the grinch who sold christmas

I recently wondered why the heck pimento was so popular in the 50’s and 60’s and a friend’s mother was kind enough to explain that really, it was so nice to have some colour to add to dishes. Remembering, of course, that it’s not that long ago that produce was bought when it was in season and then offered canned or frozen for the rest of the year - well you could buy something called a tomato out of season, but mostly it was a knotty, green, tasteless round thing that was called a ‘tomato’.

Fast forward to about a month ago. Back to school promotions started showing up at my local grocery and drugstore chains (incidentally owned by the same company now). Being neither a child or a parent I was still shocked. Sort of. I did a quick calculation. We were about 8 weeks out from the start of school. Back in my retail days you calculated about a 6 week start to the next big ‘holiday’ event so this sort of made sense. On the proverbial other hand, what kid wants to be reminded of school when vacation is only half way through!

While ranting about this on social media someone pointed out to me that Costco had Christmas out at that time too. Calculating again I pointed out that technically Costco is a wholesaler catering to retailers, so having Christmas gear out in July sort of made sense. Yes it seemed out of place, but for all those who remember the annoying reminder of the ‘Days until Christmas’ sign along the Don Valley Parkway in Toronto all those years; Christmas was always coming.

‘Life moves pretty fast’ and in a consumer driven market, the chase is always on to the next season. But start backing it up, to buyers, manufacturers, designers, colour specialists and really, they’re working in terms of 3 to 4 years ahead, so your 6 to 8 weeks is just the final piece of a very long chain that leads to you picking out that particular tomato red sweater for your bestie this Christmas.

At this point I’m pretty stoked that I managed to work a partial Ferris Bueller quote into a post. I also spent some time trying to track down an image of the old Days to Christmas sign on the DVP and fell into a vortex of old Eaton’s catalogue images and only just came back up for air.

Consumerism requires that we shop when the goods are available, but they’ve also taught us there’s a very slim yet attractive period of the end of season sale and the then not for the faint of heart end of season clearance. But if you leave it too long you’re just plain out of luck. Take it from me - the year my coat zipper busted in February was the year I learned to layer. Now like a good Canadian I didn’t have just one winter coat, but still. And I do know how to sew, so if I was really stuck. Okay, my point was, it’s tough finding a winter coat in February because we’re already into prime spring selling and we don’t wear winter coats in spring. Except maybe in most parts of Canada. Because, after all, all this is based on some sort of completely idealized image of season’s and needs. Now back to the catalogues. Which if they are to be believed - that Christmas of 1908 was one dark holiday.

This is not yer traditional red jolly Santa now is it?

I can't find a single image of the old Countdown to Christmas Sign on the DVP, but the bra page of old catalogues, no problem.

the oh boys of summer

I’m not the biggest fan of children. They require constant supervision, they stink, often they’re unable to deal with their own excrement but occasionally they’re fun. For 20 minutes or so. OK, I might be exaggerating. I’d say I’m more indifferent to children. But when I read articles like this, I’m suddenly an advocate.

Living in a city means noise. Cars, businesses, large vehicles, sirens, parades, the occasional party the spills into the streets because major event has happened, like winning a World Series game. But urban living means convenience, selection and people. It also means compromise. The more densely populated a city the greater the need for politeness, and the big problem with a city like Toronto is that we’re just not dense enough to not act stupidly from time to time.

I grew up on a street in transition. Of the 40 odd houses on our little stretch of street, there were 5 kids. Four of us hung out together for several years. We played ‘Star Wars’ (a sort of intergalactic yelling and hitting each other with sticks), we rode bikes, roller skates (back in the metal wheels days), skateboards and other noisy things with wheels, we yelled for no good reason and no one ever complained we made noise. Looking back it really seemed like we were the ipso facto grandchildren of the street.

Also, we always had access to freezies! Beat that.

Going back to Mr. Noisy Complaints Neighbour; why can’t kids be kids? I get it. Noise travels differently over water, But. If you’re that noise sensitive there is a place where you can exist almost silently. It’s called the country.

I live near a hospital, which does mean sirens. But it also means an emergency ward within walking distance. A couple times a week a refrigerator truck sits outside my window to deliver goods to the local convenience stores. Yes they’re loud but having not 1 but 2 convenience stores steps outside my house are worth so much more than complaining. But who do you think delivers this stuff? It’s not delivered by fairies.

I’m with the kids on this one. Summer is short. Yelling is fun. And if we’d had access to a backyard pool as kids, we would have been in there until we were pruney and mostly made of chlorine. Screaming and hitting each other with sticks all the live long day.