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.

Black Ice - What Lies Beneath

In the past, I've sometimes found writing this blog to be therapeutic and a viable way to work through whatever issues that may have been plaguing my thoughts at that particular time...
I hope this helps me, today....

Without revealing my chronological age, I can verify that I've been driving for quite some time.  Living in Canada, you learn to drive a vehicle in several different ways to successfully combat the several different road conditions you may encounter in any given season.  Springtime tends to bring a lot of rain, causing roads to be slick and wet during the day, only to turn icy at night when the mercury drops below zero ℃.  Summer isn't too bad, I've found, but as soon as the leaves turn colour and the snow begins to fly, that's when we, driver's need to be more weary.

Black ice is our worst enemy.  It's the thin layer of ice that blankets the road, which is nearly impossible to see with the naked eye, unless you're lucky enough to catch a faint glimmer of it.  A faint reflection of ice crystals catching the light at just the right angle, bouncing back to your pupil.  Most, sadly, ignore this and continue to drive just as they had been all summer long.  I've always credited myself as a better driver than these kinds of people.  I've always considered myself a better driver than most people, even on my worst day.  Last week, I had the absolute worst day of my driving career.

I'm not saying that I've never had an accident.  I've had a few misfortunes in my life.  I once lost control and crashed a small Chevrolet Chevette into a row of parked cars.  That was a terrible accident and I was severely injured at the time.  Most people, upon seeing the damage done to the car, questioned how I wasn't hurt more seriously.  It was a nasty one, I will admit, but afterward, I had no qualms about sitting behind the wheel.

This accident that I had on Thursday night/Friday morning, was unlike anything I've ever experienced.  I can say, beyond a reasonable doubt, that I'm afraid to drive.  I ventured out Sunday, but I was frightened by the aggressive drivers around me.  The big 4x4 trucks speeding up behind me.  I thought for sure, one of them were going to corral me into the ditch.  Last night I ventured out to buy some milk, which took me about four hours to get up the courage, as it'd been raining all day long.  The temperature was above zero℃, so there wasn't any icing issues, but it has snowed overnight and there are some errands that I sloughed off yesterday, that need to be done today.  As I look out the window, I can visibly see the ice and snow compiled on the city streets.  I don't know if I can go out in that...  Worse yet, I have to work tonight, which means venturing out in the cold winter night and driving that same route, passing that same corner where I lost complete control last week and slammed into the side of that silver GMC.

It took me about four hours to gain the courage to drive to the corner store for milk, yesterday.  I dread having to go to work, tonight...

I see on television, people who suffer severe anxiety following a terrible accident, and I've always mocked them.  Now I'm feeling about the same way.  I was feeling worthless before this occurred.  I feel even worse, now. 😣

I never found this to be therapeutic, this time 'round.
In fact, I feel a little worse off, now...

Up Close & Impersonal

Tailgaters have always been a concern for me, and I'm not talking about the team fanatics who party and whoop it up in the parking lots of their favourite sports team's stadiums.  Although, I must admit that anyone willing to paint their bare chests in team colours for the minuscule chance of jiggling their poorly proportioned bodies for fifteen seconds of national fame, does make me question their sanity.

What does concern me, however, are the countless assholes who think it necessary (and safe) to follow the vehicle in front of them all too closely.  I see this occur all the time and it bugs me.  When it happens to me, then I get real concerned, spending more time watching them in my mirror than watching the traffic in front of me.  Having suffered a car accident years ago which left me with severe whiplash, to this day, when the mercury drops, the soreness and aggravation in my neck, rises.

In the summertime, the remedy is simple.  I tap my brakes and watch the fun ensue.  More times than not, the tailgater will slam on their breaks, sometimes even losing some control over their speeding vessel.  One fella, years ago, I remember, swerved and drove into the guard rail to his left.  I snickered as I continued my travels, while he stood outside his car, assessing the damage.  Did I feel guilty?  F*ck no!  If he hadn't been traveling so close, I would never have had the need to teach him this valuable lesson.

Winter time is another story.  It seems like, around here anyway, that even though we live with winter conditions four to five months out of the calendar year, people forget how to drive on snow and ice.  They think that the same rules of physics apply to them whether the ground is heated from the summer sun or frozen solid with black ice hidden under the freshly fallen snow.  This past Wednesday was the first snowfall of the year, and I heard about, at least, a couple dozen accidents, ranging from small fender benders to vehicles flipping over in the ditch.  I never heard about any fatalities, but I wouldn't be surprised if there were.  There's no doubt in my mind that half of these incidents were the result of assholes following too closely.

What really freaked me out, occurred about two hours ago.  I was traveling home, when a big rig, an eighteen wheeler semi-truck pulled in behind me in the left-hand lane, narrowly missing my rear bumper, no less.  The guy continued to tailgate me for the next couple of miles.  As I (dangerously) increased my velocity in an attempt to increase the distance between our two significantly different vehicles, he matched my speed, maintaining what I can only estimate was about two car lengths.  A semi-truck need A LOT MORE room than that to come to a complete stop, in an idea scenario.  On the other hand, traveling at 90km/h on ice, you may as well start writing my obituary, because I don't think the quality of life after being rundown by a Freightliner would be very enjoyable.

