The Cayuga Santa Claus Parade is Saturday, December 4, 11 am. Following is an extract from Robertson Davies' The Diary of Samuel Marchbanks: *
"Passed the day very agreeably laughing, patting myself on the back and drinking toasts to myself. The reason for my satisfaction was that I was comfortably at home, and not in Toronto watching the Santa Claus Parade. As I grow older, and the Christmas Frenzy begins earlier and earlier, my relish for Christmas dwindles.
The spirit of love and friendship which would fill us all at Christmas is very dear to me, but it has to struggle against gifts which I don't want, vulgarized Christmas carols, hysterical appeals from the Post Office for mercy, ill-considered entertainments from which the real spirit of Christmas is painfully absent, and a commercial bombardment which sets my nerves jingling. Santa Claus, now utterly divorced from the St. Nicholas of legend, is a crazed old slob, hounding me to buy things I don't like, and give them to people who don't like them either. So on this balmy Indian Summer day, I worked in my garden, made firm but not excessive demands upon my cellar, and laughed and sang the hours away, precisely as though Santa, the patron of the Chamber of Commerce, were not making triumphal entry into the Ontario Babylon."
* Pseudonym for the distinguished "[man] men of letters," Robertson Davies, Canadian novelist, journalist, critic (1913 - 1995) Born in Orangeville, Ontario.
"Passed the day very agreeably laughing, patting myself on the back and drinking toasts to myself. The reason for my satisfaction was that I was comfortably at home, and not in Toronto watching the Santa Claus Parade. As I grow older, and the Christmas Frenzy begins earlier and earlier, my relish for Christmas dwindles.
The spirit of love and friendship which would fill us all at Christmas is very dear to me, but it has to struggle against gifts which I don't want, vulgarized Christmas carols, hysterical appeals from the Post Office for mercy, ill-considered entertainments from which the real spirit of Christmas is painfully absent, and a commercial bombardment which sets my nerves jingling. Santa Claus, now utterly divorced from the St. Nicholas of legend, is a crazed old slob, hounding me to buy things I don't like, and give them to people who don't like them either. So on this balmy Indian Summer day, I worked in my garden, made firm but not excessive demands upon my cellar, and laughed and sang the hours away, precisely as though Santa, the patron of the Chamber of Commerce, were not making triumphal entry into the Ontario Babylon."
* Pseudonym for the distinguished "[man] men of letters," Robertson Davies, Canadian novelist, journalist, critic (1913 - 1995) Born in Orangeville, Ontario.
Photo: by Lorna
Tomorrow: Davies' thoughts on Christmas cards.
Tomorrow: Davies' thoughts on Christmas cards.
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