In some ways Xmas is the hardest time to be here. Not so much in the missing of people back ‘home’ , after 16 years I seem to find myself way past that, but more in the sense of having to generate Christmas yourself as if from your own personal generator kept in the attic or somewhere.
There is no Christmas spirit unless I come up with, pull it out of a hat or my arse or somewhere. I have given up trying to explain it to people, explain what Xmas is and that it is so much much more than roast chicken and presents. I am not religious so I am not saying its all about the birth of Christ, but that does play a part in it. I can tear up when I hear Xmas carols, Oh Little Town Of Bethlehem and The Little Drummer Boy can reduce me to tears as they hark back to the Xmas’ of yore, they fill me with the Christmas Spirit.
With kids in the house of course I want Xmas to be a special and magical time, because it is something that stays forever, there is still something special and magical about it for me, it is just that I have to really fight to
pull out the magic, the magic of the time, the magic of the situation and the magic in me.
We do stockings of course, Xmas cleaning, lots of nuts and chocs and tangerines around the place, a good Xmas film on dvd to watch.
Christmas lunch is turkey with all the trimmings, Actually until this year it was the biggest chicken I could get my hands on, but now Hellelujia we have Costco and nothing is beyond our reach. So this year we had a 7kg turkey, so it will be a REAL xmas, with endless days of turkey pie and turkey sarnies and turkey omlettes mmmmm!
See its easy to do the things, the stuff of Xmas but so hard to sustain the feeling of it past the 25th. My neighbour always puts the most beautiful lights in the tree in her garden, tiny delicate blue and white ones, elegant and tasteful, a little splash if Xmas Spirit jumps in me as I drive down our road and see them, a quick verse of The Little Drummer Boy leaps out without invite. Then on Boxing Day they are gone, that’s it Xmas is over.
Now I realise that Japanese people just kind of borrow Xmas, do with it as they wish and then toss it aside in favour of their very own excitement packed Oshougatsu, I am okay with that, but it kind of leaves me out on my own.
So if I see someone even on the 27th and say Merry Xmas, they literally laugh at me, like ‘ Xmas? Xmas? thats done love, didn’t anyone tell you?’
Here it is just one day, that is all you get.
I hate that salespeople will phone on Xmas Day, do I want cosmetics? my futons cleaning? my guttering looked at?, NO! No I don’t thank you very much and then I am all disappointed because I thought the call was from a friend with Xmas wishes, or from family overseas.
I think in terms of being memorable one of the most interesting Xmases we had was 8 years ago when we were waiting for 3 banme to be born. His due date was Xmas Day itself, hence my great love of The Little drummer Boy, ‘ A new born King to see, parumpapumpum’, well labour starts, so the story goes on the 24th as I was dashing around Kintestsu for last minute gifts, off we went to the midwife, the out-laws were called to care for the other 2, and we are on our way and baby is on his way,
we get to the midwife’s andlabour is happening, dilation is ongoing, all is fab , it will indeed be a Xmas baby, a real live New Born King.
Well it is all fun and games till labour just STOPS, I was 5 cms dilated and it all stopped. Now we should have known that this was just a sign of how very very obtuse this child was going to be when he eventually came out.
We spend the night, depressed we go home without a baby the next morning, Santa has not been to our house, out-laws are sent out for a walk with the kids so we can get some stockings filled and make up some even more bogus story to Perpetuate The Lie, that done, kids return, joy is all around, great happiness everywhere. I wonder briefly if I should have a basket between my legs and toddle off to the kitchen to get the Xmas Day lunch dog and pony show on the road. Roast Chicken, vegs etc.
I should point out here that my FIL had just retired and that seemed to mean he had no plans to get dressed now or in the immediate future, so he is flitting around in his pjs. As the time draws near, I despatch DH to tell them it will be ready in half an hour, as previous experience tells me that just as I am bringing forth many steaming delicious dishes AT THE SAME TIME ( as is our custom) no mean feat for three gas rings and a toaster oven, someone will decide to take a shower/a walk/ an elephant ride, something?
All is well, no one has gone AWOL, platters of greatness are filling the table, drinks are poured, candles are lit, everyone has lost sight of the fact that just 24 hours previously I was giving birth but oh never mind.
We sit, I revel a moment in my greatness and brilliance, the chicken is carved, platters are passed, My God its almost like being in England, and then the doorbell rings.
It is a man selling a car! He had spoken to my DH a few weeks back and now was in the neighbourhood so thought he would drop in and see if DH wanted to look at it. SO everyone ( except me Hellfire I am going to eat this damn things while it is hot) files outside, DH the PILS, FIL is still in his PJs and looks like he is being let out of the assylum for the festivities.
The only person beside me who decides to stay in is the salesman guy. Who looks at my tribute to Martha in all it’s glory and says,
” Mmmm Kentucky Fried Chicken”. In the interests of Peace and Goodwill to all Mankind I decided not to stab him in the eye with the baster.
( to be continued….)
