December 20, 2005


I love Christmas. Not from a religious perspective, but I just love the general overwhelming feeling the holi-day brings with. Ofcourse, Christmas is perfect in a snow-laden city in North America or Europe. I feel that's when you really get the idealistic white Christmas imagery. I spent last Christmas in Singapore and I was just so bummed out with all the humidity. It didn't feel like Christmas at all even though Singapore was decorated very prettily.

(While I write this post, I'm listening to Christmas songs by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. They rock - literally!)

Anyway, I love how people run around to try and get just the right gift(s) for family and friends. I love how everyone seems to be happier and more friendly (when not shopping last minute), I love the idea of Santa Claus (sometimes I don't want to believe he's just an idea), I love getting emotional over Silent Night every time I hear it, I love expecting snow to fall on Christmas eve and Christmas day, I love the decorations people put up, I love Christmas trees... I love Christmas time. And I'm not a Christian. It's interesting how one doesn't need to be a Christian to love this holi-day. Many of us come to Canada and just get esconsed into the traditions of the land and I'm glad Christmas is one such thing we've decided to get involved in. As much as I do love Christmas, I think this guy (below) out does everyone. Enjoy! :)

1 comment:

Gary said...

Nice touch with the green and red (and rocking house!)Here's my Christmas story!

I was about 7 when my older brother Tim, who I shared a room with, told me we were going to catch Santa. Our tradition was to put our stockings at the foot of our beds and in the morning, wake up to find them stuffed. We opened them, ate and played for a while, then woke up the parents. (Not a bad plan for an extra 30 minutes sleep for parents by the way.)

That meant Santa came in our room. That meant that stringing pots and spoons across the floor just might trap the jolly fatman. And it did...

My fragmented memory of that moment involves the sound of pots and spoons, loud thumps, someone moaning, "What the fuck?!?" and then seeing Santa stumble out of our room. In the dark, from behind, he looked a lot like my dad, in a t-shirt and jockey shorts.

In the morning the stockings were full and I repressed the whole thing... mostly.