Stories: Christmas
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We're back on the "Stories" beat, with a seasonal theme. Share your stories of Christmas past: happy, sad, appalling, amusing, inspiring; at home and abroad; best and worst.
57 Responses
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I'll think more, but this Christmas is my first with a neice, and man do I wish it would hurry up and arrive already :-)
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Graeme,
Is that because she's bugging you, or because you can't wait to see how much she enjoys it?
Its important: one makes you a grinch, the other makes you an indulgent uncle. (no value judgement here: both have their place)
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Here we go.
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Given that she's not yet one, and I've met her once, I'm pretty sure it's not the former. She might not even realise it's her first Christmas, but I will...
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Here we go.
So did you ever post the recipe for stuffed turkey with cranberry & orange salsa?
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I don't think I did. I'll look it up when I'm back at the farm these holidays.
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It's a bit weird being in Japan during Christmas. I've now been trapped here 10 years in a row. Actual religious content = zero. It's not even a holiday as such (half the time I have had to attend meetings on campus on the 25th). It's more characterised by a carolling cacophony of commercialism, and an accompanying confusion of American cargo culture. Go into a supermarket and you'll see plastic nodding Santas, fir trees, and a soundtrack of Rudolph/ Jingle Bells/ etc. Many neighbourhoods put up illuminated decorations: so if I wander down the back streets, I can see the shapes of Christmas trees, Santas, reindeer, Frosty the Snowman ... and Hello Kitty ... and a giant Pooh.
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I suppose no one is going to tell the Tales of Family Knockdown Dragout Fights, since NZ is so small and there's bound to be blowback from the wrong person reading these stories... I'll keep my local ones on the down-low too, in that case. (Or am I the only person with nutbar relatives?)
In America, I did once attend a giant family Christmas where there was an actual crack-baby in attendance, and there was a giant showdown when his grandparents attempted to take him away from his teenage mother to go to the doctor. That girl screamed like a fire-engine siren.
Christmases in Louisiana often included a Christmas Eve by an outside bonfire, roasting an entire pig over the flames and drinking whiskey and 7Up until all participants were completely sozzled. Large chunks of the crackling had usually been stolen by the people who couldn't hold out for lunch the next day (ie my cousin and me). That pig roast should probably go in the 'memorable meals' thread too, now that I think about it...
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Christmases in Louisiana often included a Christmas Eve by an outside bonfire, roasting an entire pig over the flames
Did you have the traditional deep-fried turkey as well?
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Deep-fried turkey should not be scoffed at, for it is some *good shit*. I mean, my arteries are now, fundamentally, aluminium tubing filled with chicken wire and shortening, but it was worth it.
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Me? Scoff? Never - I am in awe of anyone who can cook in what is essentially an improvised explosive device. Let alone cook something that turns out looking so mouthwateringly bad for you.
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I mean, my arteries are now, fundamentally, aluminium tubing filled with chicken wire and shortening, but it was worth it.
Metaphor of the week, right there.
Your first Christmas with kids who are old enough to appreciate it is, well, magical. Awesome. I have photos somewhere of my fourteen month old son ripping into his first Christmas stocking, and the sheer joy on his face is cynic-melting.
This morning I found my ten year old daughter's secret letter to Santa. It started off with 'Do you really exist? I don't think you do' and progressed to 'List of Stuff I Want'. Nothing wrong with covering your bases...
And I was going to tell the hil__ar__ious story of the time my partner gave me a cardboard Chris Cairns, and then I remembered that was a birthday present...
(Or am I the only person with nutbar relatives?)
Define 'nutbar'. My dad put an axe through the Christmas cake one year.
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Define 'nutbar'. My dad put an axe through the Christmas cake one year.
Depends if it was done in an ironic 'geez, this cake's a bit dense' way, or in more of a 'Heeeeere's Johnny!" Jack Nicholson manner.
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Define 'nutbar'. My dad put an axe through the Christmas cake one year.
One christmas a former in-law set fire to his eyebrows. Although that probably constitutes less "nutbar", more "catastrophically hirsute".
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Depends if it was done in an ironic 'geez, this cake's a bit dense' way, or in more of a 'Heeeeere's Johnny!" Jack Nicholson manner.
