Happy 'olly

I suppose today is as good a day as any to discuss a McGregor christmas. Our christmas tree isn't even up yet, and concidering that we don't actually take our tree down, we just put plastic bags over it and store it away, that shows a remarkable level of slackness. Maybe I'll put it up today.

I like the christmas tree, with it's gaudy decorations and tinsel smell. It makes me happy, and adds a touch of magic. It's the fairy-lights I think, Or the fact that my brain has been conditioned to equate the smell of tinsel with happiness and security. Like the dog's that salivate when a bell rings. Christmas trees tap into the part of your brain that keeps you separate from the rest of the world, and wears it down. I don't believe in christmas as anything more then a comercial festival, but it's a nice thing to celebrate. It's so deeply ingrained in my psyche I wouldn't feel right if I didn't, even if I no longer believe in what it is supposed to represent and think it is in the completely wrong season. I won't go into the rant about christmas being a taken from the old midwinters festival- I'm sure you've all heard it before.

But christmas in my family, traditionally, begins at my mothers. We open our presents in the morning, hug and kiss mum and go watch bad christmas repeats. Then, dad pops over and whisks us away to the Australian Christmas institution that is the family barbicue. Occasionally there is no barbicue in sight, and it's just a buffett. Time was it was always at my grand parent's place, and we had a large cut-out fireplace with a flat painted christmas tree. Strangely, it didn't seem tacky or even ridiculous back then. We'd go swimming if it was warm enough, until the pool was filled in and made into a garden. And then the women would move into the dining room for secret womens business while the men would talk cricket or footy. Almost always cricket and footy. Occasionally conversation would turn to something that, while not quite being cricket or footy, was related in some way. Like the road past Footy Park.

Then around six we'd go home and have diner at our fathers.

Obviously this won't be happening this year for several reasons. Firstly, my father will be homeless. Secondly, my grandparents place is much smaller now, and the back yard isn't what I'd call the safest place for the kiddies. There's a large hole where what is either the water tank or cistern is situated. But then again, I'm sure they'll be fine out there. It's not that big a padock, and there more likely to pick up prickles then fall in the hole. Finally, they ain't got a barbicue there.
Ah well. There's always my uncles.

Perhaps further mussings will come later. Perhaps not.

"Don't think too much. It's bad for your health"
~Demon's advice
- posted by Washi @ 12:53 pm