Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Somehow December 15th seems to be an auspicious day, though all that I can readily say for it is that we're now about one week from the Winter Solstice, when the days will thankfully begin lengthening. Perhaps it is the proximity of this date to Midwinter which also compels it to me. The ever optimistic human spirit delights in anticipation of what is to come, as we are about to round the corner so to speak. There is also no question that the pace of things begins to gather speed from this point onward, as we rush towards those magical dates of December 25th and January 1st, trying to condense within that space sometimes limitless obligations. Already I can see that regular business enterprise will give way to more pressing family and social commitments after December 18th, the last Friday before Christmas Eve. Christmas is such a licence for delinquence, as I can hear Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge's words echoing in my mind.

The Red Panda

Toby, who had a protuberant little belly (over which hung a tag strung from his neck announcing his pedigree), was a Red Panda Teddy bear made in Germany of Mohair, No. 458 of a Limited Edition of 1000 pieces. He "lived" in the Village clock shoppe of Mr. Dilwert Schomberg on top of The Concise Oxford Dictionary (Fifth Edition), which in turn rested upon two thick volumes of telephone books (one of which was the Yellow Pages, the other a listing of Regional Residential numbers). From this vantage atop the old metal filing cabinet (which in turn supported the Regional Listing, Yellow Pages and Dictionary), Toby was afforded a clear view across the room where Mr. Schomberg (squinting through his gold rimmed spectacles) worked assiduously during the day at his well-worn wooden desk, cluttered with a collection of pliers, small screw drivers and other implements of the trade. Toby’s view further extended over the glass-cased oak counter, and finally to the pine door entrance, appended to the outside of which was a large brass door knocker in the shape of a mighty lion’s head. Fortunately for Toby, in the poorly heated shoppe of Mr. Schomberg, he had the benefit by day of a nearby lamp which poured forth both its light and radiant heat upon Toby, at least that is until Mr. Schomberg at the end of the business day unpocketed his set of keys, turned off the lights, turned down the heat even more, then removed himself from the premises, locking the door with a double click behind him. As a result of Mr. Schomberg’s precautions, the nights were fairly uncomfortable for Toby, and no doubt accounted for the enthusiasm (in his heart only of course) with which he greeted Mr. Schomberg upon his arrival the next morning, when the light and heat were restored.

Sunday Drive

The two old fogies that we are, Denis and I went for what is fast becoming our traditional Sunday drive today. We began our rural excursion by lunching at the Blackbird Café in Burnstown, located about fifteen miles past White Lake. We arrived there around 11:30 a.m., just as they were opening the place. There was nobody else there but us and the two young, female servers (and probably a cook in the back), though other patrons began to arrive as we were leaving after we had finished our meal. More and more we are inclined to steer ourselves away from the City on these Sunday adventures. Sometimes we wander towards the southern end of the County, where we have our favourite spots in Merrickville and Westport; likewise, the Fall River Pub & Grill in Maberly (outside Perth). All these venues share the common features of good food in charming surroundings, located in bucolic settings; and, I should add, the staff are invariably pleasant, warm and efficient.

Familial Duties

After completing our somewhat overdue grocery and booze shopping this morning (we were out of practically everything), we ventured to pay a visit first to my parents and later to my sister and her husband.

My mother was not in particularly good humour today. By her own admission, she is tired of looking after things, something I think we can all relate to from time to time, though in the same breath she insists that she will host the customary Christmas family dinner at her house again this year. My sister and I, in the interest of relieving mother of all the work, had suggested instead a family luncheon at the Château Laurier Hotel, but mother dismissed that possibility, as much as I think it would have made for a pleasant change and even the beginning of a new and enjoyable tradition.

Staying Focused

Luckily for most of us, life is seldom rocked by catastrophic events or unexpected and unpleasant surprises. But when such things happen, the repercussions are myriad, not the least of which is the inability to stay in tune with what one is doing. A sudden jar to one’s habits tends to de-stabalize, catapulting us into what are frequently frigid and uncharted waters. The object of living becomes a commitment to return life to what it used to be, at least a conformity to ritual, tradition and repetition, those elements of daily activity which are the first to be destroyed when a severe shock occurs.

Lost Cause

It was a lost cause! There was no way in the world that Rebecca was going to fit into that dress, even if it were the only one she owned of any worth. The fact is, Rebecca Sample hadn’t worn a dress for so many years that it was no wonder it didn’t fit. The last time Rebecca had worn a dress (indeed the same one she was now trying to get into) was about ten years ago or more when she had been invited to Judge Newton’s retirement party, along with all his sophisticated and influential local friends and the other people who had ever worked for the Newtons. Rebecca had been their cleaning lady, that preposterous and obsequious expression used to describe someone who cleans toilet bowls. Anyway, she didn’t care what people called her (within reason), and she certainly never made the mistake of confusing herself with a lady in spite of the nomenclature. What was she to do! She had to have a dress for the luncheon at the Château Laurier Hotel in two weeks time. Rebecca had never been to the Château Laurier Hotel, though of course she had seen it on the occasional visit she had made to the City from the country to do some shopping (which expedition inevitably ended with an empty basket, she just couldn’t bring herself to pay those prices). Once, she had contemplated using the ladies’ room in the Château Laurier Hotel in an emergency situation, but her natural shyness prevailed, and she chose instead the more public (and more distastefully maintained) washroom in the By Ward Market. She could recall the stench even to this day!

Under the Circumstances

The rain, driven by a strong wind, splattered in large drops against the windshield of the decrepit Vauxhall as it made its way cautiously and bumpily in the darkness along the deeply rutted pathway into the thick woods, the tired wipers slapping back and forth as though in distress. If he could just get far enough off the main highway, thought Fred Aiken to himself, he’d be able to avoid anyone seeing the headlights of the car, which he would then abandon with its cargo. He puffed nervously at his cigarette, the last one he had in the packet. The car hit a large rock which Fred hadn’t seen, almost causing Fred to lose grip of his cigarette but only the ash fell onto the right knee of his grey flannels, and the small automobile tilted on its side momentarily before it came down on the rock again, this time on the undercarriage, causing a loud and unwelcome sound of damaged metal. Then the back wheel travelled over the same rock, and the car tilted again, followed by another crack. The pathway was only getting worse, and Fred could still see the distant and blurred lights of the highway in the rear view mirror. He would have to get further into the woods before anyone noticed him. There was no use contemplating turning off the headlights as he would be completely in the dark, literally, it was such a miserable night. Fred was anxious to ensure that the car was abandoned where it wouldn’t be found for a least two or three days, hopefully giving him enough time to get out of the area before anyone connected him to it.