Christmas is coming... sigh
I don't like December much!
Living in the UK, it means living the life of a mole. Setting off for work before sunrise and returning after sunset, so you never see the light of day. The grey skies threaten snow but never produce it - just more rain.
Then there's the little matter of my birthday, followed a week later by Christmas, and another week later by New Year. These are times to be surrounded by friends and family, and just serve to remind how desperately far we are from both these groups of people.
Having no extended family in the UK makes for a rather lonely Christmas. This is exacerbated this year by the fact that my entire maternal family will be together for Christmas - only I will be missing. Self-pitying sigh.
As a child, I loved the full semi-English hot lunch we had at Christmas time. I loved the atmosphere of my Gran, my Mom and my aunt dealing with the stress by clowning around in the kitchen. I loved being trusted to decorate the table for the meal.
Then I grew up.
When it was my turn to lay on the Christmas meal in 35 degree South African heat, I decided that the European traditions were all very well for Europe, but were totally unsuited to the southern hemisphere. I visted the Woolworths (read Marks & Spencer) food hall and stocked up on supplies of posh cold meats and salads which I artfully arranged on a table covered in tin foil. That worked just fine.
Then we moved to the UK.
Now I am in sole charge on laying on the Christmas meal, and it needs to be a hot one. I am not a slave to tradition for the sake of it, and tend to avoid turkey in favour of meats we prefer. However, the hours spent in the kitchen are lonely indeed with no recourse to my own mother and sister to help me deal with the stress by clowning around.
Having spent all my Christmases in South Africa surrounded by extended family (whether my own or John's), our pile of presents-for-four seems rather pathetic by comparison and only serves as a reminder of how far from home we are.
For the last few years, we have replaced the tree with a manger to refocus our attention on the "reason for the season".
We try to make the celebrations as merry as possible, because these are our boys' memories in the making. If I'm not careful, they will take the first opportunity to escape the doom and gloom of the "festive" season in our house. That would be disastrous... for us, anyway.
John is my rock at this time, because this is not new territory to him. All the years he lived in South Africa, they were in the position our boys are in now, with no aunts, uncles and cousins to hand. Perhaps this is why they give each other so many gifts.
If I don't shake up my ideas, Christmas will be upon us and I will have done nothing to prepare for it. So this is me, taking myself in hand and squaring my shoulders. I hereby commit to getting my head out of the sand, pulling my finger out of wherever it is that fingers need to pulled out of and giving some attention to the matter of Christmas for my family.
God bless us, every one.
Living in the UK, it means living the life of a mole. Setting off for work before sunrise and returning after sunset, so you never see the light of day. The grey skies threaten snow but never produce it - just more rain.
Then there's the little matter of my birthday, followed a week later by Christmas, and another week later by New Year. These are times to be surrounded by friends and family, and just serve to remind how desperately far we are from both these groups of people.
Having no extended family in the UK makes for a rather lonely Christmas. This is exacerbated this year by the fact that my entire maternal family will be together for Christmas - only I will be missing. Self-pitying sigh.
As a child, I loved the full semi-English hot lunch we had at Christmas time. I loved the atmosphere of my Gran, my Mom and my aunt dealing with the stress by clowning around in the kitchen. I loved being trusted to decorate the table for the meal.
Then I grew up.
When it was my turn to lay on the Christmas meal in 35 degree South African heat, I decided that the European traditions were all very well for Europe, but were totally unsuited to the southern hemisphere. I visted the Woolworths (read Marks & Spencer) food hall and stocked up on supplies of posh cold meats and salads which I artfully arranged on a table covered in tin foil. That worked just fine.
Then we moved to the UK.
Now I am in sole charge on laying on the Christmas meal, and it needs to be a hot one. I am not a slave to tradition for the sake of it, and tend to avoid turkey in favour of meats we prefer. However, the hours spent in the kitchen are lonely indeed with no recourse to my own mother and sister to help me deal with the stress by clowning around.
Having spent all my Christmases in South Africa surrounded by extended family (whether my own or John's), our pile of presents-for-four seems rather pathetic by comparison and only serves as a reminder of how far from home we are.
For the last few years, we have replaced the tree with a manger to refocus our attention on the "reason for the season".
We try to make the celebrations as merry as possible, because these are our boys' memories in the making. If I'm not careful, they will take the first opportunity to escape the doom and gloom of the "festive" season in our house. That would be disastrous... for us, anyway.
John is my rock at this time, because this is not new territory to him. All the years he lived in South Africa, they were in the position our boys are in now, with no aunts, uncles and cousins to hand. Perhaps this is why they give each other so many gifts.
If I don't shake up my ideas, Christmas will be upon us and I will have done nothing to prepare for it. So this is me, taking myself in hand and squaring my shoulders. I hereby commit to getting my head out of the sand, pulling my finger out of wherever it is that fingers need to pulled out of and giving some attention to the matter of Christmas for my family.
God bless us, every one.
posted by karynr at 5:25 pm
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