Christmas in the Cold Country

No doubt every year brings a white Christmas here. We have recovered a bit from the bone-chilling temperatures of last week, but its doubtful we'll see any melting until probably March. It snows nearly every day; sometimes its hard to tell whether its actually precipitating or just the wind moving the powder around.

Christmas is not celebrated here until January, on the basis of the Orthodox calendar, so for us expats it was a typical work day. Up at 5:30, on the bus, and ready to blast through the daily pressures. I took a quick pass through the office to offer some Merry Christmas greetings, but certainly things didn't feel like home. In the evening its to bed early to face another work day tomorrow. Our group got together last night, Christmas eve, and a couple of our ladies did a great job in thinking up a few games and putting together a gift lottery.

For my monetary contribution as part of the management staff, I was given as a token gift a bottle of wine, which I then traded for a tea bag holder one of the other ladies didn't want. We opened the wine and drank it, while I took the holder home. I then drew a gift of a bottle of Russian champagne. Not being a champagne drinker, I passed that on later to our building monitor as I passed through the entrance to my apartment, thinking she deserved a little something too.

I've been thinking of inspirational things to write about this Christmas given the opportunity to observe it away from the frenzy the American version usually offers. I think I have enough material to attempt some poetry. Given that this "poet" didn't create a rhyme for 40 years until suddenly smitten a few months ago with a need towards literary expression, please give me a bit of slack on this one (excuse me first while go and refill my wine glass).

What Makes Christmas

It isn't cold that makes Christmas,

Aussies, Kiwis and Springboks will say.

For in the southern reaches,

Christmas is a very warm holiday.

It isn't presents that makes Christmas,

That's what the old folks will say.

The best Christmas for them,

It's only for them to say.

It isn't wealth that makes Christmas,

I'm sure poor folks would agree.

A hot meal, a warm bed,

That's all I need for me.

What is it then, that makes it special?

Its more than religion, since all can partake.

Its many things you must agree,

Including hens, grapes and pound cake.

So what is then, do I dare say.

Here is what it is, please prepare:

You can tell your neighbor you love him,

With hardly a stare.

You can smile at a stranger,

In stores and on the street.

You can stop for a moment, an hour,

With many that you meet.

Now that we know, lets agree on this:

Along with presents and red Santa Claus

Give thanks for your friends, find life,

And take a short pause.