Christmas has a way of super-charging all the emotions.
Colours seem brighter, children louder, a haze of twinkling lights suspending moments so that you can almost reach out and cradle them. There is the anticipation – weeks of hope and suspense leading up to what seems to be mere seconds that flash. The preparation – hours of whipping, mixing, kneading and stirring; arms filled with fragrant offerings that suddenly vanish as they reach the table.
There is always a moment where it just doesn’t seem possible. The overlooked gifts at the eleventh hour, custard that curdles, spilled ingredients, broken plates, lists that seem to lengthen rather than diminish, children who threaten the season with hints of disdain. Power that disappears while lunch is cooking, tears from overtired children. We burn through yards of silvery paper, create mountains of eggshells, put on ‘just one more show’ to distract the children.
Carols accompany the joy and chaos, the soundtrack to our love and despair, our stress and laughter.
Time disappears as the traditions beckon – shared wafers with family, the clink of glasses filled with champagne and eggnog, concerts and gift exchanging, dishes that only come out once a year. Food becomes entangled with memory – savoury bursts of flavour: chicken & apricot salad, pierogi, roast pork and potatoes, Serbian cheese pastry, garlic bread. Decadent sweetness – red velvet trifle, whisky pie, ice-cream pudding, macarons, toffee, a chocolate ripple wreath.
When the whirlwind subsides and we survey what is left, it seems surreal somehow – an echo of all the years before and all those to come. Fresh experiences are forged, connections created, we learn how to love and forgive again. The joy of children sparks a nostalgia – a thread leading back to the scenes of childhood. There is a mourning of loss – memories of those past, wistful imaginings of time gone. It is bittersweet, haunting, fleeting.
Christmas is both the hope and the mess. It is a baby resting in a feeding trough, a tired and exhilarated new mother lying spent across the rough hay. It is the promise of unconditional love set on a backdrop of political chaos, stars that travel across hazy skies. Christmas is overwhelming and overcoming, the embrace of peace and the mending of broken ties. It is the expression of Love in human form, redemption found in the most unlikely of spaces. Christmas is the filling of place and expression of grace. It is perfect, perplexing and promising.
It is a paradox.
