November arrived along with the too-early media’s blasting of advertisements about upcoming Christmastime, reminding me of all the hustle and bustle and last minute shopping that lay ahead. As December rolled around my outlook changed, for now I was looking forward to hearing my favourite carols and recalling unforgettable memories.
Our family had its own unique way of celebrating those special moments on Christmas morning. My most cherished memories as a kid were when my sisters and I first took down our stockings which had been hanging in a row for days, stuffed with apples and mandarin’s mostly, along with fresh nuts, candy and some dates and bulky trinkets to give the enticement of being fuller. The dates were a holiday tradition sent to us from an aunt in Florida. Next, we would gather around the Christmas tree and open our one present from Santa and the one from our parents, in rotation. The wrapping was folded in hopes of reusing again. Times were tough back then but I didn’t know that!
Our Christmas tree, selected by a careful search, was decorated with great care by my mother. Decorations, including the lights, was more modest than ornate. Garlands and coloured balls, along with icicles were carefully positioned. It was our way of displaying our Christmas spirit during the holiday season. The tree was topped off by a beautiful angel, its aura emanating so divinely throughout the room. Canadians have lighted their houses and towns by using a practical invention; whereas English settlers, during the 1800s, used candles and ribbons to amplify their beliefs. Today Christmas lights are seen as a necessity but long ago they were rare and expensive
The first winter we moved into the house when I was four, with two sisters at this point, we had a chimney pipe (flu) fire in the night. It was a day or two before Christmas and my father was working the midnight shift. Uncle Neil, who lived two blocks away, happened to notice the smoke pouring from the chimney. He raced down street in his pajamas and roused us all, saving our lives. He always claimed his watchfulness was divine intervention and I tend to agree with him.
Skating was part of local culture. My uncle had a cottage on River Road that hugged an inlet from the river. He called it the “Moose Pasture’ and so many times in late December with great excitement we took our hand-me-down skates, and borrowed ones too, and skated there on its perfect ice.
We usually had Christmas dinner at my Granny Grylls’s house. One year a roasted goose was on the menu. That was the first and only time I ate goose.
I also recall living next door to the Robinson family. Being friends with Benny and Billy, I envied their luck to be able to open their gifts after midnight mass. I was always invited over to watch and take part in the frolicking. Then It became more respectful to go to mass with them and that’s what I did. It was the only time of the entire year I was allowed to stay up so late.
As the years passed there became four then five of us siblings, the excitement of the younger ones seeming like de ja vu.
One Christmas when I was about 12, Christmas taught me a lesson in how to share, one I continued to practice. My oldest sister and I, much to my chagrin, had to share our Christmas present — a record player and two 45-rpm records. Somehow it worked out, as we agreed to a satisfactory schedule for using it.
A favourite Christmas story of mine was about my cousin from the Northwest Territories. Pat has lived in Fort Simpson, 1,400 km northwest of Edmonton, since she was 32. She was visiting her sister in Beachburg when the subject of an unusual Christmas came up. Pat chuckled and recalled the time her daughter Tracy was an exchange student in Ecuador where Tracey’s grandfather from Westmeath, Jack Keyes, worked after the war. This particular Christmas, Tracy and a school friend Fabricio flew to Fort Simpson for the holiday. Fabricio, a South American lad, had never seen snow before and his excitement about being so far north couldn’t be contained. He told them, “I have never had a Christmas so imaginable as this one has been.”
Meanwhile, a huge turkey dinner for 13 guests was Pat’s plan. Christmas morning the turkey was stuffed but was so big it wouldn’t fit into the oven. Pat was in a panic but remembered her next-door neighbour was going away Christmas day. The neighbour offered her the use of her bigger oven for the turkey. The gang then took off for a long walk across the one-mile wide frozen Mackenzie River nearby. The temperature was -60, and the frozen river was jagged with bursts of ice reaching upwards. Everyone was bundled to the hilt to brave the cold and wind. While crossing, eyebrows and hair froze white. Fabricio was dumbfounded that they could be outside in this weather. The echo of footsteps and cracking of ice added to the tension. Fabrico had seen transport trucks crossing the frozen river so he was convinced the ice was thick enough to hold them. They were finally back and while most were warming up, Pat went to check on the turkey. The front door of the neighbour’s house was now locked and there was no way to get in. Pat recalled that the neighbour’s sister had a key, finally found her, retrieved the key, let herself in and went to the stove only to find the timer had run out and the turkey wasn’t done. Back to her house she went. There was only one thing to do. She and her guests cooked up some homemade pizzas. Plenty of laughter and a very unforgettable dinner was shared by them all. For Pat, it was her only Christmas dinner without turkey. However, the next day there was as many turkey sandwiches as anyone felt like having.
It’s as if life has come full circle. Back in Westmeath now with my partner Sheila, the season celebrations are what they should be, traditions so familiar to both of us as we grew up across the street from each other. No children at home but we have six cats; Kiki, Muffin, Peanut, Crystal, Kalie and Angel. I’m not sure if they are conscious of it but Sheila has six little socks hung up and filled with cat treats for them, to be allotted on Christmas morning. This small measure does help to bring the magic back into Christmas. As adults, our holiday season is more serene, but rather gratefulness that we are at peace. There are always a few other means to add to the magic too, like driving around to look at Christmas lights of other homes. That lifts my spirits even more as does the familiar Christmas music and overseeing Sheila baking and decorating cookies.
A wise man once said, “If you stay stuck wherever you are, you’re not moving forward.” I may get stuck now and again during the year but never at Christmastime.
