I AM not a traditionalist. Not in any sense of the word.
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Except when it comes to Christmas. It’s the one time of year I become obsessed with routines and rituals.
And I’ve stuck to them for the past 20 or so years. Until now.
My long-held belief that it is bad luck to put up the Christmas tree before December 1 has been thrown to the wind.
Shock, horror!
My ritual of decorating the tree with only the smooth sounds of Nat King Cole carols being played has been replaced.
Say what?
You heard right. I am throwing my crazy Christmas conventions out the window.
Well, almost. My no tinsel rule still stands. For now.
When my youngest begged me to decorate the house for Christmas on the weekend, I was in no state to say no.
In the previous few days, three kitchen cupboard doors had snapped off their hinges, the small crack on my iPhone mysteriously doubled in size, and a bike ride to the ice-creamery ended in an inconvenient flat tyre, forcing me to walk the 5 km home.
That’ll teach me for having dessert.
Worse still, Queensland still hasn’t opened its borders (which would allow me to finally see my family after 11 agonising months).
I needed a boost. And Christmas decorating was just the quick fix I was after.
After a marathon effort to get into my shambolic shed, I found the Christmas tree.
Then, under piles of albums, keepsakes and stuff I just can’t fit into my house, I found my old faithful Christmas ornaments.
I have about five boxes of decorations, which I have lovingly collected over the past 20 or so years. About half of them have been handed down to me by my parents and come all the way from Denmark and Holland.
They are either homemade or gifted to me from Danish silverware designer company Georg Jensen.
So, as you can imagine, they are priceless and irreplaceable.
Another quarter of my decs also come from countries around Europe I visited about 15 years ago. Most notably, a romantic little town called Rothenburg in Germany.
In this medieval Bavarian town, there is a shop called Käthe Wohlfahrt where it’s Christmas every single day.
Stepping inside this festive wonderland, you are surrounded from floor to ceiling by nostalgic ornaments and figurines such as cuckoo clocks, music boxes, smoking Santas, fairy lights and Christmas trees, handcrafted from wood, glass and pewter.
I'm not too sure how long I actually spent inside that shop. But I do know I spent a lot of money that day.
My purchases, which will be handed down to my children, all take pride of place on my Christmas tree.
That’s why I steadfastly refuse to cover them with something as cheap and nasty as tinsel.
Anyhoo, as I lovingly adorn my tree with my charming collectibles, it has also become customary to play only carols from Mr Christmas Crooner himself, Nat King Cole.
Which, after 10 years, the girls have grown to dislike (okay, hate), much to my dismay.
This year, Maya did the unthinkable and asked if she could switch the music.
Tears brewing, I swallowed my disappointment and figured ‘maybe it is time for a change’.
I had already put up my tree early and was probably dammed for all time anyway, so surely a change of tunes couldn't hurt.
Expecting Maya to select some cringe-worthy “modern” carols, I was even more horrified as ACDC’s Thunderstruck rang through my ears.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the Aussie rockers as much as the next person. But at Christmas?
It just destroyed the nostalgic Christmas vibe I was going for. My heart broke a little. I might even have cried a little.
Until I saw one very happy 10-year-old girl dancing around the house putting up decorations willy-nilly.
COVID-19 has been tough on my littlest munchkin. There have been worries and plenty of tears.
It’s been a while since I've seen that sense of wonder and excitement in her eyes.
Like the couple of times a year I surprise her with the news we’re going to visit her grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins in Queensland.
It’s coming up 12 months since I’ve been able to tell her that.
So, I let Acca Dacca keep on screaming, so Maya could keep smiling.
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