Aiming for the former, succeeding in the latter. I think he was also aiming for ironic when he shot my cat.
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given we don't do xmas, this year we'll be spending 25 dec on the road, driving from hamilton to levin with 4 under fives, 1 teenager and a multitude of adults. some of this group (including 3 of the under fives) will have got off the plane after a 7-hour flight the day before. i'm sure there will be some stories to tell by the end of that day...
but i thought is was time for my kids to see the south island, given they've been to europe, asia & australia. let's hope it doesn't flood this december - the heavy rain warnings this morning didn't make me feel too optimistic!
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Anjam,
The trick is lots of stops at places where they can run around. Rest areas away from the road, etc.
A really good trick is to include a stop at the hot pools at Tokaanu.
Little buggers soon fall asleep afterwards.
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One year I made Christmas day last about 44 hours by flying from Auckland to Canada. I had already had most of a Christmas day in the sun before boarding the flight, had about 20 hours of Christmas in transit (counting the stop at Los Angeles), and after that still had a few hours to share presents and food with family.
It was all surprisingly low-key if somewhat surreal. The airports were very quiet. The flight crew out of Auckland wore Hawaiian shirts and were particularly generous with the bubbly and free chocolates. No-one on board was overly demanding or whiny. The only unnerving thing was the nun with guitar sitting a few rows back from me - fortunately she didn't sing and nothing ill came of it. I arrived safely to a white Christmas in Vancouver. We had a barbecue.
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but i thought is was time for my kids to see the south island, given they've been to europe, asia & australia. let's hope it doesn't flood this december - the heavy rain warnings this morning didn't make me feel too optimistic!
The summer forecast for the south -- warm and dry -- is good for tourism, if not for farming, so you should be okay.
It's an intriguing experience joining the South Island tourist trail. We found it prudent to avoid mentioning we were from Auckland though ...
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We found it prudent to avoid mentioning we were from Auckland though ...
Yeah, but us Hamiltownians are safe enough - just don't mention dairy farming...
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Go far enough south and they may not even know what Auckland or Hamilton are. I remember a conversation I had with a farmer in Southland one holiday season. After asking me what I thought of the quality of their roads (they were remarkably free of pot holes) and learning I was (at the time) from Christchurch he said, "Ah, Christchurrrch. I been there once. I don't like the big city."
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I think he was also aiming for ironic when he shot my cat.
Ironic was the name of your dog?
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The only unnerving thing was the nun with guitar sitting a few rows back from me -
Now, that would have had me getting off the flight.
Almost, anyway.
Either that or cracking 'sure picked a bad day to stop sniffin' glue' and 'don't call me shirley' jokes.
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OK, so here's one from when I was fourteen (33 years ago).
My mum and I were going to a Christmas morning tea at our Church and she had promised to make a pavlova. She needed to make it the night before but arrived home from her work Christmas drinks drunk as a skunk.
So, while Mum lay semi-comatose on her bed she yelled instructions to her 14 year old son on "How to make a Pavlova". The pav was a great success - the right height and 'stickiness'.
The next morning we go to church, Mum with her headache and me with 'her' pav...and the compliments begin to flow about the wonderful consistency of her creation...how did she do it?...which recipe did she use?...
Every Christmas I remind her of it. That was the last time she made pavlova, and the last time she ate it.
BTW - the Edmonds Cookbook seems to be the most reliable recipe.
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I thought about best and worst Christmases, alot, and I couldn't honestly say that I have ever had a Christmas I didn't like. The ones in England were okay because I had them with friends. They weren't the same, but not many people can say that in 44 years, they've only had 2 Christmases away from their family - and so it transpires that much as I tried to find funny stories about disastrous Christmas days, there just weren't any. I like Christmas. Always have, always will, perhaps because I have a huge family and we all get together every year, and every year it's the same, and I love that. Since Dad died a couple of years ago, not much has changed, although my mother thought it might. We all still want to go to her place to hang out together, there are very few arguments, if any, we still all enjoy each others' company greatly (some of us have had to admit that there are some members of our family we would be friends with even if we weren't related) and there's the bonus of swimming when/if it gets hot. Yes, I do love Christmas.
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