funston home, we also have a special Christmas Eve meal, a special Christmas morning breakfast, topped off by a traditional dinner.

I like everything about Christmas dinner - well, almost everything: I hate Brussels sprouts. It's hard to believe that the same country that has graced us with Belgium chocolates is the same one that has corrupted our dining rooms with Brussels sprouts. If I were describing this, uh, food to a blind man, I would use words like rotten, putrid, gross, and unhealthy.

So, where are we? Christmas, in my estimation, is great because of Christmas Day, the goodwill that seems genuine, the giving of presents, and Christmas dinner. I could add that I do enjoy getting seasonal newsletters. To clarify what I said last week, I do enjoy getting them – I just wish they were more interesting and informative. I know it is hard to summarize the whole year in one letter, but people could at least use both sides, make the font smaller, and get beyond the silly things that the kids did. (Do that, but say more.)

By the way, is it Christ-mass? Christ-miss? Or Christ-mess? The event is well worth celebrating, and even more so when you understand its historical, biblical roots. You can celebrate the season with the "masses," but have no singular, personal meaning from it. You may even get caught up with the myths of the season (starting with Santa, mistletoe, silly ditties, and parties), yet "miss" the whole significance of the Day. Or it may be that the whole time is one huge "mess" – emotionally, financially, and physically - when you expect too much, spend too much, and drink too much.

It is a temptation for all of us to get caught on peripheral issues at this time of year, and lose sight of the real reason for the season. That can be the plight of religious and irreligious people alike.

Here's for a white Christmas. I'd have a blue, blue Christmas if I had to eat those gooey, green balls one more time.

Waiting for Christmas

I am finding it hard to get into the Christmas spirit this year. To all intents and purposes, I should have been singing carols since September – at least that's when Costco and Wal-Mart got into the groove.

No, there are a few reasons why I'm not there yet. One, I haven't bought my tree. There is little else that suggests Christmas to me more than a tree. I like the real thing, even if I end up paying a little more money for it. I go to the same place every year, bundle it home in or on my van, and enjoy every moment of its presence in our home. No, there is nothing that welcomes Christmas like a Scotch pine from Cranbrook.

Two, my Aunt Bob. Okay, her real name isn't Bob, but she is my aunt. She always has the first Christmas newsletter of the season, and it hasn't come yet. How can I get into giving (and returning), gobbling turkey (that once gobbled itself – figure that one out, Horace), and crying over spilled apple cider, when Aunt Bob hasn't written me yet?

It's not that I am unkind, but I actually don't look forward to the newsletter; it's just that it signifies the start of the season. Quite frankly, most Christmas newsletters can actually be quite boring. I read about a trip here and a fall there, who visited and who will no longer be visiting, and all about the latest, greatest grand-baby of them all.

Even a genuine lie might spice the thing up.

Three, lots of snow. Now as I look out the window of my brave office, basking in the solitude of the farm to the north and the ranch to the south, I actually do see snow. And with the present freezing weather, and bound to get colder by the time you read this, I think what little snow we have is here to stay. While I don't want too much snow at one time, it would make it seem a little more like Christmas (or would that be 'Christmasy'?) if we had more snow. The ideal, and I have likely said it here before, is lots of snow on the fields and no snow on the roads.

And four, the word 'Christmas' itself. If you have the time and the motivation, please go back and count the number of times I used the "C-word" - the word, Christmas. In some parts of our "advanced" society, the so-called C-word has been subverted. It has been changed to a whole host of acceptable, pleasant, and all-inclusive terms – words that actually aren't that bad. I could stomach them, if there wasn't such a questionable agenda lurking behind them.

So when I say "Merry Christmas" to you, please rest assured that I am not trying to convert you to some rabble religion, nor am I condemning you to a life of damnation because you don't see things my way. For myself, to be honest with you, I am not clear exactly when the Christ-child was born, but I do believe He came. Nor am I clear, from Scriptures, that there were three wisemen at the manger (there were actually scores in their entourage, and they likely came two years after His birth). Either way, I do believe the Middle East was all astir with this great advent. There must have been a reason for the excitement.

I find it frightening – no other word will do – that cultural, historical, and religious revisionism can sweep across our nation and simply re-work, at best (delete, at worst), an event that has been a cherished yet factual tradition for a long time. It is not a mere sentimental argument; it goes much, much deeper than this, but I refrain, owing to the nature of this column.

There needs to be a balance for sure: On the one hand, the truth of the origin and significance of the coming of the Christ-child is slowly being wiped out; and on the other hand, there are many religious people who will have nothing to do with anything that smacks of the season – be it a tree, lights, gift-giving, and such. For me, it is a great time of tradition, recollection, celebration, and deep spiritual meaning. If you don't see it that way, fine. At least let me and mine try to answer the age-old question: "Shepherds, why this jubilee?"

Now if only Aunt Bob would hurry up write and tell me about her trip to the park with her grand-kids, I could get on with the season.