I’ve always read, heard, or watched films about people going home for the holidays. But this is my first being the one ‘going home’. I’m sitting on a plane, flying from New Orleans to Philadelphia, and then connecting to Halifax. Home. It’s dark in the cabin, we’re approaching supper time. The sun is setting on the horizon which we are leaving behind, casting oranges and red, purple shadows upon the clouds. It’s a little surreal for me, going home for Christmas. It feels very grown-up like. I have a life in the USA now.
Cherishing memories is what I do best. Perhaps it makes me appear dorky. Call me what you will. I love Christmas. I love my family and my friends and my cat. I love Christmas carols, Christmas lights, Christmas spirit, I love wrapping gifts in front of our fireplace while listening to Christmas carols, my cat watching me and playing with the random bits of wrapping paper. I love baking festive cookies with my mom, watching all the classic Christmas movies, and that feeling I whenever I pass by a house that is brightly lit. I love watching the snow flakes fall, glittering on the ground, shimmering sideways as they pass by the window. I love going for walks in the snow, how it crunches underneath my boots. I love Christmas Eve, it’s peaceful anticipation of the day to come. All these reasons and a million more for why I can't wait to be home.
My musical soundtrack for the plane ride is a méli-mélo of who I am: eclectic. Bing Crosby, Bobby Helms, and Tony Bennett sing me Christmas songs. Alanis is telling me what she really wants. And Arlibido talking about jiggling Jell-o.
(Do not Flush while sitting on toilet) – I’ve always been (probably too) amused by this saying. What would happen?
I am home now. It feels wonderful. It baffles me how strong the element of familiarity can be. I look forward to the upcoming weeks. And I will no doubt keep ya'll informed.