Finally in the Christmas spirit, thanks to a delay at snowy O'Hare

We all have Pavlovian reactions to certain things that bring out the Christmas in us. Many are shared across whole cultures ... like mince pies and crackers on one side of the Atlantic, cookie exchanges and madcap home decorations on the other. Others are unique to us, drawn from some repeated tradition of our own pasts.

For me, few things say Christmas quite like waiting for a delayed flight in a snowbound Chicago O'Hare airport. Or make me feel 19 years old again quite so well.

University was my first extended period of time away from home, of course. Thus Christmas break was my first real experience with homecomings. I can still remember the immense push towards final exams. The complete, satisfied exhaustion when they were over. (I'm still exhausted after the push to Christmas, of course, but without the satisfaction of an aced final and with the assurance that all the same stresses are waiting for me post-holiday.) I remember the way my mood would soar every minute as the bus carried me from Evanston to O'Hare. It was finally Christmas, and I had two or three weeks of complete R&R ahead. Then I'd get to the airport and, inevitably, there would be some sort of weather-related delay. So I'd settle in, chat with the unusually happy crowd of travelers, always dotted with some other Northwestern students showing signs of post-exam exhaustion, and wait for that St. Louis flight to go.

My family hasn't spent Christmas in St. Louis since my grandmother died in 1986, so that's a very limited memory. But it's as potent as any for me, and washed a flood of holiday cheer through my soul last Friday afternoon as I walked beneath the terminal's arches of holiday decorations and found my flight delayed by two hours. Same cheerful, gift laden crowds. Same civic Santa walking the terminal keeping people's spirits up. Same Northwestern students in transit, Freshmen made obvious by their proud displays of purple university sweatshirts. (My God, did I ever look that young and eager?) And one other Northwestern alumni, class of '86. The delay allowed me to catch a brief but joyous reunion with Craig Jackson, one of my oldest college friends, met over the area rugs in Montgomery Ward's the first day of new student week as we were decking out our dorm rooms. I hadn't seen him for nearly ten years, though we're in regular touch. The happy circumstance added to my holiday cheer. We both looked young and eager and had barely changed since the '80s. Of course.

This holiday spirit was much needed, as I can't remember a season where I've ever felt quite so little festivity. The gloom and doom of the economy set the tone, of course. Any holiday display felt like fiddling while Rome burned. People just weren't in the mood. London, usually an endless whirl of alcohol sodden holiday parties from late November through the last Thursday before Christmas, was spookily quiet. You could actually get a taxi, a table at a restaurant or a seat at a bar without much effort. Parties were almost non-existent. (I usually get invited to 15 or 20; this year there were three.) Christmas lunches dwindled. (You'll note a dearth of restaurant reviews this month.) Instead of merriment, most of us were sunk in high pressure, deeply distressing work activities related to cutting budgets and jobs. The best gift this year may be continued employment and the ability to pay your mortgage. And at least 40% of us, myself included, seem to be hacking away with coughs, cold and flu.

This year may mark the final death of the Christmas card. I couldn't find the time to send my own, and less than 10 dropped through my post. In a world where we are so constantly connected by email, texts and blogs, the old, chatty card with its annual update letter seems as redundant as an auto worker's job.

My travel schedule didn't help. Leaving London on the 18th, not returning until 15 January, what was the point of Christmas decorations? So my cottage, usually sporting better decorations that Santa's grotto at Harrod's, barely made it into the season. A few sprigs of evergreen, a few ornaments on the mantle, a reduced version of my illuminated Christmas village in the front window to make it look like I was at home. Bah, humbug.

And then to O'Hare. And all those cheery Americans letting the spirit of Christmas shine through, managing to wear their holiday cardigans and Santa hats in public with no trace of embarrassment. A nation of people who happily chat to strangers and tell you to have a nice day and mean it. I feel the gloom lifting. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good respite from reality. Maybe if we all just believe, things will be better in January.