CHRISTMAS MUSIC NIGHT

Every year, the college that my Dad was on staff at would put on a major production we called: Christmas Music Night. People would travel from near and far to pack out the auditorium which back in the day sat 4500. A 180 voice choir, 60 piece orchestra and various smaller groups, soloists and instrumentalists made up this large production. Every 4th year the entire entourage would travel to Calgary and Edmonton, first by train and later by busses to perform the exact same program in the beautiful Jubilee Auditoriums which sat 2500 people a piece and were often sold out as well.

While I may not have fully appreciated what I experienced at the time I have realized that these experiences played a role in my overall musical appreciation. While the music was very conservative, there was a high standard of quality when it came to the performances. Pitch, tempo, diction, blend and host of other factors which make for an enjoyable musical experience bacame important factors for me later in life.

I want to recommend 3 different videos for you to be able to experience your own, "Music Night" this Christmas season. Pour yourself a steaming cup of hot chocolate, (with marshmallows of course) and enjoy these artists and performances alone or with a group of family or friends. I guarantee that you will not be disappointed!

The first one is by Yo Yo Ma and his very musically diverse friends. Everything from classical, folk and celtic make this a fantastic holiday experience. This one you may need to do a search for each song as I couldn't find a play list for the entire thing. This should start you off . . .

Yo Yo Ma And Friends ~ Songs Of Joy and Peace

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxDZjg_Igoc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxDZjg_Igoc

The second one is from Sting. Set in the stunning Durham Cathedral in England the performance are stellar and the lighting is spectacular.

Sting: A Winter's Night . . . Live from Durham Cathedral

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dl1FnmSGj1Q

The third one is from Andrea Bocelli and David Foster along with a host of friends. Again, the sound and performances are A-1 and there is something there for every taste.

Andrea Bocelli ~ My Christmas ~ Live From The Kodak Theatre, USA / 2009

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rz2HYs59m2g&list=PLW5iZBBR47Dj-0wjxVOCecE3uHU0sH2dQ

You may need to do some searching to find these but it is well worth the effort!

THE DAY IT RAINED ORANGES

Prairie established a purchasing department sometime in the 1930's. Roy Davidson, along with Ed Kittridge and Fergus Kirk, were some of the early pioneers who started going to Calgary to purchase directly from the wholesalers, saving the school considerable money. In the beginning, Roy would take his own pickup truck until the school was able to purchase one for that purpose.

Every Tuesday evening, the school's truck and semi-trailer would return from Calgary laden with all manner of goods for the school. Office, plumbing, electrical, building and grocery supplies would all be unloaded at the various departments around the campus. The school's purchasing agents would keep their eye out for sales on furniture and other products. Tom Ewing, Walter Honecker, Warren Doud, Sam Gillespie, Buford Marsh, Hank Jaegers and Brian Bates were some of the men I remember from those years. They had a circuit they would follow to find the super deals. These were the real "bargain hunters" long before there was any reality TV show by that name.

A weekly visit to the Staff Store was somewhat akin to spinning a roulette wheel. You just might hit the jackpot! One never knew what awaited. The smell of fresh bread and earthy vegetables along with fresh produce provided a veritable cornucopia of delights for a young boy.

The store sold a great variety of items including baked goods, vegetables, fruit, tin cans of soup and some dry goods like towels, dishes, thread and material of various kinds. Big blocks of cheese were purchased in bulk and divided up into one pound portions. Milk, eggs and meat were supplied by the Institute's own farm.

Possibly the most important fixture in the whole place was the candy counter. Deep inside this glass case were Mars Bars, Hot Tamales, squares of sponge toffee, Sweet Tarts, Nibs, licorice shoe strings, Lifesavers and other delights that were sure to keep the local dentists happy and in business for years to come.

The store also had a whole section that was referred to as damaged freight. This could be anything from tins of beans and soup that had been slightly dented to boxes of cereal. There were also "mystery" cans - unidentified cans that had lost their labels somewhere along the way. You took your chances when you purchased them. The contents wouldn't be revealed until after you had arrived home and they were opened. You might get a can of green beans or cherries.

