Bread 'n Molasses

Bread 'n Molasses Magazine at Words on Water

2009-02-11T17:54:00.004-04:00

The Words on Water arts series and Saltwater Sounds invite you to the official launch of Bread 'n Molasses magazine Volume 3, Issue 3, featuring ECMA nominees The Terry Whalen Band.

Join us for an evening of the blues with Miramichi's own Terry Whalen Band as featured on the cover of Bread 'n Molasses magazine. With special guests The Heritage Players theatre group, who will give a special sneak peek performance from their upcoming production, Grammy Grace: A Midwife's Tale.

Following the main event, the mic will open up to anyone who wishes to perform through music and words on the theme of "the blues." Share your blues through music, poetry, short stories, etc. in five minutes or less, and you might even find yourself featured in an online video or published in an upcoming edition of Bread 'n Molasses magazine.

Everyone welcome! Come enjoy a good old fashioned night of Miramichi entertainment with Bread 'n Molasses magazine at Saltwater Sounds for Words on Water.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
6:30pm - 9:00pm
Saltwater Sounds
1738 Water Street
Miramichi, NB

For more information contact Kellie at (506) 773-7668 or email editor@breadnmolasses.com

Please feel free to forward this invitation to all of your contacts who might be interested in attending.

Frye Festival Celebrates 10th Anniversary in Style

2009-02-11T10:40:00.002-04:00

The Frye Festival is celebrating its 10th anniversary! The Festival will begin its celebrations today by unveiling the line-up for the 2009 edition, which will be held from April 17 to 26 in Moncton, NB. Canada’s only, bilingual, international literary festival will bring together world renowned authors with audiences of all ages in a bilingual celebration of words.

Founded in honour of the famous literary critic Northrop Frye, the Frye Festival attracted over 16,000 attendees in 2008 and over 80,000 since its inception. This event receives its financing from all levels of government, generous corporate sponsors and individuals. The Frye Festival is managed by two employees who are supported by over a hundred volunteers.

“Ten days of festivities, ten days of wonderful discoveries, ten days to celebrate words and literature. What better way to celebrate the tenth year,” said Stéfanie Wheaton, Executive Director of the Festival. “We want to thank all those who have supported us from the very beginning and those who join us each year. Thanks to the public and our generous sponsors, the Frye can create these unforgettable moments between authors and readers.”

There is truly something for everyone at this year’s Festival. Heading the tenth anniversary celebration is Jane Urquhart, author of five award-winning books: The Whirlpool, Changing Heaven, Away, The Underpainter, The Stone Carvers, and A Map of Glass. Urquhart will be joined on stage by Wayne Johnston and Miriam Toews for an evening featuring the best of Canadian literature, hosted by the Globe and Mail’s Martin Levin. Wayne Johnston is best known for The Custodian of Paradise, his fictional account of former Newfoundland Premier Joey Smallwood and Miriam Toews is the celebrated author of A Complicated Kindness (winner of the Governor General’s Award) and The Flying Troutmans.

On the francophone side, the famous French novelist Alexandre Jardin, well known for his successful Roman des Jardins and who just released Chaque femme est un roman in 2008 will be attending. Also attending is journalist, writer, columnist, and television director, Jean Barbe, creator of the weekly publication Voir and of the Montreal cultural newspaper Ici. His most recent novel, Le travail de l’huître, was published in October 2008.

The Frye Festival is Canada’s only officially bilingual literary festival. Every year thousands of New Brunswickers meet face-to-face with some of the brightest literary minds of our times. The Frye Festival has hosted winners of all the major international literary prizes bringing globally renowned literary talent to New Brunswick communities. Tickets for the 2009 edition of the Frye Festival can be purchased from the Greater Moncton ticketing network. For more information on the Frye Festival and its program, go to www.frye.ca.

Must-see events

The Frye Festival will celebrate its 10th anniversary in style with John Ralston Saul and Antonine Maillet, in an evening extravaganza on Friday, April 17. The Festival is planning another special evening with Alexandre Jardin, an excellent and intriguing French author. In addition, the public will be able to discover some of the best young writers in the province, hosted by Governor General’s Award winning poet Serge Patrice Thibodeau and Gerard Beirne, UNB’s Writer in Residence.

This year, the Antonine Maillet–Northrop Frye Lecture will be given by Monique LaRue, a novelist and literature professor at Collège Édouard-Montpetit. The title of the talk is “Between Two Books: the Writer’s Time.” She has published numerous novels, articles, and essays, such as La Démarche du crabe, for which she received the Grand Prix du Journal de Montréal in 1996, and La Gloire de Cassiodore, for which she received the Governor General’s Award in 2002. The lecture will take place at noon on Saturday, April 25, at Moncton City Hall.

The film-writing workshop, a very popular annual event, will be hosted this year by the New Brunswick scriptwriter Tony Sekulich. Let’s not forget, the traditional Soirée Frye, the many workshops, the Night Howls hosted by Paul Bossé at the Caveau, and the Frye Jam back by popular demand with Les Païens and their guests. The official opening of the Frye Festival will take place at 11 a.m. on Friday April 17, at Moncton City Hall.

The importance of promoting literature among young people

The School Youth Program is a vital component of the Frye Festival that seeks to encourage students to discover the magic of reading and the written word. From April 17 to 26, the Festival will offer youth from schools all over New Brunswick the opportunity to interact with authors in their classrooms. Last year, more than 10,000 pupils met authors face to face, totalling 180 school visits. Over $6,000 was donated in new books to participating schools and the Festival gave $4,200 in prizes to writing contest winners and their schools. The traditional KidsFest – with its games, contests, author readings, and writing workshops – will take place on Saturday, April 25, at the Moncton Public Library.

Among the list of children’s authors, the Festival will feature Sheree Fitch, one of Moncton’s most loved authors. Sheree will do it all – from school visits, to workshops, and even an appearance at KidsFest! Other authors on the children’s roster are Lesley Livingston, a trained thespian whose spoken word performer, broadcast journalist and musician Nova Scotia and Alain M. Bergeron, author of more than 100 children’s books.

12th Day of Christmas

2009-01-04T00:38:00.003-04:00

Today Astrid Gibbs shares images of Christmas. Astrid has lived in Germany and Ottawa. In 1997, she retired in the village of Baie-Sainte-Anne, NB, where she has just completed her fifth book: a history of her native village. Astrid's contribution will conclude Bread 'n Molasses magazine's annual 12 Days of Christmas event. We hope you enjoyed all the stories and poems. Thanks to everyone who sent in contributions! And thank you for reading. We'd love to hear what you thought of this year's line-up, you can send your feedback to editor@breadnmolasses.com or leave comments at the end of any of the articles. Enjoy!

Images of Christmas Time

Sleigh bells spreading joy through the country-side
boys and girls happily sliding down a hilltop
stately pine trees newly garlanded in immaculate snow
teenagers having their first hockey game on a frozen pond
Mommy and Daddy lugging bagfuls of unwrapped gifts.

In Grandma’s kitchen
aromas of fruitcake tourtières and shortbread whose wonderful
odours fill the house for hours on end
while a Christmas carol heartens the soul
and Grandpa keeps busy stoking the fire.

In the living-room
The smell of a freshly cut pine pleasuring the senses
Christmas cards running prettily down the staircase
an empty manger patiently waiting …
while a candlelight keeps vigil by the window.

Finally
Chrismas Eve!
On Grandpa and Grandma’s doorstep
children and grandchildren all dressed up in smiles…
While
all over the world
PEACE ON EARTH AND GOODWILL TO ALL
hums in the heart of people...

—Astrid Gibbs, Baie-Sainte-Anne NB

11th Day of Christmas

2009-01-03T00:44:00.003-04:00

Our 12 Days of Christmas special event ends soon. Today Phyllis Jardine, who now lives in the Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia, shares more memories from her military family's experience serving in the Middle East during the holiday season in the 1970s. You'll recall that we first heard from Phyllis on our 5th Day of Christmas when she wrote about Christmas in the Holy Land. Today's story was previously published in CARP in 1997 where it won a prize. Happy reading and don't forget that you can leave comments in the comment section!

Gift Wrapped in Dreams: Our VW Van
By Phyllis Jardine

Christmas gifts in our home usually meant the traditional toys, books, and games. Practical as we were there was always the element of surprise. But December's gift back in 1971 far surpassed any gift we'd ever given or received. It became our legacy of love—a gift of cherished memories.

We were living in Damascus, Syria, the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. My husband, a Canadian Naval Officer, had been appointed to the United Nations as a United Nations Military Observer (UNMO).

Mountains with snow-capped peaks loomed before us as our family of five packed into a UN Wagoneer and drove the 127 kilometres through several military checkpoints along the narrow roads of the Bakka Valley, and over the mountains to Beirut.

