(Oh there’s no place like Hogwarts for the holidays)
Until 2008, I carried on Christmas traditions from my childhood. I wrapped presents, made a fancy meal, did some decorating and sang along with carols.
But that year, I was far from home and by myself. Christmas Day was bracingly cold, crisp and sunny, and I went for a wonderful long walk in the countryside.
Back at my apartment, I made a few phone calls to family, then pulled out the gift mailed to me by my husband—the final volume of the Harry Potter series. He knew I was a big fan. As I curled up in my rocking chair to begin reading, I realized how little I remembered from books one to six. So I rummaged through boxes I hadn’t even unpacked yet, pulled them out and started over from the very beginning.
Suddenly, there I was—transported to Hogwarts for Christmas. Harry and his friends always found presents at the foot of the bed, and there was, each year, a wonderful feast followed by silly fun with what the Brits call “crackers.”
Even reading the books the second time around, I loved all the mystery and adventure and humour and heartache. So I decided I would go there, to Hogwarts and Privet Drive and The Burrow, every December over the holidays.
I pick up the first book each year on December 20 or 21. I read from the time I get up in the morning until I go to sleep at night, with a few breaks for simple meals and bracing walks.
Even though I know what’s going to happen in the stories, I still feel the suspense. I still appreciate the multidimensional characters. I still laugh and cry in the same places. I still look forward to my favourite scenes. I finished number seven around January 4. I must say it’s a bit strange coming back to the real world. That’s how it felt for me in the old days of celebrating a more-traditional Christmas when I took down the tree and put away the decorations.
Returning from Hogwarts is an even longer trip. But that return is pleasingly informed by two important aspects of the Harry Potter books. One is how neatly and brilliantly all the loose ends of plot and character are knitted together and tied up in the long run. I have to pay close attention to details and remember to hold onto dangling storyline threads along the way. It’s good mental exercise for brains of any age.
The other has to do with the exceptional role model for a senior that is Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I love his sometimes wacky humour, his gentle guidance, his respectful treatment of others (no matter their philosophical differences or questionable alliances), his strategic thinking, his remorse and humility concerning his own mistakes—not to mention that he’s one heck of a powerful wizard! I feel as though I soak up some of his strength and wisdom every year as I read through our shortest days and longest nights.
The other old guy who makes an appearance at this time of year is, of course, Santa Claus. There aren’t seven long books about him—really just one poem, Clement Moore’s A Visit from St. Nicholas.
Santa doesn’t seem to have a life story; we’re not given any personal information or a look into his private moments. But he’s a memorable symbol of generosity and good cheer, with an infectious laugh. And I guess he’s a powerful wizard, too, if he can fly his sleigh all around the world in one night!
So whether this time of year holds a promise of presents (or not), fine meals (or not), and decorations (or not), let it be filled with inspiring and powerful magic, love of stories and the wonder of imagination. They are the gifts that keep on giving, year after year, no matter how old or young we are.
