The Magic of Christmas

 

I remember it was the last day of school, before the Christmas break.  I was riding the school bus, and it was snowing.  Lovely big poofy snowflakes, covering the street and the windshield.  I was so excited for the Season to commence.  There was a true feeling of magic that filled the air.  Intoxicating, in a way, as it filled my thoughts with what might become of things over the next week or two.

I cannot pinpoint the moment when I realized that the magic that comes with the Christmas season died for me.  When I stopped looking toward the end of December with wonderment in my soul.  That feeling of good will being expressed from one person to another, without any expecting anything in return.  Being nice, simply for the act of being nice.  I'm not sure when that all died for me, but it's gone.  Missing from my life and I think it's something that I'd like back.

I remember the week after my birthday (which is November 29th), our family would venture into the city, to purchase a Christmas tree.  This was the first step in creating happy Christmas memories.  The tree would come home with us and spend the night in the bathtub for all the snow to melt off.  The small restroom would be flooded with the smell of pine and spruce.  The next day, the tree would be raised in the corner of the living room and we'd all take turns placing our favourite decorations after my mother had strung the coloured lights.  Of course, I'd be pushed aside by my sister and my mother, as they've done my entire life in regards to everything, followed by the claim that "You're not doing it right!"  Once complete, the tree would be the sole source of light in the living room and whether I played a big part or not in it's decorating, I marveled in it's glow.

Next would come the colourfully wrapped gifts, but because we didn't have a lot of money, growing up, many of the gifts were wrapped in the very same paper, presenting in a somewhat monotone collection of gifts.

Many Christmas' were rung in with Christmas spirits, only it was never the ghosts of Christmas past, present or future, but more so of the alcoholic brand.  Many o' Christmas memories were speckled with arguments and fights, really instilling that Good Will vibe into people.  I don't think that growing up in an alcohol-infused family is what killed Christmas for me.

If I had to guess, it may have been in high school.  There was an event, shall we say, that split up our family.  I moved out of the house, because I no longer felt safe in that environment.  It's a long story and perhaps I'll share it one day, but not today.

I remember being at my aunt's house when I was given a gift from my sister.  It was a T-shirt which I was quite displeased with and threw it back, claiming it wasn't good enough.  The next gift came a week later and it was something else that flipped my switch and I threw that back, too.  It was then that I realized that I was being a supreme asshole.  That a gift is something that someone sees and hopes that the recipient will like.  Having it thrown back in a fit of rage, has to be heartbreaking and from that point on, I changed my tune, as it were.  I would come to accept that second gift, which was a cassette of Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet.  I wasn't a fan of Bon Jovi, but whatever.  It's the thought that counts, right?

In the years and decades since, I've treated the gift exchanges as just that.  I don't honestly care if I receive a gift or not.  The only real gift I get that warms the cockles of my heart, is when I am able to purchase a gift that the recipient shows genuine affection and appreciation for.

Nowadays, Christmas is an occasion for my nephews.  They're young and I don't know if they understand the true nature of what the Christmas season is supposed to be about, but when I'm able to give something that truly brings wonderment to their face, it's magical.  This isn't something that I've gotten from them in a few years now.  In an effort to not create jealousy between the two boys, I try to purchase similar gifts.  I believe that the younger of the two boys, emulates his older brother and by giving similar gifts, I'm avoiding any jealousy or unwanted tension.  Maybe I'm wrong.  We shall see, this year, but the strategy hasn't happened in the last couple.

Christmas is for the kids.  Maybe that's what happened to me.  I grew up too quick.  The magic was lost due to too many birthdays.

When my little boy, Monkey (*Monkey is a cat, for anyone who doesn't know), came to live with me, that first Christmas was the best.  He was asleep upstairs in bed, while I snuck downstairs and placed a cat tree in the corner of the front room.  I returned to bed and we slept the night away.  In the morning, we came downstairs and I acted all bewildered and confused, while he investigated the new item taking up space in the house.  I ran upstairs to grab my camera, to take a photo of him playing with the feather that hung underneath, but by the time I'd returned, Monkey had that feather ripped off the underside of the tree and pieces of feather was strewn all around the room.  The boy works fast, but seeing how much joy he was having with that cat tree, warmed my heart.  That was the magic that I'd lost so many years before.

