麻豆传媒AV

It was starting to feel like the North Pole to me so I left a northern fly-in camp on Christmas Eve 1967. I flew to Edmonton and bought a train ticket for home. Then with a couple of hours to spare and pockets full of back pay I set out on a Yuletide buying spree determined to get in the mood and 'out-Santa' Santa Claus.

I braved the crowded stores and just made the afternoon rail liner. It was overflowing with bags and packages and a laughing horde of ladies from outlying towns fresh from their annual Christmas Eve bargain hunt. As they happily settled in, I claimed the last open seat and stowed my own holiday loot.

The conversational buzz about the best stores, biggest sales and lowest prices soon wound down and they turned attention to the passengers. Being a downy cheeked 20-year-old I was clearly neither a commuter nor a travelling salesmen. Friendly probing extracted details of my stint in the oil patch, my destination and the tale of my fledgling Santa experience.

So what had I bought? I had to confess it was things with motors, like a blender and a stand mixer for mom and a new electric shaver and tools for dad and scads of smaller things. The shopping experts generally approved my selections and a bottle was passed around.

A second bottle and some seasonal foods entered the fray, making spirits bright. Eyes twinkled, cheeks grew rosy, laughter and a seasonal song or two rang out. This warm Christmas spirit was contagious. For me it was just the thing after months in camp with 700 bored men working seven days a week.

Out of the blue an elderly lady asked, "When do you plan to wrap your gifts? You know, the train won't get you home to North Battleford until after midnight." She also wondered what I had bought for wrapping. Oops, some Santa I was, all gifts and no wrap. I hoped mom had some left over.

The ladies were shocked. I hadn't bought gift wrap? No ribbon? No bows? Well they had and at half-price! They unfurled rainbows of Christmas paper, webs of ribbon, bundles of bows and sheets of tags for a whirlwind wrapping bee. I watched in awe, filling out Santa tags on demand, as the elfin experts took charge. In the wink of an eye they transformed my mundane purchases into elegant Christmas gifts.

Gratefully I passed around some liqueur and brandy filled chocolates. The party rattled merrily on as this boozy dessert course disappeared like magic. Still the jollity inevitably wound down as a few elves left the train at every stop. Eventually only a handful remained, lulled to sleep by the clatter of the wheels and the sway of the car.

I awoke near midnight and savoured the anticipation of imminent arrival. Noticing that the engine driver's door was open I walked forward hoping to catch the view from the front window of the train for the first time. I leaned in the door. He smiled, "Would you like to ride up front?"

"Would I!"

I stepped onto his platform and into a Christmas card world. Soft snow floated in the tunnel of intense light carved by our head lamps. White-mantled trees and bushes glided out of darkness into light and back again, but ever more slowly as we braked for the North Battleford trestle.

Then, near a walking pace, we levelled out and coasted on to one of the longest railroad bridges in Canada. The snow covered rail bed, trees and banks dropped out of sight and we were drifting majestically through the dark winter night in a bubble of light and snowflakes. We sailed over the valley like a gift-laden sleigh on silver runners.

To a creature below, the rumbling roar of our stately passage might well have seemed a ghostly comet sliding slowly across the sky. But a child's eyes would surely have seen Santa Claus soaring through Christmas Eve behind his mythical reindeer.

Perhaps for the venerable Saint his annual trip feels like that. Perhaps he sails in his own bubble of light, borne up by tradition and illuminated by the expansive joy of open heart and open hands. Glowing with good cheer he brings to us in this unique season the transcendent gift of generosity of spirit. He offers us a fleeting sense of just what 'Peace on Earth and Good Will to All' might feel like ... if only we could sustain it.

Like Christmas time itself, my fantastic flight through the midnight sky ended all too soon. We mortals were back on frozen earth and pulling into the station, just a bit late due to the many stops made for all my big-hearted helpers. Dad picked me up and we drove through the hush of that special night, past snow crested evergreens and twinkling lights. I climbed our familiar back stairs and opened the creaky storm door, a first-time Santa happily home for Christmas.