Twas the night before Christmas
And all through Brisbane
The Global Goddess continued
Her hunt for some men
Her stockings were hung
On the back deck with care
With hope she could catch
Saint Nick in her lair…
MY Christmas tree is older than me. And, if possible, even daggier. This story begins some 46 years ago, when my parents were first married and bought their first Christmas tree. Every year that tree would come on holidays with us to the Gold Coast, shoved into the Kingswood with me, my three sisters, and our budgie. And every year it would return home with us. Until one day, one of our uncles gifted us a brand, spanking, new tree, and our original tree was retired.
Some years ago, I somehow stumbled across it and adopted it like a long, lost family member. I am not a particularly nostalgic person, and yet I love this tree. It speaks to me of sublime summers on the Gold Coast, hot, scratchy nights with sand in the sheets, sunburn on the skin and mozzies. Of bleached hair, sandcastles and waking up on Christmas morning to new summer swimmers, pink pyjamas and adventure books. That’s the thing with memories. You can’t muck around with them.
The other day a friend was telling me about a sad scene he encountered while out shopping. Picture two little kids and their mother in a wheelchair. The kids were skipping along the path, excitedly chattering about the new clothes they were about to buy for Christmas. Until they arrived at the store and it was closed. The store was St Vincent’s de Paul and, being run by volunteers, was operating on limited hours. But these little kids didn’t know this and started crying. Their wheelchair-bound mother had what appeared to be a slight seizure. My friend froze. Impotent with the scenario unfolding before him and, with a wallet full of credit cards but no cash, unable to assist. He came home and wept.
An acquaintance of mine talks about his work Christmas party the other night. In a bid to survive the bullshit and big egos which have dogged him all year, he decided to bring his own festive cheer in the form of an illegal substance. It was this illegal substance which he was casually dipping into his drink when his bully of a boss came over, demanded my acquaintance hand over the drink to his boss, who couldn’t be bothered to wait at the bar for his own. Apparently, the boss was in an uncharacteristically jolly mood for the rest of the evening.
Everyone I talk to seems to speak of a tough year. The headlines have been peppered by sadness, loss, tragedy. Global economic conditions seem to have spawned a new breed of bully bosses. More and more people such as that woman in the wheelchair are buying their children clothes from charity shops.
But I also believe it’s a season for hope. I’ve personally asked Santa for a hot tradie under my daggy old Christmas tree, which, if it happens, could possibly constitute a break and enter, if not a miracle. It’s a time to rejoice and to reflect. Look towards the future with optimism. Try to be a better person. Express a bit of gratitude.
On that note, I wish to thank everyone who has followed, read, laughed and cried with The Global Goddess this year. I’ll be back in 2013 with more stories, more travels and, if Santa knows what’s good for him, maybe even a bloke or two.
If you have your own Christmas story to share, I’d love to hear it, via a comment below.
In the meantime, I wish you peace on earth.
The Global Goddess 
I have only read a few of your blogs and I have laughed and cried with you and commented on a couple. You have inspired me to start blogging again! Yay, for you and me. I did get teary when I read about that poor lady and children, also about your friends sense of worthlessness for that moment, of not being able to help. God bless him for caring and sharing with you. I am sure that he will pay something forward somewhere and someone else will benefit, all due to that experience.Yes it has been a very tough year and currently I am counting every blessing as I have had some really bad news in the last couple of days. The accidental and unexpected death of a good friend and my bestie from school days has suffered a heart attack. Her and I have remained great friends for over 40 years, so this news is a bit close to my heart. 2012 has had its moments but a lot of people are currently and have suffered much more than me. Maybe I am lucky, but I am determined to use every piece of good and bad news as a lesson. Good luck with your bloke search, but hey, is it that important, really?
Thank you so much for your comments. I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. Write it. Express it. And grieve. Cry, laugh, dance, sing and sleep. I wish you every happiness for 2013 and beyond. As for my bloke search, who knows? I’m an old romantic, what can I say?
I have set up my wordpress page. Woo Hoo! Please have a look and let me know what you think. I am just sorting out the logistics before I write anything much there.
http://wp.me/p30cvY-4
How do people subscribe to follow me?
Oh I see that wordpress has decided that I comment on your post as my wordpress name of Laughter, Fun and Good Times. Cool!
I hope that you had a great Christmas. Did you manage to find a suitable bloke?
Rhonda
Happy Christmas Goddess. One of my childhood memories – which I shared with some incredulous friends recently – was that our Christmas stocking was one of Mum’s old nylons. And at the toe was a penny (later probably a 20 or 50 cent piece), and on top of that was an orange. Oranges were expensive and relatively rare in the 60s, so we didn’t eat them like we do now…and it was a real treat. Then the other presents (yes, pyjamas were a regular gift!) were on top of those two items, stretching the stocking into all manner of odd shapes. Hope your search for romance is not a long one…and look forward to reading a few New Year’s resolutions (Goddess-style)!
Happy Christmas to you too Glass Half! That’s a lovely memory you’ve shared. Your mum sounds like a practical woman. Thanks for your support, friendship and love this year. Here’s to more adventures for us both 2013! x
…I set fire to Santa once. Luckily not the real one. He was the head chef of the now defunct Kooralbyn Resort masquerading as Santa for a pic I did once: nativity scene at sunset looking out over the mountains. Three wise men (local cowboys) and a nervous orphaned baby kangaroo were the rest of the cast. The manager;who was in charge of throwing small amounts of sugar on the campfire to create a brief flare to light up the scene, gaily (he was pissed) tossed a hand full on the coals. WHOOOMPFFF! The baby roo shat all over Santa and leapt from his grasp and was never seen again. The horses reared and ran off..Santa had second degree burns to his leg where his suit (scrounged from Myer in Bris) had melted to his leg and; just to set the whole scene off ,we just managed not to set the entire Kooorallbyn Vally alight by dousing the flames with iced water from the esky. The pic before the chaotic vesuvian erruption got a front page run on Christmas eve.Warmest wishes Misss Chris for a new year that you’d dream of. MM x I know…I’m sorry. The story should be a lot longer.(-:
I did it. What do you think Goddess? Please read and let me know, after all you are teh one that inspired me. Cheers Rhonda
http://wp.me/p30cvY-3
Hi. You go girl. Am currently out bush camping but will have a look when I get back in early January.