Some of you probably know that I had another blog in a previous life, back in the days when Fred and I were still minding our own business. I've written a fair amount of things during that period, spanning more or less 4 years of my life, but I recently stumbled upon one particular post that I wanted to recycle here. For a particular reason, which will become clear once you read it...
Bear in mind that I wrote this during the Christmas period a few years ago, when snow and cold weather were still on the winter menu. I should have posted it a few weeks ago, but Fred and Fred were having a break in the Ardennes - having no access to the internet.
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Christmas is in the air. Quite literally in fact, since I had snowflakes for breakfast this morning. But despite the fact that this period of the year is one of those rare, isolated (erhm, think hats and scarves) space-time singularities during which I finally find some time to catch up with myself, I often despise these days... Everybody seems to be in a "let's-buy-too-much-decadent-food"-mood: just read Jonathan Safran Foer's brainchild and formulate your own questions on (Christ)mass consumption.
It always reminds me of one particular Christmas Evening, a few years ago: I was invited somewhere in Ghent for dinner with (rather newly acquired) friends, and I was supposed to bring the starter (aka the hors d'oeuvre, the festive synonym). I don't exactly remember what I prepared, after all this was the pre-tofu-based-fake-shrimp-era, but I do remember that on my way to the warm living room where we were to spend the evening I bumped into a guy with a beard. And a few plastic bags, containing the essence of his life. Nope, it wasn't Santa: it was a homeless guy, prepared to spend another night out there.
At first I was able to ignore my pity. But when I was confronted with all the smiling, happy faces behind the illuminated windows of the big houses along the road, like warm chunks of cosiness on a party plate, I was overpowered by an immense feeling of sadness and injustice. I couldn't help but turn around, and I gave my food to this guy. Together with a bottle of wine, although I don't know whether he ever managed to open it - I guess homeless people don't carry around corkscrews?
I'll never forget his reaction: the man mustered the warmest smile he could. Taking into account that we were out there, in the cold, cold night, it does sound like a contradiction but he made me melt somehow.
I'll never ever forget the reaction of my friends when I told them, proud as I was, what happened to the starter: they were angry. 'Defriending' still had to be invented those days...
How do you mean, there's no starter?
I wonder whether the homeless guy had friends, newly acquired ones included. And how they would have reacted:
How do you mean, there's a starter?
Erhm, guys, does anyone have a corkscrew?
It always reminds me of one particular Christmas Evening, a few years ago: I was invited somewhere in Ghent for dinner with (rather newly acquired) friends, and I was supposed to bring the starter (aka the hors d'oeuvre, the festive synonym). I don't exactly remember what I prepared, after all this was the pre-tofu-based-fake-shrimp-era, but I do remember that on my way to the warm living room where we were to spend the evening I bumped into a guy with a beard. And a few plastic bags, containing the essence of his life. Nope, it wasn't Santa: it was a homeless guy, prepared to spend another night out there.
I saw you standing in the corner
On the edge of a burning light
I saw you standing in the corner
in the cold, cold night
(J. White).
At first I was able to ignore my pity. But when I was confronted with all the smiling, happy faces behind the illuminated windows of the big houses along the road, like warm chunks of cosiness on a party plate, I was overpowered by an immense feeling of sadness and injustice. I couldn't help but turn around, and I gave my food to this guy. Together with a bottle of wine, although I don't know whether he ever managed to open it - I guess homeless people don't carry around corkscrews?
I'll never forget his reaction: the man mustered the warmest smile he could. Taking into account that we were out there, in the cold, cold night, it does sound like a contradiction but he made me melt somehow.
I'll never ever forget the reaction of my friends when I told them, proud as I was, what happened to the starter: they were angry. 'Defriending' still had to be invented those days...
How do you mean, there's no starter?
I wonder whether the homeless guy had friends, newly acquired ones included. And how they would have reacted:
How do you mean, there's a starter?
Erhm, guys, does anyone have a corkscrew?
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