So right now I've been inspired to write by Evangeline's blog. Despite having a horrendous time of it in the past few days, she still had the time to bask in the glory of God and the birth of our Savior.
Christmas has been a somewhat gloomy time for me in past years, as forementioned in previous bloggings. I think a lot of it has to do with a sense of belonging, which became all the more clear to me whilst reading Vangi's blog entry about Christmastime with her family.
My Christmases as of late have consisted of celebrations on the Mainland with my extended family. Now, I love them EVER so dearly, and they (My Auntie Colleen and Uncle Ted in particular) have served as sort of surrogate parents to me over the years. However, I am also the last of my generation in a way. My cousins Ryan and Celidh (both of which I have a very close relationship with) are both married with children of their own (Isla and Ewan to Ryan, and, most recently, little Trinity to Celidh). As much as I love and am thankful for my holidays spent with them, I don't feel like I truly belong there, the outsider in the houseful of happy families, all connected in one way or another.
And now, my immediate family, which ultimately consists of my father and I, even moreso now that my brother has Dayna, as well as a little one on the way, is severely lacking.
I have excellent memories of Christmases with my family.
My family is one of traditions, you see. For instance, my brother and I had to be asleep at a certain time on Christmas Eve. We would be awoken at midnight by one of my parents, usually my mom, to come downstairs and celebrate. Naturally, we never slept. My brother and I always got along reasonably well, but Christmas was golden. We would play games and laugh and do anything to stay awake. In earlier years, I would definitely pass out by 9 or 10, but eventually I became a real trooper.
At midnight, we would scamper downstairs, and the livingroom would be teeming with all sorts of treats, mostly appetizers, and sparkling orange juice. We would eat and sing Christmas songs, and dance to "A Very Rosie Christmas" (my mom's album of choice... any time of the year, really). We would open most of our presents at that time as well, as was the tradition on BOTH sides of my family since my parents were little.
Eventually, the party of four would wind down, and my brother and I would be ushered sleepily back upstairs, to await morning, and the gifts from Jolly St. Nick.
Those Christmas parties will always be a cherished memory, along with how seriously my brother took to his duty of placing the Angel at the top of the tree. Or my job, of moving baby Jesus, at the stroke of Midnight, from the top of the manger, where he had been residing with his Angel since the nativity went up, to his proper placing inside the manger with Mary and Joseph, the Shepherd, sheep, goat, cow and 3 smiling wisemen.
In fact, that job held such importance to me, that I would practice each day in the days and weeks leading up to Christmas, setting out the porcelin characters and rearranging them in different positions several times a day. It had to be just right for baby Jesus. They had to make a good first impression on the savior of the entire world, after all.
I took particular favour in the Wisemen. I would sit there and look at the sparkling gifts in their arms, and their bright clothing and see their smiling faces. They were so happy to see little baby Jesus. Like it was all they needed.
And little sleeping baby Jesus. No matter how young I was, he always managed to fit cradled in my two hands, perfectly serine and content on the porecelin straw.
As much as I loved the Christmases when our extended family would travel out ot visit us for a giant celebration, my most cherished Yuletide memories were the years when it was just us.
Myself, Momma, Daddy, Jacob, Baby Jesus and his adoring fans.
Christmas has been a somewhat gloomy time for me in past years, as forementioned in previous bloggings. I think a lot of it has to do with a sense of belonging, which became all the more clear to me whilst reading Vangi's blog entry about Christmastime with her family.
My Christmases as of late have consisted of celebrations on the Mainland with my extended family. Now, I love them EVER so dearly, and they (My Auntie Colleen and Uncle Ted in particular) have served as sort of surrogate parents to me over the years. However, I am also the last of my generation in a way. My cousins Ryan and Celidh (both of which I have a very close relationship with) are both married with children of their own (Isla and Ewan to Ryan, and, most recently, little Trinity to Celidh). As much as I love and am thankful for my holidays spent with them, I don't feel like I truly belong there, the outsider in the houseful of happy families, all connected in one way or another.
And now, my immediate family, which ultimately consists of my father and I, even moreso now that my brother has Dayna, as well as a little one on the way, is severely lacking.
I have excellent memories of Christmases with my family.
My family is one of traditions, you see. For instance, my brother and I had to be asleep at a certain time on Christmas Eve. We would be awoken at midnight by one of my parents, usually my mom, to come downstairs and celebrate. Naturally, we never slept. My brother and I always got along reasonably well, but Christmas was golden. We would play games and laugh and do anything to stay awake. In earlier years, I would definitely pass out by 9 or 10, but eventually I became a real trooper.
At midnight, we would scamper downstairs, and the livingroom would be teeming with all sorts of treats, mostly appetizers, and sparkling orange juice. We would eat and sing Christmas songs, and dance to "A Very Rosie Christmas" (my mom's album of choice... any time of the year, really). We would open most of our presents at that time as well, as was the tradition on BOTH sides of my family since my parents were little.
Eventually, the party of four would wind down, and my brother and I would be ushered sleepily back upstairs, to await morning, and the gifts from Jolly St. Nick.
Those Christmas parties will always be a cherished memory, along with how seriously my brother took to his duty of placing the Angel at the top of the tree. Or my job, of moving baby Jesus, at the stroke of Midnight, from the top of the manger, where he had been residing with his Angel since the nativity went up, to his proper placing inside the manger with Mary and Joseph, the Shepherd, sheep, goat, cow and 3 smiling wisemen.
In fact, that job held such importance to me, that I would practice each day in the days and weeks leading up to Christmas, setting out the porcelin characters and rearranging them in different positions several times a day. It had to be just right for baby Jesus. They had to make a good first impression on the savior of the entire world, after all.
I took particular favour in the Wisemen. I would sit there and look at the sparkling gifts in their arms, and their bright clothing and see their smiling faces. They were so happy to see little baby Jesus. Like it was all they needed.
And little sleeping baby Jesus. No matter how young I was, he always managed to fit cradled in my two hands, perfectly serine and content on the porecelin straw.
As much as I loved the Christmases when our extended family would travel out ot visit us for a giant celebration, my most cherished Yuletide memories were the years when it was just us.
Myself, Momma, Daddy, Jacob, Baby Jesus and his adoring fans.