Treasures from around the world were bartered, bought and sold in the cosmopolitan Mediterranean city of Beirut, often called the Paris of the Middle East. We arrived at noon on a Friday, dropped the UN vehicle off at headquarters, and took a taxi to the Volkswagen Dealership. To our dismay, the manager refused to accept our cheque.

"But I gave you a cheque as a deposit when you ordered the camper," my husband said. "You accepted it a few weeks ago, with no problem."

"Aha, but we didn't have to give you anything, did we?"

All the banks were closed because of the holy day. Disappointment prevailed. We couldn't believe what was happening. We then visited Ousteyan, the money-changer on the street corner who had been referred to us by his cousin, Gareth, a goldsmith friend of ours in Damascus.

"Why you worry?" he said. "I help."

In his kiosk, about the size of a telephone booth, Ousteyan passed out treats to the children, cashed our cheque, and handed over 11,000 Lebanese Pounds in a brown paper bag.

"Shukran, thank you," we chimed.

"Afwan, welcome," smiled Ousteyan

When my husband plunked the money down on the dealer's desk he must have thought we'd robbed a bank. The children laughed as we climbed into our new camper with its pop-up roof, table, fridge, and fold-down beds. We then headed home to Damascus.

Thirty-five kilometres outside Beirut, the weather changed. Snow and high winds blocked the roads and we were forced to turn around. All the hotels were filled. “No Vacancy” signs everywhere. But our spirits weren't dampened. The owner of the Charles Hotel, where we'd stayed many times previously, provided us with a large suite. We later learned his mother had vacated her apartment to accommodate us.

The next morning the weather cleared, but the pass remained closed. The police advised us to go south, down and around the mountains. A bus and two Syrian taxis were taking the same route, so we joined their convoy. This journey took us on a treacherous, winding road through the village of Marj Uyan, deep into Fedayeen territory.

As headlights shone over the steep cliffs and deep ravines below, I feared for our lives and prayed many prayers. And as I watched our three little ones—so full of softness and ease—sleeping in the backseat, I thought of our family back home in Canada and silently asked what they would do under such circumstances. “How would you dispel these terrible fears, dear loved ones?”

"Mar haba, keef halek," echoed the voices of three keffiyeh clad men who plowed through the snow to say hello to us and to check on our children. Framed by the camper's windows, their wrinkled faces looked kind, and deeply familiar. They appeared concerned, especially for the safety of our children. I found myself relaxing a bit, gradually breathing slower and easier. I looked over at my husband and at that moment I think we both experienced a sense of peacefulness within the shared space of our camper. In our young lives, so many years ago, my husband and I discovered a rare truth, a sense of hope that continues to nurture us to this day. Sweet joy sometimes treads out of the darkest night, bringing strength to the most frightening part of our lives. All we had to do was let it inside.

Exhausted, we reached Damascus in 12 hours, a trip that normally took two. With the simple joy of being safe, and alive, we inhaled the city's sweetness and carried our three little ones up the flight of 75 steps to our apartment.

Our camper provided comfort, security, and shelter wherever we ventured after that day. We left the Middle East in 1972 and spent two months travelling through Turkey, Yugoslavia, Europe, and England. The camper's closeness helped us grow and learn from one another. Its versatility gave us the gift of precious moments to take home to Canada: cooking octopus beside the Aegean Sea, walking the cobblestone streets of Dubrovnik, camping in the mountains of Switzerland, climbing towers in London, and sailing home on the SS France.

In 1980 we all shed tears when we sold the camper. The hammock bed over the front seats was a foot too short for our 11 year old son. And the double bed we had installed in Germany to fit into the pop-up roof was much too small for two teenage girls. Our old faithful guardian angel on wheels that came gift-wrapped in dreams so many Christmases ago had served us well.

10th Day of Christmas

2009-01-02T09:28:00.003-04:00

Thanks so much for all of your kind emails letting us know how much you're enjoying Bread 'n Molasses Magazine's annual 12 Days of Christmas event. Today we present a very touching story from Myrna Beth Lambert. This is Myrna's second contribution to this year's Christmas line-up. You'll remember her from the Third Day of Christmas with a story called Poppy's Christmas Present. Have a mighty good day!

Mission for Santa’s Orphans
By Myrna Beth Lambert

Terry, age six, always wanted a family. His mother dropped him off at the door of a small orphanage in Birmingham, England, when he was one-month-old. A short note pinned to his diaper said, “I am young and have no money. Please take care of my baby whose name is Terry.”

Terry was treated well at the orphanage, but he was always lonely. His two friends, Elson and Rio, were his family. Elson was a year older than Terry and ever the pessimist. “We’ll live here until we are old enough to go out on our own and then you and I and Rio will live together. No one wants to adopt us Terry because we are too old. Don’t you know everyone wants a baby?”

Terry felt his loneliness mostly during Christmas. A few of the children who stayed at the orphanage on a part-time basis went home for the holidays.

The small orphanage was poorly funded and there was never enough money. When Christmas arrived the children usually had their usual dinner of fish and rice. Pumpkin pie with a scoop of ice cream was a Christmas treat.

Santa Claus never came to the orphanage. Miss Penny, the headmistress, depended on the generosity of the local community to give the children a small gift. They usually donated gently worn articles of clothing such as t-shirts, gloves and socks. The gifts were distributed by a local resident after Christmas morning Mass.

The children were allowed to watch TV for one hour each evening if they had finished their homework. One evening as Terry sat alone in the TV room he saw a commercial that said, “Write a letter to Santa, your wish may come true.”

Terry crept into Miss Penny’s office and borrowed a piece of stationary and an envelope. When the other children in the dormitory were asleep he crawled to the door of the room. Lying flat on the floor he wrote his letter by the reflection of the light that streamed in under the door.

“Dear Santa, you don’t know me because I don’t think you come to orphanages. I am six years old and I really need a mom and dad. Could you please leave me a picture of my new family and tell me when they will come for me. That’s all I want. I am a very good boy and I would cause no trouble.”

The next morning he waited for the postman and asked him if he could mail the letter. The postman noticed the unstamped letter was addressed to Santa. There was no address. That night when the postman, whose name was Forrest, arrived home his curiosity got the best of him. He opened the letter.

He was so touched by this small child’s request he immediately showed it to his wife Margo. The couple who were in their forties had always wanted a child but were never blessed.

“What do you think? Are we too old to raise a child?" asked Forrest. “He’s the cutest little kid, small and a bit on the skinny side with round eyes the colour of coal. Those little eyes are filled with sadness.”

Margo read the letter several times. “Talk to the headmistress,” she said.

The next day Forrest went to see Miss Penny. He showed her Terry’s letter and expressed his interest in possibly adopting the young lad.

She explained that there was a lot of paperwork involved and the law stated they had to meet certain requirements. This couldn’t possibly be done by Christmas.

Since Christmas day was on a Thursday Forrest asked if he would be allowed to bring Terry home for the weekend. This would be a test of whether they would all be compatible and whether Terry would like living with him and his wife.

Miss Penny called Forrest that evening. She said that after inquiring into his background the staff agreed that he could take Terry home for the weekend if Terry wanted to go.

“Can you please give Terry an envelope from Santa in reply to his request for a picture?" asked Forrest.

“I can’t do that,” she replied. “There are 25 children here and they would all wonder why only one child received something from Santa.”

“Don’t worry,” said Forrest. “I will see to it that each child receives a present. I will personally dress as Santa and hand out gifts.”

The mistress was excited. No one had ever done anything like this for the kids before. She immediately gave him the ages of the children.

Forrest hung up the phone and wondered how he could raise enough money to fulfill his promise.

That night when Forrest returned to the post office he called a meeting of his fellow workers and told them of the orphanage's plight. Although money was scarce for most of the workers they all contributed to the collection. The postmen called their group Mission for Santa’s Orphans.

Forrest gave Margo the money and she purchased a small toy for each of the children. This would be the first toy most of the children had ever received. She wrapped each gift with care and placed the presents in a large pillowcase.

Christmas morning Santa arrived at noon. The children gathered around him in awe of his suit and the big bundle he carried.

Forrest distributed small trucks and dolls. The older children received games and books. Their laughter brought joy to his heart.

When he gave Terry his gift Terry quickly tore open the paper. He was the only child not smiling. His gift was a baseball mitt. Terry thanked Santa and walked to a corner of the room where he sat on the floor forlorn.

Santa walked over to Terry and said, “Wouldn’t you like to put your hand inside the glove?”

As Forrest walked to the door he wished everyone a Merry Christmas. He glanced at Terry and noticed that he had placed his hand in the glove. Terry was sitting on the floor staring at a picture of Forrest and Margo.

Yes, thought Forrest, this was going to be the best Christmas ever.

The Mission for Santa’s Orphans began 20 years ago and is still in existence, run by Forrest, Margo and Terry.

