Today
As the family grows larger, it becomes more challenging to keep up with the demands of Christmas present giving. For some it's an expensive as well as time-consuming challenge. So nieces Helena and Ruth came up with the idea of a "Secret Santa" for this year where names were randomly allocated across the extended family. Paul and I received tickets to the theatre from James and Helena which is very exciting.
The event was deemed a success, worthy of a repeat, although we may change its name to "Surprise Santa" as secrecy didn't at any time seem to be the issue here.
In My Day
I first encountered the "Secret Santa" idea at Flare. A price limit (to begin with £5.00) was set and names were literally picked out of a hat.
I have a feeling that one of the points of the event was to mildly tease the recipient, making sure that their well-known personal foibles were reflected in the gift. I drew the name of very quiet member of my team who loved her herbal teas, I didn't just buy her teabags; I made an enormous teabag and filled it with a selection. Of course, you can't legislate for lack of judgement, sense of humour or imagination and I have received the full range in my time, from rude knickers (don't people just love it when the boss opens something like this in public!) to dull soap. And people vary very much in their ability to take being teased. There was a lot of guessing as to the identity of givers with some people obviously longing to tell while others kept tightly buttoned.
We did start circulating a list on which people described their own foibles which was illuminating, although staff always knew they couldn't go wrong if they gave me wine. Eventually these events died out because they became so unwieldy and because of their high embarrassment potential or were limited to teams within the company.
Do you know, I just Googled "Secret Santa and found that you can download a secret Santa generator!
Today
While browsing round the local toy shop, wondering if I needed to buy any more activities for the visiting children at yesterday's party, I noticed some "Knitting Dolly" kits hanging up.
That was what we used to call French Knitting.
In My Day
To start French knitting you first needed a large used cotton reel. Cotton reels were made of wood, not plastic as they are today.
You then drove four strong nails into the top. evenly spaced around the hole in the reel. About one and a half inches remained exposed.
Next you needed some wool and something like a crochet hook or knitting needle. You tied the wool in loops to each nail and then, using the crochet hook, you hooked one loop over another. Gradually. a long tubular snake of knitted wool emerged from the underside of the cotton reel. You could add other colours by simply knotting it to the leading end of wool. There were dramatic moments when you accidentally pulled a loop entirely off the reel and frantically tried to re-hook it without the whole construction becoming unravelled.
Eventually you ran out of wool or out of interest and unhooked each loop, carefully tying it all off.
Then there arose the question of what to do with the snake. Children's magazines were full of suggestions; there most common being that you coiled up the snake and stitched it across to make a placemat or coaster. Because of the snake's tendency to be a bit lumpy and one's own equally lumpy stitching techniques, these coasters tended to upset any cups that were placed upon them.
Actually, it looks quite like fun; maybe I'll teach Carmen how to do it in a few years' time. I don't know where I'll find wooden cotton reels, tho'.
Today
Christmas is almost here again and I'm looking forward to seeing my niece from Stowmarket who is joining us for the celebrations.
It's lovely to feel that I have the space to welcome her and I wonder whether she remembers early Christmases spent with us.
In My Day
When we lived at Rowan Avenue, back in 1975, we didn't care so much about having space. For several years we shared Christmas with my brother Keir and his family of four children without even a blush for the lack of room. The children were "top and tailed" in the bunk beds and Lizzie had the tiny room. Keir and Jenny slept in the sitting room on a double airbed which had to be heaved upstairs each morning so that we could use the dining table.
On Christmas Eve the children would hang stockings on the banisters (there being not even a pretence of a chimney at Rowan Avenue) and we'd tuck them in bed. They'd settle down pretty quickly and Jenny and I would check food preparations, touch up the tree and dance to Christmas music while the men would put the world to rights over a few pints.
Actually, not all the children settled. Little Chris, at that time aged about five, would come out of his room again and again. "Can I have a glass of water, Auntie Julia?" "My tummy hurts, Auntie Julia" "When's Father Christmas coming, Auntie Julie?" - "Not until after you're asleep!!" I fervently hoped that would occur sometime before four a.m. as I struggled to keep awake until each child was properly asleep before I did stocking duty.
I vividly remember the first time they came. Lizzie was three and had never had a stocking before and was very excited. In the morning I groaned into wakefulness to hear all the children chattering and laughing together. I went onto the landing. There were all the stockings, untouched. "Happy Christmas, darlings!" I said brightly going into their room. "Merry Christmas, Auntie Julia!" they replied "May we open our stocking now, please?" "Of course you may!" I was touched by their patience, manners and discipline and ever since we have waited until we can all open our stockings together.
We had huge fun; everything was appreciated, despite our having no money and being crammed into the house, sardine-style.
While I don't think that this Christmas will be a replica of 1975, I hope that we will all share the same fun, laughter and feeling of privilege that we are able to celebrate together. Merry Christmas, Claire!
Today
On Facebook today, my friend Cath told of her 92 year old mother, who can barely talk these days, joining in lustily with carols at the local service. "The Power of Music!" she proclaimed. .
In My Day
Paul's Mum always liked to sing, although I would never have described her as a "singer". When Christmas approached it was my job to drive, usually alone, to Eastbourne to pick her up. The weather was often dreadful. I'd arrive at her flat, make sure she'd packed essentials. Then we'd whisk around to relatives and friends to say "Happy Christmas" and drop off pressies.
So, by the time we got going again, it was often past 8.00 pm. I used to dread the long drive home in the murky, mizzley weather, wondering how I was going to keep my eyes open.
I had a tape of Christmas carols sung by the London Bach Choir with full orchestral backing. It had cost me all of a fiver and there were about forty carols on this glorious recording. I'd whack this into the player, hoping that it would keep me alert for the next three hours. As it launched into "Once in Royal", Mum would lift up her voice, quavery at first, then getting stronger. I'd join in as well, giving the descants, and we would sing our way home, hearts full of joy and cheer.
The journey seemed so much shorter and we would arrive home to a fire, wine, tea, looking forward to the next few days together.
The power of music indeed; long may we feel it.
