Christmas Eve 2012

When I was a kid Christmas Eve was the pretty much "The Best Day of the Year" it even outshone Halloween in my books.  My parents were first generation immigrants from the old country so consequently they celebrated Christmas the way they did back home.  That meant no Santa Claus, but the good old Christmas Angel that came on Christmas Eve.  All of us kids were carted off to the grandparents house for the day and when we returned our house had gone through a miraculous transformation.  A tree stood lit up and decorated in the corner, presents burgeoned under it, the smell of roast turkey and home made bread wafted through the house.  It verged on a religious experience for us. 

After the first initial excitement of coming home to "Christmas Land" we all stood in front of the tree with our arms around each other and sang, Mennyből az angyal, which means an angel from heaven.  Then the song goes on about the usual manger, shepherds, the baby Jesus, and other typical Christmas-y type references.  I think I knew the first verse then after that I just did "fake it, fake it, fake it," most of it was over my head, plus by that point I was getting a little impatient about the whole opening the presents scenario.  Because you see in our house after the singing, came the hugging, and the kissing each other, then the diving into the presents and opening all of them right there and then.  Then after spending a good five or six minutes with our loot we were hauled away to feast on bird, stuffing, and all the other fixings.  Yummy.  And usually it didn't take much convincing as the grandparents didn't feed us too much all day so we were rather like the ravenous bug bladder beasts of Trall.   

Of course the whole irony of the song was completely lost on me as a kid as we were not exactly what you would call a religious family.  In fact we were more of the exact opposite to the nth degree.  I'm pretty sure if my parents hadn't have been so wrapped up in "the tradition" they may have considered changing the song to something a lot more worthy like, Imagine, or All You Need Is Love, or if it were up to my dad, How Much is That Doggy in the Window, he was a huge Doris Day fan.  Or if it was up to my mom it might have been Cow, Cow Baby by the Diamonds.  (Later on I discovered that the song is actually called Cool, Cool Baby.  English wasn't her first language.) 

Anyway what brought on this whole reminiscing thing about Christmases past was the fact that me and Sunny McJingles (hubby's elf name) took the kid, and the poop brigade, out to the back forty and cut us down a Christmas tree this afternoon, then brought it in and decorated it.  When I posted that bit of information on Facebook I had a few people comment that I shouldn't even bother with a tree this year.  Pa-shaw I say to that. Trees are supposed to go up on Christmas Eve and come down on New Year's day.  Tradition!  Tradition! 

The kid was a tad bit disappointed that tree getting was relatively quick and painless this year, she distinctly remembers going out with the Hubby and having to wade through chest deep snow, or jump from long foot step, to long foot step, trying to keep up to her dad's meters long steps (he is six foot two) and wander ten kilometers in minus 30 degrees uphill (both ways) to get the tree.  This year...no snow...five minute quad ride...tree 25 meters off the trail...sawed down in seconds...five minute quad ride home.  Done and done.  Oh the humanity!  Although I'm not sure exactly what she is whinging about because she has been cackling gleefully every time she gets another report of the three meter high snowbanks, and minus forty temperatures, in the town she has just moved away from.  Me thinks that deep down inside she is truly missing the snow and the cold, even though she is adamant that she is not. 

Although technically it is Christmas Eve tonight we won't be doing the actual Christmas thing today, or tomorrow, as we are waiting for Blinky Candy-Lips (the kidlet's hubby...his elf name) to fly home from work sometime before the end of the year.  My elf name is Peppy Sugar-Socks for those who care to know.  Although I feel more like Sugar Peppy-Socks...or Socky McBunnykins.  Either way I am all mellowed out, and pepped up, from the Bailey's and coffee I have been imbibing in tonight. 

Here is the shortest and youngest member of the poop brigade checking out the tree situation in the back forty.