Comparing Christmas past with what exists nowadays is something I wanted to do as a way of measuring change. It had been partly influenced by the memory of Charles Dickens’ classic, A Christmas Carol, which was first published in December 1843.
I’d thought the story of the miserly, mean-spirited Ebenezer Scrooge, whose life was changed after three visitations from the ghosts of Christmas past, present and yet to come, was still familiar. I suspect I was wrong about how it has held up after 181 years.

Nevertheless, the literary reference is not rigidly germane to my trip.
So much has changed significantly, especially in the way we live. Simplicity is literally a notion that has been cast aside.
Last week, I tapped into memories of childhood from a bygone era that were rooted in the tradition of cutting and contriving to produce homespun celebrations. That no longer holds.
Maybe a list of what’s been naughty and nice might be helpful to illustrate the changes.

The music has evolved from predominantly hymnal carols and frosty jingles to the warm and spicy Caribbean sounds of parang and soca and a heap of mixtures that recognise our rhythms and lifestyles.
For me, Scrunter is the symbol of those vibes. I’d put the music in the nice column.
One aspect that I’m a bit neutral about is food preparation.
If you consider the enormous range of food that is deemed absolutely necessary for the festivities: ham, turkey, breads of all kinds, rice of all kinds, casseroles of all kinds (especially macaroni pie), salads of all kinds (green, pasta, potato), curries, stews, things roasted, things baked, things boiled and fried.

And that’s not counting the pastelles, the black cake and the sponges, the sweetbread, the ginger beer, the sorrel, the ponche de crème, and all the other vittles that my brain is blanking out now—it is a monumental set of prepping and cooking.
It’s work that can be so exhausting that it leaves the cooks too drained to enjoy the fruits of their labour, no matter how enthusiastically and lovingly they do it.
A striking addition to the scene is the proliferation of restaurants, caterers and enterprising home chefs offering to take the menus off your hands. You can order anything your heart desires and have it delivered.

Some of the prices I’ve seen are a bit hot, but if you work out the cost, they’re generally not unreasonable. As someone who has sometimes undertaken fairly large cooking gigs for family and friends, I know what it takes.
I am very proud of the people who offer their culinary services, and I am very pleased that folks are supporting them. The downside is that it means that some degree of the tradition of learning how to prepare these dishes is fading away.
The big plus in my book is that we are supporting these nascent local industries. I do so love the idea of respecting and treasuring what we do for ourselves.

It brings me to one of the elements of change that I don’t like. It’s the penchant for consumption of imported fare. I know that it goes back to our colonial history, but we have really gone overboard as consumers.
Is it a status symbol? I suppose it must be something of the sort.
Two elements of this are really dispiriting. Christmas has become a consumer frenzy, a wretched descent into commercial madness that defiles the essence of the season.

A case in point is the absurdity of Christmas-in-July sales. What is that about? Is it that businesses (following the ghastly North American trend) have found a way to get rid of old stock?
When this branding event began, I thought it wouldn’t last, but as usual, when it comes to understanding human behaviour in these matters, I am dreadfully lost.
I’ve never understood the excessive and mostly gaudy ornaments, either. I’ve no quarrel with some gestures to the mood of the season—lights and trees and so on—but there is something appalling to my demure senses in the ostentatious displays that surpass good taste with supreme abandon.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not condemning people’s tastes; I wouldn’t call myself a Scrooge. But I think about the time and money spent on trinkets and baubles, and I feel a measure of dismay at the way people throw themselves into insubstantial things.

Fireworks are the biggest culprit to me. Like many hapless citizens, I’ve endured the infernal explosions that bring so much pain to humans and animals alike.
With the advent of noiseless alternatives, I still can’t understand why they continue to be allowed with impunity. It’s a prime example of the way we encourage the mindless-with-money to thrive in our society.
We consume like there is no tomorrow: things, things, things; fripperies and foolishness as if they are the elements that make us merry. When the spirit of Christmas Present visited Scrooge, he was taken to see families with next to nothing, who made do with what they had, grateful for the joy of one another’s company. People who were content to sing and dance and play games within their homes, who gave themselves over to the simple pleasures.
The emphasis on excess gives the season a quality of incompleteness, like nothing is ever enough to make it truly special.

Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.