Prairie staff members were not exactly on the top of the pay scale in those days and these bargains were a real blessing and often helped staff to make ends meet from month to month. A hard working group manned the Staff Store. Goldie Lewis, Max Beam, Leonard Miner, Elizabeth Wilson, Joel Durance, Jack Whitehead, John Krohn, Merv Ratz, David Garwood and Gordon MacDonald were some of the staff and students that worked there. These people had the hearts of servants as they stocked shelves, ran the till and boxed up the groceries. For a while they even ran a door to door delivery service.

Jars of pre-mixed peanut butter and jelly, cases of Nestle's Quik strawberry powder, yule logs, peppermint and spumoni ice cream seemed to be in stock for months. I'm sure you've heard of pumpkin pie ice-cream? One year they had a whole shipment of that . . . I guess it had never really caught on! There were freezer loads of Creamsicles in unusual fruit flavors like blueberry and peach. Boxes of crackers, cereals of all kinds, salad dressings and cans of fruit often lined the shelves of the damaged freight section. Like the early bird getting the worm, those who made the effort to get there as the store opened were sure to find the bargains.

Up the stairs and to the left was the butcher shop. Sawdust covered the old wooden floors. There, Gus Honecker and his wife Ila, butchered and packaged meat and loaded it into the big walk-in freezers for use by the school or for sale in the store. Below the butcher shop was the pasteurizing plant, bottling fresh milk that was delivered to the staff homes, sold in the store and used in the dining hall. Bob Wunsch and Hector Hanna kept the plant humming right along. There always seemed to be a flurry of activity there as bottles were cleaned, refilled and loaded onto the milk truck for distribution.

From the school's bakery came fresh brown and white bread, buns, dinner rolls and desserts. Lloyd Christie, Albert Ehman and Harry Klosse's peanut butter, chocolate chip, oatmeal and raisin cookies and apple turnovers always made a welcome snack. Grandma's standard lunch, when we dropped in to visit after school, was peanut butter sandwiches on brown bread, an apple and a couple of Harry Klosse's cookies.

Japanese oranges or tangerines were a luxury item when I was growing up. It was very special at Christmas to have a box or two of these delicacies. Many a child and family would hope and pray that they would be able to afford at least one box at the Christmas season. In December, 1974 the purchasing department at Prairie received a call from a supplier in Calgary. An entire freight car load of oranges had been misdirected and if Prairie would send their truck and trailer into the city, they were welcome to the entire lot at no charge.

This was an incredible provision and we were able to buy the little wooden crates full of the delicious fruit, each individually wrapped in green tissue paper. The cost . . . 10 cents a box! The modest price was to help cover the cost of freight and handling. Kids and adults alike inhaled oranges for breakfast, lunch, supper and snacks. There were a lot of folk who spent considerably more time on the porcelain throne than they had planned that Christmas! Oranges were frozen, made into juice and used in jello, milkshakes and various forms of baking. A host of other creative ideas were implemented to make the best use of these juicy morsels before they spoiled.

At the staff meeting the next week, one mother stood and thanked God for providing the answer to her little girl's prayer. Another stood and thanked God for the answer to her own prayer. I, for one, will never forget "The Day It Rained Oranges".


Note: I want to thank my own Mother for the title of this story.

www.prairieboy.com

© 2012 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

SHATTERED GLASS

"The Queen of Desserts" may have been an apt title to describe my Mother, although I was fortunate to marry a wife and have a daughter who are both known for their delightful culinary skills in that department as well. Mom put a lot of creativity and work into the fine art of the dessert and its presentation.

My parents entertained frequently and throughout the year Mom would labor in the kitchen turning out Hungarian Crumb Cake, Baked Alaska, Chocolate Crunch, Angel Food Cake with ice cream and strawberries, cobblers of various kinds, Apple, Banana and Rhubarb Custard pies, shortbread, doughnuts and steamed pudding. At Easter she would make her special sunflower coffee cake, resplendent in yellow icing, with brown chocolate sprinkles at the center.

At Christmas the work would start weeks before, making Russian Teacakes, Almond Roca, chocolates, peanut brittle, fudge, divinity, mints, rosettes, nuts and bolts and fruitcake. We kids would help pull taffy, decorate cookies and wrap the candy. Many of these treats were shared with neighbors, friends and relatives, but there was always plenty for our own consumption. Mom took a great deal of pleasure  in finding new recipes and trying them out on our family. I never remember anyone complaining! She would have loved Martha Stewart and  all the cooking shows that are available these days. Back then she was her own "Martha Stewart".

