The city started putting up its Christmas lights on October 15. There was no snow on the ground at that time. We had just had our last +20 degree weekend. Tiki lights would have made more sense at that point.

Christmas is a mirage. There is no magical love for mankind, your family won’t suddenly turn around and appreciate you, and the dishes will still be in the sink the next morning because your husband forgot. There is no gift that will be everything you want to feel loved and valued. If there’s any magic left in this world of ours, I believe it hides during this time of the year simply because our ideas of it are so overblown.

So, I’ve decided this year that it’s all about me. Gifts will be purchased according to my whim and level of pleasure. If it amuses me I will indulge. If my boss insists on decorating the office again I am going to sabotage those twinkling lights because I find it funny and it’s my opinion that matters. I have given up on the notion that anyone can be pleased, so I will concentrate on pleasing myself. I suppose it would be unselfish to try and gratify others if only for once during the year. Like all other times of the year, however, it proves to be an impossible task.

If you can’t tell by now, I’m fighting with pretty much my whole family. I’m not sure even over what we’re squabbling. I know that I’m certainly not feeling loved or esteemed. I doubt any of them are either. I don’t expect a Christmas miracle to wash over all of us wherefore we will join together in familial love before a great roaring fire with eggnog being served in silver cups and all of us dressed in red turtleneck sweaters. I stopped deluding myself about family relations a few years back. The fire sounds nice but the eggnog would need to have a bit of kick for me to make it through that scene without gagging on my tongue.

I will face the holidays with no expectations, but a loaded sense of humour to take me through. I may sing a carol or two but I’ll do it so poorly that people will wince. I’ll pull out my tiki lights and roast my red turtleneck. I expect no miracles beyond those that I conjure myself.

Keri lives in Boyle Street. We would wish her a Merry Christmas, but figure it won’t do any good.