Gaul revisited

Christmas arrives in a couple of days. This year, I haven't yet felt the buzz. But sure I will, as we put up little stockings and do up our tree today. A real pine tree which has grown taller than me. The best part is I am not going to cut and kill it. It will stand in its pot and breathe and laugh as we fuss around it.

Add to it there is a chill in the air and it's making me walk around the house in granny socks. More for old time's sake than any real need of desperate warmth. Hubby finds them really ugly and calls me names. And I say he should have seen me long long ago when Christmas time had me in granny stockings, cap and muffler. And now for added value, I add the stooped shuffling walk too.

Oh, how the winters were spent with a heater which had coal pieces. As we huddled around listening to stories that loomed larger than life. In the night, the shadows grew bigger and took life as we watched in revered amazement. Hot dinners were relished using as little of the hands as possible. Taking off your gloves or taking out your hands from the cocooned warmth was painful. And today I wonder how the dishes got done. Slowly my heart fills up as my mom's calm face flash in front of me.

We longed to get into bed. The first minute of slipping under the heavy quilt was numbing and slowly as the warmth spread all over comfortably, there would be that dreaded feeling. Oh no! But how long can a bladder hold in winter?

The mornings brought with it a dew fresh day. Fog and mist covered the world. Cheeks are rubbed with cold cream as I cycle or jog down the lane. I cannot see much ahead and am glad for the cream that shields my uncovered face and lips. I wait for the sun. Sometimes it appears briefly, sometimes it doesn't. I can no longer see the outline of the blue mountains that are so clearly visible on a clear summer day. I don't even see the tall trees which are much closer, all around our little town. Maybe just a hint of it for that assurance of familiarity. I always wondered how the winter nights had a clear steely moon freezing everything in sight but the days were dunked in fog.

And then Christmas arrives and we celebrate it as always. Our parents never went to new year parties leaving us kids at home. I remember having a good dinner with family and friends and going to bed long before midnight. There was a reason for that. Because on the first day of the new year, we got up early and excited. It was the picnic day! A huge number of people got into a bus and drove off to the picture perfect riverside. We seemed to know all the kids and the all the parents knew each other. Checkered sheets were spread and while the elders got down to having their own laughs and organising the food, we kids played around or went to explore the wilderness further off.

And picnics those days meant that a huge feast was spread out with everything cooked from scratch at the site itself. So amidst much merry making, vegetables were chopped and chicken, ducks and fish were ready to be roasted. In no time there were fires burning and huge cauldrons hanging over them. The aroma carried for miles and we followed it back at lunchtime. Strangely I don't remember carrying water for all the cooking and cleaning. The crystal clear spring water was used and nobody had ever heard of water borne diseases till then. There was a lot of cheer and laughter. Much like a scene straight out of an Asterix comics, now that I think of it. And I think we did have a bard too. Except he wasn't called Cacafonix.