I drove a friend home after tea on Christmas Eve. It was just after five
o’clock, fully dark and sprinkling a bit. Some, but not much traffic. One of
the local radio stations had gone all-holiday hits for the week preceding
Christmas, so Tig’s radio was set to that channel for the duration. The volume
was low with company in the car, but after I dropped Treena at her place, I
turned it up to catch a Christmas song on my drive home. It’s only ten minutes,
through a winding, tree-lined neighbourhood removed from the main artery
to/from downtown. Plenty long enough for one, maybe two tunes. Simon and
Garfunkel’s “Silent Night” would be lovely in the burgeoning stillness.
I turn left at the four-way stop. The commercial set ends and lo, “Mele
Kalikimaka” starts up. Sigh … but hey, it’s a Christmas song and it’s not as if
I don’t know the words.
“Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright Hawaiian
Christmas Day …”
I’m singing with der Bingle. Tig is cruising down the hill, wipers
occasionally clearing Christmas-coloured raindrops from the windshield. Fairy
lights glow in gardens and on gabled rooftops. I am warm and, for the first
time in a few days, alone. I reach the one traffic light on my route. A single
set of headlights beams at me from across the intersection. Red turns green, we
each roll forward in opposite directions, then I have the street to myself. The
song (mercifully) ends. With luck, I won’t be looping it for the rest of the
evening, and there’s still time for another.
What I get is an update from NORAD. The base in North Bay is monitoring
communications and confirms that Santa has left the North Pole. As soon as he
reaches Canadian airspace, jets will be scrambled to provide a military escort
… and for some oddball reason, a tingle of excitement runs up my spine. For a
singular moment, I feel the magic of Christmas Eve in a way I haven’t felt
since I was little. Santa is coming; he’s on his way …
I’m glad to be alone when it happens, even though it’s the first thing I
blurt to Ter when I come through the door.
It was nice to discover that I’m not as immune, as grown up, as I
believe I am.
I was at my work desk on Christmas eve, watching the clock, anxious for 2pm which is when our phones switched out and we could finally go home. I checked NORAD. He was in Perm, Russia at that point. I relayed this to my co-worker to which he replied, "Home of the Curl." I chuckled and cleverly shot back with, "I hope he doesn't spiral." I am certain that the hair reference was lost on him but I laughed like a loon and found myself full of Christmas shivers. It was the pang I had been waiting for. NORAD saved me.
ReplyDeleteA nice holiday memory is as good as a shiny wrapped prezzie, isn't it?
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