Christmas journeys. I’ve made a few. Some of them joyful and easy. Some of them fraught with obstacles of one sort or another. Stormy flights home to New Brunswick. Stormy, white-knuckle drives to the airport fearing that maybe, after all, our flight would be cancelled and we’d spend Christmas somewhere we did not want to be.
A tearful journey to a friend’s house on Christmas Eve, the first year I did NOT go home for Christmas, after my car had been broken into and all my presents from home had been stolen. The year of the great turkey relay when the power in most of Ottawa went out after an ice storm on Christmas Eve, and the Christmas turkey journeyed to the home of whichever member of Hubby’s family had a working oven. Ha.
The year back in the eighties that my roommate and I carried our Christmas tree home through ankle-deep snow. And we laughed all the way because we knew we looked like idiots carrying a tree for blocks and blocks. Scary, hairy car journeys with Hubby on the highway to New Brunswick along the St. Lawrence River in freezing rain.
So yeah, I’ve had lots of Christmas journeys. Short and long. And I’ll bet you have too.
This year we’ll be staying put for the holidays. Just we two. I’ll be doing up my traditional tourtière for Christmas Eve. And Hubby is handling the turkey on Christmas Day. We’ve wrangled our tree into the sun room. Not that she was a problem; in fact, she was very compliant for a change. And I decorated her yesterday. Her name is Joyce. She reminds me of a Sunday School teacher I knew when I was fourteen. Small, kind, perfectly formed if a bit wide on the bottom, and sweetly old-fashioned.
If you’re new to my blog you won’t know of the longtime tradition in my family of naming our Christmas tree. Begun with an arthritic tree named Arthur back in the seventies. You can read Arthur’s story here, if you like.
I made a short video of some of my Christmas journeys this year. Some on my own, some with Hubby. Hope you enjoy it. Please note that no wine was consumed before the singing of any songs. More’s the pity. Wine might have loosened things up a bit. Might have helped keep things on key… so to speak.
Hubby and I were talking today about Christmases past. When we were children, when the most important Christmas journey of all was Santa’s journey to our house. And how every year we feared that Santa Claus would not make it. And yet he always did. I remember one year when we spent Christmas at my grandmother’s house, I was very worried that he would not find me that year. But, amazingly, he did. Hubby reminisced about how he and his younger brother always crept downstairs Christmas morning, almost afraid to look under the tree. And how they’d shout, “He came. He came.” with great gusto and exhilaration.
Hubby and I are looking forward to our quiet Christmas this year. No journeys for us. Not until next year, anyway. Just hunkering down in front of the fire with some good books, a glass of wine or two, and plenty of our favourite foods.
We hope you have a warm and happy Christmas, too, my friends. Or a warm and happy whatever you celebrate if you don’t celebrate Christmas. We wish you good food, good friends, good health, and, well, everything good. You deserve it.
I won’t be blogging again until January. So, I’ll see you next year.