I don’t really have any Christmas traditions – growing up in a family that didn’t celebrate it isn’t really conducive to having them! And Tobermory’s traditions revolve around, well, being in the Northern Hemisphere, for a start, with the attendant snow and ability to eat yourself into a stupor without boiling to death, plus his family gets together and does The Family Christmas Thing.
They have a twelve foot tree this year.
Tobes and I haven’t really had any traditions of our own. This year I got a real tree, mostly because he asked.
Now, it’s Christmas Eve. The presents (such as they are, as we’re having a cheap year – house repairs this year have been Expensive) are all wrapped. The lights on the tree are on. I have LED tealight candles on the staircase. His stocking, the one his mother embroidered for him while pregnant, is hung. The fridges are somewhat excessively full of food, an issue I plan to resolve in the next few days (along with some careful stashing of the inevitable leftovers in the chest freezer).
We had steak and salad for dinner – we’ve done this fairly consistently for the last few years. Why not, it’s summer, right?
And now we’re all ensconced on the couch, with various drinks and snacks, watching the Sky adaptation of Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather. I am warm, well fed, very happy and content, and snuggling with my husband.
This is a tradition that I can get behind.