Christmas gifts from the jolly old elf

When I realized this column would be published Dec. 25, I freaked. What other than a sweet silence or a seasonal singsong would do? And neither of these makes good political copy.

Those who don’t celebrate Christmas still enjoy the peace and quiet, a day free from work, from shopping and from the news. Even Druids, who I figure must spend some of the day dancing in the snowy sun, wouldn’t be well served by more of my musings about Steve and the boys.

Thankfully, I was saved from this state of disquiet when I discovered, walking on the early evening dykes, a piece of paper that twinkled in the light of the December moon. (In case you think otherwise, this is much better than mooning in the twinkling December light).

“When what to my troubled eyes did appear, but a list hoofed over by eight lost reindeer.”

You know it; it was Santa’s list, checked twice. Like you, I’ve often wondered what those in the public glare got from Santa, so in the interest of all of us I’ve copied the list below. I have to admit I didn’t realize that Santa was quite that cranky with the political class, but living that far up in the north gives you an interesting and frankly perceptive perspective.

It must be all that coal-heated melting that has him sending out so many chunks of coal this year, but there are some presents of respect as well:

Steve: Brian’s next volume of personally autographed memoirs, I Did It His Way, (at least Brian was prepared to swear the copy was signed by himself, depending on what you mean by “signed”) with an empty brown paper envelope attached.

Brian: The new book, 12 Steps to Keeping Your Family Out Of Your Mess.

Brian’s Boy Ben: Volume One of On Finding the Real You Inside.

Stéphane: A secret ring that, when turned just so, transforms scholarly French into smooth, rhythmic English vernacular. And the good sense to proclaim that he cares for Quebec just as much as he cares for the rest of Canada and the planet.

John Baird: a 16-week course in Zen practice. Breathe in, one, two, three, four, then out five, six, seven, eight…. Oh, and a new vocabulary list that doesn’t include the word “aggressive”. You’ve already used up your life’s supply.

Iggy: what to give the man that believes he knows everything: some slippers; a Perry Como sweater, de pure wool; and a pipe. Relax, think deep thoughts, Iggy. Stéphane is going to be around longer than you want and then it’s Bobby-Rae’s turn.

The Halifax boosters: You’ve already got everything you need, everything that draws us to your fine city. No new stadium, CFL team, convention centre, or skyscrapers for you, then. Just a few more cops on the streets and the recognition that you have the only democratic socialist (well, okay, left liberal) and by far the grooviest city this side of Burlington, with more good pub bands than London has insurance agents.

Wolfville Mayor Bob Stead and his council renown: municipality of the year awards and sherry all around. (Or, of course, a beverage of your choice.)

Rodney: some more time away from the boys. It appears to be helping.

Darrell: a brandy and some well-soaked Christmas cake. Of a little leave a little, but you’ve done good, big guy, so savour it.

Stephen: Another bag of modest motions to help the Tories.

To Fred S., fine editor of The Advertiser, a column that finally comes in under word count…well…almost.

To those who have suffered this often punctuation-challenged column through thick and thin, a well-deserved week off. May the peace and promise of the New Year be with you and yours.

And rest up, okay? The political show never really closes and where would all these folks in power be without us?