Just today I remembered the words spoken one Christmas by my exasperated grandmother: Christmas is for the children. This was the time of year that the grown ups sucked it up and endured each other, in the name of the children. Of course children pick up on these things, but we in turn pretended not to notice what a huge sacrifice it was for them to be around each other. Many Christmases went by like this, before it was put to an abrupt end by a lawsuit (one of many, the words "see you in court" was frequently uttered in our home), when my mother sued her own brother.
But before it all derailed, we managed to experience all of the classic Christmas traditions: the home made elf-village, trimming the tree, singing and dancing around it and the grand moment when it was lit for the first time. And the delicious food, the marzipan pig prize (more on that one later), and the presents of course. If I one day get the chance, I will know exactly how to pull off a traditional Christmas evening, minus the migraine.
Anyway, my grandmothers words came back to me today, as I watched a mother pull the cargo bike up to the the over-the-top Christmas decorated windows, at a huge department store. It was complete with pink glitter, moving bears, wrapped presents and sparkly lights. The child was mesmerised, and as I walked by, I just heard the words: "imagine you could be in there with them". And with that I realised that Christmas is perhaps not out to get me. It is not about me at all. It has simply become my turn to suck it up and play along, to give the children the Christmas rush while they can still catch it.
That does not mean I am all of the sudden in a Christmas spirit, but simply that I have lifted the ban on elves and all things Christmas in here, so you may see a little of it in the next couple of weeks anyway. You know, just to report on events and such. Can you forgive me?
One guess where we are?
Yes, it is La Glace, in a midnight session all for you.
The marcipan pig, I have seen enough crappy machine made marcipan pigs in my life to recognise a lovingly handmade version. Look at those personalities, I bet they taste delicious, but who has the heart to eat them?
(it is the oddest thing... I feel like Happy is returning)