Story telling from Australia
Mr Christmas lives in Balmain. Not many people know that.
Some people think Santa lives at the North Pole, but those of you who follow this blog – and who may have read his signboards – know that home for Mr Christmas is a small hardware shop on Darling Street, NSW 2041.
He lives right here in the southern hemisphere.
Mr Christmas doesn’t normally smile much, presumably because he’s a very busy man, but he happily posed for the camera yesterday and he even cracked a smile, maybe because he’d already sold out of Christmas lights and it was only the 8th of December.
At this time of year, when so many of my close family are thousands of miles away in England, I think a lot about ‘home’ and the family celebrations they’re planning. I miss them more than at any other time.
To make matters worse, friends we would normally celebrate Christmas with will be away this year, so I’ve been feeling a tad lost.
And as so often happens when I’m musing on something, Mr Christmas had the answer on his signboard – even if it was with a spelling mistake.
It made me think of how glad I am to have a home that I share with someone I love.
So I went straight home and decorated the Christmas tree – which had been standing empty and forlorn for several days – and for the first time ever it’s not a real fir. I’ve finally accepted that fir trees don’t cope well in thirty-degree heat.
I thought about family as the baubles were hung and the lights went on, and the only one not impressed was Maggie the domesticated dingo, whose bed had to be moved to make way for what I can now see is the best tree we’ve ever had.
I’m looking forward to Christmas because my home is right here in Sydney.
And I’m blessed to share it with those I love.