I’m writing tonight (at least I think it’s nighttime) from somewhere over the Bay of Bengal. I’m currently feeling like that little kid again, the one I wrote about several posts ago who anticipates Christmas like a trip to Disney, because I’m sitting in a huge business class seat and am transfixed by the compartments and gizmos before me. I had to ask one of the extremely friendly flight attendants where the remote for my flat screen lived and now know where to put my hot towel after using (one of no less than eight I’ve been offered on this flight alone).
Don’t get me wrong I’m well acquainted with turning left on airplanes (lots of work travel – nothing glamorous), but Singapore Airlines’ A380 is a lot different than the prewar junkers that scoot me from LGA to ATL on the reg. I have no idea what the Bay of Bengal looks like and have only the light blue waters of Perth’s ocean views on my mind. I’ve just left Western Australia where I was on “holiday” visiting my best friend, Kristina Young, and her family (amazing husband John, perfect kids Jack, Ava, and Chase) in Perth.
Several months ago, as I was walking a drugged-up and crippled post-accident Hudson around the block I received a call from Kris around midnight (that time change is a doozy) asking if I would be a godmother to Chase. That request was followed up by an offer to fly me to Perth for his baptism, which we celebrated last weekend. The day was perfect. We set out as a family of six (Young’s plus me) for St. Hilda’s Chapel around 10 am under a cloudless sky. Family and friends were waiting with the priest for the ceremony, and I have to say it was one of the most joyous services I’ve attended in a church. Everyone was in great spirits throughout, though Chase’s mood took a turn during the holy water submersion (in his defense those three “pours” were more than just a little water on his head, his face afterwards reminiscent of those participating in the polar bear plunges of my youth).
Immediately afterwards we had a dreamy picnic in the park by Kristina and John’s home, complete with artisanal food truck pizzas and more rose than a vineyard in Provence. As the kids played on a nearby jungle gym and ran around in the grass, us adults lounged on pillows and blankets Downton Abbey style. After four days in Perth, on my first vacation in years, I felt myself let go of the tension I had been carrying from the tumult of the past 18 months. The combination of being cocooned in the bosom of family and friends (always wanted to use that saying) and the sweet smell of grass and earth allowed me to breathe easier than I had in months. As the crowd dwindled down to just close friends and family, I realized hours had flown by seemingly in minutes, as they do on only the best days. With our cheeks burning from laughter and hearts full we walked back to the house for more revelry, not wanting the day to end.
Krissy and I met in grade school in Sydney after both entering year four midterm upon relocating from overseas due to our fathers’ jobs. After a brief interlude of hating one another we became inseparable. Soon after meeting, our families fell into an easy friendship, one that’s lasted a lifetime. We’ve traveled all over the world together, sometimes just Krissy and me, other trips involving both extended families skiing or meeting to celebrate major life milestones. Time has a funny way of making or breaking relationships from our youth, and for our crew it’s only made our visits these days that much sweeter. Though I only get to Perth every few years it’s like going home to me, fitting given this particular trip fell over the Thanksgiving holiday. Sue, Krissy’s mom, I refer to as “Mum” or “Aussie Mom,” and her entire family has become an extension of mine.
Case in point, upon entering Krissy’s parents’ home after only a day in Australia I found myself in their pantry searching for the lollies Mum always has in a Tupperware on the shelf. Despite being three years and a few houses since my last visit, there they were, gummy snakes to bring me back to when I was twelve after school and would run from their pool, careening into the house (water flying everywhere) for candy in between whatever game Krissy and I had invented that day. Melissa always goes for the Tim tams. Krissy the mint cookies. It’s truly the stuff of family, and I find it (and the candy) without missing a beat when I come to visit Perth. It’s been an amazing trip and the perfect kick off for the holidays, which as we all know is my favorite time of year – one about family, friends and being together.
It’s not always perfect. Family, that is. And the holidays …usually because of the imperfections of family involved. But, fresh off my vacation and with this Shiraz swishing around my glass to the rhythm of some moderate turbulence, I’m looking forward to the smooth beats of family time, a Christmas song that goes a little like this:
Upon arrival at the house in Florida I know my dad will pull out a glass (always a tumbler) and orate briefly about the wine he’s picked for me. My flight home at Christmas typically arrives late at night so mom will likely be in her PJs, pacing from the location of our impromptu cocktail moment in the living room to the kitchen and back on her tippy toes to check on whatever food she’s heated for us knowing the torture of holiday travel is only remedied by carbohydrates at all hours of the day.
In the days leading up to Christmas we all revolve around each other like planets – our innate want to be close like gravity and the activities of the day pushing and pulling us in all directions. Mom and I will hit the mall before Christmas Eve and always head to Crate and Barrel for a brief escape. Wading through crowds and joining the line at the adjoining Starbucks we’ll rate this year’s holiday assortment and perhaps agree on a table runner or collection of gold wicker tree ornaments to add to our collection. On the way home from shopping, we’ll catalogue items we already have and may need from the food store. How many bread bowls will we need? Remember how Grandma turned up her nose at the sight of chili that one Christmas at Kendale?? We’ll both snort Starbucks onto the dash.
“It’s almost Christmas!” we will say, pulling into the driveway. To our delight someone else will have just arrived, maybe Shea, with her husband John and a perfectly thoughtful hostess gift for my mom. She’s just like that, always doing the most in the best way. Us four will walk into the house to the fresh aroma of Lysol and Frasier fir – a familiar combo born from Kaely’s obsessive cleaning and the Christmas tree candles I get mom each year. Is it happy hour yet? Sure is! Jack and Dad will interrupt our greetings, perhaps joining us from a fishing trip, removing their sunglasses to show off their astonishingly impressive sunglass tans. We’ll see the corners of their eyes crinkle from the salt and sun as they laugh and head to clean up before dinner, flip flops slapping against their heels and spraying the sand from their feet.
Like Chase’s Christening day in Perth, the days will go by too fast and the details will become fuzzy in our minds. There will be singalongs and fights, tears and laughter, everything that makes our time together a tradition in itself. I used to hate the thought of spending Christmas anywhere other than DC, thinking it was the familiarity of my childhood haunts that sparks the holiday feeling. Not anymore. It’s not about where we are or what we’re doing even, it’s falling into that same planetary alignment we always do that makes it feel like Christmas. One of us may be in retrograde or weathering unexpected turbulence, but with our parents like two poles – forces in their own right – we keep on turning, dancing to Kernan Christmas beat.
The Dog Hair Diaries 