The Bloody Doors Off

Okay, so it’s officially a month before Christmas. No getting around that.

Hanukkah starts this weekend.

I used to be all about the holidays.

In my twenties and thirties, I owned a large, artificial Christmas tree. I’d spend hours disentangling the lights, sorting the ornaments. When Suzi and I were together, I joined in on her family’s traditions. Decorating the living room, hanging the tree (yes, they anchored it to the ceiling, quite a smart idea), there was a Christmas eve service with a live pageant (and live animals), a tortiere for dinner, and listening to CHFI on the radio. And every year, among other presents exchanged, everyone gave a tree ornament.

I still have them. In storage.

Barb is gone now. Suzi and Trish, live on the west coast. And over time, Christmas became less important. I went from a six-foot tree to a table-top pre-lit one, to none at all. I’m not sure what changed exactly. Except it did. Last year, the pandemic ground everything to a halt, so we didn’t even have the benefit of dinner at my brother Kevin’s. (Turkey roll from M&Ms, mashed potatoes, vegetable medley.)

The other night I was walking Auggie in the Distillery, which has set up their annual Christmas Market Winter Village. The countdown clock is still there, ticking down to the twenty-fifth. As I braced myself to endure the crowd, all I could think was, “here we go again”.

When did I get so cynical around the holidays? Why did they stop mattering?

All is not completely lost. I still make it a point to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas and It’s A Wonderful Life every year. And sometimes White Christmas. If a theatre shows IAWL on the big screen, I plant myself in one of the seats with a big bag of popcorn.

But I’ve always gone alone. So it’s kind of bittersweet.

Also, it doesn’t snow. Not like when we were kids. Every year a hockey rink was built in our backyard. Freshly packed snow provided snow forts on my street.

I don’t miss shovelling the driveway.

I just realized I have no conclusion for this post.