Christmas Day at the Beach

Our winter vacation this year began exactly one week ago today, Wednesday, December 18^th one hour after the MRPC Board of Directors meeting.  It was a leisurely three-day drive from the Canada to Hilton Head Island buoyed by the usual holiday exhilaration and latterly compensated by the longed-for sight of magnolia and palm trees.  While there was nothing particularly punishing about the trip other than having to stay focussed on the road for six hours a day it nonetheless took its toll.  Even as late as last night for example we were in bed shortly after eight o’clock and it wasn’t until about six-thirty this morning that we surfaced to face the new day.

It's Christmas!

My sister Lindy and I have never relinquished the child-like exhilaration of Christmas morning.  Admittedly the hysterics we contrived as children to the lead-up to Christmas have waned over the years and the memories of them are now more than a bit hazy, but we still recall the signal initiation to Christmas morning: “It’s Christmas!”

You only turn 65 once!

Having survived the Winter Solstice, and having this morning awoken with anticipation to our first full day in the condo on the beach, I commence settling into the not unwelcome routine of vacation.  This year is especially noteworthy for me not only because I carry on rejoicing in the generosity of the past month but also because I mark a point of departure.  Apart from recent commercial attainments (long-awaited conditions precedent to moving forward), it is equally important to me that I have attained the age of 65 years, a milestone which I view as a landmark in my life.  Why it should be so I am not entirely certain, but nonetheless the event marks for me no less than a time for contemplation and personal rejuvenation.

Home for Christmas

One must adjudge that for Canadians in general Christmas is the Big Scene on the year’s tabular array. Unlike Americans who apparently distract themselves beyond recognition for the Thanksgiving Holiday (think of the winsomeness of Pilgrims and wild turkeys), Canadians prefer instead to immerse themselves in the nostalgia of skating on a frozen pond and everything rustic that is manifested by a Cornelius Krieghoff painting reminiscent of "the hardships and daily life of people living on the edge of new frontiers" (Charles C. Hill, Curator of Canadian Art at the National Gallery). This selected ambiance of holly berries, freshly-cut spruce boughs, a blazing hearth and frosted window panes is second nature to hearty, healthful Canadians. The Christmas season combines and heightens the elemental dimensions of traditional Canadian life in addition to heralding the midwinter solstice and the wretchedness that is winter.

A Christmastime Story

This is a true story, one which I heard on CBC radio many years ago around Christmastime. One of the radio listeners - a woman - called CBC to relate the events which had recently transpired.

Father Christmas

For someone like my father (a man who traditionally has the appearance of being socially distressed except when things are strictly on his own terms), Christmas (or indeed any other merrymaking) is at first blush an inconvenience. This at least is the situation if he harbours (or my mother seeks to enforce) the remotest idea that his participation in the event is either required or expected. It’s the presumption of charity that kills him. To succumb to the social convention which attends such ceremony is for him a grave irritation, though I suspect it would be closer to the truth to label it an awkwardness or disenchantment. Whatever the limitation, there is no question that the nuisance value is high.

Men and boys and the price of their toys!

It would be unimaginable to address the battalion of options available for discourse upon the facetious subject of "men and boys and the price of their toys". Beginning with childhood and continuing to adulthood, there is among males the well-known passage from dinky toys to train sets, from bicycles to all-terrain vehicles, from motorcycles to automobiles, from boats to planes and many other combinations of mechanical diversions in between. What however is a less publicized absorption is the delight which men derive from watches and clocks.