Saturday, December 26, 2009

Christmas Day Dinner

Though we had been invited to my parents' home for Christmas Day dinner at 3:00 p.m. that afternoon, knowing that we wouldn't sit at table much before six o'clock that evening, we deliberately delayed our arrival (thinking that the appointed time was far too early to be either reasonable or necessary). Upon our arrival sometime after 4:00 p.m., I was immediately greeted with a reprimand from my mother, who of course couched the assault in terms of concern rather than frustration. The others (my sister and her family - spouse, children and partner of one of the children) had already arrived, and by the looks of it had successfully made their way through the fresh oysters (which they described as disappointingly microscopic) and some alcoholic beverages. As always, the kitchen was the fulcrum of the congregation, as we hovered about the central table laden with shrimp, various cheeses and crackers (none of which especially attracted me mid-afternoon). Meanwhile mother had recovered the bottle of Champagne from the garage where it had been kept cool, and the contents of the bottle were distributed among those who wished to partake, which essentially meant everyone except my father and me. My mother asked whether I could smell the turkey basting in the oven, which I assured her I could.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Christmas Morning

The Sligh mahogany mantle clock in my study has just struck the quarter hour after noon, so we're but minutes beyond the morning of Christmas Day, and an eventful morning it has been.

For most people, an exciting Christmas morning would likely have included something to do with a Christmas tree (which we don't have), or children (none of them either), or gifts (we never exchange gifts), or maybe just a really nice breakfast (ours wasn't bad, but not exactly traditional, having been left-over tourtière meat pie from last night and two fried eggs, all of which we didn't consume until we got home after nine o'clock this morning).

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Somehow December 15th seems to be an auspicious day, though all that I can readily say for it is that we're now about one week from the Winter Solstice, when the days will thankfully begin lengthening. Perhaps it is the proximity of this date to Midwinter which also compels it to me. The ever optimistic human spirit delights in anticipation of what is to come, as we are about to round the corner so to speak. There is also no question that the pace of things begins to gather speed from this point onward, as we rush towards those magical dates of December 25th and January 1st, trying to condense within that space sometimes limitless obligations. Already I can see that regular business enterprise will give way to more pressing family and social commitments after December 18th, the last Friday before Christmas Eve. Christmas is such a licence for delinquence, as I can hear Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge's words echoing in my mind.

Friday, December 4, 2009

The Red Panda

Toby, who had a protuberant little belly (over which hung a tag strung from his neck announcing his pedigree), was a Red Panda Teddy bear made in Germany of Mohair, No. 458 of a Limited Edition of 1000 pieces. He "lived" in the Village clock shoppe of Mr. Dilwert Schomberg on top of The Concise Oxford Dictionary (Fifth Edition), which in turn rested upon two thick volumes of telephone books (one of which was the Yellow Pages, the other a listing of Regional Residential numbers). From this vantage atop the old metal filing cabinet (which in turn supported the Regional Listing, Yellow Pages and Dictionary), Toby was afforded a clear view across the room where Mr. Schomberg (squinting through his gold rimmed spectacles) worked assiduously during the day at his well-worn wooden desk, cluttered with a collection of pliers, small screw drivers and other implements of the trade. Toby’s view further extended over the glass-cased oak counter, and finally to the pine door entrance, appended to the outside of which was a large brass door knocker in the shape of a mighty lion’s head. Fortunately for Toby, in the poorly heated shoppe of Mr. Schomberg, he had the benefit by day of a nearby lamp which poured forth both its light and radiant heat upon Toby, at least that is until Mr. Schomberg at the end of the business day unpocketed his set of keys, turned off the lights, turned down the heat even more, then removed himself from the premises, locking the door with a double click behind him. As a result of Mr. Schomberg’s precautions, the nights were fairly uncomfortable for Toby, and no doubt accounted for the enthusiasm (in his heart only of course) with which he greeted Mr. Schomberg upon his arrival the next morning, when the light and heat were restored.