Dear Jessica Brennan,
Long long ago, in the land I came from called Old North, Christmas was celebrated in December, you know, usually around the 25th. The lights went up about mid-month and were well tucked away by New Year’s Day. Over time though, Christmas has crept backward into November and even in some cases October, which to be honest I find annoying and disrespectful to things like Autumn which get totally ignored because of the tinsel, carols and baubles that are vomited up in malls and over the radio airwaves. There is nothing worse than despising Christmas by December because you have heard the same holiday songs a million times and “Oh Holy Night” now feels more like “oh holy cow not again” . The issue of the too-early Christmas is really only overshadowed by that neverending Christmas ooze that seems to not really disappear. All evidence points to the fact that putting the decorations up, is a lot more fun than taking them down, so for months on end they twinkle and sparkle on. Does anyone really need to step over a grape vine reindeer while pulling out bloom-less tulip stems?
There is a street around the corner from me that should be called the Canadian Frankenmuth. Seriously, if people only knew about Windsor Ave. they could run bus trips of seniors out to the area eleven months a year to see the lovely lights, courtesy of the jolly residents. The nearby Wortley Village could be renamed Santa’s Village and John’s valu-mart could totally clean-up by selling Christmas trees for the Old South Community Organization all year long.
For these elf-like souls, Valentine’s Day equals Christmas lights. St Patrick’s, Christmas lights. Easter – you guessed it. Civic Holiday, on and on. Then sometime around Labour Day as you’re sitting by the BBQ with your last Blackfly beverage of the summer, you hear a woman shout, “George! You get those Christmas lights down before Thanksgiving!” and there’s a palpable scurry of all the residents in this one-block section of the street as they sheepishly pack up Christmas for yet another year, and even though I know that in a few short weeks on a day full of freezing rain they will all go back up again, I feel sad.
I know, Dear Jessica, that I sound a bit Scrooge-ish, but really I’m not. There’s something comforting about those who don’t see the need to succumb to the peer pressure of things like Canada Day. I imagine the dear people on Windsor Ave. with cocoa in their hands on Good Friday, checking their stockings for “Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums!”, and I smile. For if Christmas is about Peace on Earth then Windsor Ave. is also the perfect snow-globe setting for just that. Children pulling wagons, trees to climb, a resident email group that includes lighthearted notes about things like cats that go missing and are joyfully found. “Reggie was hanging from our screen door again this morning Bob, not to worry, we’ll bring him over before we go to work”.
Oh Windsor Ave., Oh Windsor Ave., I will always sport a Norman Rockwell grin while thinking of you. Even on the hottest summer nights I imagine you, eyes bright with anticipation, all rosy cheeks and ear muffs, tossing snowballs good naturedly. The prolonged glowing Christmas lights I guess are just a reminder of the “Grown Up Christmas List” we all hum about on the blessed day itself, and even after the season has expired, the setting and the people of Windsor Ave fill you with the hope that they will let their lights twinkle for all time.
Jingle Bells,
Love Mum xo
