The shops certainly have.

I don't blame them, as most have been starved of joy and attention for a while.

Much like being woken early on my day off, I can get grumpy at retailers who tinsel-up way before anyone in their right mind is ready.

But an early-November Christmas kickoff has become the norm.

Christmas traditions evolve, not just in the community, but within families. Some traditions are good, some are bad, some border on illegal, and some offer pure joy.

If I could relive one childhood festive ritual it would be putting bets on how long it would take the cat, Puddy, to pull down the tree.

Like an evil elf, Puddy was driven to destructive distraction by our pine-style plastic tree. We were never sure whether she was anti-pine, anti-plastic, or just anti-social.

Puddy was certainly unpredictable.

There was no method in her Christmas madness. We never knew when she'd launch her first strike. It could be immediately after the tree appeared, a week later, or a savage night sortie just hours before Santa arrived.

The sound of attack was unmistakable. There was a foreboding tinkle, tinkle, followed by meowww!-whoosh, whoomp and a fading tinkle . . . tinkle . . . tink.

To me, nothing screams "Christmas" more than "that bloody cat!"

Us kids, and Dad, loved the whole show, mainly because it wound Mum up. Putting up the tree was her first begrudging concession that Christmas season had begun.

My Mum's a Christmas contradiction.

When I was a kid, our Christmas of Contrasts began with Mum mildly stressing out about the looming list of things to do. This was followed by a freak-out about presents and groceries, culminating in a full-on crisis situation in which she warned Dad that we were going to starve on Christmas Day if he didn't order the chooks and ham NOW.

Then, Christmas Eve arrived, and Mum magically turned into Ray Martin.

With uncharacteristic cheesiness, she jollied us all to gather around the TV to watch Carols by Candlelight. I have no idea why she bothered, but I'm glad she did, as it was Dad's turn for a wind up.

It was fair to say he'd rather hang out with Puddy in the doghouse than watch the singing spark-tacular.

Pure joy was gained from watching Dad's face as Mum enthusiastically fudged the words to every carol.

Then, after about an hour of Mum commenting "Awww, look at the kiddies' faces, they love it", Dad would inevitably reply "Yeah, that kid who's flaked out looks fully engaged in the magic of Christmas".

Oh, how we laughed.

So, that's my first festive column for 2021.

I've started early, but I'm not grumpy about it at all. I'm looking forward to this year's Christmas carry on.

It's going to be cracker.

If only I had a cat. It would make it more a-meowsing*.

*Copyright: Christmas cracker joke (1980)

deborah.richards@newcastleherald.com.au

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