Every Year, Malta

 

 

Christmas Day. The doorbell rings and my eldest brother Chris rushes in juggling a pile of presents.

 ‘Do you have any wrapping paper left?’ he whispers as I open the door.

 ‘Every year!’ I smile.  ‘Every year! What’s the point of wrapping Christmas presents here when we can all see what they are before you wrap them?!’

 ‘Shut up!’ he says as he starts frantically cutting off invisible tape with his teeth and hastily wrapping the gifts. ‘When did you fly in?’

 ‘Last night,’ I said as I helped him. ‘It was snowing heavily in Belgium.  I was so scared that the flight to Malta would be cancelled.’ My stomach churns at the thought of having had to spend Christmas on my own in Brussels.

 ‘At which level is Mum’s panic?’ he whispers.

 ‘Orange going on to red.  Bonita has already stolen a packet of bacon but I don’t think she has noticed yet.’   Bonita, the adorable family dog – notorious for stealing food with amazing rapidity.

 True to form, Chris had left his Christmas shopping to the last minute and made it to my parents’ house thirty minutes before Christmas lunch.  In the lounge room, the presents had already extended from below the Christmas tree on to the sideboard and on to the sofa. Every year, my sister Amy and I resist all calls from our four more practical brothers to switch to a ‘ChristKindl’ system whereby everyone buys a bigger present for just one person instead of each person buying a present for everyone.  Not that they are thrifty – they just stress so much about getting the right presents.   Especially Julian who always has the tendency to make a few present gaffes.  Every year, Amy and I stand our ground and there are literally tens of presents in the lounge room.

 Back in the kitchen, Mum’s Christmas panic is now flashing red.  The turkey is in the oven.  The lasagna is already cooked and smells delicious.   Matthew will bring the roast potatoes.   Yet I am in Mum’s bad books as I have not yet finished laying the table with the expensive cutlery and crockery that we are allowed to use just once a year.   Every year!

 The doorbell rings again and in runs nine-year old Sam who heads straight to the Christmas tree to eye his presents trying to guess what they are. The only grandchild in the family up until this year, he knows he is in a for a good haul. My brother Matthew and his wife Justine follow closely carrying their own load of presents and the hot dish of roast potatoes.  Julian and Maja are in next pushing the pram of their three-month old.  We all crowd around the pram.

 ‘Time for lunch!’ yells my mum for the third time.  ‘It will go cold.  I hope the turkey is not overdone,’ she frets.

 ‘It will be fine,’ assures her Dad who has brought out his finest white.   A scramble of chairs and we are all at the table for the first course.  Dad insists on all of us kneeling down as we listen to the live broadcast of the Pope’s Christmas blessing from the Vatican before we tuck in. The lasagna is amazing. I struggle between craving another piece and knowing there is so much more food coming. Every year!

 ‘First round of presents!’ shouts Andrew as we all take our drinks and rush to the lounge room.   ‘This one is from Julian to Sam,’ he says as he picks up a roundish parcel that looks very much like a bike helmet.   And so it is! A trendy red one to go with Sam’s new bike.   ‘From Amy to Chris’, ‘From Mum and Dad to Matthew’….and the list goes on.

 Now it is time for the main course.  We leave the lounge room for a while and go back to the kitchen as Julian pours us all another round of drinks.  Soon we are all making our own little piles of just-received presents.

 I do not want the day the end.   I do not want the Christmas holidays to end. I do not want to fly back. I have waited for this all year. The laughter, the food, the mayhem, the colours, the love, the freedom to be myself.   I am happy to travel round the world all year. Not for Christmas.   Christmas is at home. Every year.

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2 responses to “Every Year, Malta

    1. Thanks! I also liked reading your piece. What I miss most from that part of the world (France, Belgium) is listening to French!

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