‘Why do we have Christmas?’ To anticipate and celebrate

Press, 24 December 1986, Page 13

‘Why do we have Christmas?’ To anticipate and celebrate

‘lmages of Christmas; is a five-minute exercise Kay Uhl set for the women who attended her Women’s Writing Workshop at the Christchurch Arts Centre. Here the writers, of varied backgrounds, share their perceptions of the festive season.

Christmas is for me a time to focus. To focus on loving — on giving. To balance the scales of consumerism and self. To hold within me the original impulse and to make that a reality. A time of intensity — the agonising loneliness of Christmas without love — but the ecstacy of a Christmas with! One year my children wrapped dried fragrant petals in cellophane and ribbons and on their own initiative, carried them in a willow basket to the local geriatric home. The love and anticipation as they arranged each ribbon — the excitement on returning home, telling of their newly made friends. 'Tis a memory I cherish. — Shirley Winterborn. A A A A A A

Anticipation — a building up — waiting women — women planning — coping — stretching pushing their resources, mending anxiety in the family — remembering forgotten aunts people alone — thinking of children’s desires, parents’ needs, lovers’ wants: thinking, planning, cooking, scrubbing, wrapping, ordering, buying, washing, coping ... Facilitators of this medley with its potential for fraught tempers — coping, caring, collapsing. — Wendy Cox.

iif B 9 It is when the snow returns when the skies grow dark earlier and earlier when the stillness settles that it emerges this deep awareness of being held by the cold. The air freezes being in the weather the world takes effort and wanting going outside means pulling the layers close it is important to be covered. The silence of Christmas is also cold like snow it is hard inside only reflects warmth we lick ice from our hearts so that when we open our arms to embrace the shards cannot cut into the expensive layers of happy disguise . we wrap ourselves with light but cannot hold the longing. Christmas is a time of unbearable intimacy. — Martha Bell.

Thoughts of ... presents — one year panicking two weeks before, the next scheming in November — either way

determined to avoid the irritable frenzy of jostling families, glaring lights and viscous canned music. Usually disappointed with the gifts I am given, I plot and worry for hours over what others would most want, conditional, of course, on what I want them to have, and always too expensive. I fume hopelessly as decorations appear earlier and earlier over the years, and flick the radio off as the first jingles play furtively between the last track and the news. And yet as the time draws nearer I am the moth drawn to the city of glitter, plastic and busy throngs, vaguely hostile, but intrigued. — Eva Lin.

“Why do we have Christmas?” asks my three-year-old. I pause. I want to answer him with my truth. For many years now I have wanted to escape the materialistic concept of Christmas, to somehow lessen the effect of clanging cash registers, the frantic buying of videos, microwave ovens, trampolines, and cabbage patch dolls. I have, I think, successfully undermined the power of Father Christmas, he receives credit for

a simple stocking of fruit, nuts, and sweets, for the rest we exchange simple gifts. “But why do we have Christmas?” insistent now. I answer slowly, “We have Christmas to celebrate the birthday of a man who wanted a better world, love, and peace, and the wisdom of children — he was born in a stable.” — Lynne Bendall.

“Good morning Nurse, Happy Christmas.” “Good morning. What a beautiful day. Did you enjoy the Christmas carols last night? Santa has left you some Christmas gifts at the end of your bed. Cherries, soap, a comb ...” And so the Christmas cheer goes on. 111, depressed, in pain, confused, vomiting ... “Happy Christmas. You look well today. Are you expecting any visitors?” But are you really happy? Where would you rather be? Should I just leave you alone? Do your family still care? Where were you last Christmas? The day passes and we are all exhausted. Tomorrow is another day and the game will be over.

-By

Jude Foley