Dec. 15 , 2004--A Dragon Christmas (Bah, Humbug!)
by Michel & Jane DeRidder

Michel, a spoiled Brussels lad, sixth in a family of seven kids, was given far too much by a doting mother. He grew to loathe gift giving and getting, even as a child. Jane, a small-town Canadian lass whose childhood Christmases were times of magic, long-anticipated and much enjoyed, met and married Michel, as one did fifty years ago. She learned to do without the old-fashioned family Christmases and eventually grew to prefer it that way.

Christmas is something we largely ignore. Other than a festive dinner with close friends, we seldom do much to celebrate what all too often can be a commercial hullabaloo, a time of unmet expectations, exhausting obligations and huge expense. We choose to steer clear of crowds and hoopla. Instead we spend the holiday season drifting about, writing or emailing friends and family, watching the world go by. We do not have children or grandchildren which might have made a difference to our ways.

To us the year's end is a time of maintaining contact with friends and acquaintances we've met along the way. This has become both easier and more difficult--easier now with email, but far more expensive to send cards and letters. We treasure "renewing friendships that have withstood the test of time and distance" as longtime cruisers Paul and Susan on ELANOA put it. We love to read news of our farflung buddies.

We do have a Christmas tree of sorts. One year it was a pineapple decorated with do-it-yourself origami-style snowflakes. Another year it was a mangrove branch with mini-streamers made from glossy magazine pictures. A pohutukawa branch has also served its time, as has a decorated horsetail casuarina, a palm frond, a vase of flowers, with aluminum foil icicles or wee shells dangling. It's a matter of latitude and fancy. Usually we string lines across the main salon from which we suspend cards from friends, though gone are the days when I hand painted scores of cards to post worldwide--almost two hundred for a few years.

As for present giving and receiving, I buy a lotto ticket each year and hang it up in a Xmas stocking, and each year Shelly says, "Don't ruin our lifestyle." He realizes that our chosen way of life might seem less than perfect if we had a million bucks to complicate our choices.

Our families learned nearly half a century ago to leave us off their Christmas shopping lists. When my mother was alive, she might write to say, "This year you gave me snow tires for Xmas. What did I give you?" I'd write back telling her of some treat or necessity we'd recently bought, and we were all happy. No muss. No fuss. No wracking of brains. No 'Parcels Lost in Transit'. No disappointments. Just warm fuzzy satisfaction.