merry christmas!
Christmas has always been my second favourite time of year (only second to Halloween, which is magical somehow). In Newfoundland, Christmas becomes a cozy place where you're tucked inside for a few weeks at a time, with the snow blizzards outside, venturing out only to visit good friends and watch films, or to gather a Tims coffee! My Dad would always fly home from Toronto for Christmas, carrying bulging oddly-shaped parcels, and we would do a grocery shop that included every thing we could dream of -- loads of fresh fruit, and pates and cheeses. We would buy a Disney film for Christmas Eve -- every year, as per our tradition. When I was a child, on Christmas Eve we'd tramp next door for a fish and brewis supper (a Nfld traditional dish -- hard tack softened over night, cooked with salt fish, potatoes and onion butter and scruncheons.mmmm) and sing Christmas carols with Tena and Bob as he accompanied us on guitar.
We'd come home, open one present (usually the Disney film) and then tuck up in bed. It was like being enclosed in caccoon of warmth and love. We'd wake up in the morning (when I was very young, before Dad left and Mom was still working as a nurse, she'd often take the Christmas Eve night shift, so we'd have to wait for her to get home in the morning at 7am, open our stockings, then wait for her to take a nap until 10-11 or so before opening gifts. It was an exercise in patience), make some breakfast, and wait while Mom put the turkey on. Dad would blast Celtic Christmas tunes, we'd sit with coffee/hot chocolate and speculate on what our gifts were according to their shapes. Then, when Mom was ready (in her tattered old pale pink robe) and I had seperated the gifts into three piles, we'd take turns opening. Exclamations were made, thanks given, etc. I still can remember the best Christmas ever -- the year I acquired 23 books!!!! I lined them up under the tree and read them one by one over the following weeks. They were fantastic.
Then Dad would nap, Mom would work on the meal, and then nap, and I would retreat downstairs with a book, or toy, and watch Christmas cartoons, happy as a clam. We sometimes wouldn't eat our meal until late, but I would always be able to steal a turkey wing, giblets and a piece of salt meat early in the afternoon. Sometimes people would come visit, stamping off snow and staying for a cup of tea. Children from the neighbourhood would sometimes come, and then it was time to present gifts and compare hauls.
We'd eat -- my least favourite part of the day, surprisingly. Then cuddle down to watch a film. And after the film would come my favourite part -- when we'd pile plates full of cold leftovers, and eat again. Ha.
This year, Paul and I have stayed home for Christmas. It's lovely to be able to curl up in my leggings and a thermal top next to our tree, which is covered in my old decorations, and feel like we're coccooned in again. There's even snow outside, sent specially for me, I'm sure. The 'kiddies' are playing over a bone, there's 'Creature Comforts' on television, a roast in the oven, and for this little while I am perfectly content/
We'd come home, open one present (usually the Disney film) and then tuck up in bed. It was like being enclosed in caccoon of warmth and love. We'd wake up in the morning (when I was very young, before Dad left and Mom was still working as a nurse, she'd often take the Christmas Eve night shift, so we'd have to wait for her to get home in the morning at 7am, open our stockings, then wait for her to take a nap until 10-11 or so before opening gifts. It was an exercise in patience), make some breakfast, and wait while Mom put the turkey on. Dad would blast Celtic Christmas tunes, we'd sit with coffee/hot chocolate and speculate on what our gifts were according to their shapes. Then, when Mom was ready (in her tattered old pale pink robe) and I had seperated the gifts into three piles, we'd take turns opening. Exclamations were made, thanks given, etc. I still can remember the best Christmas ever -- the year I acquired 23 books!!!! I lined them up under the tree and read them one by one over the following weeks. They were fantastic.
Then Dad would nap, Mom would work on the meal, and then nap, and I would retreat downstairs with a book, or toy, and watch Christmas cartoons, happy as a clam. We sometimes wouldn't eat our meal until late, but I would always be able to steal a turkey wing, giblets and a piece of salt meat early in the afternoon. Sometimes people would come visit, stamping off snow and staying for a cup of tea. Children from the neighbourhood would sometimes come, and then it was time to present gifts and compare hauls.
We'd eat -- my least favourite part of the day, surprisingly. Then cuddle down to watch a film. And after the film would come my favourite part -- when we'd pile plates full of cold leftovers, and eat again. Ha.
This year, Paul and I have stayed home for Christmas. It's lovely to be able to curl up in my leggings and a thermal top next to our tree, which is covered in my old decorations, and feel like we're coccooned in again. There's even snow outside, sent specially for me, I'm sure. The 'kiddies' are playing over a bone, there's 'Creature Comforts' on television, a roast in the oven, and for this little while I am perfectly content/