Humbug? No way!

When I was a young child, Christmas was my absolute favorite time of the year. I remember staring excitedly at packages under the tree (tempted to touch, but restrained myself) and a line of colourful Christmas cards hanging from a string strewn across our livingroom.

Christmas Eve usually involved midnight mass at Notre Dame Cathedral, followed by a greasy meal at Picasso's. We were so exhausted, the lump of food in our tummies rarely kept us from sleep.

One Christmas morning, I discovered the faint imprint of a footprint near the tree, and was absolutely giddy that Santa had left proof behind (of course, the real culprit was my Dad's wet boot, which temporarily stained Mom's clean carpet).

We had a tradition of opening our gifts after a lavish lunch slaved over by Mom. It was admittedly difficult to be patient, especially when forced to open each present one at a time for all to witness (and be photographed). I always hoped family members enjoyed what I bought them, although Mom must've wondered why I kept getting her soap and bubble bath (not much imagination on my part, I'll admit). Gifts to myself were often head scratchers (one year I received a Medical Dictionary; another, a heavy steel safe) but my family didn't really know what I was interested in. Christmas night was usually a quiet affair, the calm before the storm of visiting extended family.

As I got older, my appreciation of Christmas seemed to dim. Instead of a day I was excited about, it became a time of year I dreaded, involving spending time with folk I didn't really like, maintaining a sheepish grin until the season passed. I remember a few years where I was quite busy with work, and the 25th popped up abruptly, like a whirlwind, only to be over just as quickly (to my relief).

The echoes of Charlie Brown's exhasperated question rang in my ears: 'Can anyone tell me what Christmas is really about?'

Eventually, I figured it out.

It isn't about gifts (despite what the avalanche of television and internet ads proclaiming otherwise), it's about giving. The Three Wise Men discovered a tiny baby lying in a manger, surrounded by angel song; they gave Him presents, while the baby Himself was a selfless gift for us all.

Having my two daughters reminded me that it's also about the raw joy a child feels on December 25th. I try to take time to revel in the uncomplicated happiness of the Season, any stress or melancholy chased away by festive holiday music, cookies, and blinking lights.

I guess it's finally about hope. I'm not sure if today's materialistic, jaded, bitter, and techologically connected folk are able to put things aside and enjoy Christmas like an innocent kid; a Christmas miracle may be when they can, and unselfish giving results in a joyful day where time seems to stand still, and the hope for Peace on Earth and Goodwill Toward All doesn't seem quite so ridiculous.

Happy Anniversary

Picture this: a dimly lit office space in the mid 1990s, sections defined with moveable walls, drab carpeting everywhere. The stale air is punctuated by the constant ring of telephones and the voices of friendly and/or bored Customer Service agents.

I settle into my chair, ready to answer calls, and glance across the room at the American Express division of Comp-U-Card.

She was leaving for the day, and strolled quickly towards the elevators. I was intrigued, and knew I simply had to get to know her better. Over the weeks, I interrupted her conversations with a co-worker, my contributions quite awkward in restrospect. Eventually, I followed her to where she sat at the food court for lunch, and mustered the courage to ask her out on a movie date.

It was The Crow, and I shielded her eyes from the scary bits (which was incredibly dorky).

I remember fondly ice cream dates at Swensons, long walks downtown, and finally finding the courage to grasp her hand at the Jazz Festival; meeting her Mom after a long Summer walk past St Joseph's Oratory, and late Christmas Eves dosing off next to her at Claire's.

Flash forward to 1999.

We're dressed up, me in a rare suit, she in a beautiful lilac dress, standing in front of a minister at Disney World, the December air warm and joyous. Placing the ring on her finger feels magical, befitting our surroundings, and it stuns me how almost 11 wonderful years have elapsed since that perfect day.

I was pretty lucky; when I met my wife, I didn't really believe that I could possibly find a person for me. Perhaps by having the state of mind where I wasn't actively looking, I was finally open to finding what had been missing from my life.

Isabelle is incredibly special: she's warm, thoughtful, with clear opinions and a tremendous capacity for love. We both share a refusal to grow up, and a desire to constantly communicate with one another. She has followed me across the country, without hesitation; together we've plunged into home ownership and raising a family. She has stood by me in sickness and health, good times and bad.

I was very fortunate to have met her in that office, and am truly blessed to have her as my life partner and best friend.