It doesn’t matter where you go on the first floor of a hotel in Regina, Saskatchewan, it is still cold.

The business centre is just off of the lobby, and everytime someone enters or exits, a blast of -20 degree air comes in. I suppose I shouldn’t complain; I don’t live in this all the time. We get down to -20 in Ontario all through January and much of February, but it starts so early here. You have to hand it to the prairie folk. They’re hardy stock, on both sides of the border.

I’ve spoken in the morning and in the evening for the last few days, but the afternoons I’ve had free. During these spare moments I’ve been hibernating in my hotel room with some luxurious, yummy cashmere yarn I bought this summer. I’m knitting fingerless gloves that are unbelievably soft. It’s like carrying around an angora rabbit on your hands. They’re so warm, even though they’re relatively thin, and the yarn is just delectable to work with. It’s been bliss.

What hasn’t been as blissful is the offerings on the television. Even though 60 channels are available, there really is nothing on. We don’t live with a television; we do watch movies, but more often than not I’m on the internet or just knitting in the same room as my husband does his hobby. I do enjoy watching television when I travel; it’s a bit of a treat. But this weekend there’s been nothing on. I deigned to watch CSI Miami yesterday, and I found I couldn’t watch much of it. I just don’t want to see dead and mutilated bodies. I know many love the show, but I find it so dark.

This afternoon I surfed to see what was on and the only show was Hoarders. Looked like an interesting concept (I thought about it more like a decluttering show), but boy was it depressing. I only lasted five minutes before shutting it off, because these people have honest to goodness mental illnesses. It seemed wrong to watch them, like they were in a zoo.

Instead I checked what movies were on, and settled for Julie & Julia. I really enjoyed it. First, it was so complimentary of marriage. Both women received their greatest joy and support in their lives from their husbands, and in turn realized that they were to support their husbands, too (and feel convicted when they do not). With all the marriage bashing going on, it was refreshing to see something that treated it well.

But the food in it was almost as delectable as my cashmere yarn. I love cooking, though I’m definitely not a French chef. But as I was watching it occurred to me that the appeal of someone like a Julia Child is that we women, even if we lead mundane lives, want some beauty there. And food can be so beautiful. In our lives we can settle for drab, or we can take that extra step to make the everyday stupendous.

Julia Child made it stupendous. And as Julie, the modern day character, immerses herself in these recipes, she feels a thrill that was so lacking in her life.

Many homeschooling curriculum publishers offer curriculum on the wifely arts of housekeeping, and I have to admit to finding it mildly amusing, and at times a little off-putting. It is not that I don’t appreciate cooking; it is only that the curriculum seems so intent to slot our girls into a certain mold. And yet I think these books have a point. Generations ago these things were concerned “art”: cooking, decorating, homemaking. They were not drudgery. Women made beautiful art out of scraps of fabric in the form of quilting. They knit rag rugs. They created masterpieces for dinner, even if they didn’t know how to cook the French way.

Today we try to take shortcuts in everything. We don’t make rag rugs. We don’t cook from scratch. We try to avoid what seems like work. And yet isn’t art also work? And can’t work also be art? We have substituted the art that used to be a part of everyday life and instead carved out the time that would have been spent on that art and busied it up with watching television, or running even more errands, or driving our children to gymnastics.

Maybe we need a touch of art in our lives. Maybe we need a foray into French cooking, or into Christmas decorating, or into knitting cashmere fingerless gloves. We need more art in our lives.

I have been speaking this weekend about the pressures that we women put on ourselves to achieve certain things at Christmas, and I don’t mean to put more onto us. But as with most things in life, the problem is not the THING. It is the ATTITUDE. This year I want to bake cookies. Glorious, yummy sugar cookies, with real butter, no matter the fat content. I don’t want to do it because I feel pressured to bake for my family and neighbours. I don’t want to do it so that I can be a proper mother. I want to do it so that I can have the thrill of making my own cookies.

Maybe you need such a thrill in your life, too. Watch the movie, and let yourself dream a bit. What can bring beauty and art into your everyday life? Is it cooking? Is it crocheting? Is it writing? God Himself creates; I think He smiles when we do, too.

So this season, find the joy in making something beautiful out of what is just a simple part of life. And feel your heart thrill in the process.