I don’t know why it takes me by surprise after all this time, but Christmas has a habit of creeping up and ambushing me. Every year during December I make the same promise to myself – next year I will start earlier. I should know by now that I never do.
This year has been exactly the same, but with the added stress of earlier posting dates. For two weeks solid my life has been on hold while I focussed on nothing but making the post office deadline. I am happy to say that I did it! The ironic thing was that I don’t even know when the last posting dates are/were – they were mostly made-up ones that sounded right in my head at the time. I have to say though that when I took in parcels and packages I didn’t get the normal pitying look from the post office staff or the remarks that these-will-never-make-it-in-time-why-didn’t-you-check-the-last-posting-dates-you-numpty.
Writing cards to everyone at home made me horribly homesick. Especially thinking of our snug house decorated for Christmas, surrounded by the rolling English countryside and friends. Even while sitting in the bright winter sunshine, I got homesick for the misty cold damp dark days of December. I know that being outside at home this time of year is not pleasant but it makes being inside with all the cosiness and twinkly lights very appealing.
Getting my head round new traditions has been difficult as I long for a cold, damp, cozy, village Christmas. But we are creating our own traditions out here:
We will find a bright, warm church to belt out the old carols in on Christmas Eve.
PS It looks like, yet again, a white Christmas will elude me.