Nowadays, Christmas is a struggle.  I can't find that magic that I so desperately crave.  I'm a single fella with just a cat at my side.  Maybe I need something else to fulfill my life.  Maybe a special someone who possesses that magic...  Or maybe, magic is just and illusion.

Break On Through To The Other Side

There are a plethora of ghost investigation and storytelling programs blanketing today's television and admittedly I am one of their devotees. I'm not a fan of the "When Ghosts Attack" or any of those strictly terrifying type shows, as they do scare the f*ck outta me.  I don't necessarily believe that ever location on every street, has a ghostly resident.  If you watch enough of these programs, you are lead to believe that there is an influx of homeless spirits, as if Heaven has a housing problem.

I don't know if I truly believe in a ghostly afterlife.  I've had a few experiences that would convince me there is, but in an effort to maintain some self reassurance (and preservation of sanity), I easily explain everything away, including simply shrugging off anything that can't be explained.  A few weeks back, I was playing with my cat in my basement.  He's been enthralled with the deep freeze I had delivered a couple of months back.  Every time I open it to retrieve something out, he's right there, trying to get in.  So in the midst of our play, I picked him up, opened the freezer and placed him inside.  I NEVER closed the lid.  I'd never do that to my little boy, but I wanted him to know what the deal was.  He'd only been inside for a second or two, when suddenly I was struck, dead center, in the back with some kind of heavy metal object.  I was the only person (other than the cat) down in that basement.  I grabbed my boy out of the freezer, closed the lid and swung around, staring into open space.  Nothing was there.  Nothing that could be seen with the naked eye.

There are negative spaces in my basement.  Cold spots, that according to the "professional" ghost investigators, can be attributed to the existence of ghosts.  Stealing all the positive energy from around them, in an attempt to manifest themselves or hurl inanimate objects at the unsuspecting living.  Then again, it is a basement.  Basements have cold spots.  It's an imperfect world.  I admit some concern, blindly looking about the basement, before shrugging my shoulders and made my exit.

I can't say for sure, whether there is or is not anything residing in my house.  It was only built in 1992, so it's not very old, but since moving in seven years ago, I've experienced weird little things, including seeing a black cat wander past the corner of my eye, years before I got my very own cat.  One of the things my cat does, is sit and look past me to something behind me, although there never seems to be anything there.  Or equally freaky, speaking of my basement, he will often wander into the basement and will sit attentively looking up at... nothing.  I've heard that pets and small children are able to see ghostly apparitions.  Both my nephews, on occasions as very small toddlers, have spoken of playing in the bedroom with grandpa.  Both of their grandfathers have been long since deceased, well before their births.

My guilty pleasures include Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures and the recently cancelled, Haunted Collector, which featured famed paranormal investigator, John Zaffis.  I am enthralled by the evidence that the investigators collect on their many many cases.  I love the fact that the fellas (and gals) on Ghost Hunters will debunk and reveal anything that is being faked or exaggerated, including the time they were invited to investigate a haunted restaurant and bar on the west coast, where it was reported that a ghostly face would appear in the bathroom mirror.  It was discovered that the mirror was back lit and most of the reported haunted spots in the establishment, was being faked by the owners.  I appreciate, as a fan, that they went ahead and aired that episode, as a "f*ck you" to anyone who attempts to poke fun or make light of their science.

Although, of the three programs that I listed, Ghost Hunters seems to be the more ridiculous of the trio.  Engulfed by the darkness, lit only in infrared green, investigators challenge the spirits to make a sound, then act all surprised and skeptical when their request is answered.  "Show us you're here by knocking three times on the wall."  Then they hear a muffled bump... bump... ...bump!  Suddenly, they're shocked, charging down the hall calling out, "Who did that?  Who's here?  Show yourselves!"  Why ask the spirits to do something then act all wild and f*cking nuts with they comply?