9th Day of Christmas

2009-01-01T01:25:00.003-04:00

Happy New Year! Today Valerie Poulin shares her personal experience with charitable giving during the holidays. A frequent contributor to Bread 'n Molasses magazine, Valerie is a published book author and an internationally published poet. She writes magazine features, news, profiles, and general-interest articles. Enjoy!

Giving in the Spirit of Christmas
By Valerie Poulin

Giving in the spirit of Christmas, honouring personal heroes, paying if forward—it doesn't matter what you call it, the important thing is action.

In past years, after writing cheques of small, seemingly inconsequential amounts, to my favourite charities, I felt guilty and somewhat lame for not having donated more. What I decided would work was to stop sending little bits of money to five or more charities, I decided to focus on only three charities, on a rotating basis so that six charities received money every other year.

What I learned this season is that $25 or $50 can make a difference. But there were other lessons found in the phrase “the spirit of giving.”

This year, thanks to my mother and late grandmother, not only was I inspired to do something bigger and better, I was also allowed to play Santa. I was able to purchase almost $500 worth of gifts to donate to a local women’s shelter.

(As I mentioned to a friend, I had a hard time convincing myself that Grandma would have wanted me to spend 500 bucks on a Wii for my 12-year-old.)

While I don’t want to give undue credit, I can’t overlook the coincidence, or perhaps more accurately, the synchronistic airing of The Oprah Winfrey Show’s “Paying It Forward” episode followed by CNN’s Heroes. Watching these shows, I was reminded of a workshop I'd attended a year ago with parole officers and social workers from across Canada, to learn about the therapeutic writing work of regional writer Sue Reynolds for incarcerated women, but I hadn’t taken what I’d learned beyond the planning stage. What’s more, I’d also been recently introduced to the work of a Toronto-based, hands-on charity that allowed donators to give gifts requested by needy children. Reminders were everywhere, things were adding up. I wanted to do more.

Days later a cheque arrived from my mother. She’d evenly divided her portion of Grandma’s tiny estate to her four daughters and sent out cheques in time for Christmas shopping.

I knew, almost instantly, what I would do with the gift.

It much wasn’t much of a leap of imagination. The money was meant to be passed along.

Here was the sign I’d been waiting on. My grandmother, who spent many of her 104 ½ years volunteering for church groups, contributing hand-made crafts to local fundraisers, and knitting hats and mittens for the homeless, was allowing me, through my mother’s actions, to make a gesture that I’d always wanted to make. I was able to give big.

I called a local shelter to find out what they needed beyond the list on their website. How many kids were staying at the shelter and of what ages? With a substantial employee discount for a retail store, I could spend the $500 and get about $650 worth of merchandise. It wasn’t long into the conversation before I realized how out of touch I am with the reality of these women’s lives.

In my zeal to make a difference, to buy special gifts for the residents and their families, I overlooked the obvious. These are women in need. They are women who have left abusive familial situations.

Cosmetics and fragrances were on my list. Is makeup needed? I asked. Mascara? Eyeliner? Lipstick? “Yes,” the volunteer co-ordinate said, then paused. “And concealer … sometimes there’s bruising.”

The difference between my desire to help and the harsh truth of their lives was wholly evident.

Not only did the gravity of this reality stop me in my tracks, but I realized that I was being selfish. I’d approached this gift-giving experience as my contribution, of me, helping. The focus and attention was meant to be on the women and their families.

After all, this wasn’t about changing lives—the staff at the shelter do that. The women themselves take steps to change their lives. My gesture was a simpler one. Adding brand new, store-bought items to the season’s donations of gently-used clothing and second-hand toys, the gifts were meant as a reminder for the women of their worth, of the special place they hold in their world, and to demonstrate some humanity to the children, to show them that the world can be gentle and kind and caring, something they may not have yet experienced in their young lives.

Although the gesture itself was big for me personally, it didn’t have to be. It’s the fulfillment that’s immense, not the size of the contribution. This year, I gave to an organization I cared deeply about, rather than spreading it across many charities. And that made a world of difference to me.

In organizing the dozen or so bags of loot, I thought about the joy Grandma must have experienced when knitting those hats and mitts, knowing that she was helping someone, even in a small way.

It must have been similar to the joy I was experiencing.

And recognizing that I would not have been able to experience that joy, to make the donation without my late grandmother’s gift, I offered the contribution to the shelter in her memory. I think she would have liked that.

8th Day of Christmas

2008-12-31T01:54:00.002-04:00

Today we have a lyrical poem that was handwritten and mailed to us by regular post from Norma Mountain in Gray Rapids, NB. Hopefully no errors occurred when the poem was typed. We're sure many readers will recall similar experiences of the season when they were growing up. Happy New Year's Eve! Enjoy!

Christmas Back Home

In a little place called Barnettville
beside the Miramichi
That is where our family gathered
around the Christmas tree.
When kinfolk of all ages
who far from home did roam
All found themselves beside the stove
back where we all called HOME.

With the fire burning brightly
and some "toddy" on the sly
And Mama stuffing turkey
and onions in our eyes
All hands talking all at once
there was so much to say
And so much to get caught up on
while we were all away.

And as the evening went along
more friends kept dropping in
With shaking hands and Merry Christmas
How's she goin'? How have you been?
And Dad would play the mouth organ
Some good old-fashioned reels
Sometimes he'd dance a step or two
and we'd all kick up our heels.

Just then the old train would blow
we called "The Late Express"
Then Dad would light the lantern
and go to meet the rest.
When the last one had returned
we'd all sit down to lunch
Mama had cooked for days on end
to feed this hungry bunch.

Some would pick at the raw dressing
it tasted pretty good
Others would stoke up the stove
with a block or two of wood.
The little ones would be in bed
with the stockings in a row
But mostly didn't go to sleep
'til they heard the last "Ho! Ho!"

Before we hardly knew it
Christmas morning came
with all the oohs and ahs and ohs
and how do you play this game?
We awoke to bacon frying
there's nothing quite so good.
And toast made over the open fire
of a stove that's burning wood.

There was just time to get ready
before the church bell began to ring
We sometimes barely made it
Coming in with a prayer and a wing
And when we hear the Carols
and bowed our head in prayer
we could almost feel the presence
of a little Christ Child there.

Yes, someone had made Christmas very special
And the choir began to sing
Unto us a child is born
Unto us is born a king.
So let us all take time this year
amidst all the Christmas fun
to set aside a little time
to thank Him when it's done.

That's how it was at Christmas
for this family back home
Our hearts still hold fond memories
no matter where we roam
of love and joy and peace and rest
of happy days of yore
We cannot have those days again
the Old Homestead is no more.

-- Norma Mountain, Gray Rapids NB

7th Day of Christmas

2008-12-30T01:26:00.003-04:00

Today, our favourite lass from Newfoundland recalls a Christmas that helped to remind her of the true meaning of Christmas. Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe is a retired Registered Nurse living in Shoal Harbour, Newfoundland. She is passionate about photography, writing and her family. She has two grown children and one granddaughter, who all live too far away from her in Alberta. Her anthology of short stories called Up Til Now is available through www.shopdownhomer.com.

So this is Christmas
By Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe

The windshield wipers made a slip-slop sound as they worked hard to clear the slushy snow that blocked my vision of the road ahead. It was Christmas Eve and I was returning home from a call-back in the operating room. The snowstorm was much worse than had been predicted, with visibility very poor.

I had been called back to work for an emergency Caesarean Section. The baby was in distress and we had to work fast. The whole surgical team worked together and was delighted to be there for the birth of a beautiful healthy eight-pound baby boy. Christmas could be felt in the O.R. when the newborn made his first cry.

Soon the Mom awakened from the anaesthetic and learned she had a baby boy. Her new mother’s joy was infectious. It was Christmas and this was her first baby. She told us she could receive no greater gift, and expressed a desire to be transferred back to her room so she could hold her baby. The Obstetrical nurses came to transport her to the Obstetrical unit, and the surgical team bundled up to face the stormy drive home.

It always seemed that sometime during the few days around Christmas we would witness a Caesarean Section and see a new baby enter the world. It always boosted our spirits. A new birth, a beautiful baby, and an overjoyed family could not help but make those involved feel the awe-inspiring event of birth and new beginnings.

When I arrived home, I found my daughter waiting for me to help her do the last minute things for Christmas. I told her about the new baby boy, and commented on how his Christmas and birthday were so close together. My daughter lit the candles she loved and we packaged our last minute gifts. She wanted to know more about the baby that had just been welcomed into the world.

“Mary only had a barn didn’t she, Mom?” she asked, which started a conversation about the Christmas story.

I loved those special times with my daughter, who was at an age at the end of childhood but not yet an adult. Heather loved Christmas. Sitting in front of the crackling wood fire, warm, safe and comfortable, and being with my family was just tremendous. With a son home from college, it was one of the few times we were all together.

