It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
I know that almost everyone says that Christmastime is his favourite time of year. What with the gift-giving and merrymaking, the festive songs of the season, cheery greetings and sincere wishes for a happy time, who among us - even us non-christians - doesn’t truly enjoy it all? Of course, it has its problems. The stress of finding gifts for loved ones and strangers alike, not to mention gifts for co-workers and in-laws, robs the act of its inherent joy. The endless parties can become a chore, the relentless upbeat mood you must don can wear your nerves thin especially in the face of everyday responsibilities or even personal tragedies (which we choose to hide from others all in the hopes of not marring what could be a perfect Christmas). So much heavy sentiment for a season that got its start with a quietness and nobleness lacking in today’s celebration of it. I am not a christian. I follow no religion nor adhere to any otherworldly philosophy. But I was raised in a house that celebrated Christmas with the decorating of a tree (always artificial) and the giving of gifts. I always loved walking through downtown and hearing Christmas songs piped over PA systems both in the shops and outside on the street. Many stores' systems were linked together, so you could wander from store to outside to store and never miss a line of any song. We always had seasonal songs playing in our house, too. I wore out an old Firestone record that my father had with Leontyne Price’s lofty voice singing “Ave Maria” and Dean Martin crooning “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”. There’s that glint of tradition again: you see, Firestone used to put out collections of Christmas songs from the best singers of the day. Vikki Carr, Bing Crosby, and Andy Williams. Later it was Anne Murray, Julie Andrews, and Lou Rawls.
While I do enjoy Christmastime, my favourite time of the year is (’m sure it’s no surprise) autumn. The days grow shorter but somehow brighter. The skies are clearer since the purple haze of summer has been banished. Robins sing their late good-byes (to borrow a phrase from Cheryl Wheeler), and the aerial V’s of geese and ducks point their way southward. With all the bustle of the harvest and the labour to pack in stores for the winter, one might think this a hurried and noisy time of year. But the opposite is true. Quiet blankets the land, and carpets of gold and brown muffle all manner of crunch and crack. A hush falls over people as they marvel in the show of colour all around them. Yes, this is my favourite time of year. There are no parties to attend, no frantic dashes to find a gift. A nice prelude to gather one’s strength for the coming holiday season.
I know that almost everyone says that Christmastime is his favourite time of year. What with the gift-giving and merrymaking, the festive songs of the season, cheery greetings and sincere wishes for a happy time, who among us - even us non-christians - doesn’t truly enjoy it all? Of course, it has its problems. The stress of finding gifts for loved ones and strangers alike, not to mention gifts for co-workers and in-laws, robs the act of its inherent joy. The endless parties can become a chore, the relentless upbeat mood you must don can wear your nerves thin especially in the face of everyday responsibilities or even personal tragedies (which we choose to hide from others all in the hopes of not marring what could be a perfect Christmas). So much heavy sentiment for a season that got its start with a quietness and nobleness lacking in today’s celebration of it. I am not a christian. I follow no religion nor adhere to any otherworldly philosophy. But I was raised in a house that celebrated Christmas with the decorating of a tree (always artificial) and the giving of gifts. I always loved walking through downtown and hearing Christmas songs piped over PA systems both in the shops and outside on the street. Many stores' systems were linked together, so you could wander from store to outside to store and never miss a line of any song. We always had seasonal songs playing in our house, too. I wore out an old Firestone record that my father had with Leontyne Price’s lofty voice singing “Ave Maria” and Dean Martin crooning “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”. There’s that glint of tradition again: you see, Firestone used to put out collections of Christmas songs from the best singers of the day. Vikki Carr, Bing Crosby, and Andy Williams. Later it was Anne Murray, Julie Andrews, and Lou Rawls.
While I do enjoy Christmastime, my favourite time of the year is (’m sure it’s no surprise) autumn. The days grow shorter but somehow brighter. The skies are clearer since the purple haze of summer has been banished. Robins sing their late good-byes (to borrow a phrase from Cheryl Wheeler), and the aerial V’s of geese and ducks point their way southward. With all the bustle of the harvest and the labour to pack in stores for the winter, one might think this a hurried and noisy time of year. But the opposite is true. Quiet blankets the land, and carpets of gold and brown muffle all manner of crunch and crack. A hush falls over people as they marvel in the show of colour all around them. Yes, this is my favourite time of year. There are no parties to attend, no frantic dashes to find a gift. A nice prelude to gather one’s strength for the coming holiday season.
No comments:
Post a Comment