It was the spring of 1974 and I had just turned 13. That time in one's life where you're an expert on just about everything and have no problem letting others know about it. Mom had been carefully crafting a new recipe and it was the day of its debut for our family before she rolled it out for company. After the main course, she brought out a tray of fine looking, elegant goblets. These tall vessels contained a beautiful parfait. Bright colors of layered jello, pudding and custard topped with whipped cream and a cherry rounded out the presentation. We couldn't wait to get started! Mom set the tray down and handed one of the parfaits to each of us. She then asked us if we had noticed the new goblets. I can't say that we had as we were more interested in the contents. Mom was always buying dishes in large quantities as it was not unusual for us to entertain 12 or more people at one time. She had found a sale on a dozen of these tall elegant goblets and was rightly proud of her find.

Paying some attention now to the goblets, I announced that they sure looked like plastic to me. The sides appeared far too thin to be glass. I took my spoon and lightly tapped the side of the goblet. "Steve", Mom said, "You be careful, that's glass". "That can't be glass," I said, as I tapped a little harder. "It sounds like plastic to me". "Please be careful or you'll break it", Mom continued. I insisted that it was plastic. Eager  to prove my point, I tapped with a little more vigor . . . Clink . . . to my surprise, there lay a small chunk of glass on top of what was left of my dessert. Oops! . . . I guess I was wrong. I felt bad, but the damage was done and super glue was not going to fix the problem. Mom was  very disappointed, Dad was upset and I was embarrassed.

Did Dad take me out to the wood shed to teach me a lesson? Did Mom make me buy a new goblet? Did I have to do penance for the next year? None of the above. Mom came up with a very clever punishment and one that may have been more meaningful in the long term than some of the others. She washed out the goblet, complete with the shattered piece and placed it on the dresser in my bedroom. Everyday, when I went to get a pair of socks or underwear, there was a clear reminder that just maybe I didn't know it all and there's a reason that we are given people in our lives for guidance and advice.

How many times in life or in business have we thought we knew it all? Maybe a partner, business colleague or friend has clearly warned us, even numerous times, that the results of our actions could have devastating consequences. We plow forward, tinkling the glass until it's too late. The damage is done.

I still like my desserts but I try to be a little more careful about how much I think I know.


Special Gift just for you from the Rendall Vault:

MOM'S SHORTBREAD

1 cup margarine
1/2 cup cornstarch
1/2 cup icing sugar
1/2 tsp of salt
2 cups sifted all purpose flour
Beat margarine until smooth
Sift dry ingredients 4 times
Add to margarine, work with hands until mixture cracks
Roll out to about 1/2 inch and cut in shapes or squares
Bake at 325 for 20 minutes

ENJOY!

www.prairieboy.com
© 2012 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

POISON PEN

Each year when Christmas came around my mother played the role of part time Santa, part-time Mother Teresa. She took on the monumental task of making sure that, as it seemed to me at the time, half the town had a present under their tree from the Rendalls. These were not particularly exotic, expensive presents, but rather a token of her love. One year, it might have been a candle or decorated soaps which she had made. Another year it may have been a special food item. She would individually wrap hundreds of gifts for neighbors, friends, families, married students, the senior's organization and many others. My brother Dave and I were called on to act as "Santa's helpers" and were enlisted to help make deliveries.

One house I was usually dispatched to was directly across the street. The small house couldn't have been more than 400 square feet and was always neatly kept. I was very fearful of the particular tenants of this house, especially the man. Not because he was part of a gang or the toughest guy in town. He wasn't a particularly big or strong man. Yet I knew he had a weapon. Not a knife or gun, not even a sling shot. The weapon he wielded was a pen . . . a poisonous one.

