Nostalgia, Christmas and Mr. Cow Eyes

Happy New Year and all that stuff! I guess my blog posts have been sporadic at best. I have to live up to the name of my blog: sporadic nomadic. Life is a trip, don’t plan it – just live it. (Right Andrew? Haha). So, I’m sitting here at work trying to get onto the net and thinking back on the days of Christmas.

My Christmas began with an encounter with my favourite people in Liberia: yes, the LNP. I was crossing the street in the pick-up with my main man Augustus D. Vannie (reference earlier post re: the LNP). It was a legal crossing, but the police officer (PO) flagged us down. I looked over at Vannie and smiled. “Here we go again Vannie! Don’t give him your license this time.” We both laughed and the PO approached the vehicle with a cautious gait. He began to motion at me with a thumbs up sign. I looked at Vannie for assurance that I was not losing my mind. “ what does that mean?” I inquired, as I gave him the thumbs up sign in return. Vannie laughed and informed me that I should roll down the window. “Yes, good day officer.” The officer sheepishly looked at me as he then cautiously said, “Compliments of the season!” He gazed at me with expectancy. “Alright, thanks my man. Same to you!” I then drove off simply thankful that I did not have to spend the next few hours in the police depot explaining that you need more than a blackboard for a witness.

Everything leading up to Christmas was hectic. The last week of work drove me batty and the days of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were also jammed with things to do (yep, it even happens in Liberia). So I felt that I could only fully appreciate Christmas on Boxing Day. Do not get me wrong, Christmas was great this year only after I went through some lines of questioning surrounding the holiday. I began to wonder at the essence of Christmas…

I know that Christians tend to talk about the “reason for the season,” which has become even more clichéd than kids singing “Santa Claus is coming to town.” On a side note: my nephew Sean was tracking Santa and he informed me that Santa made it to India which was pretty amazing cause there are a lot of people there, “like a million!” He was pretty stoked at Santa’s efficiency. When I asked if Santa was coming to town (Monrovia) he laughed and said, “No way!” And so I continued to question the real meaning of Christmas, thinking that since Santa was not going to come it must not be him.

My mind returned to years past when I was in a smaller body, but still had the same big eyes (cow eyes as some people call them – Naming no names, except for Leah Wilkie). From snow ball fights to candlelight Christmas Eve services, the season rushed along to the humming tunes of Amy Grant and Evie. (Unfortunately, our family never listened to Bony M! which is sad, but not altogether so). I recalled with a smile the days of sledding down the hill in the backyard and coming disastrously close to the slough that nearly claimed the life of my brother. There was the smell of the pine tree in the living room with all of the needles falling to the ground, which caused my parents to purchase a fake tree when I was in my teens. I am thankful it was not purchased earlier than this, since that would have had a grave impact on my childhood. Then there were those days of pre-Christmas ski trips to Silver Star: night skiing followed by the freezing of hair in the hot tub. Later Christmas was filled with games (not so easy with my family) and skits. I still laugh when I think of the skit performed several years ago at Paul and Saskia’s place (brother-in-law and sister). Jess was Mary, Stefanie was an angel, and Sean was a dinosaur! The script writer had a difficult time fitting him into this time piece, but necessity is the mother of spontaneity which is the father of comedy. (no idea…).

The nostalgia was beautiful, but how was I to re-create it when the temperature was 30 degrees? I decided that it was time to forget it and just live the moment. It will be noted as a stellar Christmas filled with firsts: first time that I made cinnamon buns (and they turned out…kind of), first time Mel made a roast, first time Mel cut my hair (and that I allowed someone with no experience in the art of cutting hair touch my hair, except my mother. She did a great job…not spoken in vanity), the first time I played tennis and lost on Christmas, first time surfing on Christmas Eve and actually caught a wave. That was it for firsts…next year I hope to be home for Christmas where I can drink egg nog, wrestle with the nephews all the while listening to Evie “Come on ring those bells!”

Cheers from this side of the globe!

Marcel