HO, HO, HO

I am seriously up to my neck in ho, ho, ho. I must be getting old, because it seems as if we just put away all of the decorations and here we are again. The parades have passed. The streets and shop windows are looking their festive best. If you’re a celebrator of the Merry Season— and many of you are—the parties have started, the greeters are greeting, and maybe your stress levels are in the festive red zone. My family doesn’t Christmas shop. We are a family of Christmas makers/crafters/bakers/knitters/stitchers. We buy our raw materials locally.

Until 2004, Christmas wasn’t my favourite time of the year. I know, I’ve written those words before, but I had stopped believing in the magic of Christmas. The magic actually disappeared the day I found a mountain of presents, wrapped and tagged, weeks before Christmas Eve, at the back of my parents’ closet. Do not ask me what business I had snooping in my parents’ closet. I might have been about seven years old when the world of toymaking elves, flying reindeer and the Jolly Old Fellow became just stories in books. Don’t get me wrong, I liked giving and getting as much as the next person, but what the H E double butter shortbread cookies was Christmas all about, anyway? I wondered for years. Even as a parent of youngsters, it was hard work being Christmassy. And by the time our kids had grown and gone their own way, a brand new kinda Christmas stress began the moment the shopping malls cranked up seasonal instrumentals. Festive, piped-in, music was meant to put us in the mood, but at the first Fa La La La La, a grey cloud followed me around from one shop to the next. I had Season’s Greetings Affective Disorder.

Here’s the part of the story you’ve all heard before. One day, my good friend Susan more or less hinted I could share a moment of my precious time to help with the local CAS Angel Campaign. She had made it sound as if it could be fun. She even made it sound as if I might feel better about Christmas if I changed my focus just a smidgeon. Ho, Ho, Ho. I won’t say it was a Christmas miracle, or that I heard the tinkle of a silver bell, but the first time I helped out at the Angel Office, I didn’t have time to whine. No time. When I wasn’t working at my part-time paying job, I tried to get out to the Angel Office. Susan needed warm bodies to physically sort and pack hundreds of gifts earmarked for children in the County. Susan Rose, the Chief Angel, had a huge list, and every day she checked it twice, sometimes three or four times. I got to be an elf. And occasional assistant to the real angel of the CAS Christmas Angel Campaign. I spent a few hours a week, in the five weeks leading up to Christmas, sorting, packing, wrapping, stacking and making sure every child on the list had something great to wake up to on Christmas morning. The Angel Boss probably ate more promotional turkey lunches with service clubs and local business than any executive I’ve ever met.

You may have heard me say this before, and I’ll say it again—I wasn’t prepared for what really happened to me a decade ago in the CAS Christmas Angel zone. I stopped believing in the fairy tale existence of Santa and became a Santa who met generous, caring Santa Clauses every day from the middle of November until Christmas week. The CAS Angel workshop wasn’t anything like Santa’s workshop of movies and books. In borrowed accommodations, the County workshop was, at times, dark, cramped, cold and industrial, a veritable ocean of cardboard boxes—each box with a child’s name on it—and gift statistics for dozens of County children. Those boxes were lined up on the floor in alphabetical order, awaiting the kindness of individuals, businesses and organizations. I soon knew all about the heavy lifting and how cold the workshop, south of the North Pole, could become. I also found out how many desperate parents, grandparents or caregivers—who had more to whine about than I ever did—were trying to make ends meet in the County. Parents and caregivers with only enough money for the everyday basics, and not enough for Christmas, stopped in for a bit of magic.

In a caring community, such as Prince Edward County, the opportunities to become the Santa (the one you knew you could be) are all around us. Like it or not, Christmas is really just around the corner. Think about making a donation to the Food Bank in Picton or the Storehouse Food Bank in Wellington. Get your Season’s Greetings Affective Disordered carcass into the CAS Angel headquarters in Benson Hall in Picton and shop for a local angel. Buy a Christmas tree from the Picton fire hall and support their great causes. If you aren’t feeling up to Christmas, how about making a donation to Hospice Prince Edward?

The Santa of fable and fairy tales brought gifts to every kid, no matter what. In real life, real people are really Santa Claus.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca