Christmas Traditions - gingerbread houses and potbellied pigs

The post below appeared as a guest post on Communicating Across Boundaries, a blog from Boston, Mass. USA.  Marilyn invited posts about Christmas Traditions - many thanks to her for sharing this with her readers.

Profile tour photo

Christmas in Australia is quite different than in the northern Hemisphere.  When I was a kid I loved that it came at the beginning of the summer so when the excitement of the holiday season died down you still had the whole summer vacation to look forward to, plus the summer weather meant you could actually ride the bike you may have received!

With 7 siblings and no extended family, we had to create our own Christmas traditions that included singing carols around the piano, Christmas crackers and party hats, big lunches of fresh green salads and cold ham and special local “pinkeye potatoes“, family photos, and a softball game at the local football oval.  This all happened after going to church to sing and listen to the choir, but then “sneaking” out (as only a family of 9 can do) before the sermon. The one time we stayed it was about people who only go to church on special occasions!

One of our very imperfect gingerbread houses

When I married an American and moved to the USA there were times when my heart ached for a Tasmanian family Christmas.  For several years I yearned for those old traditions, but as my kids got older I came to cherish our little family of five and our quiet, peaceful Christmases at home, with no other family dynamics.   And when we started our annual Christmas carolling party at our home on Whidbey Island, near Seattle, the mild ache of not having my sisters and my brothers’ wives to sing the descant in “O Come all ye Faithful’ was mitigated by having a local musical genius from New Zealand playing the piano just like my father did, as well as knowing the Downunder version of “Away in a Manger’.

One day when the kids were quite young I read about a great gingerbread recipe in the Seattle Times and so began my very favourite tradition that endures to this day.  I make a huge gingerbread house, complete with windows made of Jolly Ranchers (as much I love and prefer Australian “lollies” I’ve yet to find ones that melt perfectly to make beautiful stained glass windows).

The only rule is that everyone gets to do their own thing with their part of the house and no one is allowed to complain.  That includes comments about the gummy bears on the roof with toothpick spears sticking out of them, courtesy of our son.  Last year’s had an “occupy the North Pole” igloo, thanks to our oldest daughter and, from our other daughter, perfectly laid out flowers around the windows of what inevitably (and ironically) is a church every year, since we discovered the stained glass windows.

A happy and well-fed Izzy the Pig!

After several days or weeks of eating the gingerbread house till it becomes a sad wreck that looks like a survivor of a bomb attack, the part I used to enjoy the most was feeding the remains to my beloved pot-belly pig Isabel. She was appreciative in a way that only a 300 lb pig can be, and when we moved back to Australia I wanted her to know that we were carrying on the tradition and hadn’t forgotten her.  

So, even though she can’t be with us when we make the house, I now have a new tradition – I pack up a huge doubled bagged heap of the remains and present them to her every summer when we return to our property.  She is always very pleased to see me when I come back, even though she is loved and cared for by the people who rent our house, but she is even more pleased to see the gift that I carry 7,000 miles in my luggage to let her know that I miss her.

Walking to Australia

Sunset at Mawelton Beach, Whidbey Island

I have posted twice in one day because I have fallen behind in my commitment to my blog and because today's the day I'm walking back to Australia!  Having done something horrible to my lower back, I have spent the past few days in varying states from lying down to walking non-stop, and at times not being able to move at all.  The power of mind over matter - or it may just be time and anti-inflammatories - has improved things, but this could well be the mother of all trips!

The Clinton Ferry dock

I've enjoyed this flight for years, ever since I started doing it by myself, and when people ask how I can stand it, I remind them that I used to do it for years, often alone, with three kids and I always have that to compare it to.  No movies, no meals in peace, no reading, and almost no sleeping - these days I get to do all that, plus drink free wine! 

Leaving Whidbey Island - Mukilteo ferry dock

But this trip may end up being one other I have to compare to - it may be the longest one yet; longer than the one from Saudi Arabia to New York (about 20 hours) in a middle seat, newly pregnant, with an 8 month old baby on my lap and a sweet Arab man next to me with a 14 month old - on his lap.  It may even feel longer than the 48 hour one from Seattle to Hobart, with three children under five, when we had two plane problems that caused two delays and then a man had a heart attack and we had to turn around and go back to Hawaii, then wait 10 hours to get on another flight, with a bunch of partiers, in the "smoking" section (yes, they actually used to have those on 14 hour flights!!)

Even with the long flights that I've enjoyed, there's always a moment where you think you can't stand it and you're going to flip out and run amok through the cabin.  Once I reach the halfway mark though, it's usually ok, as the second half of anything involving time always goes faster (except for pregnancy). 

The most uncomfortable thing for me at the moment is sitting down, and of the 19 hour trip I'm about to take, 14 of those are non-stop from LAX to Melbourne.  So I'm thinking my only choice might be to walk the whole way.  Once everyone is asleep and things calm down, after meals and general settling in,  I'll be the annoying person pacing up and down the aisles, trying not to bump people who inevitably have various body parts overflowing their seats. 

And still, somehow, I'll find a way to love the trip.  I always do.  The day the smell of jet fuel fails to stir my imagination.......even with a sore back I don't think it ever will.

Thanks for listening...