Christmas 1986

Well hello there. I won't mention my summer absence, if you don't.

Here's a story about a bike. She cost my parents around $300. She was their gift to me for Christmas, 1986. I remember the first time I sat on her. I've always thought she was a beauty.

Two years ago, I gave her away. I thought she wasn't an island girl. I was wrong.

She's come home to me. Still mine. I love her.

In her heart, she's always been an island girl. Just waiting for me to realise.

Post script... the fourth light of Advent

I do like to be thorough. Although the festive season is over, I couldn't leave the fourth light of Advent hanging in mid-air, with no closure. So here's how it went...

On the fourth Advent Sunday, Mary and Joseph joined our nativity scene and, over the coming days, made their symbolic journey towards our symbolic stable. I love the reverence that Noah brings to the nativity scene. He calmly, beautifully, lovingly moves these two needle-felted figures (made by Mama) a little bit closer each day. Baby Jesus (needle-felted by Noah in Kindergarten) is added to the scene on Christmas eve.


The inner quiet of our nativity scene was contrasted with the raucous, "outward" singing of carols in the park, where one of Santa's helpers (my boys know that the real St Nicholas would not be frolicking around in shopping centres or with Rural Bush Fire Brigades the week before Christmas) arrived in a fire truck, accompanied by fire sirens and barking dogs.

In the final days before Christmas, our decorations continued to appear in Advent stockings each morning, until the boys all chose "our" tree (the Christmas Tree Farm's lack of Christmas spirit is another story) and we decorated it together on the 23rd. Final decorations were added around our home, and on Christmas eve the Advents calendar was removed to allow space for the Christmas tree to sparkle with all her might. She was lovely.

"may your days be merry and bright"

On Boxing day, the Three Kings began their 12 day journey, following the star, until they finally arrived at the stable on 6th January.


Christmas and New Year were sunny, fun-filled affairs at our house this year, with many friends around, much loud laughter and much silliness. Our decorative rituals brought us a sense of balance, and they brought calm. They reminded us to take a moment to reflect on this sacred time and ponder why it may be sacred to us. Amidst all thriving summer activity - slapping on suncream, rambling for cozzies, running down the jetty (because, you know, going swimming causes a frenzy... even when you get to do it everyday, often several times a day!), our rituals anchor us, and bring me "home". And they bring little shimmering stars to the big, blue eyes of my little ones. I hope they also warm their hearts, and give them magic memories to keep long after their childhoods are gone.

An island Christmas

We have a little family tradition going on around here... one of those traditions that you begin for your own family, not one you've brought with you from your ancestors. It's a morning swim. It used to be an ocean morning swim. Now it's a National Park morning swim. It reinvigorates our souls (the Zimbo's and mine) and reminds us to see our surroundings with clarity. For our little ones, well - to them, it's just what they've always done on Christmas morning!

Soon after, our friends arrived, the Turducken (that's a chicken in a duck in a turkey) was cooked, we fitted in a bit of rope-jumping, and much merriment was had.

On Boxing Day, some held their gin better than others. And of course, one of us only drank tea. Let's just say, she was the last one standing. But we all laughed ourselves silly. Our bellies were grateful for the workout.

Noddy doubting Big Ears

That was one Happy Christmas!

Christmas Eve

Christmas eve + shining sun + snacks packed and a fully loaded boat = The Island Dog Race

(and bubble-O-bill day for the little boykies)

See last year for the wordy description. Here is the visual diary for this year. Of course, not being much of a photographer, I had failed to pack a camera with a charged battery so all of these were taken on my iphone, whilst trying not to fall in to the big drink myself, or drop phone in to said drink. You'll be pleased to know that the only thing I dropped were my reindeer antlers. My flashing Christmas necklace was safe. Ahhh, yes. What can I say? An Australian Christmas is rarely classy. It is tricky to capture an image of the dogs in the water so you'll have to trust me... there are about 60 dogs in there, amongst their paddling owners (ready to rescue any dog who may need it. No dog was harmed in the making of this blog post). Banjo the wonderstuffy, who is afraid of the water, was safely left at home, to chase the chooks and Ginger the cat.

And this is what I saw, very late that night, when saying good night to Ginger...

