Thursday, or Thereabouts - December 3, 2015

Ambivalence and the Floodlights











A wet but soothing smattering of white decorates the world outside my door this morning.


It seems rather odd to these seasoned eyes to see the ground with so much green amongst the snow, yet framed by naked trees.


It is December! It should be sparkling white, not bright green! Perhaps this unseasonable weather explains my lack of enthusiasm for Christmas decorations. Until yesterday, there was not a single festive bit inside or outside the house. Yesterday I dragged myself outdoors to attend to our neighbourly contribution to the season, out of obligation not desire.








I love the dazzle and sparkle of Christmas lights. I love the magic of splendid outdoor displays that invite me to play and giggle and imagine. But please don't ask me to create them! I like to think that I come by my ambivalence honestly - I got it from my Father. His idea of outdoor decorations was floodlights; red and green splashed across the front of the house. Some years he went all out and in addition to the floodlight, strung 2m of coloured lights higgledy-piggledy along the awnings.

My mother on the other hand was the creative one. One year, she'd had enough of her husband's lacklustre efforts. She bought a kit that made a wall size Nativity scene to look like stained glass. For weeks my sister and I sat at the kitchen table colouring pieces of the tableau with wax crayons, then oiling it, while Mom cut and assembled the masterpiece.

No ordinary floodlight would do for this. Dad had to reach for this one. He bought a special light that rotated red, green, blue and yellow lights across the scene. It was stunning - one of those displays that the folks from all around the neighbourhood came to see.

Those were the days. And I am my father's daughter...

with just a bit of my mother's flare at critical moments.

And maybe just a little bit more...

©2015 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - December 8, 2014

Just a Wreath on the Door

There are few things I loathe more than putting up the outdoor Christmas lights. I have no idea what vexes me so about this chore - I quite enjoy the end result; rows of pretty lights cheering up the night. And I am often so very impressed by the design skills neighbours, friends and family - a tad envious too of their outdoor wonderlands. But isn't a wreath on the door good enough?

Despite my grumbling burgeoning apathy, guilt pushed me out the door on Saturday. The call of Christmas duty must be answered. The sun was shining and the thermometer crawled into positive territory. It was as good an outdoor decoration day gets in December. Without asking, my love heaved the shipping container of lights down from the rafters in the garage and helped untangle, wrangle and hoist the garlands into place. We shared bewilderment over how it all hung together, what went where and just how did it get there. We kept each other company on umpteen searches for the proper extension cords - heavy duty, outdoor rated, and long. And we provided harmony for each others chorus of curses.

Sharing and togetherness! Now isn't that just the essence of the Christmas Spirit?

And Sophie is so pleased to have her "Deer-est" friends gracing the front lawn, even if they do seem to a be bit on the skinny side.

(Seriously, I think the only outdoor decoration needed for Christmas is SNOW!)

©2014 April Hoeller

Monday Moanings - January 6, 2014

The Undoing of Christmas

The tree has been undressed and dismembered, its artificial limbs and screw together trunk systematically tucked into two Rubbermaid coffins that now lie buried in the depths of our basement. The ornaments have returned to their nests in the ageing red and white cardboard box with umpteen layers of packing tape holding its sides together. Some ornaments get special treatment - tender cocoons of paper towelling cradle these precious ones that are heavy with memory and oh so fragile. Each one got to sing its story again this Christmas, but one for the last time. Brittle with age, it fell apart in my hand, a half dozen sharp peaks of impossibly thin heirloom glass. Ah well, nothing lasts forever and the old give way to the new.

The tree lights, those tiny jewels that gave me so much peace and solace in the late evening after a long day, lie powerless yet perfectly coiled and bound into compact quarters. They will no doubt while away their time in the dark writhing themselves into a frantic tangle for me to resolve some eleven months from now. All the other decorations of the season have also been returned to their resting places - all the knick-knacks and doodads, wreathes, garlands, and precious children's crafts, even the the Christmas mugs and plates - all have been exiled to the attic or basement, away from the daily scene.

It feels a little empty, a little sad, bereft. My surroundings seem so ... blah.

*******************

The seeds of the January blahs are sown in the razzle dazzle of December, the music and the memories, the stories and the smiles. It is unsustainable, all that energy, all that hurry, and perhaps somewhat artificial, unreal. And so after a month or so, the hype and hoopla machine runs out of gas and reality comes home to roost, spawning a mixed bag of resolutions to do more, do less, be more, be less.
A New Year has begun.

