Christmasing

What does Christmasing-a-ling-aling feel like, sound like, taste like to you ?

I think Christmas is the perfect illustration of clinging onto the idea or memory of something. Many of us seek to reproduce the magic we have once experienced. The earlier Christmas celebrations usually create an imprint so strong that we base our representation of the event on these primal impressions. I remember vividly, at age 15, as I was sitting in my grandparents living room, the distress from noticing that I was no longer experiencing the "magic". I was wondering where the main ingredient of Christmas (wonder) had gone. For the next decade, I was often too exhausted from my studies to notice or try to recreate it. Fortunately, a bit of that sense of awe came back, by proxy this time, once I became a mother. Since then, Christmas has been more about children for me.

As a child, Christmas was found in those Laura Secord boxes of chocolates my grand-papa Giroux would get and share with everyone. It was us kids hiding from the cloud of tobacco smoke in my grandparents' basement, listening to adults loudly laughing, gossiping and singing. It was the artificial "glaçons", these long silvery decorative strands that would annoyingly stick to our cute velvet dresses. It was the pre-eve nap that could not always win against the growing excitement of our hearts. It was in my mother's Lawrence Welk LP my sister and I listened to in our matching facial-cloth-like fabric pajamas (I had a white one, she had a yellow one) as we alternatively swayed in some improvised choreography. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ling-aling, dong-ling-aling... Caroline and Isabelle sang Carol of the Bells.  It was my cousin Gabriel's fondness and performance of Nutcracker. It was skiing on almost empty slopes at Vallée-du-Parc on the 24th. It was the delicious cabbage pineapple salad and triangular sandwiches without crust, leftovers from Le Réveillon and still as delicious on the 25th at my grandparents' who lived in the house next to ours, before heading to my maternal grandparents', where Santa was supposed to appear from afar on Rue de la Réserve and go knock at other doors to make us all (at least the grandkids among us who still believed in this joyous bearded man in a cherry red outfit) loudly redirect him from where we were all standing behind the window.

Because of so many mixed feelings about it as childhood innocence sooner or later was replaced by disillusionment, drama, sad chapters, exhaustion, consumerism, conflicts about on which side of the family to spend the day, etc, and sometimes my inability to stare at certain ornaments that tie me to moments I would rather forget or others of robbed joy that hurt too much, I try to see this as an opportunity to reinvent the concept. To start anew, away from the more painful associations. And to resist consumerism. Some winter seasons (like the current one), I am proud to not have to buy any wrapping paper. I simply reuse what I have kept from the preceding years.

Also, I didn't buy a tree this year. For most of my kids' lives, and my own childhood, we had an artificial tree. I have always been wondering what was best, or most sustainable: plastic you reuse year after year, or a real tree? I prefer trees when they are rooted, not cut. Since I am no longer married, I left the artificial tree behind. But none of us wanted it. 

The first year after moving out, I got a real tree. For the sake of doing something different that would pull me away from my former life. It was my first one (I grew up with artificial trees, except for my maternal grandparents who used to have some kind of birch, and it seemed unusual). The following year, I chose not to have one at all because there would be no celebration in my rental house. This year, for some time I thought I would get one to celebrate this first Christmas in my new home. I decided against it for various reasons, and instead tried to develop my own concept of a tree. I stacked books and developed three disappointing permutations of a book pyramid until my back was killing me and I gave up. As I was proceeding to use a winter coat that was green as a representation of a tree, I had the idea of assembling hangers and adding a natural, sustainable touch: rosemary branches. They are pleasantly fragrant and to me symbolize abundance of the nature around my home. I left most ornaments in their boxes this year and instead simply added lights, jingle bells, a pair of mittens tied with a string from my boys when little, and a mini sled. I will add more natural elements as we approach Christmas.  But I am a bit embarrassed to share the result. My boyfriend delicately commented that it looked "interesting". Not perfect, but for this year, it will do. And I am sure next year, I will try a different kind. A tree, a present, a celebration, this is all the world of form. For me, decorating has been more about the process than the result: going on a hike to gather those mini red berries (now I have them in my backyard) or coming up with a card idea with the materials that I have.

The most important decoration piece for me now is the crèche (Nativity scene, or what Youri used to call so endearingly when he was a little boy, "La maison de Jésus"), which I put on the mantle. It is a precious item I have had since childhood, for over four decades. This was I believe a gift from a great aunt who was a nun. This inspired my sons from an early age, and fascination had led younger Youri to draw a barn with the holy family, and later on we used my sons' little figurines and dressed them up as Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus and the whole crew with the Magi.

Over the years, I became interested in the way other cultures celebrate Christmas. For instance, in Iceland, they exchange books and chocolates and spend the rest of the evening devouring both. That sounds like paradise to me. I also like spicy, warm wine. I love dancing or playing board games until late at night with loved ones. I also like night walks under a snowy sky. And I still like watching Ciné-Cadeau at my mother's when I visit, especially A Charlie Brown Christmas.

But most of all, I like the pause in gratitude. The first year of the pandemic, I invited my children to take their time discovering their presents, unwrapping them slowly, one by one, and pause before jumping to the next one. I was learning with them to take in the joy, and with it, the gratitude, which is our only true abundance. I thought it was important to help them experience the sacred, and ultimately continue to find it in the little things as they go through life.

Regardless of how you like Christimasing (or not), I hope you resist the performance pressure, old conditionings that cause more pain than joy, and do what feels fun, invigorating and meaningful to you and your loved ones.