Just so you know, my favorite writer — dead or alive — is Kurt Vonnegut.
Kurt was a wise man, and he has left us (since, sadly, he’s among the dead) plenty of his pearls.
I’m not surprised if you’re wondering what Vonnegut’s wisdom has to do with Mike Martin’s Christmas in Newfoundland [Ottawa Press and Publishing].
Hang on to your wondering…
One of the wise men in Wince Windflower’s life is his grandfather who…well, wisely, said this to Wince about Christmas when Wince was a wee Cree boy in Pink Lake, Alberta: “I can think of no greater gift to give someone than an act of kindness.”
Ah, kindness.
In his Greetings to Babies, Vonnegut, wisely, says this to babies newly arrived on this planet: “God damn, (babies), you’ve got to be kind.”
There you have it. Two wise men pointing out the need for kindness.
Surely there’s a third wise man out there somewhere, eh b’ys?
So, come Christmas, if you have no other gift to offer, be wise, give kindness, even though it might be difficult to package and stuff under a tree.
A couple of the memories made in Christmas in Newfoundland: Memories and Mysteries highlight the kindness of folks in Grand Bank when a most horrendous thing happens — a Christmas power outage.
Turkey dinners are in jeopardy.
Fear not. The people of Grand Bank behave kindly. Those with generators share their power and their stovetops. When the dust settles, so to speak, all hands are stuffed with Christmas dinner — turkey and vegetables and, no doubt, stuffing — all floating in gravy.
Of course, there’s a whole lot more to the story than simply a hot Christmas dinner. Read all about it yourself in this Christmas collection.
Wince Windflower’s honey, Shelia, speaks of her Christmas memories of mummers, masked and disguised folks rapping at the door, seeking entrance.
Despite once upon a time being a wee bay-boy, I have no Christmas memories of mummers. I don’t remember ever hearing the word, even when I left the cove and moved to a foreign province.
Yet, in the crypt of my cranium, there’s a chamber stogged to its dripping stalactites with memories of jannies.
Yes, jannies. Mummers by another name. Both — one and the same — masked revelers who during Christmas came rap, rap, rapping on the porch door with splits, chopped kindling from their own wood-boxes.
As that aforementioned wee bay-boy, at Christmas time I was often a jannie scuffing my boots on our outport’s doorsteps, splintered split in hand.
I was never a mummer.
Change gears.
Mike Martin — dare I say Townie, not bay-boy? — writes, “We never got wrapped presents. That wasn’t a thing back then.”
No wrapped gifts at our house either. Perhaps there was a polar shortage of wrapping paper and Santa’s elves packed his sack with toys whose gaudy Christmas colours sufficed as cheerful decoration.
B’ys, reading Christmas in Newfoundland #2 will make you nostalgic. That’s its intention. Read, pick your own memories from the stories, as you would pluck raisins from a Christmas duff.
Oh, one last thing. I knew it, there is a third wise man. The Dalai Lama who famously has said, “Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.”
Merry Christmas memories.
Thank you for reading.