Then we received a call from a neighbour. He wanted to know if my cat, Simon, was home. I assured him he had to be, because he hated the cold, and hated the wind even more. He suggested I check because he had reason to believe that he was not home. Sure enough, after a thorough investigation, we realized that Simon was missing. I could not imagine how he got out, and even more puzzling, why he stayed out in this weather.

“No, he isn’t here! What will I do?” I asked him, filled with anxiety. The caller lived just across the street from the church on the corner with the well-lit Nativity scene displayed at the front. He had seen something moving in the manger, and through his binoculars he and his wife saw what they thought was my beige cat, cuddled up with the figurine of the Baby Jesus.

I left my house quickly and ran to the church. There indeed was my cat, protected from the wind within the walls of the display, his fur warm from the heat of the floodlights, as he slept near the baby figurine in the manger. I carried him home where the children and my husband took turns holding and purring him, something that was a special gift to me, a scene that stays with me still.

How or why my cat crossed that intersection that night is a mystery. He was safe and warm, and quite content to be in the manger, much to the delight of the Christmas Eve churchgoers. My young cat became known as “The Christmas Cat” because many people had seen him as they attended the service that evening.

The events of this Christmas Eve were so unlike any Christmas Eve I had ever experienced. I had heard a newborn baby’s cries, and I had experienced the behaviour of my much loved cat, behaviour that drew me to the Nativity scene where a figure of a newborn baby lay on a bed of hay. Standing and viewing the nativity scene made me think of Mary and Joseph, of the birth of their baby boy, and how the birth I had seen earlier was so very different from the birth of the Baby Jesus.

As I stood in the snow and wind, gazing at the scene before me, I reflected on the true meaning of Christmas. I had been so busy with buying, making, doing, working, wrapping gifts and cooking that I had not taken the time to consider that at all. It was a rude awakening and all because a tiny creature drew me to a scene that reminded me of just what Christmas meant. I had not paid enough attention to it for a long time.

That Christmas Eve I had witnessed a birth, and experienced a rebirth because of the two incidents, and was reminded of the reason for the Season. I still remember the feeling that washed over me as I stood in the snow thinking of all the frivolity surrounding the Christmas season.

Do we really remember that it is a season of spiritual rebirth and renewal? I decided I should concentrate more on the meaning of Christmas and spend less time standing in line-ups at large retail outlets. The marvellous Christmas birth of a baby and the actions of a special little pet took me back to a simpler time of Sunday school and Christmas Concerts. I was reminded of the meaning of the Season and from then on was not so frenzied with the commercialism that accompanies it.

I saw two babies that Christmas Eve, one born in an environment of cleanliness with a good home in which to blossom and grow; the other a figurine of a baby born in the worst of conditions. Both touched my heart and I recalled the lines of a Christmas song by Boney M., whose music I love.

“All across the land dawns a brand-new morn, this comes to pass when a child is born.”

Sixth Day of Christmas

2008-12-29T00:01:00.002-04:00

Don't we all want to save a little money at Christmas? Katherine E. Tapley-Milton is serving up some frugal tips for your holidays that old Ebeneezer Scrooge would approve. Katherine lives in Sackville, NB, and has been previously published in the Bread 'n Molasses print edition.

A Scrooge Approved Christmas
By Katherine E. Tapley-Milton

As I write this article I'm thinking of Christmas festivities and it's only August and the day is hot and humid. Actually, all summer long I search the yard sales and Thrift store and gradually set aside gifts for the big day on December 25th. That way I don't have to endure line-ups and blowing my budget at Christmas. Celebrating the Yuletide season on a very limited income takes planning ahead.

When it comes to tree decorations, they need not be expensive. One old standby is stringing popcorn, but the Christmas I tried it I was extremely frustrated because it kept splitting on me. However, I just read a tip on the Internet that suggests leaving the popcorn a couple of days so it gets mushier prevents the problem. This year is my first year in an apartment and I don't have any tree decorations, but having an "ornament party" where each guest brings a tree decoration might be the answer. Also, I have lots of pinecones so I could easily put glitter on them and hang them up with a ribbon. My sister-in-law was lucky enough to find hundreds of sand dollars on a beach, so she took them home and soaked them in Clorox bleach and then let them dry out for a couple of months. Last year she did the entire Christmas tree with them hanging on it.

When it comes to gift giving, try to be as creative as possible. For the person who has everything I always find that a hand towel with a crocheted top always seems to please. I get a hand towel that is marked down (but not too thin) and cut it in two pieces. Next I sew the ragged edges down with a special machine stitch and then crochet the top. When choosing a gift think of the person's special interests. I have been known to take a book out of my library or a piece of clothing out of my closet and wrap them up as gifts. You don't want something ratty, so pick things that are in excellent condition. Who really knows where the item came from? If it's appropriate the receiver will be pleased and it's good for your soul.

Last year I had fun with a branch of pine that got broken off my friend’s tree. I made numerous table arrangements with the pine, cones, and fake poinsettias and gave them as gifts. A friend grows a whole lot of zucchinis in her garden in the summer and freezes them shredded up. For Christmas she makes zucchini breads and gives them as gifts. According to her they are very well received. I usually make a big roaster pan full of Nuts and Bolts and have about 20 bottles of it to give as Christmas presents. Our family likes it a lot.

Wrapping gifts need not blow the budget. The most obvious tip is to save wrapping paper from last year. However, failing that, one can use posters, wallpaper, maps, comics, paper from flower bouquets, or potted plants, etc. Reusable gift containers can be things like scarves, tea towels, cloth napkins, mugs, baskets, decorated tins, and home sewn gift bags. Fill appropriate containers with nuts, chocolate, or tea. A gift bag can even be made out of your worn out jeans. Just cut off a leg and sew the button shut. An old doily that is still in good shape can be used as gift wrap if you run a ribbon through the hole in the edge. Plain boxes can be decorated with rubber stamps, sponge, or potato painting.

When entertaining at Christmas it's important not to put yourself in the hole financially. At parties serve finger sandwiches, chips, or cut up vegetables and make your own dip at home out of yogurt or sour cream. Store brand chips are usually cheaper than the brand name. A big supply of popcorn is a thrifty way of munching out. For dinner choose a chicken or pasta dish instead of beef or seafood and make a mega salad. Remember that garnishes often make food look more expensive than it really is. If you're extremely restricted financially and stressed make the big Christmas dinner a potluck affair. Family members can bring a favourite dish and those who do not wish to cook can bring the cranberry, some pickles, or some punch. When buying the Christmas turkey get a utility one with a wing missing and not a leg.

Merry Christmas and may you have the bank account of Scrooge and the heart of Saint Nicholas!

Tomorrow we hear from Newfoundland's Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe.

Fifth Day of Christmas

2008-12-28T00:01:00.002-04:00

Today's holiday story comes from Phyllis Jardine. Phyllis grew up in Chatham, NB, and has many fond memories of the Miramichi. An accomplished author, in the past ten years her stories have appeared in many magazines such as Goodtimes, Homemakers, Readers' Digest and CARP, as well as several Spiritual/Inspirational magazines and on CBC Radio. Her latest effort, "Unpacking Memories," was published in this year's Christmas anthology A Maritime Christmas by Nova Scotia's Nimbus Publishing. This is her first time being published by Bread 'n Molasses magazine, but we certainly hope not the last. "Christmas in the Holy Land" was originally published in The Messenger of the Sacred Heart (Toronto, 2000).

Christmas in the Holy Land
By Phyllis Jardine

Silent Night—no carols on the local radio station, no church bells ringing from the high steeples, no holiday music on the narrow streets—not even a peep from her three children in the next room.

Christmas Eve 1970. Tiberias, Israel. Tucking a blanket around her baby son, the young mother whispered, “If I didn’t have so much to do, I’d have a good cry.”

Like a plait of delicate braids, her girls lay entwined—their arms and legs wrapped around each other. Salt and Pepper, everyone called them, one so fair and one so dark. By morning all three would be cuddled beside her in bed.

Before the move, women from the Netherlands and Ireland, whose husbands also served with UNTSO (United Nations Truce Supervisory Organization) in Palestine, had tried to prepare her for life in Israel. “You’ll see a big difference,” they’d said. ”Tiberias is very picturesque and pastoral compared to Damascus’ busy boulevards, but the people of Israel can be unfriendly. Take care.”

But on their first day in Tiberias, a neighbour arrived with a basket of grapefruit from her orchards. And on the second day, Elaina, the lady in the apartment below them, brought books for the children. Elaina Soloman, 62, was studying to be a Rabbi and although different—she wore long black gowns, like a nun—was most interesting. The girls thought of her as their fairy godmother.

“Elaina eats breakfast at night, Mummy.”
“I read all night and sleep all day,” Elaina laughed. “A real night bird,” she said in her fractured English.

