Wow, it’s less than 2 weeks to Christmas, and for some reason, I just really haven’t caught the spirit yet.  Part of it is because J and I aren’t really doing gifts this year (spending £3400 on our plane tickets seems extravagant enough) so I haven’t had reason to be out amongst the throngs of shoppers and revellers.  We put "Lucy the Tree" up this past weekend, and while she is lovely to behold, it’s still not giving me the feeling – you know, holiday cheer.  I’ve not received any cards, or done any skating. 

I’m just not getting that sense of wonder and joy that usually makes my heart feel like it’s full of pure cool oxygen.  The feeling you get from festive shop lights and mulled wine and making paper snowflakes.  I know I idealise it, but it’s true.  Christmas is, and always has been a big deal for me – not only because it’s my birthday, but also because we always had so many traditions surrounding it when I was growing up.

For my mum, Christmas itself wasn’t enough – so we had the holidays and events leading up to it, and after it as well.  Christmas was a full season unto itself, and my mum drew heavily from traditions around the world.  Before Christmas, there was Saint Nicholas Day, when we’d put out our shoes and get candies and little toys in them.  After that, there was Saint Lucia’s day, where we made saffron buns and paraded them around whilst holding candles (since a blazing wreath on the head was a bit of a safety hazard for a small child with poor hand/eye co-ordination).  There was the making of Christmas pudding, and baking cookies for all the neighbours.  There was a big tree-trimming evening, when we’d fight over who got to hang which ornaments, whilst listening to old-fashioned carols.  There was Christmas Eve, with a big smorgasboad dinner with a dish representing each of our ethnic countries (all 8 of them!), and the traditional reading of "the night before christmas", and the leaving of cookies and milk.  Sometime in the wee hours, we’d hear Santa say "ho, ho, ho!", then at the crack of dawn creep downstairs to collect our stockings (which bought my parents another hour of precious sleep).  We’d have hot cross buns and cocoa for breakfast, open a few presents, then attend church.  In the evening, we’d have birthday cake and presents for me.   Following Christmas Day was the New Year, of course, but even after that, there was Epiphany (Three Kings Day), when we’d have cake with small trinkets hidden in it. So you can see how anything less than a full two months of holidays and celebration would pale by comparison. 

And it’s also my birthday – and though i do protest, the fact that there are always festivities and parties and ribbons on my birthday, does make me feel just a little bit special.  I can’t help it.

 Still, even as i get older, it is the small things that I hold fast to – my tree ornaments from when I was little, my love of Christmas pudding (an acquired taste for most Americans), my carols at midnight mass.  these are deeply ingrained in me, and I need to connect with them – to tap into that star-struck feeling that still overwhelms me when i hear "silent night". it’s essential to my being.

 christmas is part of who i am, at the most fundamental level.  i was born with bells ringing.

 So I need a little Christmas.  Right this very minute. I need a little Christmas now.

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