Back-and-forth, my eyes darted.  Back-and-forth, between my rear view mirror and the road in front of me.  Finally, I noticed that some reasonable distance between us had accrued, only to be filled with more vehicles.  Now, if it were necessary to slam on my brakes, I'd be rear ended by a Toyota, an F-150 and a motherf*cking Freightliner.  That'd really make my birthday next week a memorable one.

Finally, the lucky timing of traffic lights separated us for good, like conjoined twins going their separate ways at an amusement park.  I'm sure this won't be the last time, of course.  We're only two days into the cold stuff and I'm a fairly youthful fella, so I'm sure I have another thirty of forty years of assholes who can potentially injure, maim or kill me.  Crossing my fingers that I'll dodge that bullet, too.

The Inside Out Umbrella

Winter is encroaching upon us.  The temperatures dipping south of zero degrees Celsius, our mornings we're greeted with frosty windshields and sheer winds.  This morning was warmer than it has been, but the normally crisp mornings was replaced with a cold drizzle, mixed with periods of sleet and snow.

I was within the comforts of my warm vehicle, hot air blowing on the windshield and encompassing my face.  As I drove down the grey-coloured street, I glanced to my right, noticing a lone monstrous figure slowly cruising westward on the sidewalk.  Obviously too obese to make the trek on foot, they opted instead to do so using a motorized scooter.  In an attempt to reduce the soaking they would get from the weather pounding them in the face, they attempted to shield themselves with a solitary umbrella.  However, the winds, though not torrential, was still strong enough to turn their rain saving device, inside-out.

I know it's not polite or in good taste to laugh at those less fortunate than ourselves, but I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.  Perhaps if the person was stricken with a valid handicap, the odds of my laughter would have been lessened.  I don't consider obesity to be an actual handicap and therefore, I have no feeling of guilt about laughing at the absurd sight.

Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!

Construction has begun on the empty lots behind my work.  It was cool watching all the machines strategically move the earth around.  I found myself, for a moment, caught up in the excitement of it all, wishing that I'd made different choices in life.  Choices that would've placed me behind the controls of these behemoth machines, instead of pondering from afar.

Watching the boom swing back and forth, I thought back to when I was a small child.  I grew up on a farm, not far from the city.  In the winter time, it was up to my father to clear out the snow from the yard to allow the easy entrance and exit of our vehicles.  My dad did not have a snow blower, relying on an aluminum scoop shovel, instead.  Either it seemed like we had lots and lots of snow, because I was a small child, or this particular year in my memory, we were relentlessly bombarded with snow.  So my dad could be heard clearing away the snow with his shovel.  "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!" would echo off the building encompassing the yard. "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!"  And we had a sizable yard, too.  Not a small driveway, but a grand-sized yard and a long lane-way that connected it to the highway. A front-end bucket for his tractor would have been a worthwhile investment, but instead.... "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!"

So one day, my sister and I were in the city with my mom, who came across these children's snow shovels.  They were red or blue or both, with a picture of a snowman in a winter scene.  "Would you like a snow shovel?" my mother asked us kids.  As I recall, our faces lit up and both were thrilled at the prospect of obtaining our own shovels.  Then we could go help dad clear the snow from the yard.  Up to then, it looked like a lot of fun.  "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!"

No sooner did we arrive at home, than did my sister and I go running out to begin our crusade of helping our father clear the snow that continually blew into the yard.  "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!" continued to echo off the buildings, as my sister and I rounded the corner of the house, shovels in hand.  My dad was happy to see his smiling children, with shovels in hand and promises of help.  He pointed out a spot where we could begin our assistance.  "Clip! Clip! Swish!" we began, moving small increments of snow.  "Clip! Clip! Swish!"  Our efforts were small in comparison to the gargantuan amounts of snow our dad was able to move, and our shovels barely made a sound as they cut into the snow, unlike the thunderous clunks our dad's shovel made.

Soon, I realized that my dad didn't do this task on a nearly daily basis, because it was fun, but did it out of necessity.  This wasn't a game for him, but work.  As quick as I thought it was a wonderful idea to get the shovel to help my dad, I was wanting to desert my dad.  My sister, if I recall, being much younger than myself, had no qualms about dropping her shovel and returning to the warmth of the house.  I tried to hold on longer, but soon claimed to be cold and was encouraged by my dad to return to the house to warm up.

It's funny the shit you remember from the most insignificant and innocent of moments throughout your day...

So as I stood there, in the back of the shop, watching the earth moving equipment push the darkened soil about, I wished I could be the guy behind the controls of the machine, but almost as quickly, realized that it's probably a lot more actual work than it is fun to maneuver the equipment.  As I've learned in the last few days..;  Work isn't supposed to be fun...  Go figure!