Celine Dion + Baking = Christmas

I grew up in the rank and file cluster of farming communities encircled by Indian reserves on the desolate Saskatchewan prairies. Many morning I walked to school, it wasn't a long stretch, it wasn't one of the up hill both ways kind of things your grandparents talked about from their childhood. The cold, however, was penetrating and a vile form of violation, no matter how many layers encompassed my frame, some poor appendage was grieved with the loss of feeling. Frequently, during these short treks, my eyelashes would freeze together preventing me from seeing where I was going. I would slip one hand out of its toasty glove to rip the lids apart and restore my site, not that was anything really to see, this was more a safety measure to avoid the moving trucks that obnoxiously backed up without any disregard for what poor ice-blinded child was behind them.

The days leading up to the holidays were filled with seasonal crafts, practices for the Christmas concert, and games. Specifically, my elementary school followed a tradition that roots back to the origin of the school. The last day of classes before the break we all file into the gymnasium, sit crossed-legged like good teacher abiding monkeys and belt carols from our tiny high pitched voices till our throats were ripped raw. My favourite was The Twelve Days of Christmas. We stood up and followed a ridiculous set of actions as the days counted up and back down. We shuffled back to our classrooms, the excitement causing us to be a little too giddy and jumpy. No one could sit still in their desks. I remember many kids just dancing around with anticipation of the break and what Santa would bring them. Teachers would open presents, I don't think I ever brought them anything. What could I possibly buy my teacher? "Here's a Lego pencil holder! Oh... you already have a gold one... Dang."

The real treat of the day was being released early at 2 rather than fight all the way to 3:30. I would run home back down the block and burst into the house...and every time I did the most amazing thing would be waiting for me. The porch was spotless, freshly mopped with a clean rug to absorb the melted snow, the whole house smelt like bread, cupcakes, peanut brittle, turtles, and vanilla candles. I jumped the three steps from the porch up the entry room and the smell hit me more powerfully. The kitchen was flooded with baked goods of varying levels of sweetness. The flood of baked goods would always escape the boundaries of the kitchen counters and overflow onto the kitchen table. And I survey the scene of gluten gloriousness a familiar and long lost sound fills my ears... from the living room comes the sound of Canada's jewel, no not Michael Buble, Celine Dion. Her voice at Christmas is the same as the angels who announced Christ's birth. She may have even been one, with the voice that she has I wouldn't doubt it in the slightest.

The combination of all these items, the cleaned house, the baked goods, and the musical selection equals, well it means my sister Tovah is home from university and sent my dad off to nap while she takes over the reins for a while, and it also means that it is Christmas. That is the equation for Christmas magic. I don't care how many presents I get, I don't really want physical things anyway. When my family was home and we packed around the table to fight over that last sausage, that is what I remember about Christmas. Grandma's caramel popcorn she brought in grocery bags, why were all her gifts signed from Grandma and Pup, did the dog have a say in what we got? That's why they were all shabby! The midnight snack spreads on Christmas Eve, Mother inhaling popcorn while Chevy Chase sleds to his death in Christmas Vacation, the fight to see who washes dishes after the Christmas Eve meal, hanging stockings, Dad reading Twas the Night Before Christmas, and most of all the magical and inexplicable feeling of walking into the living room Christmas morning and seeing what Santa left and the stamp of happiness and whimsy that marked our house.

After years and years, after spending two Christmases on a tropical island, after Christmas finally making sense that what the Grinch was saying all along is true, my search is no longer for the perfect gift, it is no longer about stacking my "Wish List" with as many expensive items as I can... It is to help others feel the love of their God, whichever religious paradigm they subscribe to, and to feel that humanity still has good in it.

If you are feeling alone, or unloved, or barren, or left behind, I offer you these words. May my memories of the happiest times of my childhood bring you a smile. May they motivate you to think outside yourself this season and reach out to others. As you strive to lift others and take away their worries, I promise you will find that same joy and happiness you feel vacant in your life.

Cheers!
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
TSR