A Short Holiday Greeting

… and another diversion from the planned sequence of The Expat Life.

As we approach - and many people, in many fashions - observe the Winter Solstice, it seems appropriate to take note of this annual phenomenon which originated as a simple astronomical event.

Of course, it is impossible to overlook the simultaneous occurrence of the religious holiday - originally spelled as “Holy Day” - associated with the Solstice. Of the eight billion people now sharing the planet, a substantial portion of those Big Eight attach special meaning to this nadir of the astronomical year. 

For some, the Solstice means they can begin counting the days until spring weather and fashionably visible bare toes return. For others, located below the Equator and thus required by geography’s implacable forces to do everything bass-ackward, it means the arrival of sunburns and children on holiday. Those southern offspring, carefree yet sometimes cranky, energetic yet with their slang-strewn language designed to thwart communication with people born in other decades, will be perpetuating the generation gap… and their parents will be counting the days until school begins again. Personally, as the parent of a ten-year-old, I can easily visualize all the fourth-grade teachers plunging into hopeless alcoholism and drug abuse as they seek to self-medicate. Rumor has it that my son’s teacher is up to three packs a day.

Likewise, how can we ignore what the commercial world, with its boundless avarice and poor taste? Those forces of filthy lucre have converted this day into a seasonal madness of questionable joy but unavoidable stress and financial excess, resulting in burgeoning credit card balances. Don’t forget the joy of the upcoming January dieting as adults in North America begin a futile attempt to deal with those bloated account balances as well as to work off their bloated midsections, now said to average eight pounds of weight gained during the high-cholesterol holiday feasting.

Let me also make passing reference to the vast unrequited hopes for romantic and commercial acquisitions, spurred on by the advertising equivalent of the Superbowl and World Cup combined, in the last few weeks of the calendar year. These events, in television and movies, on stage and on the internet, and in person by genuine as well as instant celebrities of fleeting fame, seem determined to force us to admit that our drab, humdrum lives would be immensely upgraded if only we could somehow acquire (state your dream conquest). This shameless blurring of the distinction between quality of life and standard of living is perhaps the reason we have not yet been openly approached by an advanced alien life. Future generations will look back at our era with a mixture of pity and scorn for our “more goodies means more happiness” mentality.

Then there is the annual onslaught of banal-yet-forgettable Christmas movies to be endured after being force-fed the deluge of precisely marketed solicitations until they can no longer be ignored. Finally, there are the traditional joys of clogged travel routes and accompanying frayed tempers approaching road rage levels. 

Yet, almost buried beneath this tasteless extravagance and temptation, there are still embers of hope and goodwill for all mankind. There is A. in Ukraine, trapped in the paroxysms and deprivations of war, but still adapting to shifting conditions to continue to protect and nurture his young son and to continue his creative work. There is T. in Norway, Land of the Midnight Sun, Land of (self-proclaimed) Happiness, enduring the rigors of cabin fever and preparing his prison break in the form of a springtime trip to unexplored regions of the planet - unexplored by him, at least. There is M. in England whose patience and optimism are deeply appreciated. There is H. in China, lovely and single, whose selection of lurid, season-themed lipsticks are intended solely to attract and entrap her One True Love. There is A., who achieved her dream this year of becoming an expat, living and working abroad - and now actively searching for One True Love in a new country. There is JK, expat par excellence, whose wit and wisdom, counsel and comedy, continue to enrich the lives of many. There is K., whose second book, a fantasy, is just venturing out into the literary ocean in search of good reviews. There is L., still with unfinished stories to tell but whose family obligations and covid-based restrictions have thus far prevented her from completing the writing/publishing process. And there is S., the literary agent to whom I have entrusted my publishing future - the part in his country, at least.

Don’t forget C., the heir apparent of the rustic squalor known as the 18th Floor Homestead, a veritable Palace in the Sky by the humble standards of his humble forefathers. C. will also inherit a literary legacy of dubious commercial value. This is the same C. whose irrepressible joy and charm can be tempered by momentary mood shifts, approaching teenage angst, and final exams at school… but never extinguished. 

And there are countless others, expats literal and latent, to remember. On land and at sea, they are, or will be, utilizing our modern mass transportation systems - safe, relatively inexpensive, and fast if not always comfortable - to relocate to a new life and lifestyle with, we hope, more smiles per hour than their current existence affords them.

To one and all - and, especially to the readers of this drivel with your morbid curiosity, commendable patience, and exquisite reading vocabularies - I send the best and most genuine of season’s greetings. As we approach the end of this calendar year, I say, “See you on the other side.”