Christmases to Remember (Catherine Campbell)

Well here we are in 2018 well into the “silly” season. Christmas music swirls around us everywhere we go. Christmas containers grace the porches. Christmas lights brighten the evening. Now the scramble to organize gifts, dinners, cards and notes – for so many people there is just angst, stress, guilt and loneliness. And, do we treasure the moments?

Most Christmases are forgettable and with all the emotional energy that is poured into this “festive” time that is rather sad. Still, if I am typical, there are a few special memories.

Dar es Salaam, Tanzania – 1966

I was 14 years old – my father had been assigned a 2-year tour in Dar es Salaam, training the local military pilots on search and rescue aircraft. I had been enrolled in a dance school in Cannes, France, but the educational offerings (almost non-existent) didn’t meet my father’s expectations. By November I was “home” in Dar.

Christmas to all of us had been “snow, snow, snow”. Manitoba, Labrador, Ottawa. Not tropical. My mother, an artist, took up the challenge. Her rendition of a Christmas tree was an abstract, pastel creation made out of multiple sheets of paper stuck on the wall. It didn’t need lights or ornaments! Christmas dinner was a pot luck at a park just outside of town. The lunch was to have included roast goat. However, the unlucky beast was stolen the night before the feast (probably not to meet a kinder fate) and, in the morning, the organizers scrambled to find a replacement. They did, but the roasting time was significantly diminished, and the result was decidedly unappealing.

Still there was laughter and sharing…and thanks for what we had – maybe a little more of the real “meaning” of Christmas.

We missed my brother – he was in Switzerland at boarding school – he spent a lonely Christmas.

Lundin Links, Scotland – 1967

My brother and I spent our next Christmas together, without the rest of the family! I had started boarding school in Edinburgh, Scotland. The Wests (our neighbours in Dar es Salaam) had returned to Scotland to a small town on the other side of the firth from Edinburgh. They invited both my brother and I to join them for Christmas since a trip to Tanzania was not possible.

It was a cozy cottage, the Scottish chill handled by gas fires (I did discover the joy of chilblains by toasting my cold feet too close to the heat). And Christmas music. Muriel West was a pianist (had instructed me in Africa) and the young son had a beautiful voice, a member of the King’s College choir.

The gossip mongers in town had a field day with two young people of the opposite sex – strangers – in town. I remember a hug from Brad on the streets of Lundin Links. He was laughing, happy – hard to believe he died at only 41.

Palm Springs – 1986

My husband and I headed to California for Christmas – his son was spending the holidays with the ex, so it seemed like a good idea to get away. We flew to San Diego and then drove to Palm Springs to a quaint hotel, the Ingleside Inn. It touted itself as the location for the stars and the list of famous guests was impressive. There were none to be seen when we were there but there were many signed pics of Hollywood stars, all decades old. The weather was warm, of course, belying “Christmas”. But there were festive touches. A nude sculpture in the garden had been graced with a Santa hat. Mini trees, about 8” high and decorated, were in every room. Echoing the near forgotten era of the piano lounge there was a pianist tickling the ivories on a grand piano, the food was excellent, classic tableside favourites, as was the wine – a Duckhorn Merlot.

What an absurd thing to remember!

Carlux, Dordogne, France – 1999

The millennium beckoned – maybe December was not the best time to visit the Dordogne in France but closing out the 20^th century it seemed destined. The sun was shining, and the unseasonably warm breezes made shirt sleeves comfortable out on the stone patio.

We bought two little trees and decorated them with red balls and a lacy cap.

Christmas Eve we attended mass at the local cathedral. The organ music reverberated against the stone walls, the voices of the chorists made the hairs on my arm stand up. It was mesmerizing.

Christmas dinner was planned for the house. We were joined by an Australian couple staying in Sarlat, our friends who owned the Le Fournil property, Wayne (our son) and Sharon (a friend from Toronto). We had shopped at the local butcher for a turkey and a roast of beef and the market in Souillac for oysters and vegetables. The butcher’s careful instructions unfortunately produced a barely cooked roast of beef. The turkey prepared by our hosts in their coach house was perfect. The oysters and the champagne…what can I say?

We were home by New Year. That y2k conflagration that had been forecast – didn’t happen.

Postscript:Our little trees got planted in the garden above the Le Fournil – they are now 8 feet tall! Millenours 2000 (my white bear) has gone a little yellow – I have gone a lot grey!