Posted by I moved to Ottawa in 1989 and lived there for thirty years straight. I met m’lady in Ottawa in 2005, and her entire immediate family lives there. And yet it took until 2024 before I finally spent my first Christmas in the capital, as I had driven “home” to Moncton every single year to spend the holidays with my family. Well, there was one time that I woke up on Christmas morning in Ottawa, but immediately after watching m’lady’s niblings open their mountain of presents we taxied to the airport and hopped on a plane headed east. Otherwise it was always m’lady who was flying on Christmas Day, cutting her family time short so she could squeeze in a little holidaying with me and my Monctonian family.
Then we moved to Newfoundland in 2019 which pretty much cut Ottawa out of the picture altogether at holiday time, for me at least. But sometime in the aftermath of Christmas ’23 we decided the following year we would spend Christmas with m’lady’s family back “home” in Ottawa, and that’s just what we did.
Pretty much, anyways. If you’ve ever tried to book a flight around Christmas you’ll know that the prices can get pretty outrageous, but the fees plummet if you’re willing to fly on Christmas Day itself. So m’lady and I woke up in Harbour Grace on Christmas morning all warm ‘n fuzzy and gathered around our tree with our wonderful cat Chilly Willy and had us a joyous, peaceful time opening wonderful presents.
By 10:30 we were out of our pyjamas and in the car jettisoning to the airport, where our ever-so-cute Santa hats were met with wide smiles and “Merry Christmas”‘s at every turn, and the stewardesses on our half-empty direct flight gave us crackers and cookies at snack time.
In Ottawa we were met at the airport by m’lady’s mom, who delivered us all to m’lady’s sister’s place where a delicious dinner, gifts, and a steady stream of rum and egg nogs awaited. We spent the days that followed getting out and about a little bit, but mostly we both just relaxed as hard as we could on m’lady’s mom’s couch. And we were comfortable remaining comfortable, as we had a plan for our last night in town that would see us see a whole pile of pals all in one place. That one place was the British Hotel in Aylmer, Quebec, where some good friends were playing in a makeshift Jimmy Buffett tribute act called The Polar Reefers.
I say “makeshift” because a) the band was pretty new, and b) only frontman and bandleader Hux and the keyboard player (who covered all of the steel drum and marimba parts with the flick of a finger) remained from their previous gig. For this gig the quartet was rounded out with Jay from nero (and Pleasure Craft and Deathcake and and and…) on drums and my buddy Booche making his debut on bass guitar.
So m’lady I borrow her mom’s car and drive out to Aylmer, we take an inadvertent shortcut and somehow arrive serendipitously directly in front of the hotel. We walk inside and find a nearly-empty restaurant-by-day/dance-bar-by-night with a small stage framed with inflatable palm trees drooping on either side.
All things considered I wasn’t expecting anything mind-blowing, and I was right. Great name though. I mean, The Polar Reefers? That’s worth getting off the couch right there. And you know what? It was also really fun. Thank ye gawds Jay was playing drums – he really held the whole thing together – plus the keyboard player was quite versatile too. And Hux unquestionably makes for a great frontman; he always has. And I love Booche. He’s a great dude.
And most especially, not long after we arrived the place filled out with friend after friend after friend; several of whom I hadn’t seen in quite some time. Oh, and even more most especially, it would be my birthday when the clock struck midnight. But I’m talking my 57th birthday, so good luck making it to midnight. Luckily I managed to work the ninety minute time change between Newfoundland and Ontario to my advantage and with a call-out from the stage I rang in my birthday at 10:30pm Aylmer-time and had my annual moment of birth shooter (Canadian Club, purchased by and shared with my friend Stapes) at 10:32pm, which of course was 12:02am on December 29th, Newfoundland-time*.
After the band finished it got rather drunky and huggy in the British Hotel. My favourite post-show memory was my friend Dave telling Booche “At times it sounded pretty tight,” and quickly adding, “Not you individually, of course.” As Booche walked away Dave turned to me and said with a shrug and nothing but honesty, “That’s what friends are for.”
And he’s right. Happy Birthday Everybody.
*Which represents the very minute I was born, except that I was born in Toronto, so that would’ve been 12:02EST, not NST. However when you factor in a dozen or more leap years, countless time-shifting solar flares, and an inexorable amount of déjà vu, well, pinpointing the exact annuality of my earthly emergence becomes haphazard at best. So I try to keep things simple.
Todd Man Out 