5 minute read
Arrival
A Christmas Letter ... By: Elaine Lutton
Christmas is coming and at least on Bribie, the weather has woken up to itself and realised that this is supposed to be Summer. The sun is shining, we can discard our sweaters, and whilst I still keep my rainproof jacket tucked away in the shopping bag of my scooter, it is more to protect me in case I get caught in a thunderstorm, not uncommon at this time of the year. The days and days of torrential rain we have experienced in our supposedly “dry” Winter and Spring are hopefully over, at least in our corner of Paradise.
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I view this Christmas with a mixture of emotions, mainly with joy; after all, it IS Christmas, but also with more than a tinge of sadness. Not only myself but also some close friends have recently lost a very dear friend who has left us in pursuit of following his own horticultural activities, that is, the pushing up of daisies! We shall all miss him, each in our own fashion, some more than others. However, I know that he would smile to see the way in which his departure has brought his friends even closer together. Of course, we are not alone in grieving a loved one, we all gonna die one day, lord, we all gonna die one day, as Kasey Chambers reminds us. An indication of our universal mortality. When that grim reaper comes a-knocking at our door, we have no alternative but to let him in and make him welcome with as much grace as we can muster. But as I have said before, it is/was Christmas as I think this will be published after the festivities. For myself, I remain uncertain about the literal truths of Christmas, but know I love the traditions surrounding it. Decorations, Carols, Cards, gift-giving, Handel's Messiah, mince-pies, the whole caboodle! I think back to my childhood in the UK, the excitement of opening my presents, the Patsy Doll which I had been
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told that Father Christmas could not possibly afford but magically appeared in my pillowcase! My firm belief that he must be real, since my older brother had told me that he had seen him and he would not fabricate the truth, would he? The first sight of snow, usually on Boxing Day. Christmas lunch with a turkey “as big as a young donkey”, sprouts with uninvited guests hidden inside them, although you could rely on them being dead as they had been boiled for forty-five minutes minimum, pork with crackling, cooked by Aunty Doris who lived next door to Grandpa. Christmas pudding, set ablaze by a liberal dousing of brandy, whilst adding to this incendiary risk was the possibility of breaking one's tooth on the concealed silver thruppence. Then to retire to the best room whilst the ladies “washed up”, the men smoked, and Elaine would dive into her new Famous Five Book, whilst listening to all the gossip of the adults who had completely forgotten the presence of a little jug with big ears that sat amongst them. The thrill of returning home from my grandfather's to Yorkshire to find the water pipes frozen, though I doubt if my father shared my enthusiasm. The Christmases with my husband, who had lured me to sunnier climes, and our own children when they were young, were very different. The same menu to cook, but at least I persuaded them that if I were to swelter over a hot stove, they would have to wait until dinner. Good things are worth waiting for, was my motto! Present unwrapping after dinner! Now they have adult children of their own; how time flies. This year I intend to fly down to spend Christmas with my son and his family in Melbourne, so who knows what the weather will be like. I am ready for all contingencies, packing a swimsuit and a warm sweater plus, of course, a raincoat. Like all good Scouts, I will “Be Prepared”. Have you noticed the lovely effect the approach of Christmas has on the nature of folk. Only this morning when I climbed aboard Ferrari, (my mobility scooter) I met with several people who seemed to be already imbued with the Christmas Spirit. From the Council worker who removed the barricades across the road, especially for VIPs, he assured me, a privilege that was not to be extended to those gasguzzling cars, to his off-sider who swept the road so Ferrari would not get his tyres soiled! The lady at Cornetts who insisted that my bag was far too heavy for a little old lady such as myself to lift into the trolley and then followed me and actually lifted the bag out of the trolley into Ferrari's rear shopping bag. Service with a smile! The friendly ladies at the pharmacy who wear their caps and antlers with such merriment! Lots of cheery waves from small children to teenagers. Even the dogs wag their tails with extra enthusiasm at this time of year! And all of that in just one morning! Who can possibly be a Gringe at this time of year?
– Judy, daughter of Bribie Cove resident.
– Bob Jones, Edna’s son.
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