I am not sure why this song is called Grinch’ (yes, with the apostrophe). The only lyrics are “won’t you please…” which eventually resolves to “... come home for Christmas” and the tone is cheerful, twinkly synths and vinyl crackles, lo-fi beats to wrap presents to. It doesn’t seem opposed to the holiday spirit at all?
I have always been one for the holiday spirit. My mum says that, when I was a kid, I was always either celebrating a holiday or planning the next one. Not only Christmas, but Halloween and Easter and Birthdays and all the rest. Some of the rest were family inventions; on November 1st, the Treat Fairy came to exchange our gathered Halloween candy for toys, so she could give candy to the kids who were in hospitals or homeless shelters and hadn’t been able to trick-or-treat. Although no one else at school was visited by the Treat Fairy, this didn’t strain its plausibility for me; after all, some kids in my class didn’t have Christmas or Santa Claus.
There is something very special about holidays shared beyond one’s family and friends, though. I was in São Paulo during one of Brazil’s world cup matches, which are observed with more intensity than Canada observes New Year’s Day. In the hours before the match, an electric anticipation filled the streets, people coming and going in yellow and green, honking and waving and shouting Vai Brasil. During the match, the city was quiet. Schools and offices close when Brazil is playing. I cycled through a ghostly downtown, with roller doors pulled down over closed storefronts, and occasionally I’d hear the sounds of a television leaking fuzzily through the windows, or pass a shouting close-packed crowd spilling out of a bar. I sent my boyfriend a video of people dancing in airplane aisles after watching the Argentina shootout over inflight wifi. “It's neat that humanity has a world religion,” he texted.
I wish more of the holidays in my personal calendar were widely shared, but I’m looking forward to them anyway. Last January, for the first time, I fasted in honour of Nikolai Vavilov, a holiday meant to celebrate stubborn virtue. Since 2013, I’ve celebrated Valloween each February, which I suppose is about the fun of dressing up with friends and a reminder that I can replace boring holidays with better ones. This March, I’d like to do something for the spring equinox involving fresh flowers. This May, I’d like to mark Smallpox Eradication Day with some festivities. The world can be vast and uncaring, but I want to scatter celebrations through the passing months as a reminder of how I care and what I care about.
I hope you find lots worth caring about and celebrating in the coming year. I’ll write you next year.
Merry Christmas,
Tessa