dancingthroughchaos

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” – A Christmas Carol  by Charles Dickens.

We celebrated Christmas last Saturday.  Yes, the full, bulging, indulgent, glittered stocking of festivities featuring tried and tested play lists of old favourites; hand drawn holly motifs on present labels and a turkey which really knocked all previous seasonal roast foul into the proverbial cocked hat (sounds messy, doesn’t it?).

We are only in England for one more week and were keen to celebrate with all four grown-and-flown children plus our favourite (and only) son-in-law.  The logistics of such an enterprise become increasingly difficult, so we were delighted to nail down a date that worked for everyone.

We were also blessed with a house-sitting assignment which meant enough space for everyone, plus access to a hot tub and the novel endeavour of cooking with an Aga.  These classic pieces of engineering are not for the faint-hearted.  My farming friends in Devon all have them and have been producing culinary delights from their furnace-like interiors for generations.  I, however, have never got much beyond enjoying their round-the-clock warmth and great design.  The prospect of cooking a turkey in one was slightly intimidating.

However, l heard that it’s never too late to learn a new skill, so armed with access to Google and You Tube, I set out to educate myself.  My family have never forgotten the unfortunate year when I’d served most of the turkey and was left with a leg that didn’t appear to be quite as thoroughly cooked as the rest.  No problem, I thought – somewhat addled by juggling the timing of the multi-dish feast – I’ll whack it in the microwave.  Bad idea.  In fact, very bad idea.  I was horribly ill.

This year, I resolved not to fall prey to such nonsense and produce a turkey of which Bob Cratchit, Ebenezer Scrooge and Mr Dickens himself would have been proud.  And, reader, I did.

The turkey was a total triumph this year.  The potatoes suffered from being moved from the top lava-hot oven to the less intense one below, but once they’re liberally covered in bread sauce and generous dollops of cranberry jelly, who’s to know, right?  (Jury is still out on this ruse.)  I also experimented with the shred-your-sprouts-and-cook-with-onion-and-bacon idea; also a big win.

We staggered from the table, amazed as ever, by our capacity to engulf the biggest meal of the year, and set ourselves to unwrap a multiplicity of gifts while flirting with the overwhelming attraction of a sleep.  

It was a weekend of laughter, tears, games, chats, splashing in the hot tub, walks through the woods, eating, drinking, sleeping, and board games.  All in all, a great success, and yet…

I was left with the same feeling that is often engendered by a family wedding or celebratory party. It’s wonderful to get together but I’m not sure how well I connected with everyone.  There were some good conversations here and there, but do you really want to dig into meaty stuff over Christmas?  Maybe.  Sometimes. Maybe not.  I’m not sure.

Those conversations happen in one-to-one encounters over cosy coffees and lingering lunches; the whirl of a family reunion is often not the place for those.  Everyone wrestles differently with the fact that the children are all now grown ups with their own thoughts and opinions, and are living out their choices; yet the dynamic can easily slip back into that of yesteryear.  That’s not fair for anyone.

I think we probably need both for a healthy family dynamic.  A safe place to share hearts, our highs and our lows, the things that are most important to us, as well as a place to just be a bit silly for a while: to laugh until you cry and eat more chocolate than is really good for you.  

What do you think?

Doubtless, we will work it out somehow, even as we turn our faces to the southern sun again.

Photo images from:

Cameron Stewart; Becky Fantham; Raspopova Marina – all Unsplash