Archive for December, 2010

Christmas for me has been a tricky time. I never pretended to enjoy it because it was always a holiday that divided a family of both the very religious and the very not. The Christian contingency always loved to skirt the present-giving day and shunned it as commercialization which meant that we were always the kids without a shiny bike to ride on Boxing Day.

Now that I am a mother the meaning is completely different. My son has no idea about the meaning of Christmas (he goes to a Jewish preschool and mistook a Maori statue of the assembly of the Gods of Waitangi in New Zealand as a Menorah)… I love his creative little mind.

My father died a few years ago within a week of Christmas. I cannot approach the observance of December 25th without a certain sadness as I quietly grieve for one of the few connections I have to a family, somewhere…anywhere.

I have no idea about the future but for today, Christmas for my son was one of the first observed times where he spent time with his cousins of similar age. We live in a different state so this was incredible special for him. Nearly four generations of his father’s ancestry were amongst the luncheon and I captured the moment in this little film. This is a little gift to my son’s and his family.

What is your Christmas like?

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I wrote a poem for a couple who have a stunning beach house in Sydney. The afternoon sea breezes have often kissed our faces from the balcony. It is a very peaceful spot.  The occasion was their combined birthday and as a couple of means (BRW Top 200 Rich List), deciding on a gift has often perplexed me.

In 2007 I wrote and then painted these verses on two canvases and gave them to them as their annual gift. I thought at the very least the kitsch factor would score high and at the very the whimsical artwork could grace a hallway or guest room.

Opera

The sea sand out with a song he had heard but never listened to.

Each wave a voice -

Strong, persistent, and singularly resounding.

The inaudible words of their refrain spoke tales of triumph,

of blissful rejoicing, and of the felicitous regeneration

of life back to life.

The birds dipped and dove in cadence to the wild chorus.

The rhythm – the definitive heartbeat of a newborn

just catching its first breaths -

gave promise of many tomorrows

as the sun presided over the hedonistic celebrations of nature’s largess.

“To Life – this life,” chimed the seagulls in delectation

as the disporting northerly wind

warmed the old man’s face.

This was a strange and curious gift. The couple never thanked me. The female later casually mentioned that they had no idea what the poem was about. I wanted to send her a dictionary for her next birthday but resisted the urge. Now I pose the question to you.

What do you make of it? I would really appreciate your feedback.

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