There's a Song in the Air

 

I felt like I was a kid again: There I was, along with some family members and others, singing Christmas carols from door to door in Lethbridge. Every door that opened up seemed genuinely moved by the warm gesture on the part of a family friend who gathered some her Music for Young Children students together (and their families). The carolling was Lydia Collin's initiative, and it was a smash hit.

Talk about a cold call: I wasn't sure if the chills running up and down my back were chills of joy of the season or chills of the freezing. Either way, it was worth the walk. By the time I got back to the church basement, the hot chocolate never tasted better. Even when I accidently spilled some on my arm, I felt both stupid yet warm all over, if you get my drift.

One of the Lethbridgians (Lethbridgeites? Lethbridgaires?) even offered us money after our "performance." Too bad I was so proud and so far back; I would have gladly taken the looney. I needed the cash for the burger on the way home. Others offered candy. It was one of those rare times that I took my cue from the kids: They took it, so I took it.

I can't remember when I last went carolling door-to-door. I certainly went when I was younger, much younger (hence, the age reference at the beginning of this column). Over the years, I have gone carolling with the church(es), in the home(s), at the seniors' centre(s), and, of course, the annual Carol fests scattered throughout the South.

But singing outside to complete strangers, who don't even know you are coming, well, that's a little different. Different, as in not being able to turn pages of song sheets with winter mitts on; different, as in singing songs one sings only once a year, mostly from memory because of the afore-mentioned mitt thing and the fact that the porch light didn't shine all the way down the stairs where I was standing; and different, as in I didn't really want to go at first, then found that I was actually enjoying it.

I like to support my family whenever possible and reasonable (and not necessarily in that order); but yet another drive into Lethbridge, after another long day, as well as doing something new, and doing it outside in the cold—I don't think so. Or at least I didn't think so.

Doing something for others—be it family, music teacher/friend, or complete strangers on the west side of Lethbridge—almost, and I use the word 'almost' cautiously, suggests to me the true spirit of Christmas. Let me re-state that: When I put myself out, that is, I give of my time and energy, others are blessed. And if 'blessed' sounds too religious for you, may I suggest that others are 'pleased.'

Most of my Christmas traditions, at least in terms of public presentations, revolve around concerts, cantatas, choirs, cookies, or any other yuletide seasonal word that starts with the letter "c." Usually, I'm merely sitting as a spectator, taking it all in, then quickly wolfing down all the shortbread biscuits, fudge, poppycock, and Brussels sprouts I can get my hands on--before the kids get to the food table.

Okay, okay, nix the Brussels sprouts; I always leave them for the eco-cuisiners.

That's why by blessing (there's that word again) others, I am likewise blessed. I think there's a metaphor in that experience: When I serve myself, I am miserable; but when I serve others, they not only benefit, but I do too. It's one of those things that's make me ask: Why don't I do this at other times of the year?

(No, Maurice, I don't mean singing "What Child is This?" at some stranger's door in July; I mean the 'serving others' part—okay?)

Anyways, last Sunday night wasn't a "Silent Night" at all for me and mine, and I didn't mind that one bit. And methinks, neither did those folks on the West Side.