Friday, December 17th

 I've been trying to pinpoint the time when our Christmas celebrations started to become the low-key event that it is now.  It's been a gradual process affected by a number of issues: the children, and even the grandchildren, have grown up, our wives have become tired of slaving over ridiculous Christmas dinners, more suited to Edwardian England, and we are no longer intrigued by surprise gifts.

For us, 1987 seemed to be a turning point.  In that year, we moved to Townsville, Jamie went to college in Wagga and Dad died.  Although we all met for Christmas in Gwynneville that year, as we had done many time before, the joy seemed to have disappeared.  

Looking back on memorable Christmases since that time, none of them have featured a huge turkey or a man in a red suit.  One time, Marilyn and I sat under a tree in Sorell in Tasmania, with a newspaper-wrapped pile of prawns and a bottle of NZ Sauvignon Blanc, other times we joined the raucous crowd at the Wrest Point Casino.  In Townsville, we had Christmas dinner with various friends, often around a pool and, back in Tasmania, we often enjoy informal events with just the handful of family who happen to live in the same town: Jamie and Nera, or Madeleine and Josh

This year, we will be away from home.  We might find a restaurant in Richmond with room for the two of us on Christmas Day or we might fall back on our usual favourite: a heap of prawns, some nice wine and something Christmassy on the TV.  I have a copy of Love Actually which has, apparently, become the Christmas favourite in the UK for years. 

Perhaps if our great-grandchildren, Macie, Juniper and Silas lived around the corner, we'd still be haunting the toy shops, sussing out the variety of Santa Clauses on offer, and sweating over a hot stove on Christmas morning.  But, they don't so we will just have to enjoy our low-key, muted Christmas celebration again this year wondering about what might have been.  There's a lot to be said about our mobile society but the days when several generations of a family lived in the same village brought benefits as well.  Instead of carefully choosing gifts, wrapping them, putting them under the Christmas tree and watching them being torn open by bleary-eyed, children in their pyjamas, we transfer some 'funds' by EFT and imagine what might be taking place on Christmas morning, hundreds of kilometres away.  The best we can look forward to is getting a thank-you in due course.  

Modern times!