The third light of advent

We've had the coldest start to Sydney summer in 50 years. This allows for unusually cosy nights snuggled under the doona, and our little ones are insisting on still wearing winter pyjamas! We have been madly preparing the house to receive some old friends... one of the Zimbabwean's African brothers-from-another-mother (!) is arriving tomorrow, with his wife and 2 children. They currently live in Dublin, Ireland, but seem to be quite home sick for South Africa, so it would be sooooo nice for them to enjoy SUMMER! Not winter, this Christmas. Fingers crossed that the rain dripping down our windows and filling our watertanks kindly holds off a bit over the next 10 days.

The second Advent has come and gone, and tonight we've lit the 3rd Advent candle. Our nativity scene is growing, slowly, slowly. There is a lovely space waiting for the appearance of Mary and Joseph next weekend, when they will commence their trek to our stable.

Our basket for decorations is slowly being filled as the Christmas angels bring us their gifts for our Advent's calendar. Occassionally, those party-girl angels stay out too late and forget to come until the following morning, but they never forget completely. Noah knows that they are invisible so of course they are able to deliver their magic unseen, while we're having breakfast. Ahhhh, years of mischief is paying off.

The second light of Advent is the light of the plants
that reach up to the sun
and in the breeze dance.

The third light of Advent is the light of the beasts
the light of hope that we see
in the greatest and least.

We've added some gumnuts and a tree to our scene for the light of the plants. Our tokens for "beasts" include a felt bird, a knitted chicken, and some yellow feathers. Mental note: must make felted sheep and donkey for next year. More appropriate than chooks, I think.

Tonight I made a rather large error. For the last few days, Noah and Chooch have been turning a very large, sturdy box into a laboratory cubby-house. I, not realising that they had taken such ownership of the box, ripped the box up this evening, to be put out for cardboard recycling. Three quarters of the way through my arduous task, I discovered the crayon lab drawings on the inner walls of their cubby-house. O dear. O big fat dear dear dear me.

There was so much cardboard (did I mention that it was a LARGE box) that I had to walk up our muddy (dirt) road, in light drizzle whilst wearing a head torch, to look for other household's recycling crates to take my excessive load. And now I prepare for the morning of disappointment when my loved ones discover what I've done.

The only thing for me to do is to tell them as soon as possible, apologise profusely and ask for appropriate ways in which I could redeem myself. This is what I (usually rather loudly) demand of them when they damage something of mine. And I really am (unfortunately) Volcano personified, if I find something damaged and they have neglected to tell me that the damage has happened. Have I already said O Big Fat Bum Bum Bum?

Suck it up, Girl. Take it like a good Mama should. Another lesson to be grateful for.

T'was the first of December

As the festive season commences in Australia, madness begins: dates and commitments blur together, the Sydney traffic steams on in the rising summer heat, the school year wraps up and frenzied Christmas shopping begins. This is how it has always been... a steaming frenzy.

The one Christmas that I spent in Germany wasn't like that. It felt much more quiet, gemütlich. This event occurs in opposite seasons, of course: here it is summer... expansive, open, loud and free; there it is winter... still, quiet, dark and cosy. Polar opposites.

As my family grows and our own traditions are built upon, I happily note that I am finding a place of calm. The challenge I have set for myself is to find calm sincerity amongst the thrum of summer song.

So, this is how it begins...

The first advent sunday, I clear a surface high enough to be safe from dog, cat and visiting toddlers. A blue silk is laid out, along with a felted night scene - blue mat with stars, made by Chooch last Christmas. Upon it, a candle with crystals, stones and shells scattered nearby. Above it hangs an Advents' wreath of felt leaves and gum nut elves. Some gently glowing lanterns are added, and that is that.

"The first light of advent is the light of the stones
that shines through the seashells, the crystals and bones.

Shine little light and show us the way
to the bright light of Christmas day."
*

A few days later, our Advent calendar - 24 hand-stitched stockings (inspired by Soule Mama a few years ago) - is hung across windows and, beginning on the 1st December, our Christmas angels bring one or two Christmas decorations each night, waiting for blue-eyed boys to find them each morning. These decorations are held safely in a basket while they wait patiently for the Tree.
And that is all.

Each week, a little bit more is added - slowly more decorations (as the angels bring them), a growing nativity scene, one or two pieces at a time, until finally, by Christmas Eve, almost all of the magic has arrived. This is the perfect pace for me. It is calm and methodical. Each piece arrives just when it is required, like breathing in and breathing out. These new traditions, ground me more and more each year that they are with us.

Peace and quiet blessings to each of us - whether drawing inward under a blanket of northern winter, or with arms outstretched in southern sunshine.