And so, this is Christmas
Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
Dr Seuss
In a couple of days, we will be amid Christmas Day celebrations. It is of that I ponder in this week’s reflection.
In the circumstances, celebrations will be muted with much distant socialising. Zoom or some other Video conferencing platform being a guest at the party. It will be bubbles more than bubbly this Christmas. Who would have thought that we would all be West Ham supporters by the end of the year!
Over the Lockdowns, I’ve used the likes of Zoom, Teams and Skype etc. I’ve held meetings, ‘attended’ parties, gone on virtual walks, and listened to presentations. All of which lead me to the conclusion that its personal contact with people that for me make an Experience an experience. Of course, I may be just old fashioned.
For many, missing contact with loved ones will dilute their Christmas merriment. Still, not all Christmas Days are merry, even in ‘normal’ times. I’ve had a few not so merry in my life. My father’s first heart attack came two days before Christmas in 1970. My grandmother died on Christmas Eve 1972. My father’s death at the end of November 1977 overtook my parent’s plan to spend that Christmas with my wife and me in our first home. In my later years, I’ve woken alone on Christmas morning in an empty house. I can therefore empathise with those who face a comparable situation this year.
Of course, these are a mere handful of sadder Christmases compared to the more than sixty much merrier Christmas Days of my life.
I’ve even played the man himself. Doing such things at works parties with adults is playful fun, although it never took people long to see through my disguise. However, I once did it at a party for four- and five-year-olds. That was far more nerve-wracking as I knew I must give a good account in Ho Ho Ho character to an audience who held dear the magic of Santa. While nerve-wracking, it was also rewarding to see small faces light up when meeting what they believed was that red-mantled magic man.
While usually, I retain something of a child-like delight at the season, not surprisingly, this year the magic of Christmas has not fully descended upon me.
The run-up to Christmas has not followed my well-worn rituals. Before I retired, that would include a party or dinner with colleagues, after retirement, it became with my fellow volunteers. Then there’s my annual Christmas lunch at which I entertain a close friend or relative in a good London restaurant. I feared this year it might well end up being a scotch egg while quaffing a couple of beers. As it was, I found a small, buzzy Italian place in Bath in which I dined on pizza reminiscent of that enjoyed on my visits to Naples, washed down with a densely jammy Valpolicella Ripasso. This year, present buying for my family was also remote and the giving courtesy of Parcel Force or some such delivery company.
Being Harry Watson not Harry Potter I can’t conjure up the magic at will. Nor would I wish to force false bonhomie. To help develop the mood, our home wears its Christmas finery and I type this sitting beside the tree. The aroma of pine surrounds me, and the glint of lights illuminates my keyboard. I’ve written my Christmas story that now awaits its telling. As with every year, I wonder what reception it might receive. Gentle laughter will suffice as it’s not a piece of high drama. I think its humour that’s called for this year more than any year. I trust as we progress into 2021 some degree of normality may return.