Soon, a daily outing that accommodated everyone in the house of paper-thin walls became routine. While Elaina slept, the young mother and her three children set out to explore the countryside—her toddler in his stroller, her girls guarding his every move.

Like a scene from any small town in Canada, tiny shops dotted the narrow streets of Tiberias. But newer sights and smells also caught their attention as they walked and talked.

“Oh look,” the girls had squealed just that morning as they headed down to the market for their Christmas groceries.

Eucalypts and Palm trees lined the path around a huge lake. “The water’s a bit rough today,” she said, recalling how the lake was known for its violent storms. But the fishermen hoisting their catches of St. Peter’s fish into small fishing vessels worked as one with the wind.

“What’s St. Peter’s fish?” asked her youngest daughter.
“A tasty fish, about a foot long with fins that look like a comb,” she told them. “We’ll have some soon.”
“Is it the same fish Jesus fed the hungry?”
“No, they were sardines, just like we have in Canada.”

The sun spilled like melted butter over the lake as they sat on a bench snacking on cheese and Shabbat bread watching the fishermen. Good things happen along, she reminded herself as she relaxed. So pleasant, 70 degrees Fahrenheit. But the children were anxious to get to the market and the playground before climbing back up the hill to home.

Their house overlooked the lake, the Sea of Galilee called Lake Tiberias or as Elaina had informed her, Yam Kinneret, from the Hebrew word kinor for harp, the shape of the lake.

“Did Jesus really eat sardines?” her youngest daughter asked out of the blue, her nose all puckered up. The little mother cherished her time with her children, their expressions, their moments of discovery. But, her friend Elaina had found this life peculiar.

“Israeli women are much more off on their own. Working. Independent,” Elaina said.
“Well, I hope to stay home for at least a few more years. My baby is just 14 months old. They need my mothering now,” she told Elaina.
“You are possibly correct,” said Elaina. “Lives are the story of how we remember. Especially to remember the first years. Life should be a gentle movement. We would be lost without a sense of home.”

For three years, peace had prevailed in the Holy Land. But tanks and armoured vehicles still rode the highways. “It’s a strange world,” her husband had said one day. “Here I am, a Canadian helping to keep peace in the Middle East, while back home they’re-enacting The War Measures Act.”

United Nations Observers like her husband, monitored and reported violations of the Ceasefire between Israel and its Arab neighbours. “Cooking and looking,” he jokingly called it. The neutral observers lived part-time in trailers in No Man’s Land between Syria, Israel, Jordan and Lebanon, while families lived in apartments in nearby towns and cities.

“Thankfully, he’ll be home tomorrow morning.”

Looking about the four room flat, she thought of Christmases back home in Canada. So different. “But, other than the dampness and the snakes in the garden, this tiny place with all its odds and sods of furniture is rather homey: a wicker loveseat and a prayer-rug from Beirut; a brass coffee table and a mosaic games table from Damascus; a Grundig radio from Germany. In the corner, a lean Cypress tree from Jerusalem. And beneath the branches of the tree that looked more like a Cedar tree, a creche of rich olive wood from Bethlehem.”

“Christmas 1970 will turn out okay,” she promised herself. They'd hung their stockings, decorated the scrawny tree, and the gifts her mother had sent from New Brunswick were all wrapped in colourful tissue: clothes, books, and special treats—plum pudding, fruit cake, and summer savoury.

“No toys, however.” There'd been so much excitement back in October when the girls had printed their Santa letters and they’d mailed their Christmas order off to an American catalogue.

“Will Santa know where we are?” her youngest daughter asked.
“Of course. Santa knows everything,” her eldest daughter replied.

But here it was Christmas Eve and nothing from the mail. Her grandmother had once said that to live deepest, you have to go to the places that help you find a slower rhythm. On the kitchen table in the damp flat sat Santa's lunch, a card for Dad with lots of kisses and hugs, and a handsome crayoned picture of all the family in his UN jeep.

They were the only Canadians with children in the Middle East. Because of safety reasons, Canadian wives weren’t encouraged to accompany husbands to Palestine; however, once her husband saw how families from other countries like Ireland, Belgium, Denkark, France, Australia, New Zealand and The Netherlands managed, he’d sent for his little family.

Tomorrow they would attend church in Cana. Bethlehem was too far away, 100 miles to the southwest. Besides you needed an invitation to attend mass in Bethlehem. The humble people of the village of Cana always welcomed them. And after mass they’d buy some of Father Vanencio’s wine and take it home to celebrate Christmas with Elaina and the Canadian bachelors they’d invited to dinner.

The little mother checked her portable oven and propane refrigerator, hoping the Christmas goodies would keep another day. Tiberias was an expensive place. When her husband was home they always shopped at kibbutzim for food, but Ein Gev, the largest kibbutz was too far to travel on her own. So she’d purchased her vegetables locally and the butcher had chopped, plucked and prepared three plump chickens (no turkeys in Israel) as they waited.

“Ugh,” her daughters had cried .
"For the little Canadian family," he smiled, and wished them a Happy Holiday. He was a Sabra, as native-born Israeli are called, after the prickly pear whose tough skin and soft inner fruit is supposed to resemble the Israeli character. She accepted his gestures as a gift. He had been kind when it was probably easier to be indifferent.

"Just the chicken dressing to prepare and I'm off to bed," she said, trying to absorb herself in the spirit of Christmas. Soon, she was into the reverential reconstruction of the Nativity Story.

“They spoke little, for the miracle that was to come was between them and binding them. Joseph was beset with worry.”
"Him too?" the young mother smiled.
“Joseph was abashed, embarrassed and confused by the gifts of Kings: a packet of gold dust, a jar of frankincense (fragrant essence of oils from East Africa) and myrrh (a rare orange-coloured gum used as perfume).”

As the BBC crackled with Midnight mass from Bethlehem, she heard the first knock. Padding to the door in her husband’s bathrobe, she hesitated. Then heard familiar voices.

Having driven all the way through Galilee and Samaria, through Nazareth, Nablus and Ramallah on the West Bank, to Jerusalem and back on Christmas Eve, three Canadian UNMO’s, armed with parcels from the UN post office in Jerusalem, tiptoed into her flat. With smiles on their faces and joy in their hearts, they helped her assemble a big cardboard playhouse and then place the dolls, teddy bears, trucks, tea sets, a Jack in the Box, and a game of Snakes and Ladders under her tree.

"Gifts of the Magi," she whispered to them. “Shukran. Thank you.”

Tomorrow we present a Scrooge Approved Christmas from Kathy Tapley-Milton.

Fourth Day of Christmas

2008-12-27T00:01:00.002-04:00

It's the Fourth Day of Christmas and Bread 'n Molasses magazine proudly presents two lyrical poems from Annabel Sheila. Somehow between writing, publishing, sketching, fundraising, being a mother and everything else, Moncton's Annabel Sheila manages to find time to lend her literary skills to the Bread 'n Molasses Editorial Board. And for this we are very grateful. For more information about Annabel's work visit her website. Today, enjoy two of her poems.

A Christmas Tree Story

It was our very first Christmas alone,
Just the two children and me,
And we decided it would be fun,
To chop down our own Christmas tree.

We dressed up warmly from head to toe,
And headed for the trail,
Pretty soon it began to snow,
And the wind began to wail.

Not a single tree did we find,
Anywhere close to the ground.
Then I squinted through the snow,
And the perfect tree I found.

The wind must have knocked it over,
For the tree was twelve feet tall,
I only needed the top five feet,
So over the branches I crawled.

My little axe was not too sharp,
So it took me quite a while,
But I was determined to prevail,
And dress this tree with style.

To shorten up this story,
I’ll cut right to the chase,
I dragged our lovely Christmas tree,
Through snow up to my waist.

The children’s smiles were my reward,
For their Christmas tree was grand.
From that year forward we agreed,
To shop at the Christmas tree stand.

- Annabel Sheila

My Family Christmas

Snowflakes dance at the window,
Glistening in the light.
Frosted patterns of ice trim the glass,
This wonderful Christmas night.

Memories tug at the heartstrings,
Watching the firelight glow.
Warm, cosy and peaceful inside,
Away from the drifting snow.

The Christmas tree in its splendour,
Bright packages tucked all around.
Children dancing with rosy cheeks,
Their laughter a heart warming sound.

For me, there’s no better place to be,
Than with family this time of year.
Sharing memories of Christmases past,
With loved ones I hold dear.

- Annabel Sheila

Be sure to stop by tomorrow when Phyllis Jardine writes about Christmas in the Holy Land.

Third Day of Christmas

2008-12-26T00:01:00.003-04:00

Happy Boxing Day! Today, Myrna Beth Lambert shares a holiday story that will inspire anyone who has ever grieved a loved one at Christmas. Especially if you believe.

