As I get older, I become increasingly immune to all holidays, but the December holidays most of all. I no longer get excited at the prospect of my brother Ian's surprisingly delicious chicken-free matzo ball soup (prepared for the first night of Hanukkah) nor the wonderful stockings full of treats and (always) a single Chinese orange that greet me every Christmas morning. I don't want to sound like a Grinch, I enjoy them, but I just don't seem capable of recapturing the magic of the season that I enjoyed as a child.
My parents were always able to create the most incredible Christmases for us. Our father, especially, would ply us with gifts presented by Issac (more on him later) as well as the characters he created to entertain us on our frequent boat trips and visits to the cottage (like the Hay Monster). This particular traight was definitely inherited by me, whose own sense of humor runs to giving friends, "Congratulations on your First Communion" cards on their birthdays.
Now, Issac is a tricky one. He is a beloved member of the family who just happens to be a monkey puppet. He has hosted every childhood Christmas I can recall. As a morning MC he is replete with funny comments and all around good cheer - the only drawback is that, due to shyness, he will only whisper into my father's ear, leaving us to enjoy his bon mots second-hand.
When Drew, Ian and myself were young, my father would employ us to help him wrap our mothers gifts in "disguises" in order to prevent her from guessing what they really were. A particularly memorable wrapping job, for our first Christmas at Spirit Rock, looked exactly like a living Christmas tree, enbalmed in brightly colored paper, (though for the life of me I can't remember what was actually inside).
This year, we are lucky enough to have Ian home from the UK for the holidays although Andrew and his wife will not be making an appearance. Drew, due to travel restrictions imposed on service members prior to shipping out to Afghanistan, will be celebrating Christmas at home in Alberta.
I sometimes wonder if we will ever, again, have a Christmas like the ones of my youth - with the whole family gathered happily under one roof. I guess it goes without saying what I'm wishing for.
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