I am quite the Christmas enthusiast. I decorate the house, I make Christmas food, I wear Christmas sweaters, the works. I truly love it all. I know most Christmas carols off by heart, I watch ‘Love Actually’ and ‘National lampoons Christmas vacation.’

You get the picture. I love Christmas. And here I am in a Xmas jumper:


Those are some strategically placed robins, yes indeed.

Yesterday while driving to my parents’ house where my dad made an exquisite roast beef dinner I was reflecting on why I love Christmas so much and I deduced one thing. It is the one time that people seem generally excited or at the very least worked up about something. People seem to become more alive. Now don’t get me wrong, I know for some the Christmas season is a miserable and lonely time, but I believe even the most depressed person feels a slight glimmer of hope and love during the festive season.

The reason why I appreciate this is because I am thankful every single day that I am up and about and not rotting with disease somewhere. I honestly try to find the beauty and joy in life even in my darkest moments. I was brought up in a household rampant with a sense of celebration…we celebrated everything, from a good report card to my sisters first steps 25 years ago. I remember celebrating back in 1989 when my parents got their first ever ‘hi-fi’ with double tape deck and CD player and my dad played music all day long…it was Orietta Berti and Claudio Villa, true…and my mum had a token cd entitled ‘The Happy Accordion’ which was pretty awful…but I remember the spirit of fun and adventure. And as a family looking back we had hardships…my brother’s health was not always fantastic and the school system often failed him, I also had health issues with doctors suspecting I had Crohn’s disease (which I didn’t), my mum who was a university graduate and the most intelligent woman I know could only get work as a nanny, she had three kids and the most steady income was my dad’s teacher’s salary which wasn’t much and not to mention, we lived in Canada, way up North and were quite isolated. We only had each other to depend on.

But this was never, ever apparent. This always took a backseat to enjoying life. As I grow older I realise that this is not the norm in most households. There are many joyless people out there. Many have reason to be. But many don’t too.

Sometimes I feel foolish about my level of enthusiasm about things. Sometimes I even feel judged. But every time I try to reel it in I just come across fake. After all, when did being happy become a bad thing?

However, during Christmas even the biggest Scrooges let in a little happiness in their hearts.

And I feel a little less foolish.

Have yourselves a merry little Christmas.

And here’s some Christmas Apple pie: