Dreaming of a White Christmas.

There's something to be said about Christmas trees. Fake or for real, they generate excitement.

At my home, 12 days before That Day, a well-loved cardboard box (bearing original price sticker from the 70s) is brought out of storage and contents inspected before decorating the tree begins.


Mrs Santa Claus is made of red and white felt, stands around eight centimeters tall with a black leather belt and a cotton stitched smile that could melt an exhausted reindeer's heart. Her partner, Mr Santa Claus, is attired similarly but his face is gruffer - like a goat chewing a discarded bicycle inner tube. By the way, titles were always a sign of respect and may mean a grander gift from the Jolly Man Himself who, according to parental knowledge, could be listening down the chimney at any time of the year.


A set of six brass bells comes next, chiming delicately, held by red ribbon bows - individually no bigger than a British penny. Older than the box, belonging to generations past, they are tarnished but still sound sweet. Their origin, unfortunately, is long forgotten but every year they are the decoration fought over, favoured by all ages.


"Careful with those; be gentle," admonishes an adult as several glass baubles are unwrapped from tight tissue cocoons. Held close for viewing, within sit bright-breasted Robins encased by a snow flaked sphere. A cold Christmas is an enigma for me, a southern-hemisphere girl, and as a child the fragile globes created a sense of wonder at how others celebrate this season around the world.


Next are the handmade ornaments; clay slabs painted by five-year-old fingers in their first year at school. Unglazed, unfired, rustic and rudimentary. The parents' favourite of course. Tinsel coils are then unrolled, loop by fraying loop. A sparkling array of green and blue strategically positioned on scratchy pine branches. They've seen better years but this tree is themed by tradition, rather than colour or cost. It is a family ritual, an event.


Candy canes come last, almost as an afterthought, but before them is the celebrity of the show. My family is not of a particular faith, believing a star is what wishes can be made on, whether shooting across a night sky or placed at the top of an evergreen. It is a symbol of hope and togetherness, which is important - because this year there will be no decorating the tree for me.


There will be no Mrs and Mr Claus dictating scary Santa scenarios. The tinsel will remain tightly wound, the once-a-year ceramic memories will lie buried beneath silent bells. The shining star will cast no Yuletide magic.

But those birds in their breakable orb might just fly free to show me their realm as the temperature drops by the day and this southern hemisphere girl looks forward to her first ever white Christmas.

If you could be a Christmas decoration, what would you be?

Garrison Keillor once wrote: A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.


Sitting at airports, waiting to board, gives a traveller time to muse about things. Bristol airport was where it happened. The thought: 'If you could be a Christmas decoration, what would you be?'


Now, this might seem a bit odd but sometimes, especially getting older, we need to release some imaginative juices and tap into a journey that may just teach us something in the process.

So...do you consider yourself something obsolete, stuck at the back of the tree where no one sees? Or perhaps you prefer being the star attraction or a snug length of tinsel nestled in pine needles...

This is how I see things. A particlular decoration would have come to mind. For me it's a set of brass bells which my sister now has. They belonged to my mother's side of the family but are a mystery, their origin forgotten. At one time they were hung by red velvet ribbon. I like them because of their mystery, their sound (they still sing) and red velvet seems a bit royal and sexy. Heck, I can relate to that.

But how about that angel, gazing from on high with her gauze wings, wired limbs and sweetly stitched smile? (Sorry guys but I've honestly never seen a male angel at the top of an evergreen.) Angels are something other-worldly, Heaven sent perhaps to watch over Christ-mas proceedings. To be honest, I've always enjoyed a star at tree's top; a guiding light, wishful thought, conveyor of hope.


What about Christmas baubles? Now those globes have history. First produced in Germany, on sale since the mid-1800s, they were originally glass spheres linked like a chain which hung from branch to branch. Now they come in all colours of the rainbow and are more likely to be found as a plastic six-pack with fake frosty covering. There are, however, those that are unique, a one-off never to be repeated - simply put: stunning.


How about a box of peppermint striped sticks? Something everyone eyes up, waiting for the go-ahead to partake in. Candy canes are special, a treat that only comes around once a year. Their presence is anticipated and that first taste always delights the senses.

What about frilly tinsel or flashing lights circling up in an on-going hug? They aid other decorations by bulking up bare branches - a helpmate creating festive cheer or a beacon for gifts assembled underneath.


So what are you?


The one with a bit of mystery? The type who lights the way or is unique? Perhaps, simply put, you're stunning. Or maybe you're the person who's a one-a-year highlight but time spent in your presence is worth the wait. Could be you're an assister; in the right place at the right time with arms open wide.


Whatever you think you are, remember we go through this time of the year together. For the sake of the decorations (and all their hidden meaning) let's make it a great one.