Award-winning author, Myrna Beth (Micki) Lambert, is the mother of three grown daughters and nine grandchildren. She had been married to her husband, Stan, for 48 years. Micki writes poetry and short stories and has had several poems and stories published. Her writing has received many awards including the Tom Howard Short Story Contest and Voice Net Poetry Contest. She has had several Christmas stories published in Bread 'n Molasses. Myrna divides her time between homes in Chicago and Florida.

Poppy’s Christmas Present
By Myrna Beth Lambert

The holiday season was a heartbreaking time for Beth. This was the first time in 48 years that she would not be with her beloved Larry who had passed away in June. Beth missed Larry terribly. They had been childhood sweethearts and she couldn’t remember a Christmas without him

Beth had shed a million tears and just when she thought her heartache was easing she would re-experience the intense pain of her loss.

Beth tried to camouflage her feelings in the presence of her children and grandchildren because she knew that they too missed their Poppy. Although Larry's disability kept him from actively participating in many of the children's activities he had a way of making each of the children feel special. He was so proud of his family.

Larry was an avid baseball fan, although he loved all sports. His grandchildren joined their Poppy many Sundays and most holidays, cheering for their favorite team while munching on chocolate candy. Larry loved chocolate. He always kept a large bowl of candy on the table next to his favourite recliner.

One Sunday during a game intermission Larry and the kids listened to a commentator praising a rookie for having played an excellent game. The commentator said that the rookie must have been receiving signals from deceased player Babe Ruth.

“Do you believe that?” asked the grandchildren.
“I do,” replied Larry. “When my time comes I'll try to send you a signal or a sign that I'm with you. It may not be immediately apparent so watch for it,” he said.
Larry then changed the channel and they began watching another game.

The night after Larry died Beth’s friend Janice attended a baseball game with her son Steve. Just before the game began, a huge rainbow cast its ray of colours across the field. Steve said, “Look that’s a signal from Larry. He is watching the game from above.”

That same night Beth was sitting at her dining room table with the family when she noticed a spot on the table. Beth turned to her oldest granddaughter. “What is this Aimee?”
“It’s a rainbow,” answered Aimee.

Beth thought that was unusual. She had lived in her house for several years and had never seen a rainbow on her table before, but in all her grief she hadn’t given it much thought.

The following day Janice called and told her of the rainbow at the ballpark

“I can’t believe it,” said Beth. “What time did the rainbow appear?”
“Seven thirty,” answered Janice.
“Wow, what a coincidence. I saw a rainbow on my dining room table about that time.”
Janice shrieked, “I have goose bumps. Wait until I tell my son, Steve.”

Beth repeated the story to her family. The grandchildren were ecstatic. They were positive that was Poppy’s sign. Each time the children saw a rainbow they called to say Poppy was sending a greeting. Beth wanted to believe that Larry was sending a signal from above, but she wasn’t convinced.

Christmas Eve Beth joined her friends for an early dinner, but left early. She was lonely and anxious to return to the comfort of her own home. Beth was going to join the entire family early the next morning so that she could watch her grandchildren open their presents. Tonight she just wanted to be alone with her memories.

Beth envisioned her own children hanging their stockings. They always selected the largest of Larry’s socks to hang on the fireplace. She could visualize Larry sitting on the family room floor each Christmas after the children had gone to bed, patiently assembling bicycles, doll houses and train sets.

Beth could still hear the squeals of delight when the children peered over the railing early Christmas morning and discovered that Santa had come. They always laughed at the orange that was at the bottom of their stockings. That orange had been a family tradition. It filled the toes of Larry’s socks perfectly.

Larry had been a wonderful husband and father and Beth was grateful for her memories.

Early Christmas morning Beth arrived at her daughter’s home in time to watch her grandchildren open their presents. Beth tried to share their excitement. She could hear Larry saying, “Put on a happy face, Beth. Enjoy the moment.”

“Oh my darling how I wish you were here,” Beth whispered.

Suddenly, smack in the middle of the floor a rainbow appeared. The grandchildren simultaneously said, “Look Nanny, Poppy’s here with us.”

Beth was stunned. The most beautiful array of colours had cast a reflection in the centre of the wood floor. “Thank you my darling,” whispered Beth. She was now positive that the rainbow was Larry’s sign for it was a bright, sunny day. Weather conditions would not have caused the beautiful colours that graced the family room floor.

Larry’s presence filled the family with joy. Beth could hear his voice in her head saying, “Beth I am here with you and will always be with you.” It was not her first Christmas without Larry after all.

At least that was what Beth chose to believe. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about? BELIEVING?

Bread 'n Molasses Magazine's 12 Days of Christmas continues tomorrow with two poems by Moncton's Annabel Sheila.

Second Day of Christmas

2008-12-25T00:01:00.003-04:00

Happy Christmas! Bread 'n Molasses Magazine's 12 Days of Christmas special event continues today with Christmas Traditions submitted by Debby Frost. Debby asked her friends and family to share their various holiday traditions with our readers and she also writes about how her own family honours the season. What's your family tradition? Join the discussion by leaving a comment.

Christmas Traditions
By Debby Frost

Everybody has their Christmas and New Year’s traditions. Some are unique to a particular family or neighborhood.

My friend, Cynthia Goulette, says:
If you eat salted herring at midnight on New Year's Eve, you will not run out of money all throughout the New Year. (You have to have some in your mouth right at midnight.) New Year kisses will be a bit salty though! Ha! Ha! Ha!

At the Bowie household:
My mother worked in a Lebanese home when she was younger. She always made these Fatayers—homemade bread done in squares and filled with hamburger, onions and pine nuts. She also made meat pies but only with ground beef, and ground pork. That is different from the meat pies traditionally on the Miramichi.

No opening presents on Christmas Eve and everybody had to be up before my father passed out presents. Always have stockings with an orange or apple in the toe. Filled with candy, no toys. Barley toys with wool stuck all over them. Mmmm.

My mother always kept an extra gift or two in case we had somebody stay over on Christmas.

Fifty years ago at our house, my father and mother generally went out to a New Year’s Ball and left us with our grandmother. Because they had such a good time, they wanted us to have a good time too so Mrs. Claus always brought us candy on New Year’s. This kept us good for another day of the year. To this day I don’t know if it was Mom and Dad or my grandmother who did the job for Mrs. Claus.

From Astrid Gibbs:
In my Christmas of Yore, we had a hanging stocking for every child on the wall (especially during wartime) a MUST was barley and ribbon candies. Our traditions were mostly centred around food like tourtières (meat pies) or rabbit paté, shortbread or scotch cookies, and later on, fruitcake. But our most important tradition was having our Christmas meal at our grandparents' house. On New Year's Day, relatives visited their loved ones with wishes for the coming year. So I guess food and the social aspect was paramount within Christmas traditions.

At the Frost household:
My children decorate the tree (they are 22 and 30 now). They took turns putting the angel on top. My husband had to lift them at first and then they got tall enough to do it on their own. They never forgot from one year to the next whose turn it was to put the top on. The angel is from our first Christmas, 34 years ago, as a married couple and is plastic and had cotton batten on it and is ratty. They still want us to use that angel. I bought a beautiful angel and a beautiful star and my daughter refuses to put it on.

At the Mitchells:
Always go to Midnight Mass, never Sunday morning. Only open one gift Christmas Eve and it is usually jammies or something small. Go to my friends house Christmas Eve and we always have meat pie. We open our gifts after breakfast and after everyone is seated, and then we take turns, opening the best ones last. We travel to Miramichi Christmas morning and Lee’s parents (and before that Mom) wait until we get there and we open them with them.

My friends, Ann and Susan:
If a dark haired man knocks on the door at New Year’s, it is going to be a good year. It's called First-Footing. The first person to go through the door on New Year’s Day is supposed to be a dark haired boy for good luck (up until two years ago they thought it was supposed to be a light haired boy) Apparently there are a bunch of twists, like you have to leave a gift and they must leave through a different door. Ann's family has done it forever and her and Sue and their mother follow it every year, never fails. I think they used Sue's dog one year because there were no boys there.

Mulder's Family Tradition:
My father Jerry was born in Deventer, Holland, and every year we celebrate this Dutch tradition. Every December 6th is known as St. Nick's Day in our household. When you wake up in the morning on St. Nick's day traditionally there would be one treat left behind in your wooden shoe placed by the fireplace. This symbolized that you've been a good girl or boy for the year. If you did not find a treat that would mean Black Pete would pay you a visit. Black Pete is St. Nick's chimney sweeper and he is dressed up in black from head to toe. If you were a naughty girl or boy, Black Pete would find you and give you a pat on the bum with his broom. No one wants a visit from Black Pete. This tradition stays in our family every year celebrated with Dutch cookies and chocolates. We play Dutch Christmas songs and have a cup of coffee every December 6th to start our morning. Just something to get the Holiday Season started.

