Christmas window displays in department stores seem to suspend time, stopping us in our determined shopping tracks and sending us into a revery of memory and a bit of nostalgic longing.  Simpson’s in Halifax, Eaton’s in Toronto, Ogilvie’s in Montreal, Woodward’s in Vancouver. Elves, toy maker’s shops, Santa and the missus checking lists, baking cookies, animals on Hans Brinker skates seeming to  glide on mirrored glass, one leg pinned to the ice, the other stretched out behind like a scarf in a stiff wind. All animated. Hammers gently up and gently down on a train car or a doll’s shoe,  a bunny pirouetting on a skate, defying the laws of physics in its languid speed or lack thereof , a woodsman in an eternal effort to chop down a Christmas tree with a tiny hatchet that always falls short of the tree trunk. A dozen alternating up-down-sideways and back movements, jerky and stiff – enchanting to kids and a lift to the hearts of adults.

And then there’s Mill Brothers in downtown Halifax,  the clothing and cosmetics store, not the singing group.

Our first Christmas season in Halifax lacked snow but was gripped with cold. I was walking home late one December night on the street side opposite to Mill Brothers store, and from a half block away, I saw the lights in the window and some small figures moving in the familiar slow manner of  old clockwork animations. I felt a lift and a brightening of my mood which has been less than sunny that first year home. A Christmas window display. I bounded across the street.

Some swear by instinct to save them from undue unpleasantness, but I lack that gene. If I had it, I would not have crossed that deserted street and trotted up the sidewalk to gaze in at the display. I would have kept on walking down the silent street, on to my home and its abundant creature comfort.

When I reached the window, I was buoyed  by the thought of a cheery little tableau. What I saw was a snowy scene of misery. There, in a little coffin, lay an almost dead Snow White, hands folded just below her heart which every seven or eight seconds would rise up briefly and fall back into her still body. Around her, seven distraught dwarfs silently grieved. Tiny fists were curled up close to their bright eyes as if to stop the teardrop crystals that had been glued to their cheeks. Snow White continued to lie in her chilly repose, her breast thumping out a weak swelling every three or four imagined breaths.  A few animals gazed on, bewildered and frozen.  It was horrible and sad.

I walked home pondering what kind of thinking compelled a merchant to say yes to that. Santa’s Workshop – no. Skating Bunnies – no. Victorian Family Decorating Christmas Tree – no. Dying Snow White – yes. Just the ticket.

When I reached the corner of my street, I cut across on a diagonal to save a second or two of time. As I stepped on a manhole cover, I looked down and read the embossed name on it. “Silent Night” it read. It was somehow sweet, and made up for the Mills Brothers Christmas Window, but I wondered how it came to be. “Silent Night” – a wish and a promise, I guess.

A wish and a promise, I guess. Before Christmas, I’m going to try to snap some pictures of the aforementioned scenes. Please write me if you have similar stories and/or pictures. It can’t just be Halifax, can it?

Have you met Danny? What a goof. Who does he think he is? Big shot producer, wine snob, Scotch snob, wanna be tennis pro. Oh, and he thinks he can cook. What a goof.

Well, ok…maybe not such a goof. Great producer, generous friend, fantastic dinner companion, oblivious to weight gain in others (likewise changes in haircuts), all-round good fellow. Great dad and partner, from what I can see.

I love the guy. Happy Birthday Danny Greenspoon. I will toast you and your gang tonight.

Readers, forgive the specificity of this blog. But, it’s his birthday, after all.

It’s raining. The red tile roofs and the golden trees are a dramatic contrast to the grey sky. Very beautiful. The anthemic music, the handsome uniforms, the solemn faces and the picture perfect architecture of a Tuscan town are like a scene from a movie- an evocative foreign film starring no one in particular, just people who ride bikes through the piazzas, stop to remove their hats and continue to the alimantari to buy groceries.

But our apartment is six flights up, overlooking a quiet(ish) piazza. With the windows open, we can hear the chatter and the music, but when the windows are closed, only the church bells and the occasional clanging of loading and unloading can be heard.

We are right above Crispino’s gelatari, which is rumored to be the best gelato in Rome. Apparently, it had a small bit in the film of “Eat, Pray, Love”. All I can say about that is: how unfortunate that anyone would find that somehow meaningful. The gelato is great, but I had to force myself across the threshold, knowing that Julia Roberts (or her eating stand-in-I’m not certain she actually eats) had done the same.

Around the corner is Tazzo D’Oro, the coffee place. Also very good. A block away is St. Eustachio coffee bar. The coffee there is indescribable, in the good way. But, there are always tourists lined up looking for a full cup of dishwater, and they are disappointed by the thick sweet thimbleful of espresso.

There is no mistaking me for a Roman. I try my limited Italian, often thoughtlessly touch the merchandise in shops (crude), and make weak attempts to dress with a casual elegance that turns out more shabby (very shabby) chic than anything resembling an Italian woman’s birthright to style.

But when it comes to coffee- save the dishwater; give me the thimbleful of a creamy espresso.

And save me from Eat, Pray, Love. Please.

Sunday took us to Medicine Hat for a show at the Medalta Clayworks Museum. More on that later. For now, let me tell you that it was a very cool place and I encourage you to look it up. Medalta is a chunk of Canadian history. When I find the link (and am not typing on an iPad) I’ll send it along.

Next day we drove back to Calgary, flew to Winnipeg, rented a van and drove to Forget, Saskatchewan. Stopped in Brandon for a crazy meal, the highlight of which was ordering off of the senior menu (55 Plus Super Saver). We all ordered the pickerel, I paid $5.00 less for a slightly smaller portion. None of us could really eat it. So I threw away less on my meal than the others. Talk about being self satisfied in my meal dissatisfaction. I was pretty smug all the way to the van, I can tell you.

And then there was Forget. There is no place on earth as welcoming, no people as interesting and interested. There is nothing that compares. Shannon and Don Shakotko have created a world of art, food, music, books, bees, honey, good sleep….all earthly comfort for the body, intangibles for the soul. There is nothing -nothing- that causes a minute of discomfort. Hank and Gyda Nickels, Shannon’s folks, have the liveliest open hearts and minds I’ve encountered. The Inn of the Seven Sisters, The Happy Nun, St. Ambrose Apiaries – the heart of Forget. Go there. We were lucky in that we got to spend two nights there…well needed comfort in the middle of our tour.

Last night, Virden, Manitoba. Beautiful little theatre with a full house. Good sound, good audience….now if only I could shake the cold. Thank god Raylene and Cindy can sing.

Off to Pinawa at 11:00…five hour drive, but no show tonight. I see a nice long dinner in our future(s).

Thanks for checking in. By the way, our guitarist, James Logan, has been stellar.

The air here is so arid that the few bits of laundry i washed out yesterday dried during soundcheck..not kidding. Hung them up at 3:45, they were dry by 5:00. Crazy dry.

On the way to Medicine Hat….will check in tomorrow.

Oh, and if you’re looking for Raylene’s cd, I’ll have all the info on the website in a few weeks. It’s called “All The Diamonds”.

Back to Calgary tonight for the Bow Valley Folk Club show. Should be another beautiful drive.

Oh, I watched a great TED talk this morning. Gem of truth? Over-sharing is not to be mistaken for honesty.

Ain’t that the truth?

Oh, and James Logan, our guitarist…great job.

Sold out in Edmonton tonight, and Calgary tomorrow. Always good to know that going in.

Now I’m here in the Best Western having a cup of “coffee”. Don’t you love a good styrofoam cup?

Happy Birthday Boxing Day to dear friend Katherine Wheatley….50 and phab.

See ya.