The Rate of Inflatables
The Rate of Inflatables
“Look Bidi, there’s another!” Early last December, it was a bonanza. I marvelled to my evening walking gang (dogs and walking partner, Janice) at people’s collective choice to celebrate a pandemic Christmas by purchasing inflatable Santas.
By mid-month, my marvelling turned to cursing: Why why why? Why would these get through the supply chain interruptions yet things we needed didn’t? Why would people spend their scarce resources in this way when there was real pandemic deprivation? Why does no-one contemplate the climate crisis? Nevertheless, as the colder weather pushed other walkers inside, these puffed up hallmarks of commercialism were a cheery reminder Weston was indeed still populated.
I soon conducted a nightly census of the king of the faux Claus, the $250 Canadian Tire 14 footers. Three, then four on King Street, five on Queens Drive, and another four on John Street. Embarrassed at their lack of imagination? Hells no. Adjacent neighbours lined their oversized Kringles up with precision, creating armies of stationary Santas, all poised ready for their holiday duties. The hope that filled us all as Health Canada approved vaccinations seemed to plump up these jolly fellows as well.
I counted but also I railed about the many merry Nicks, castigating people for their poor choices. I threatened to voice my bah-humbuggery (anonymously of course - see my piece on social media) on the local FaceBook group. Perhaps more alarmingly, I fantasized about running through Weston with a sword, impaling the North Pole fakers under cover of darkness. In daylight, I delighted in their deflation, little piles of red and white cloth lying in heaps on the browned off grass.
A December obsession? Why yes, it was.
In previous Januarys, we all hustled our lights and other Christmas detritus inside despite the unkind temperatures, eager it seemed to put holidaying behind us and get on with the serious business of the new year. January 2021, though, we left them out, resolved to continue the cheer, knowing we had few other sources in the near future. A few Santas continued their vigil into the middle of the month but one by one, their owners sucked the air out of them, much like the air was sucked out of our hopes. Sure, we were going to get vaccinated, but when? When, Doug Ford?
Giant inflatable rabbits littered yards at Easter, increasing in numbers as rabbits do, and gargantuan air-filled ghouls took over in October. But all year, I waited for December.
(You might wonder if I bought a 14 footer myself. That’s a hard “no.” My house is adorned with an oldey-timey sleigh wrapped with multicoloured lights. Tasteful and simple, hiding my secret Santa passion.)
Santas of different shapes and sizes light our evening walks this year. One looks like a leftover from Halloween - a Claus with sewed shut lips. Another sits on a puffy sleigh pulled by a team of rein-racoons. Beyond Kringles, December air unfurls fabric in forms with but a passing relationship to Christmas - snowmen, dinosaurs, everything really other than - and I’m waiting for this one - an inflatable nativity scene. (This would delight me beyond measure.)
But it’s mid-December as I write this and while we can all agree, diversity is laudable, I miss the uniformity of the 14 foot Claus. Sure, one or two of the kings dot the Weston landscape but not the mighty army of last year. So this week , I went further afield.
I neared Inglewood with the eagerness of a child approaching Santa’s lap. I’d heard there was a gathering of the giant guys here! How many would I see? Would there be variation in size and shape? Would there be snowmen and others in their midst?
I turned the corner and WTAF? (translation “and what to my wondering eyes, did appear?”) Along the grand Mooredale avenue, fronting multi-million dollar homes, were 58 - 58!!!! - identical 14 foot Santas. No variation. As homogeneous as the good folk who live there.
OMG, with OMC (Omicron) anxiety weighing heavy, it did my heart a world’a good to see all that red and white soaring into the night sky. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but do the math - that’s nearly $15K of tent cloth consuming a steady diet of electrical power. All money that could surely be better used right now.
Today though I bask in the afterglow of those whimsical watchmen, those gaudy guards, those Santa sentries.
Thank you, Inglewood, for turning this Scrooge around for the holidays.