At the Brideaus:
Meat pie every Christmas Eve before opening our first gift.
At the Sillikers:
We have opened our house on Wren Day (St. Stephen’s Day) for many years. We invite people to come over and we open our house so that they can listen to some music, eat, something other than Turkey, and gather with friends and family. Gary has been known to make Haggis. It is a day to hear what people have been doing this year and what their plans are for the New Year. It has enabled Gary and I to maintain a tradition no matter where we were in the world. We have a wrought-iron Wren in our living room but one year we actually had a wren hanging around outside.

The children were always encouraged to bring their friends. There is one story when we were in Newfoundland when I told the kids to go check the bathroom to make sure everything was clean. I reminded them to wash the soap. Sarah and Shamus and their friends will never let me forget that one.

Christmas and New Year’s Meals in New Brunswick:
•Turkey or Duck or Goose
•Dressing with summer savoury (it’s not available out west)
•Potatoes, gravy, carrots, turnips
•Meat Pie (chicken, pork, beef, rabbit) usually on Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve
•Chicken bouillon
•Poutine Rapée
•Grape leaves
•Fatayer
•Fruit cake
•Scotch cookies
•Gumdrop Cake
•Sweets, sweets, sweets, squares, cookies, pies, cakes

Join us tomorrow for a story called Poppy’s Christmas Present by Myna Beth Lambert.

First Day of Christmas

2008-12-24T00:01:00.003-04:00

Hello! And welcome to Bread 'n Molasses Magazine's annual holiday event 12 Days of Christmas. Join us over the next week and a half as we present something new for the season every day.

Today, we have two short and crafty pieces from Laura Wells. Laura is a writer, teacher and traveller. A frequent contributor to Bread 'n Molasses print edition, wherever life takes her, Miramichi is always home.

Get Corked this Christmas
By Laura Wells

It’s not what you think! I’m talking about Christmas ornaments, specifically Wine Cork Reindeer. Sure you may need to drink lots of wine to get the wine corks, but that’s another story. To create Wine Cork Reindeer you will need wine corks, toothpicks, pipe cleaners, push pins (or even red and green markers), and ribbon (or a small piece of fabric).

Directions:
Take a wine cork and cut it in half for the reindeer's head. Use the other wine cork for the reindeer’s body. Make your holes with an ice pick, two on top of the head for the pipe cleaner antlers, one in the small and another in the larger wine cork so that a toothpick will connect the body to the head. Poke four holes in the underside of the larger cork. This is where the toothpick legs will go—the hardest part is getting the legs right so Rudolph will stand up! Cut a little piece of fabric for scarf. Cut off red and white pins with a snipper, poking a red pin in the head for a nose and a white pin in the reindeer’s backside for a tail. Ouch! Add little eyes with marker. And voila! A great gift for the wine enthusiast in your life!

Celebrate Christmas with a bang!
By Laura Wells

This year, put a new twist on the count down to Christmas. If you’re trying to cut down on your chocolate intake and are considering banning the chocolate advent calendar, or are just a bubble wrap enthusiast—and let’s face it who can resist popping bubble wrap when it’s placed in front of them—this year, "POP" your way down to Christmas! Bubble packaging countdown calendars offer daily bursts of fun. Make one for your house, for each family member, or even for your coworkers.

How?

Take a piece of bubble wrap and cut a tree shape with 12 bubbles, also include a bottom bubble for the tree trunk and one for a star on top of your tree if you’d like. Starting from the bottom up, you’ll have a row of one, then four, three, two, one, and one more bubble for the star on top of your tree. Use glue dots or double-sided tape to attach the bubble wrap to a piece of paper. Then decorate circular stickers with markers and adhere them to each bubble. Lastly, squeeze a bubble each day as you count down the 12 days of Christmas. Talk about celebrating Christmas with a bang!

Check back tomorrow for Christmas Traditions from Debby Frost!

Frye Festival Youth Writing Contest

2008-11-01T01:15:00.000-03:00

FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, the Great- West Life / London Life Writing Contest is open to high school students province-wide! Check out the new themes and write to win $100, $300 or $500! This year, there will be two distinct categories for creative writing and essays, so express yourself in your own style. The deadline for entries is December 12th.

The Great-West Life – London Life Writing Contest provides student authors the opportunity to demonstrate their writing skills.

Prizes are $500 first place, $300 second place, and $100 third place. Participating schools will also receive one ballot per submission (max. 15) to be placed in a draw for a prize of $500 toward the purchase of books.

Download PDF for full details.

WAYNE ROSTAD AT THE FREDERICTON PLAYHOUSE

2008-10-27T01:35:00.002-03:00

Sunday, November 2 - 7:30 pm

"He’s the kind of fellow who would be pleasant company on a long drive, a fishing trip, or an afternoon telling lies and downing beer in a tavern. Rostad has a natural spontaneous friendliness..." - Montreal Gazette.

If there is a better way to describe Canada’s most recognized TV personality, we haven’t heard it! It's been a year since his widely revered, multi Gemini award-winning CBC-TV program On The Road Again, went off air after 20 seasons - we're thrilled to announce that Wayne's itch to get back On The Road ... Again! has returned.

Member of the Order of Canada, this gentle giant of a man with the sparkling wit, easy stage presence and indefatigable passion for the people and stories that colour this country make him without a doubt "the real deal." And it comes singing through loud and clear from the stage:

"One minute, Rostad had them rolling in the aisles, the next, riveted to their seats" - Edmonton Journal;

"A natural entertainer extraordinaire" - Ottawa Citizen;

"he held the crowd in the palm of his hand" - Winnipeg Sun;

"Wayne Rostad comes across as the genuine article, a man who cares about what he does, his country and its people" - Halifax ChronicleHerald.

Join him, up close and personal, for an evening of tales from the road, laughter and song ...

Tickets available at the Playhouse Box Office: 506-458-8344/ 866-884-5800 or online at www.theplayhouse.ca

Author Appearances - Captured Hearts: New Brunswick's War Brides

2008-10-26T01:19:00.000-03:00

Click to Enlarge

Call to artists for Christmas Craft Sale

2008-10-25T01:57:00.000-03:00

We are pleased to announce a new sale of unique work by NB craftspeople to be held at the Charlotte Street Arts Centre on Saturday, November 29, 2008 from noon to 4 PM.

18-20 spaces available (maximum)

We are looking for artists who would like to have a table (8ft space) at a cost of $40 per table. All funds raised through table registration will be donated to Cancer Research at Fredericton's Relay for Life 2009. All artistic mediums welcome.

Interested artists should email Sarah McIntyre at unbeweaveable@ymail.com for a registration form.

Deadline to register is October 31.

Acadian Art Exhibition Opens Tomorrow (Sackville)

2008-10-24T10:51:00.002-03:00

Biographies: Un regard contemporain sur l’Acadie

The Owens Art Gallery in Sackville, NB, presents an exhibition of the work of eight Acadian artists selected by Jennifer Bélanger and Mario Doucette. The guest curators, artists and Acadians themselves, have presented us with an exhibition, which reflects their interest in the making of art as an activity inextricably bound up with concepts of identity and the drive for self-expression.

The artists they have chosen represent several generations and a wide career range, from emerging to more senior and established. The works in the exhibition offer a variety of approaches and media, suggesting the richness and diversity in the art of contemporary Acadie. The artists in the exhibition are Maryse Arsenault, Jean-Denis Boudreau, Herménégilde Chiasson, Francois Gaudet, André Lapointe, Mathieu Léger, André Alan Phelps, Stefan St-Laurent.

An opening reception will be held on Saturday, October 25 at 5:00pm. Everyone is welcome to attend.

Biographies: Un regard contemporain sur l’Acadie has been produced with the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, artsnb, and the Province of New Brunswick.

For further information please contact Kerri George, Gallery Intern, 506-364-2574, kgeorge@mta.ca

Halloween Recipes

2008-10-24T01:31:00.003-03:00

Joan Cripps of Chatham, NB, sent in these recipes for tasty Halloween treats. Enjoy!

Apple Men

What you will need:

Apples
Lg white marshmallows
Sm coloured marshmallows
Lg gum drops
Food colouring
Toothpicks

Draw face on lg white marshmallow
Put toothpick up through marshmallow to a gum drop for the hat
Stick this on top of an apple
String 3 or 4 coloured marshmallows on 4 tooth picks (2 for arms and 2 for legs) Stick on sides of apple to make arms and legs.
You can also use a sm coloured marshmallow for belly button

Taffy Apples

What you will need:

Firm red apples
Stir sticks

1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup vinegar
1/2 cup water

Mix ingredients and cook until candy thermometer registers 300 degrees. Insert skewer into end of each apple. Dip entire apple in syrup until well coated. Place on waxed paper to harden. Skewer is left in to hold apple when eating. Apples are merely coated, not cooked.

