Last week a photo series popped up on my Facebook Memories, dated December 2017. That was the year I decided to go Full Martha Stewart on the Christmas trimmings and trappings.
I had clearly fallen into some hardcore Pinterest hole and decided to make my own decorations. I carefully cut and dehydrated about 50 orange slices, before gluing on cinnamon sticks and star anise, attaching jaunty red and gold ribbons and hanging them on the tree. I also made salt dough, diligently pressing lace patterns into its surface before baking it into rather pale, flabby-looking stars. It took forever and it was a massive pain for someone who has much more ambition than talent on the craft front, but it was all very pretty and whimsical (at least until the ants got wind of the oranges).
Yet this year, despite it being the “Freedom Christmas” for so many of us in terms of relaxed restrictions and reunions with loved ones, the urge to “prettify” the season simply isn’t there for me. I don’t want to wrap everything in ribbons or pile on the décor. I’ve whacked up an old wreath from years ago on to the front door, and all my gifts will be unassuming vouchers – experiences rather than tangible things – and short on the gaudy boxes and bows.
Because this year Christmas doesn’t feel like it needs to be visual. The baubles and bagatelles – all carefully filtered and documented on Facebook and Instagram – aren’t the point. This year it feels more about touch and sound than sights. The sound of each other’s voices. Laughter – even, or perhaps especially, at a dumb Christmas cracker joke. Hugs. The wild novelty of being in a room with other people. My Christmas Day (touch wood) will be spent at my in-laws, but not with a formal sit down dinner – this year it’s about bringing a plate and simply being in a room together. That’s all the mistletoe and holly I need.
I expect I’m not alone. Last Sunday I stopped in for a late breakfast at a cafe in the centre of Sydney. All around me, people were delightedly greeting friends they clearly hadn’t seen for a long time. The rounds of champagne and frocks told me that Christmas was the occasion for most of these groups, but no one was draped in bauble earrings or reindeer ears. There were no gifts. The cafe had no trees or trimmings anywhere. We were all simply there, and loving every second.
Then there are people who are simply feeling too battered and bruised by the past two years to get in any sort of Christmas spirit at all. Entirely legit. When you’re reflecting and grieving, who has the bandwidth to wire up the front yard with light-up sleighs and Santas?
As the states each begin to dip their toe into the brave new world called “opening up”, all of us live with the fear that Christmas could get cancelled again. Planeloads of holidaymakers flying into Queensland this week were plunged back into isolation, even if they were hastily snatched back out again by a merciful Premier Palaszczuk. In New South Wales, the masks are coming down just as the cases are going up. No one wants to be left gazing morosely at a Frosty the Snowman candle and a tinsel-strewn tablescape if there’s no one there to share it with.
If, like many of us, you’re limping to the end of the past torturous two years with the realisation that you haven’t decked any kind of hall in any kind of way, give yourself a break. Sit back. Hang out. Slow down. Nap. Chat. Eat. Definitely eat.
This year, Christmas is about people not pressure. And may your people manage to be with you wherever you are.