Christmas time

Today is Christmas. It used to be my favourite time of year, when I was surrounded by people who were happy, there was lots of good food, lots of nice presents – though some eluded any description of ‘useful’, a few being far from identifiable – and lots of nice and progressively more silly jokes as the day wore on and the party got happier. Now that I am all grown up, Christmas does not seem to have its former charm, being reduced to just another day when I have to be at work doing the usual dreary bits and pieces that I have to. But there is still a lot of fun and laughter involved, starting with the vendors selling ridiculously bejewelled Santa hats at the traffic lights and ending, in a manner of speaking, with the clouds of brandy that waft through our house as the Christmas pudding steams merrily in its bain marie.

But through all the cheer and not-so-cheerful times is a sort of kind of maybe belief in that jolly old fat-man called Santa Claus. For me, as a child, he lived inside my chest and you could hear him go thump-thump-thump if you listened carefully. That, Father always told me, was Santa working in his toy factory; it had nothing to do with cardiac muscles pumping blood through the body or anything as mundane as that concept. It was all deeply spiritual in a childish kind of way, speaking to my very young mind from the perspective of having someone you could believe in who always knew whether you were naughty or…well…not so bad.

Even today, at my advanced age and stage of life, Santa Claus holds a special charm for me. He still beats his syncopated rhythm in my chest and has been known to skip a beat when I see something that calls long and loud for my instant devotion – like a fabulous pair of diamond chandelier earrings or Pierce Brosnan running down the street after a suspected criminal in a particularly butt-worshipping episode of Remington Steele. And he gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling when he comes in the astonishingly excellent guise of Father, glasses, Small Cat appendage and all, to give me a Christmas present I never expected, be it a new brand of soap or a gold necklace.

Now, for me, Christmas is not only about Santa Claus, but more about the memories that made me happy. In my small way of celebrating, I try to create new memories that I hope make the people I care about even happier, be it the smell of spice and brandy permeating the apartment or the hug that wakes everyone up in the morning. There will be cake, there will be laughter and there will be some sadness that people who should be there to celebrate with us are not, but most of all there will be a huge bag full of love and goodies that will last a long long time.