Christmas was full of wonder when I was a child. Born in 1940, I came from the generation where a nut and a tangerine in the bottom of a Christmas sock was a treat, together with a little handmade toy. But, do you know, that brought as much delight as any toy currently advertised on TV.
The next round of wonderful Christmases were when my boys were young and we still kept to modest silly things in stockings and one main present. They were warned well in advance of the financial limit for this!
Third time round, Christmases with grandchildren when the same family tradition applied. Simple things in a Christmas stocking. One main present from their parents and a modest one from their list from two Grandmothers . However it was no big deal when my mother dropped out of this arrangement and gave them some little token she fancied giving them. By then my partner was contributing to the presents too.
How I hate the commercialism of Christmas, it all seems to be about money. What are we doing, buying love?
I am not religious at all but I love the odd carol and the little ways we can find to show that we care about others, which to me is what it is all about.
My mother once said, when she lived alone, “what is the point of being sent a present when there is no one to open it with?” Luckily I lived round the corner so there was always someone to open a present with. She was never alone at Christmas either.
The last two years we have made things for each other or agreed to small presents all round. It is being with each other that counts, sharing a meal, not necessarily on Christmas Day.
But some people are alone from choice, distance, bereavement or neglect. This is something I write about every year, so if this is you, why not tune in from time to time. Ann