Caramel Apple Dip Tray

8 oz. Cream cheese
1/4 cup sugar
2 tbsp butter
Mix well with beaters
Spread on pie plate

3 pkg apple caramel dip
2 Skor bars, place in bag and crush
Spread over top of cheese mixture
Add 2 Red and 2 green apples sliced (skin on)
Set in dish with lemon juice for a few minutes until ready to use, keeps apples from turning brown
Stand apples around edge of plate.
So pretty and yummy!

Traveling Miramichi Area

2008-10-23T11:27:00.006-03:00

" This land is your land......This land is my land.....From Bonavista to the Vancouver Island......From the Artic Circle to the Great Lakes Waters......This land was made for you and me.....As I went walking that ribbon of highway .....I saw above me that endless skyway..... I saw below me that golden valley..... This land was made for you and me. "

as sung by our Atlantic Province pride and joy, Anne Murray. The Canadian version was written and popularized by Canadian folk music group The Travellers in 1955. adapted from the original US composition.

Hwy 425 is My Miramichi's "ribbon of highway" constant journey route travelling to and fro' to do my shopping or to go to my place of employment. Boom Road is my home and it is situated 2/3s of the way down the eastern end of Hwy 425.

I never cease to be awestruck by the different views of the Mighty Miramichi River that my journey allows for me to take in. The hues of blue that the river colors transform to depending on what factors is beyond my amazement. Why is that? Some days on my trip into town, the river is almost navy in color and when I return home, it may be skyblue coordinating and reflecting the endless skyway above it. Does anyone have the explanation for this phenomona?

Anyway, back to this picture taking opportunity on Hwy. 425 and the experience that drew my attention! I had stopped a couple of days prior to take a picture of the creative haystack truck, but their was no children! The "awe factor" is always stirred up within me when there is children and family around for picture taking "real life" affect.

So, brakes applied.....check for availability of camera....camera was there so.....turn around and go back!!!

Window of opportunity had been framed through my windshield!!!

I never want to miss a window of opportunity!

Luck would have it that the one child was Anika Nastasuik who helped her daddy create the truck, grow the pumpkins and she also came up with the name "Lumpkin Pumpkin Patch"!

The other wee sweetie, Meggie Clark was on a Hwy 425 adventure with her grampa, Frankie Stewart and they had stopped to get a pumpkin or two for carving for Halloween!

There is a hidden "child attention getter" and "fun creator" through the cab to the back box of the truck..........WOW you can slide down off the box onto a stack of hay!!!! WHAT AN IDEA!!! and WHAT FUN!!!! I just love people's creative thought processing into an actual product of ingenuity!!!!

A "MUST SEE" and "MUST STOP AND EXPERIENCE" worthwhile part of a Hwy 425 journey!

Anyway, stay tuned in for more of my"Travelling Hwy 425" adventures and sharing opportunities!

In the meantime check out the following link that will take you to other pictures where you will meet a fourlegged pumpkin lover named "Twister".

http://www.mightymiramichi.com/Community/Gallery/Album.aspx?a=67

More than Salmon Coming Back to the Miramichi River

2008-10-23T01:35:00.003-03:00

Seven river communities stretched along this part of the Miramichi River in New Brunswick have banded together in planning the largest homecoming reunion ever to be experienced in the area. Come Home to the River festivities are planned for August 14-16, 2009 in McNamee.

Reminiscent of Wilf Carter's song, "I've been everywhere man, traveled everywhere man, …I've been everywhere," it seems the settlements of McNamee, Carroll Crossing, O'Donnell Town, New Bandon, Ludlow, Porter Cove and Priceville should have been included in that song. People from these communities past and present along with those who have ever visited have standing invitations to attend.

"The homecoming will have something for everyone from youth to seniors," said Lorne Amos the chairman of the committee. The planning committee has started to plan events around gospel concerts, ball tournaments, a craft show, canoe trips and races, walking excursions and dances. There is no doubt of course it will include the Footbridge. This 630 foot long pedestrian bridge that spans the river between McNamee and Priceville has linked the community since it was built. It holds memories for everyone since a tragedy in 1939 that touched everyone's life in this close-knit community. Amos said, "The committee has already started to work and after two meetings people from as far away as Vancouver, Toronto, Detroit and even as far as Amman, Jordan are making plans to attend."

The impetus for Come to the River began as a topic on a Facebook group created by Irva Larsen one of the committee members. "The McNamee on the Mighty Miramichi Facebook group has over 250 members and it is expected there will be over 500 people attending the homecoming," said Larsen. The Volunteer Coordinator is Euphemia O'Donnell-Black. Volunteers who wish to be involved with Come Home to the River – McNamee 2009 are invited to contact O'Donnell-Black at 506-369-9105 or through email aeblack@nb.sympatico.ca.

The Miramichi Trail part of the NB Trails system that extends from Astle to Quarryville runs for 75 kilometers along the Miramichi at this point and is a favourite activity for both summer and winter.

Two NBers Nominated for GGs

2008-10-22T13:28:00.004-03:00

David Adams Richards

The Canada Council for the Arts announced the finalists for the 2008 Governor General’s Literary Awards yesterday and two New Brunswickers are among the nominees.

Miramichi’s David Adams Richards is nominated in the fiction category for The Lost Highway. The Canada Council for the Arts statement said, “The Lost Highway is an intimate and compelling psychological portrait of a lost soul. David Adams Richards writes with an overarching humanity that points to our foibles with sympathy and humour. His open, honest and supple prose creates a world we at once recognize and see anew.”

Richards is one of only three writers to have won both the fiction and non-fiction awards for Nights Below Station Street in 1988 and Lines on the Water: A Fisherman's Life on the Miramichi in 1998, respectively.

Jo-Anne Elder of Fredericton received her second nomination for her English translation of Béatitudes, a book of poetry written by Herménégilde Chiasson, Lieutenant-Governor of New Brunswick. Elder received her first nomination in 2003 for her translation of the novel Tales from Dog Island by Françoise Enguehard.

Photo by Herménégilde Chiasson
The Canada Council for the Arts statement said, “In translating Herménégilde Chiasson’s Béatitudes, Jo-Anne Elder has met the challenges of both the emotionally-charged content of the original, and its specific literary form, the litany. She has movingly rendered the complexity expressed in this contemporary ‘sermon on the mount,’ while providing an English text rich with sensuality, rhythm and a sense of communion.”

The finalists include authors from ages 28 to 77, several previous finalists and three first-time finalists who are journalists. The awards are in the categories of fiction, non fiction, poetry, drama, children’s literature (text and illustration) and translation.

A total of 1,469 books were nominated for this year’s awards. Thirty-two of the 73 finalists are nominated for the first time. At least nine of the finalists are under the age of 35. The themes of mortality, war and place figure prominently in several of the books.

Canada Council for the Arts funds, administers and promotes the Governor General’s Literary Awards. Each winner will receive $25,000 and a specially-bound copy of the winning book. The publisher of each winning book will receive $3,000 to support promotional activities.

Non-winning finalists will each receive $1,000 in recognition of their selection as finalists, bringing the total value of the Awards to approximately $450,000.

The winners will be announced on Tuesday, Nov. 18 at 10 a.m. EST at the McCord Museum of Canadian History in Montreal.

Joe Bonura Presentation

2008-10-22T11:04:00.003-03:00

Excellent new experience for me this morning in attending a seminar at the Rodd! The speaker, Joe Bonura presented his "Eleven High-Impact Marketing Ideas to Turbo-Charge Your Business". This opportunity to connect with My Miramichi business people and feel a part of their world now, was a bonus for me! Every chance to let people know I exist inside their community is helping me reach my goals!
The primary concept from the wealth of info shared that I am going to activate is the 80/20 Rule.......listen 80% of the time I am with folk and speak only 20% of the time and to serve my clients in the way that I desire to be served.

A great start to my midweek day!!!!!
Thank you to Joe Bonura and to all those who organized this event.

New Brunswick Artists Wanted

2008-10-22T02:00:00.001-03:00

New Brunswick Artists wanted to represent New Brunswick in the cultural competitions of the VI Games of La Francophonie in Beirut, Lebanon from September 27 to October 6, 2009.

Artists who are 35 years old or younger, have Canadian citizenship, are a resident of New Brunswick and are interested in representing New Brunswick in the cultural competitions, should register now.

November 7, 2008 is the deadline to submit an application.

Official Disciplines:
Song
Storytelling
Traditionally-inspired original dance
Literature (short story)
Painting
Photography
Sculpture

Information:
Department of Wellness, Culture and Sport
Arts Development Branch
Cultural competitions of the VI Games of La Francophonie
250 King St., Fredericton, NB E3B 9M9

Telephone: (506) 453-2555 Fax: (506) 453-2416
Email: michel.l.berube@gnb.ca
www.gnb.ca/Jeux