For the first seventeen years of my life I lived in another country. I celebrated Christmas differently. The weather was rarely frightful, and if there were fires it was outside in the fireside where they cooked large meals in big pots. Snow was seen only when the television stations decided to go off air.
December was always a busy month, from parties to service, Christmas to Old Years Night (as we called it), it was a never ending bustle of activity. A Christmas concert, caroling, a dinner for folks in the neighbourhood, services, practices, performances…
I don’t really have a favourite memory because everything was always delightful. I just remember being very glad that it was December, that Christmas was coming, that school was out for the term, that I would get to stay up until midnight on Old Years Night to greet the new year.
As I look back on those days, the memories that stand out the brightest – playing games in the “bottom house” or watching the sun rise over the Atlantic, or hitting a triangle as we moved from house to house, belting out Christmas songs – always had one thing in common, one set of people, my family.
I’m happy for Decembers – past and present – because it’s always the time we do things together. For me it’s always the most wonderful time of the year. For family and Decembers, I am thankful.