“Live with intention.
 Walk to the edge.
 Listen Hard.
 Practice wellness.
 Play with abandon.
 Laugh.
 Choose with no regret.
 Appreciate your friends.
 Continue to learn.
 Do what you love.
 Live as if this is all there is.” 

                                                             Mary Anne Radmacher

©2014 April Hoeller

Perspective

Yesterday the sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm for December 12 - a perfect day to get those outdoor Christmas decorations up.  I know, I know -- it's late but you see the 'Martha Stewart' of our household is overseas and does not return until Dec. 23rd.  She has left very clear directives that all is to be merry and bright in and about the house when she gets home. 

How difficult can this be I wondered?  Years ago this was my job.  I know how to do this.  First task was to get the large tub of outdoor decorations down from it's home in the rafters of the garage.  I was thrilled to discover that the man of house had already done this!  All I had to do was get this behemoth out of the garage.  It seemed much heavier to me than was expecting, but I got up over the car and out onto the driveway without incident.  Untangling the mass of greenery, ribbons, pine cones and lights was a little tedious but did not damage my Christmas cheer and soon I had all three 12 foot garlands stretched out in the sun. 

I stuffed the wire ties and wire cutters in my pocket, gabbed the step ladder and one garland and strode toward the front steps -- woman on a mission!  I had to stop half way because I had trouble juggling the load.  I left the ladder behind and hefted the garland up the slushy and snow packed stairs, my good cheer taking a few hits from the uncertain footing.  Back down the slippery stairs I went to retrieve the ladder -- then up the six tenuous steps to the landing then the five more to the door.  Phew!  "I really should clear those steps," I thought, "but I've got to get these decorations up." 

Ladder in place I surveyed the task before me.  Piece of cake!  I headed up the first step of the ladder, heavy garland draped over me and dragging out behind me, and my vintage internal plumbing system signalled me warmly that it was feeling stressed.  SIGH!!  Back down the ladder I went, back down the stairs which were now slick from the combination of my traffic and sunlight.  I really must clear those steps...

Ten minutes later I was back on the ladder again.  The first step was not high enough to reach the top hook over the centre of the door, so I rose up one more step.  I stood there for a moment -- was this ladder always so wobbly? My feet were all of 18 inches off the deck, but of course it looked like six and half feet to me, and I needed to go up even one more step.  My balloon of Christmas cheer was deflating rapidly, but I pressed on.  Nothing like a few well placed expletives to raise the spirits!

My less than nimble fingers stretched out to hook the garland on the target nail.  Success was in my grasp, if but only for a moment.  The garland fell before I could attach it to the second nail.  Back down the ladder, back up the ladder.  My fingers struggled with the wire ties, aching and losing their grip at critical moments of this mission, but with the able assistance of more expletives the garland did finally get hung.  One down, two to go.

I trudged back down the stairs with the step ladder, my hips protesting the whole way and working in concert with my fear of falling so well that I can now say that I have mastered the 'old lady walk'.  My tear ducts spasmed ever so briefly, sending out that prickling sensation to all corners.  Now at the ground level walkout, I assessed the task anew.  This would be much easier -- just two attachment points and the wire ties were already on the garland.  All I had to do was slip these over the hooks in the brickwork. 

Back on the ladder again, I hoisted the garland and clumsily but effectively slipped the wire loop over the hook.  The hook immediately let go of the brick.  More foul language spat out of my mouth.  I re-set the hook and tried again.  Same result.  I slowly descended the ladder.  I felt old and so utterly useless.  My tear ducts unleashed a mighty torrent, washing away every last piece of Christmas cheer.  A few minutes later and more composed I sauntered into the house to enlist help from the man of the house.  Together we got the blessed garland up.  I was exhausted and desolate.  I moped through the afternoon.  The third garland would have to wait for another day.

In the early evening I received an email from a friend living with stage IV colon cancer.  It seems the chemo she has endured these past three months has had no impact.  The tumours have almost doubled in size and now there are more of them.  Suddenly my day looked pretty good, embarrassingly abundant in fact.  It is all a matter of perspective.

My Christmas cheer is back though somewhat muted.  Not all is merry and bright in my creche.  Perhaps that is the way it's always been in creches everywhere.   The creche will always be the gathering place of the hopes and the fears of all the years. 

Hang in there Virginia!  You are not alone.