Ghost Adventures used to be an intriguing show.  The three participants would get locked into a location for the entire night, with absolutely no access to the outside.  If there were any ghosts and specters inside the house or structure where they were, they were stuck together whether they liked it or not.  Nowadays, they have free range, coming and going at their leisure.  If a situation gets too intense, they're free to leave and rest off-site.  Plus, the evidence they collect went from being scattered and infrequent to (now) getting compelling evidence, every f*cking time.  I still watch, but do so, now, tongue-in-cheek.  I make my own decisions on whether the evidence is real or not.

John Zaffis' Haunted Collector, was the more interesting show of them all.  He's of the believe that spirits or ghostly energy will attach themselves to objects, like an old hair brush or knives, blades or guns.  Bones have been discovered, as well old mirrors and even poisons.  A menagerie of objects were found during the short-lived series, as well as in his professional life, that were removed from the locations, resulting in the reduction or total disappearance of paranormal activity.  I liked the show.  It was interesting.

The most ridiculous of all the paranormal shows is Ghost Hunters International.  I've tried to watch the show in the past, hoping it'd be as interesting and fun as the original Ghost Hunters, but fails miserably.  Their investigators take all that shit SO f*cking serious, that fun is discouraged from investigations.  Part of the charm of Ghost Hunters is the fun and joking that is exchanged between Steve Gonsalves and Dave Tango, including Steve betting $10 to Dave to put stuff in his mouth.  Ghost Hunters International, never has these fun antics.  Instead, it's straight-laced, no-nonsense, take-themselves-too-f*cking-serious.  What bugs me more, though, is the international part of the show.

I know the title indicates that they investigate paranormal incidents across the globe, but what they fail to do is embrace the world cultures as they do their investigations.  Every paranormal-type show does is guilty of this, but you'd think that a program which embraces it's internationality, would enter the enterprise a little more realistically.  Last night, I recorded the Ghost Hunters International, mainly because Kris Williams, who began on the original Ghost Hunters, now appeared on GHI.  She is the second from the left in the picture up top.  She is very pretty and has big boobs.  Two attributes I appreciate in a woman (among other things -- I'm not completely shallow, but I am honest).

Last night's show, was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.  The crew were in American Samoa investigating claims that an ancient Samoan King haunted the grounds of a closed girl's school.  The premise, itself, sounds f*cking ridiculous.  Like a king doesn't have better things to do, than haunt a deserted learning facility.  During the program, locals are interviewed and maybe, 95% or better of them, aren't able to speak a lick of English.  I'm a little confused as to why the island is called American Samoa, if none of the motherf*ckers living there, can speak the f*cking language?  But I digress.  

None of them can speak English now, so suffice it to assume that NONE of them spoke any English two or three hundred years ago.  Yet, investigators venture out into the darkness and call out and do EVPs (Electronic Voice Phenomenon), all in English.  They received very little feedback.  Some, in the Samoan language, which I'm sure loosely translated into "What the f*ck are you saying?  Speak the language, motherf*cker!"  Especially rough, was the investigator, Joe Chin, the chubby Asian dude (the too-cool-for-school dude in the shades in the picture), who speaks like Elmer Fudd.  If I thought ancient Samoans had a rough time understanding the regular folks, trying to decipher the speech impediment of a virtual cartoon character, would be extremely difficult.  "If yo he-oh, show yo-say-uwf."

"If day-ohs any evidence, it-oh re-veo it-sewf du-wing analysis."  How ridiculous is it that grown-ass-adults still speak like this today?

I have some doubts that there is any sort of spirits residing in my house, or more specifically, my basement.  If I were a ghost, I'd plant myself in the living room and hope that the residents of my home shared my interest in television.  I love TV and would be content on spending eternity watching it, provided they stayed away from shit like The Bachelor, Grey's Anatomy or The Good Wife.  F*ck that shit.  That'd be Hell.  Spending eternity watching Paranormal shows and NCIS re-runs...  Now THAT, would be Heaven.