I work 20 hours a week. So the theory and the job description go. But Christmas doesn’t work that way. Churches are busy places, and there are so many things to do. Which is fantastic and amazing and now I am tired. I am writing this, still pre-Christmas. It’s Wednesday night, and there’s still plenty on my plate between now and when you are reading this. But I won’t enumerate all that, because you can all imagine it, anyways. What I will describe is how I am spending the 27th of December.
1) I will not go shopping.
To get to the church, I get off the tube at Knightsbridge station and walk past a certain famous department store, epitomizing glamour and glitz. It would be hard to ignore it, though it isn’t hard to walk past. I have yet to be tempted to go it. The windows are flashy, fashionably stunning, and I am not. The doormen, dressed in dashing green livery, are always friendly, opening the doors enticingly when I approach, but I just smile and keep walking. No, the difficulty is everyone else walking by the store. It’s always a crowded corner. I needed to work that fact into my commute. And then there are the cameras. Everyone, it seems, needs to take a picture. Sometimes, it is of the window displays, which are admittedly spectacular. And often people pose under a sign or near the doors, marking their connection with the famed establishment. I was there. The one that I find really strange is those who take photos of particular things in the window. Zooming in on one shoe, one handbag. Not what I’m looking for in travel pics. Maybe it’s just another form of research for the fashionable. I don’t quite get it. But, because I face this kind of prosperity pilgrimage on a regular basis, I will not spend my post-Christmas peace battling any crowds in search of an elusive “deal.”
2) I will not be eating turkey soup.
I am afraid we’re not doing turkey this year. Probably a chicken instead, but that depends on the shops tomorrow. We’re having friends over, but not enough to justify an enormous bird or the ensuing leftovers. And we’ll be moving house (or rather, apartment) just after Epiphany, so stocking the freezer doesn’t seem wise. There will probably be soup because soup seems appropriate for the 27th of December. Maybe red lentil. Maybe roast garlic and potato. We shall see. I did a nice one this past week using left over Christingle oranges, onions, carrots and ginger. It’s nice to consume strong colours at this time of year.
3) I hope to be reading.
Last Christmas, the Spouse hit the nail on the head for me with a multi-part gift , presented as remedy for long hours spent working the ecclesiastical Christmas rush and the stress of moving over the Christmas season. (Hmm, I’m sensing a dangerous pattern. Must plan next year better.) The gift was entirely for me—everything in servings too small to share. Some nice smelly things that foamed in the bath. Some chocolate. A guarantee of uninterrupted time away from everyone. And a thick new novel. Perfect. The days after Christmas are cocooning days, and books help immeasurably with that. There’s something necessary about tumbling into new fiction at Christmas time. Feasts that stretch the imagination to pair with those that merely stretch the waistband. I suppose that if our tree proves to be bookless this year, that might be the one thing to make me hit the shops…
4) Or I might make a gingerbread house.
Because I found this. Isn’t it grand? If it happens, I’ll post my own photos for you.
