Daughter Anne arrived from London yesterday, and we hadn't left the
airport before she was whinging about the absence of a real Christmas
tree this year. We always have one, she insists, it's a tradition.
I suppose it's a tradition of sorts, although its primary purpose
always seemed to be to provide Anne and I with an excuse to knock the
top off a bottle of champagne and get slowly tiddly as we decorated the
tree.
Now that we are in the country I think we should be embarking on a
fresh set of traditions. When we lived in New York we got into
the habit of American-style Christmas trees - splendid Douglas firs,
covered from top to toe in coloured lights, and tinsel, and glass balls.
Back in Oz our scruffy pine trees seem not to have the necessary infrastructure to sustain that sort of excess.
To say nothing of the mess they make as they shed pine needles all over the floor.
So I've decided I'm going to tough it out this year - no real Christmas
tree. There's a tiny artificial tree that will have to do.
I'm surprised that a 37 year old woman should get so exercised about a
tree. I've survived a Mohawk, a tattoo, and various body
piercings from Anne over the years, but suddenly it seems my wild child
has discovered her inner Conservative, and she wants traditions.
She wants me to make marshmallows for Christmas. Have you tried
to find a recipe for marshmallows recently? It's not easy.
I've been searching the web, because the cook book collection was no
help. I've found a recipe that might serve, but I can tell it's
going to be a very sticky affair - any recipe that includes liquid
glucose usually ends up with me stuck to every surface I touch.
Son Matthew has his own traditions on Christmas day. It's
Matthew's birthday. (It wasn't meant to be, of course. He
wasn't due until the end of January, but in the manner which turned out
to be prophetic of the sort of person he would become, he elected to
make a grand entrance at just the wrong moment). So Christmas for
him has always been a bit problematic. As always he will conduct
a careful inventory to make sure he has got two of everything.
When he is finally convinced that no-one has tried to dud him, he will
proceed to make his own distinctive contribution to Christmas
Day. Matt works as a barman while he is studying at University,
and that means we'll get great cocktails all day.
I'll make the sugar syrup, and get the fruit, and make sure we have
enough silly umbrellas, then all I need to do is get out of the way
while he proceeds to make Tom Cruise's efforts in Cocktail look like
amateur hour.
By the time you read this it will all be over - our first Christmas in
our new home. It will be wonderful, because it always is, but the
start of a new set of traditions will make it very special for Mr. S
and me. I hope your Christmas was a happy one, too.
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Change of Life 
