Saturday, December 24, 2005 -- 7:33 PM

Home = Good

Here I sit, at home. I've been occupying my time by watching a lot of movies and playing a lot of xbox with my brothers. I've also been seeing friends. I brought coffees to the crew I worked with last summer, and got filled in with all the latest injuries. One of the guys shot himself in the arm, another one got a staple in his neck, but the reigning champion, who has shot himself some nine times, added a notch to his proverbial belt by shooting his upper leg, missing his genital region by about an inch. To his credit, he is still framing.

It's Christmas Eve tonight, but not for us. We had our Christmas a couple of days ago, since we're leaving for the west coast on Monday. Unfortunately, one of my brothers contracted the flu. So far he is the only one infected, but the likelihood that one or all of us will get it remains quite high. I don't really feel that great right now, but that's probably more the sense of impending doom than any actual virus. I figure that if I ignore it and deny it's existence, it will leave me alone.

All in all, it doesn't feel much like Christmas. We did have our Christmas dinner tonight, with stuffing, cranberry sauce, etc., but for God's sake, there isn't even any snow here.

Thursday, December 15, 2005 -- 6:34 PM

I'll be Home for Christmas

Now that exams are over, I'm relaxing for a few days before I head home. This involves getting up whenever I want, drinking whenever I want, and reading whatever I want. I've been getting up around eleven, having beer for breakfast, and reading Hemingway's A Movable Feast.

I usually do this at Starbucks, with a nice Christmasy eggnog or gingerbread latte, and watch all the poor saps who have not yet finished with their exams, busy studying and reading things not out of enjoyment, like me, but because they need to learn a whack of information. I doubt if any of them are reading anything as beautifully useless as Hemingway. Old and young ladies convene here to gossip, giggling confidentially to one another – why do they do this? It's a mystery, like their lives, the drama which I cannot understand, but am content to observe. Behind me a woman talks like a true Winnipeger of great things and people that she does not understand. She's a writer, in the same way many are in this city. She's written freelance for the CBC and she enjoys talking about the book she just wrote. She mentions it to an old friend that she sees on her way to sit down with her coffee, and then again later to the person that she came here to meet. She doesn't look much like a writer, or talk much like one.

It's been snowing a lot, which adds to the Christmas spirit here. In a few days I'll leave all of this place behind and get on an airplane back home. It will be good to go home, and it will be good to fly home. Airports are interesting places. They're filled with so much emotion with the excitement of departing on a new adventure, the anticipation of seeing a loved one for the first time in God knows how long, the sadness of leaving them. I'm looking forward to feeling that nostalgia again.

The coffee shop is nearly empty now. Gossip is evidently an afternoon sport, and it's time to find some food.

Thursday, December 08, 2005 -- 8:29 PM

A Day in the Life

I woke up at around eight o'clock with the icy-bright winter sunlight all over my room. Classes ended yesterday, so I was grateful to wake up naturally, instead of to the obtrusive, beeping alarm pulling me into consciousness. My dreams still echoed in my brain as I made the transition from sleep, and I enjoyed the company of old friends and old places for awhile.

I have an exam tomorrow, which I studied for until I felt hungry. Only then did I leave my room and shower and make toast. My little brother was online, and he told me that they got a Christmas tree today, and they were putting it up. I'd never missed that before, and it made me feel a little funny. I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon at school, studying in the library for a change of scenery, so I gathered my books and notes and dressed warmly in a large jacket and gloves.

Waiting for the bus, I watched a rabbit and squirrel fighting over some bread crumbs lying in someone's yard. The squirrel was actively defending his food, while the rabbit got as close as he dared and stole a bite whenever his energetic enemy left to stockpile another mouthful somewhere high in the tree. When the squirrel felt the rabbit was getting too close, he'd charge at him, and in almost the same instant, the rabbit would jump into the air, above the squirrels head. Before he could land, the squirrel dashed out of reach of the rabbit's powerful feet and safely into the tree. Just as it looked as though the rabbit was beginning to get more aggressive, the bus came and took me away.

When I got home, there was a message waiting for me on the answering machine. "Hey Dave, call me as soon as you can." It was my cousin, Devon. I dialed his number, but it was busy, so I started sorting my laundry. I put in a load of darks and pressed redial.
"Hello."
"Hey Dev. You called?"
"Yeah, if you want to come over for supper you can, my dad is coming in from the city. He can pick you up."
"I have an exam tomorrow... but that sounds nice, actually."
"Okay, I'll let him know."
"Thanks."

I finished sorting my laundry and brought the shovel to the front yard, thinking I would shovel the walk before my uncle arrived. As soon as I got outside he pulled up.

My aunt made taco soup, like my mom made sometimes. She said she got the recipe from her. Me and my friend used to eat it when we were kids and there was no one else around. We'd put cheese on top and put it in the microwave so that everything melted and we'd play WWF on Nintendo 64. That was usually in the spring or fall though, when we went down to Washington.

After supper my cousin said she wanted to get a Christmas tree, so we took the old half-tonne and went out to a farm where some friends of theirs sold them. We picked out a small, full one and sang Christmas carols on the way back. We set it up right away, which is never what dad used to do, he said it needed to adjust to the new environment, so we usually let it sit for a day or two and "breathe". We put lights on it and listened to Christmas carols and played with their budgie. Then Devon and I played Bach and talked about a piece he was working on.

On the way home through the prairie highway I closed my eyes and remembered Christmas at home and trips out to our friend's farm. There would be lots of Christmas baking and I remember singing carols sometimes. Then we'd travel back home and all you would hear were the carols in your head and the highway sounds all around you and the only lights came from traffic and the stars. Christmas was a mystery then, like the incarnation should be.