christmas is round the corner... even if i need to remind myself of it -- as here there is (and will be) no sign, no decoration, no jingle, no supermarket's bargain, no ad on tv...no nothing - to actually remind us of the festive season.which is not too bad, after all -- i must admit...since i have always partly dreaded all the forced loveliness of it all; not to mention the compulsory family do's and gatherings one is forced and expected to attend...putting a brave smile and oddly feeling 15 again. and awkward and grumpy again.
as i was coming back home tonight -- as i said hello to the street vendor selling roasted chestnuts in the street -- perhaps mellowed by his smile and the amazing aroma his stall was spreading in the neighbourhood... i found myself thinking about winter holidays... wondering whether there had ever been a time when i had actually loved christmas. overall, if i look back to my childhood i get glimpses of my scary paternal grandmother offering stale candies; my parents quarreling over everything and a constant feeling of uneasiness. then, if i look back to my teenage years...i, once again... get glimpses of my scary paternal grandmother offering stale candies; my parents quarreling over everything and a constant feeling of boredom. and uneasiness too -- that one never left...i would still feel it today, am sure.
but yes -- there was a time when i actually could not wait for christmas. for some unknown reasons, in 1986 and 1987 -- i actually spent my christmas away from my family. my parents, perhaps for motives they would not even discuss now -- let me spend the holiday with my godfather's family. my godfather, g., a withdrawn, skinny and soft spoken man was a colleague of my father and had a beautiful house lost on a plateau next to the border with slovenia. he had two daughters, who were 4 and 2 years my senior; owned a wire-haired german dachsund named bernie and two extremely furry cats. he was the only member of his family who was not working as a zoologist, park naturalist or ethologist -- but he was a fond hunter, knew everything about the wildlife; all exitsting species of trees, animals and plants - and, the son of a painter, he had a gift for sketching animals, especially foxes, badgers, deers and pheasants. a rather hemingway-esque type of charcter - g. spoke very rarely and, when he did, he would do it in a very funny nasal pitch, almost like a reluctant child.
his clothes had something foreign and out of fashion about them - and, especially when he decided to venture out with bernie -- he looked like a prussian junker on his way to meet otto von bismarck for a beer.
to me - he and his family were the epitome of happiness. their home and the immense garden around it, skirted by a silver grey wood of oaks -- were, to my 8 years old eyes, the sound proof that life could! at the end of the day be a very full and...free affair.
so, when his wife convinced my mother to allow me to spend the winter holidays with them -- i nearly had a heart attack because of such a massive and unexpected overload of delirious joy.
what swept me off my feet about g's family was their playfullness, their constant use of invented, improvised terms of endearment; their enthusiasm for walking for hours outdoor - just for the sake of it. their absolutely unusual way of setting priorities about life: sports came first; then travelling; then reading; then organising gregarious gatherings and trekking outings with friends. their circle of friends was unusually and bizarrely mixed - when they were all thrown together - they hardly had anything in common and it was strange to see them actually getting along and enjoying themselves nevertheless.
g's wife was a smiley woman with cheeks that looked like bubblegum and bouncy blonde hair. she always looked like someone who is about to burst out laughing and had the most wonderful of voices. their daughters were very funny and bubbly and together we used to invent nicknames for all the people we knew. most of the times -- these nicknames had some zoological inspiration...and even when we were "cursing" or mocking each other - we would come up with stuff like "hey, stop being a babirusa!" which to me was sheer genius.
their house smelt like dog at the main door; wood in the living room; old moss in the kitchen; and toasted bread in the dining area. the two daughter's room was up in the wooden garret - to me an enchanted space where the shadows of the closeby woods and the noise of the wind through the dry grass outside created a magical universe i had only read about in adventure books.
in my memories, those two christmases are most precious and special. looking back -- spending time in such a different and in such a differently serene and bubbly atmosphere - had me feeling so alive and happy i was almost afraid to breathe.
the rest of christmases i have had -- oh well...
very VERY babirusa stuff.
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