Advent 1

Yaël, my good friend in Montreal who doubles as my cat's godmother, has sent me Christmas decorations from Dollarama and a chocolate Advent calendar that I have begun to pillage in recent days. It doesn't seem to occur to her that she is Jewish and it would not be in my favour to remind her of this fact right now. Part of her traditions show through, however, as the Christmas lights she sent are blue and the tree ornaments are silver. She has introduced me over the years to the edible joys of Hannakuh and this season she and I have both vowed to forgo an evening of latkes and beer, our unique holiday tradition, until I get back south in February. This means sparing hapless Pharmaprix employees our drunken tampering with their holiday merchandise. We ended up there one overly festive night a couple of years ago, and spent an hour relentlessly pawing at a musical santa and sleigh to tinnily warble 'Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer', drunkenly guffawing into our scarves.

The short days of the north, and the heavy social conditions here, lead me to yearn for a glimpse of light to guide my way, both when I am negotiating the weather and when I am sitting with a family and listening to a litany of abuse and sadness that spans generations. I love the materialism of December, the chocolate and the tinsel and the buying and wrapping of gifts. Under my present living and working conditions, though, Advent is more real to me than it has ever been. I am a lacklustre christian, prone to the inertia of doubt, but I still believe the Christmas story, and how it all comes together at Easter, and this year especially, I need to believe it. It's what warms and comforts and guides me.