'Tis The Season To Be Jolly...

CHRISTMAS is almost upon us.
Actually, you should already know that, what with the Christmas carols blaring out the radio, Christmas decorations in the stores, airline prices going up quicker than bank balances going down, etc etc.
This Christmas is significant to me: it's only the second I've spent away from either parent and the fifth without a younger sibling(s) to share the moment and/or annoy the hell out of me. I had planned on heading down to Brisbane for the inevitable family functions, but aforementioned plane tickets and work commitments have combined to keep me in sunny Port Douglas. Good thing is though that the hostel is doing a feed for us "orphans", so it's not like any of us will be alone.
Fortunately Mum's sent up the Christmas presents; unfortunately I'm barred from opening them until Christmas Day. I can guess a few of them by feeling and holding them up to the light, but there's two packages that I have no idea about. Needless to say it's driving me crazy.
When we were kids the presents were only ever put out on Christmas Eve. Early Christmas morning Matt and I would bolt to the tree, have a look at the various presents in our names, look eagerly at the Christmas stocking, eat a token Weetbix (had to have breakfast), then attack the lollies with great gusto.
The younger two would generally be up by this stage as well, and we'd all be comparing box sizes until Dad came out and told us to leave them alone until they were handed out. This would take waaaay too long (had to wait for all the grown-ups to wake up and get dressed), but eventually Dad would dole out the presents one by one to the sounds of delighted kids or the occasional "what's this?".
I can still remember the last Christmas we had with Grandma before she passed on. Of course we didn't know it would be our last Christmas with her: she had just turned 49 and was as bubbly as ever.
We have photos of the day, although given the horrid clothes and even worse glasses I was wearing at the time I'm yet to be convinced that I need to see them again. Maybe the ones without me in them!
The following year we made a long-overdue trek to Mildura for our first (and so far last) Christmas down there with Dad's family; another nine months later and after a brain tumour had robbed her of pretty much everything, she was gone.
Then there was the last Christmas where Mum and Dad were together. It was up at Grandad's property in Nanango, we took the dogs (who delighted in sleeping on the stretchers and running around trying to kill the chooks), my aunt did the bolt with her step-brother, and my uncle showed once and for all he doesn't have the body figure to play Santa Claus.
In recent times either Hannah or Liam have handed out the presents, and one time at Dad's we had a massive game of street cricket that was memorable for the fact that Matt couldn't catch to save his life, with or without a beer in his hand. Come to think of it, neither could anyone.
To me, this is what Christmas is about. Not the presents (although I do enjoy getting enough clothes in December for my birthday and Christmas to not buy any for the rest of the year), but the fun had with those nearest and dearest; be they friends, family, or that strange kid who kept hitting my leg-breaks next-door.
Merry Christmas.