Tom Brannan and his wife lived in the small house across the street and had moved to Three Hills to enroll their kids in the high school at Prairie. There was some kind of disagreement with the administration over a disciplinary action involving one of his children and Tom really let this get under his skin. Quite frankly he became bitter. This little seed of bitterness grew into an entire root system that choked out life. He began to turn his anger into letter writing. A gifted man and former preacher, he was never at a loss for words. Over the years he wrote dozens and dozens of letters to the local paper and individual leaders at the school. He attacked L.E. Maxwell, my Father and others in his rants. He had not only taken a bitter pill, he had swallowed the whole bottle. Venom and bile spewed from his pen like Mount Vesuvius. Poisonous darts aimed at hurting and causing pain were lobbed in the direction of any and all that he felt had wronged him or his family in some way. He attacked with a vengeance that would have made William Wallace proud. This "cause" absolutely consumed him. He thought of little else and really had no life outside of this obsession. No friends, no real activities, just a very sad life. As is often the case in small towns, the rumors swirled and Tom became a larger than life figure as people went out of their way to avoid him on the streets and in the shops, fearful that he might turn his weapon on them. Looking like something from an aggressive political campaign, even his lawn was dotted with small stakes sporting placards denouncing his great displeasure with Prairie.

So there I was, every Christmas, standing on the step of that tiny house, knocking on the door, gift in hand. Usually it was Mrs. that came to the door, but occasionally "he" would answer. I would hand over the package, wish them a Merry Christmas and scoot back across the street, heart pounding with fear that I might just get shot at any moment. Safely inside, I would take some time to recover before Mom would send me on to the next delivery. Mom and Dad always greeted the Brannans with a cheery hello as they would pass them on the sidewalk or see them out working in their yard. They treated them like neighbors and never shunned them in any way.

Many years passed, the letters continued to be written and at some point, Mrs. Brannan passed away. Well into his eighties, the loss of his wife only made matters worse as it gave Tom more time to focus on the wrongs which he felt had been done. One of our good family friends had also befriended the Brannans and she made a consistent effort to stay in touch with him after his wife died. One day she was over at his house for a visit when he began to break down and lament the horrible things he had written and said about the school over the many years. He said he had been doing a lot of thinking about his life and wondered what he should do. Our friend kindly suggested that they call my Dad and he would know what to do. Dad went over to the house and met with Tom. He sensed a completely different man and so offered a suggestion. "Would you like an opportunity to address the entire church after my sermon on Sunday?", Dad asked him. "You would really allow me to do that?", Tom replied. "Of course", Dad said.

Arrangements were made for Tom to be in church that next Sunday morning. After Dad was done preaching he called Tom up to the pulpit. As he made his way forward every eye focused on the "monster of Three Hills". Dad spoke to the congregation and said, "Mr. Brannan has something he would like to say", and then moved over and stood right beside him. The tears began before he even started speaking. Dad put his arm around his shoulder as he stood there sobbing, his entire frame shaking. With a quavering voice hardly understandable at times, Tom apologized for the hurt he had caused so many for so long. You could have heard a pin drop in that tabernacle. When Tom was done Dad took the microphone and addressed the congregation. He sincerely thanked Tom for having the courage to stand up and say what he had just said. He accepted his apology and then he did what I thought was the most compassionate thing. He invited any of the congregation who wanted to come forward to show their support and forgiveness of Tom to do so. Dozens of people got up out of their seats and came up on the platform. Forming a semi circle around Tom, Dad said a prayer. When he was finished, folk lined up to hug this man and shake his hand. You could see the transformation on Tom's face as the burdens of bitterness, piled up over many, many years, began to slide away.

As I have reflected on this story in recent years, I am struck by three things.

The first is that bitterness not dealt with will grow and destroy. As Rhianna sings in her song, Disturbia:

"It's a thief in the night
To come and grab you
It can creep up inside you
And consume you
A disease of the mind
It can control you"

The second is that it is never too late and we are never too old to say, "I'm sorry", admit our wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness.

The third is that as community we need to be willing to offer up forgiveness and restoration and not let our bitterness and cynicism about someone else's bitterness stand in the way.

From that day on, Tom began attending church and would sit right up at the front. After church, Dad would barely be in the door and get his coat off, when the phone would ring. It would be Tom from across the street with a word of encouragement on how much he enjoyed the sermon that day.

The poison pen had been put away. . . it had run out of ink.

www.prairieboy.com
© 2011 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.