Beyond The Wrapping Paper
written by: Verity Mason
Victoria’s face creases into a smile as she remembers the Christmases of years gone by. Her memories are filled with Christmas lights, the smell of her mother’s cooking, and stockings lined up in a row, bulging with simple gifts: small orange, hand-made mittens, a pair of socks, and always a Christmas annual.
In today’s world, by late October, stores are already draped in red and green, filled with sales and Christmas music. She notices that her co-workers talk less about holiday traditions and more about navigating the season’s financial burdens and the exhaustion of crowded shopping centres. The festive season has lost its cheer, becoming a chore, something to groan over at the mere mention of its arrival.
Walking home, Victoria finds herself staring at a brightly lit street bustling with holiday shoppers. Flushed cheeks and wide smiles have been replaced by sullen, pale faces disconnected from the joy of the season. The stress of spending and planning weighs heavily on their downcast heads. Young children oblivious to the burdens of their mommies and daddies zigzag through the crowds, screaming with delight as they reach up on tiptoes to the window ledges, hoping for a glimpse of Christmas playthings.
As she continues home, she begins to reflect on what Christmas had truly meant to her growing up. It wasn’t the presents or the glitzy decorations; it was the warmth of shared time, the small moments of kindness. Forgetting the everyday worries and eating until you could eat no more, sharing stories and laughter.
This year, Victoria aims to make Christmas simpler. No buying of gifts that nobody really needs. She’ll invite a few close friends for dinner on Christmas Day. Their gifts to each other will be the food they made, the thoughts put into it, and the time spent together. Her Christmas wouldn’t come from a store; it would mean so much more.
They’ll dip gingerbread men into thick melted chocolate. The turkey may be overcooked and Molly’s cookies a bit wonky? But they’ll still taste of warm cinnamon and spice.
***
“Thanks, Victoria; that’s the best Christmas dinner I’ve had in ages,” says Jayne.
With everyone nodding happily in agreement, George pops the cork on a bottle of bubbly, and with our flutes charged, he declares the toast.
“Cheers everyone.”
Settled back in our seats, Susie, overcome by her homemade mulled wine, flops dizzily into the armchair by the fire.
The rest of us watch as an animated George presents his version of Scrooge. His goofy performance of charades has us holding our stomachs and wrestling with the pains of laughter.
An unsteady Molly leaps up from the couch, flinging her arms wide.
“Free hugs, anyone!”
The chatter rises and falls; every few minutes a muffled giggle escapes from under Susie’s wollen hat.
“Hey! Victoria, what’s this? We missed one; it’s got your name on it.”
George hands me the parcel, and all heads turn inquisitively in my direction. With a tug on the string, the wrapping paper drops to the floor revealing my Christmas annual.
Tears swell as I recall the words written inside the cover.
1974.
Have a wonderful Christmas, Victoria, love Mummy and Daddy. xxx
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