Holiday Melancholy

"...and this is how I see you
in the snow on Christmas morning
love and happiness surround you.
I throw my arms up to the sky
I keep this moment by and by..."

- Sarah McLachlan


Christmas was mum's favourite time of year and her enthusiasm was contagious. Of course, as a child it was easy to get excited about presents and candy but the real lasting memories I have of Christmas growing up centre around me and mum.
There was a closet in the hallway on the main floor of the house where all manner of things were stored, extra towels and bed sheets, the coffee tin full of buttons, and the several winter boot boxes that contained our little and precious trove of Christmas decorations. In those days before Martha Stewart and HGTV, an entire home's worth of ornaments could easily be stored on a single shelf in any similar closet in any lower-middle class bungalow. A few weeks before Christmas we would take the boxes out and tape tinsel garlands in every window except the bathroom (and we skipped that room only because the shower steam caused the tape to fail). I recall some gold garland in particular that had lost so much of its fluff from repetitive use that it looked positively anorexic. One year, it was finally replaced by some new silver and blue garland that looked impossibly lush to my eye. What riches!
Some years, if my parents expected company during the holidays, we would put up red and green crepe paper streamers from one corner of the living room to another, and hang those paper bells from the centre of the 'x', like some kind of kitschy chandelier.
The tree of course was always the centrepiece and it was always real. Year after year the same three strings of lights, one of which had a white cord, were uncurled and wrapped around the tree. These lights were multicoloured and would look huge now compared to the mini lights we are used to these days. It was not until the late '80s or early '90s that mum finally bought three strings of mini lights (one red, two blue if I recall correctly). She would have used some of the allowance from dad for such an expenditure. The tinsel garland would follow, some it threadbare from many years of use, some it sort of new, some it in short pieces because it had been cut to use in a window one year, some of it full-length...it was a motley collection to be sure. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity we would open the boxes of the glass ornaments. We all had our favourites that we would try to hang in prime viewing spots on the tree and it was quite usual for turf wars of sorts to erupt. Once the ornaments were on, it was mum's time to take the reins and handle the application of the tinsel. Mum always thought that the epitome of holiday cheer was defined by a well-tinselled tree, and she spent tons of time methodically draping, one strand at a time, hundreds of strings on the tree every year. I didn't have the requisite patience for this and invariably gave up after a few minutes of half-hearted participation.
Even as a married adult, I always made sure I found out what night the tree was going up at home and never missed a year of decorating it with mum. Those memories are so precious to me now, glasses of eggnog and chatting and laughing as we went...
It amazes me now to look at my walk-in closet with its bins and bins of what I affectionately refer to as my 'Christmas crap' and compare it to mum's meagre collection that would easily fit into just one of my storage containers. Maybe I'm really buying them for her. Maybe I think that every ornament I buy is a way of getting just a little piece of her back.

Mum didn't do a lot of holiday baking really, but there were certain treats that we always had on hand. Vinaterta, butter tarts, Christmas cake and shortbread. For as long as I can remember I helped in some degree with the preparation of these goodies. I remember holding the egg beater with small and clumsy child's hands while attempting to make eggs 'light and fluffy' per the recipe. I remember furtively sticking my finger in the raw butter tart filling and being amazed at how sweet and wonderful the taste was. I remember soaking nuts and dried fruit in water overnight and then laying out tea towels on the counter to blot everything after draining and before dumping it all into the most wonderful molasses-ey cake batter ever. I would pinch a few of the water-logged walnuts and bland morsels of peel. I remember mum's aggravation as she tried to lift cut shortbread dough off the counter and on to the cookie sheets without tearing it. I remember trying in vain to get an equal amount of green or red sugar on the tops of the cookies before they were slipped into the oven. And I remember Christmas Eve when all of these things would reappear from the freezer and on to a plate and we were finally allowed to eat them!
Losing mum during the holidays makes them just that much more fraught with emotion. Many people dread the start of December for the dark days and cold. For me it will always remind me of the start of the last holiday season I got to share with my mum.
I miss my mum's kitchen at 355 Drake and I miss those innocent childhood hours spent there at her side. And I miss that spindly gold garland and those gigantic Christmas tree lights. But mostly I just miss her.
And when that song comes on the CD player and I'm singing along, my voice always breaks and my eyes well up because that is how I like to remember her, on Christmas morning with love and happiness surrounding her. And I keep that memory by and by.