And so it is Christmas...

Well, almost.

My heart longs for that festive cheer - it is still on Australian time, and is back home in Sydney amongst family and friends, conjuring a smile with every reminder of how special such days are.

My mind, however, knows well that my body is here in England (still amongst friends and almost-family), and that Christmas day is still, officially, a little over an hour away.

Its strange the memories Christmas can beckon in. I remember so many Christmases (and yes, I'm going by the first google search result for 'plural of Christmas').

I remember Christmas long ago, before I knew much about anything, and could completely immerse myself in the simple pleasure of giving and receiving. I can recall later days when Christmas was marked by the grumpiness of a boy who just found the world and did not yet know how to look at it (or where his family [annoying at the time] might fit in); did not know how this new context might effect the dynamics of giving, receiving and knowing all that goes with these simple actions.

I can still feel the comfort of Christmases past when I knew more about who I was, or at least how I might become the person I longed to be. When family was no longer annoying, when I had figured their special place in my life for eternity. Christmases away from the world, Christmases hidden away in a self-contained paradise, complete with the joys of giving and receiving, the love of family and still the grounding reality of life and relationships.

Christmases when I missed friends, or perhaps a special someone who could not be with me.

A Christmas for mourning the passing of a loved grandparent.

Christmases with new people in new places; Christmases with old people (and older people!) in familiar homes.

Every year Christmas is different because I am different. Every year it means something new, and every year I have the pleasure of making a new memory of Christmas.

There is, however, one constant: Christmas breakfast!

Almost every year for almost as long as I can remember we have had a variety 8-pack of all those delicious, sugar-filled breakfast cereals in tiny individual boxes; the type that, as children, we were never allowed on a regular basis. A real treat, even if its now purely for the nostalgia it evokes.

In fact right now, as I sit miles from home, I can picture my family all reaching for their cereals of choice, perhaps fighting, sometimes resigning (the ultimate sign of family love). And that just might be what I miss most about Christmas this year.

Its a process that has evolved as we've all grown. But it is something that we have almost always had to navigate together. There has never been a hard and fast rule - our tastes seem to change yearly - so each year's negotiation has been different, new and approached with all the wisdom (or aggression or love or strength or courage or selflessness) that we have acquired over the year past. Those two minutes of decision making could be the defining moment for my family each and every year. And I miss it terribly.

I wonder which box I would have reached for if I was there right now.

I hope you take a guess and give mine to Sally. With paws instead of hands and an inability to grab quickly enough I'm afraid she's always missed out, poor puppy.

Merry Christmas and my love to all.