When small gestures mean the most
Christmas arrives bright and early for my family. Way before the sun is up, at 12am on December 1 every year, my mother has to put on some carols. Listening to the familiar festive tunes, the mood sets in from then. My mum is definitely the driving force behind all the little things we do together, she runs the show, but my brother and I are very much a part of what goes on. I would say Christmas is a significantly big deal at my home.
Every year the house gets a makeover.We’ve had a green theme before and one year I remember it being black and gold. It isn’t just the curtains and sofa cushions that have to be in sync, we even go to the extent of colour co-ordinating ornaments on the tree.
In my line of work, Christmas is a busy season and I’m always running around from one venue to another. This means the little time I spend at home generally becomes next to nothing during the ‘holidays.’ As much as the three of us would love to go out and get new interior décor, our schedules don’t allow it, so we delegate. My brother for instance has always been entrusted with buying the paint. I make quick stops in between rushing from one venue to another, picking up something my mother would tell me about, like drapes or something new for the tree.
The Christmas tree is a three-man job. We make it a point to put it up together, even if it means finding time for it late in the night. We like to keep the décor to theme and most years we go with self-coloured baubles to match the new colour pallet. Before the walls get a fresh coat of paint though, we do sort of a spring cleaning operation in December. My mother has always insisted on this for as long as I can remember, because the stuff that we don’t use as much as we should, is always donated to those who might need it more.
Yet another seasonal occupation she has been taking on, from as far back as when I used to believe in Santa, is making Christmas cake. There is always cake waiting to be cut after the midnight mass thanks to her tireless effort. As for my belief in Santa, it was short-lived. At about six after having a suspiciously fishy feeling about the character, I caught her putting presents under the tree. Ever the good sport for my brother’s sake though, I played along for a few years.
Not having any strong opposition to it, however,I’m not the church-going type. It’s not a weekly routine for me. But come Christmas, I’m ‘contractually obliged’ to sit through mid-night Mass with my mother. Since I took over after the loss of my father, a more recent tradition for my mum and I, is that I buy her the sari she wears to Christmas Mass.
A singing girlfriend, countless Christmas concerts that I do work for have exposed me to quite a few Christmas songs. Interesting in their own rite, none of them for some reason have the same effect on me as O Holy Night. In my experience of an annual church visit, it has always been sung during Communion and I have always wanted to finish Communion fast to be able to sit while I listen to it, undisturbed.
After Mass, my cousins come over to our place or we go over for a very early breakfast. We get together again at one of our houses for Christmas lunch or dinner. Since all of us are always busy, catching-up is always the priority. I’m not a fan of the idea of a Christmas feast if it means hours of slaving away in the kitchen. I rely on the expertise of caterers for convenience and because it gives my mum and cousin sister a break. Our Christmas table generally is a mish-mash of variety. We always have my mum’s Christmas cake to finish-off the meal which leaves us feeling contently stuffed. More than anything Christmas to me has been a day to put a pause on a busy life style and enjoy the time spent with those near and dear.
My career has shown if anything at all that there is concern for the less fortunate. A significant number of Christmas shows are in aid of charity, but perhaps it’s time we focussed on the small stuff during the season of fellowship. The little things we can do within our capacity, to better the lives of others go as far, maybe even further than the bigger gestures ever can.