Turning Back the Hands of Time

If I could turn back the hands of time, I’d go back to a house in Estevan, Saskatchewan. The snow was real deep and my dad would help my brother and I make some real great snow forts. Christmas was very special, because we’d get lots of great toys. I also vaguely remember my mom getting excited about the Oil Wives’ Christmas Party.

I might not go that far back. I might only go as far back as Medicine Hat. Those were real cool Christmases because of the Christmas Pageant. You know how you read the accounts of Christmas in a small town and roll your eyes at how cheesy it seems? Having lived it as a child, I never roll my eyes. I smile as I remember the assemblies that were also rehearsals for the songs. Of course I never got picked to be one of the singers but I still remember the gym full of kids belting out both the religious and secular songs.

I could back to Edmonton when I was a young girl, and the Christmases that made it no problem understanding Dolly Parton’s “Hard Candy Christmas”. I was grateful for the homemade Christmas gifts, with much love and thought poured into them. I remember the family going downtown to look at the Christmas displays in the shop windows. Not all the Christmases in Edmonton in the 70’s and early 80’s were lean. I remember getting a Barbie Doll, a toy oven, and as I got older, clothes, games, even records.

I could go back to the high school years which were spent mainly in Lloydminster, on the Alberta side. The best year was when Santa Claus gave my brother and I a Canadian Monopoly game and wrote “NO FIGHTING” on the label. Santa had a tender heart, because earlier that year my mom had taken away the Monopoly game from my brother and me because we fought too much over it. Santa’s handwriting looked like my dad’s handwriting but since they were both male, it made perfect sense. There was also a year when Santa gave me Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” and my brother Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue”. Santa and my dad had the same music tastes.

I don’t remember the Christmas my college year in Edmonton just that my family had moved back to Edmonton. I do remember the following year because it was the first Christmas I spent at my parent’s place as a guest. I had moved out of their house earlier that year. They had not yet become born again Christians and let my fiancé also stay the night. I remember vaguely coming awake in the basement muttering “Who’s there?” only to hear my mom say “It’s the Easter Bunny. Go back to sleep.” I have to admit that was the only Christmas he spent with my family. Within a few years I didn’t have a fiancé to bring. It was just as well because by that time my parents had moved to Calgary, become born again Christians and wouldn’t have let us sleep together.

I vaguely remember a Christmas fifteen years ago in Edmonton involving my boyfriend, his ex-wife, their son, her current boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend and myself. I remember wondering if I really wanted another anti-Norman Rockwell Christmas. True, the gifts and fellowship were great, as well as a lot of green stuff that had nothing to do with pine but I wondered if this was the life I wanted to live. I found myself reflecting on a guy I had just met a few days earlier and wondering what sort of Christmas I’d have with him. I shut down that thought, because I knew he was way out of my league.

Little did I know as he was driving his friend back home to spend Christmas with his mom who lived in Calgary, he had a conversation with God that went along the lines of “God, remember how I prayed on the way to Edmonton that once the divorce is finalized, I don’t want a new relationship? I’ve changed my mind.” Now you know how an Edmonton gal wound up living in Calgary.

Prairie Redneck Christmas Cake

Occasionally on the Internet a piece circulates about someone's attempt to make alcohol laden fruitcake. As the recipe progresses, you can tell the person is getting drunk as they make the cake. Prairie redneck women are made of much sterner stuff. This is one recipe where Canadian content is forgotten, and American whiskey is used. It's usually called cake because as soon as you call it fruitcake, no redneck man will touch it even with all the whiskey. Anything in italics is optional.

Jack Daniels Cake

Open up J.D., have a shot to ensure its fresh
1/2 cup unsalted butter, at room temp
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 generous cups flour
1/2 cup Jack Daniels lick up any residue in the cup to ensure the J.D. isn't wasted
12 ounces currants, or raisins
Indulge in a shot of J.D. because all the ingredients are successfully set out.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, beat the sugar into the softened butter until fluffy and white. Beat eggs in well. Time for more J.D., this is hard work.

In a separate bowl, combine the baking powder and flour. Beat the bourbon into the eggs and butter, and then add the flour mixture, fruit and nuts, mixing well. Almost done, J.D. shooter time.

Take a loaf pan, smear it with butter. Pour in the batter, and bake for about 45 minutes , or until a knife plunged in the center of the cake comes out dry. Use the time the cake is baking to enjoy another J.D. shooter.

When cake is done, brush top and sides with J.D. plus put some J.D. inside you.
Yield: 1 9x5x3 inch cake.

Whiskey Frosting
1/4 cup butter
2 cups powdered sugar
3 tablespoons whiskey as well as one for yourself.
pinch of salt

Cream butter, add sugar and salt, stirring is work, need some J.D. then whiskey. Whip until smooth. Frost cake. Have a final shot of J.D to celebrate another successful cooking experience.