New Christmas Traditions

 

I came across something not so long ago (not that I can find it now) that suggested one of the ways to keep oneself happy and alert at Christmastime in retirement is to embrace new traditions. Something of an oxymoron there I thought, as I pondered on all those nostalgic rituals of Christmas past and thought no more about it.

Buried in the recesses of my mind, however, here we are a matter of days before Christmas and I keep coming across novel experiences for this time of year and suddenly find myself contemplating whether or not they should be adopted for the future.

To be fair most of it I certainly don't want to repeat. Like this morning when I took the youngest to a walk-in vaccine centre back at the local auction house in Leyburn. Nothing Christmassy there, you might think but we wandered into their cafe afterwards for coffee and mince pies. It must have been the list of events on the glossy page left on the table that inspired me; film showings, festive teas, speciality auction, art exhibition; maybe I should make time to come here next year I thought. 

Then there was yesterday when we made the long motorway journey to Nottingham and back to check on the rental property that went on the market for sale at the beginning of the month. It seemed like the whole world was travelling by car or lorry; perhaps they'd all put houses up for sale  in some kind of new weird Christmas practice. Despite media reports that town centres are deserted as everybody stays at home to work or shelter from Omicron particles, the M1 was certainly the place to be.

 Also, don't ask me why but I have recently had an overwhelming urge to make things; some of them, like fingerless gloves, are useful but a macramé angel is less so and all I can say about an orange and cinnamon tree is the scent is overpowering.

At least I've finally put away the wall paint and brushes; some rituals have to finish early if I'm to do anything practical by way of preparation for guests, like making beds or baking. In fact this year, I almost didn't get the tree up in time to avoid my heritage of tinsel wars with the youngest who returned on Sunday and hates the stuff whereas I remain acutely aware of the advantage it offers in disguising bare branches.

Consequent upon her return, lateral flow tests are now a regular ritual and how did drinking mulled wine on the patio become a thing again?

Of course, the old traditions are always the best (sentimental simperer speaking) especially the one that dictates that everything is left until the last minute as I succumb to diversionary tactics. New customs, my foot! They have all just been ways to induce inevitable eleventh hour arrangements which became an integral part of working life and without which, even now in retirement, Christmas would never feel the same.