time for cheer

It’s cooled down a lot in Vancouver over the last week. The rain’s held off for the last 48 hours and the air is noticeably drier and chilly. It makes me think snow is on its way, which is fine by me. I don’t want any more rain. I’m probably so Vitamin D depleted I may just rent out a tanning bed for the night to replenish.

Colder weather makes me think that I’ll be skiing soon. Something I’m holding out for more than I am for stuffing my face at various holiday-themed commitments. I love food. But I love skiing more. 

Skiing makes me think of snow which makes me think of how blanketed Ottawa will be. It makes me wonder if the snow will be 15ft high again this year, and it makes me think of how exciting it was to brave an Ottawa winter and emerge alive once the black ice begins to thaw on the highways in…

early-April.

Well, you know what I mean.

Ottawa makes me think of being home and how of all 365 days of the year I spend living as a resident of Vancouver, British Columbia that for two of those days I wish I was at home. For two out of 365 days I feel homesick. I usually spend Christmas night alone at my apartment with Marshall and Otis watching Christmas movies eating leftover Christmas dinner from Cathy and Kyle’s the night before that I can’t be bothered to warm conventionally and throw it in the microwave even though I am against cooking/warming anything in a microwave it’s Christmas night and I’m by myself with two cats.

It is allowed.

Just this once.

I’ll throw on the fireplace too. Maybe light some candles. Bring my pillows from my bed and surround myself with them on my two-seater sofa built for one. This is in the event that I fall asleep on the sofa I shall remain comfortable for the duration of the time that I will most likely be folded up into a little ball with Marshall strategically placed along the curve of my body and Otis most likely in the fold of my knees. 

I’ll leave my little 3′ Christmas tree on that night because the twinkling lights will feel comforting as they dazzle my blanketed body in light drops of indigo and white. My tree will seem like it’s four feet tall though because I’ll prop it up with a milk crate that I will hang Otis’, Marshall’s, and my Christmas stockings from that will be empty that night and empty come morning. I may put a catnip pouch in them but they won’t last the night. They don’t wait for Santa.

I’ll probably fall asleep with the television on mute imagining how my family is doing back home.

My mom will be with her sisters and my nana, perhaps my cousin and her boyfriend as well. If they’re in Montreal, cousin Johnny will have come down from his upstairs apartment and they’ll be gathered in the “parlour” watching the old holiday classics. My nana will have fallen asleep in the plush rocker that’s been re-upholstered more times than I can count. It’s purple now and not plush anymore. The rocker will be pulled up to a rickety TV dinner table that’s been around for at least thirty-two and a half years. And come to think of it I don’t even know if I can tell you what the surface photograph is actually of. haha. Isn’t that funny? Thirty-two years and I can’t even tell you. I’m seeing an old wooden fence, a pasture … maybe? Perhaps a horse galloping? Sitting on that table will be her New York Times crossword puzzle, a pencil with a well-used eraser nib, and the newest edition of the New Comprehensive A-Z Crossword Dictionary that I bought her for Christmas during the last Christmas I had with my family before moving to Vancouver. This specific paperback, and all the editions that come before it are non-negotiable. It’s A-Z Crossword Dictionary or you’re putting your name on the wait list for the next shipment. It’s the best one.

Oh, the palm of her hand will carry her sleepy head as she drifts in and out of slumber in the re-upholstered-more-times-than-I-can-count, rocker.

My mom and her sisters will be engaged in intermittent conversation about things like what a beauty Donna Reed used to be and some interesting fact about Miracle on 34th Street. Most of the time it will almost be like they’re talking to themselves because they don’t look at each other. Just at the television and will seemingly talk to it as well, even though the talk is really directed at each other. It will come out in mumbles, or short burst statements. A commercial will come on and someone will get up and head to the kitchen to snag a clementine or sneak a thin slice of the Panetone from the pantry. 

I’d usually be on the floor with a couple of pillows under my body keeping me comfortable. I wouldn’t really have much to contribute with regard to the classic-movie commentary outside of acknowledging the beauty or handsomeness of a time-honoured actor. My agreement would probably come out in a mumble from a mouth that’s squished between my two palms and again, it would most likely be directed at the tv as well and no one would respond much less hear me. 

We would all be tuned out. In our on little worlds – lazing in the flush of digestion. A cohesive or coherent conversation wouldn’t have to be in place for us to all be aware of each other. When you’re family you don’t have to address each other’s presence, you can appreciate your kin in silence. 

My dad and his wife might have my brother and his wife over. There’d be a nice dinner with Christmas music playing in the background. It would most likely be Diana Krall’s Holiday Classics. Dinner would be ham. Dessert would most definitely be Ukrainian cookies with some rum balls that were made with an “eyed” amount of rum. Tea would come with treats and conversation would commence about politics, people, health, humanity, history, hockey, science and fair trade. Then we’d probably play a made-up game that had become a family tradition so many years ago that you almost forget that it was actually invented by you. Cards and gifts next accompanied by laughter and moments of checking out new cooking books, music CDs, novels, motorcycle-related things, gardening supplies, kitchen gadgets. Then kisses and hugs at the end of the night, followed by “Merry Christmas” and “Thanks for dinner and the presents!” My dad would say “O-key, drive safely you guys,” and would watch us from the snowy porch in his old slippers until our tail lights disappeared around the corner.

It sounds awfully lonely, the way I spend Christmas now since moving here. But really, it’s not. I’m still adopted by Cathy & Kyle for Christmas Eve … sleep over, open presents Christmas morning … then it’s Christmas afternoon … into evening that I spend snug as a bug alone in my apartment. It’s a time of reflection in many ways and I kind of allow myself to feel homesick but it’s in doing that that I have a chance to think about how special my Christmas memories are with my family and it truly does put a smile on my face.

Tags: Christmas, christmas dinner, christmas movies, Family, tradition

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