For me, Christmas usually starts with a colour scheme.
This year it's plum, sage and olive green, with shades of pink. Once that's settled, I start with the tableware. Then come the glasses, flowers, candles and all the little details, because once Christmas has chosen its colours for me, who am I to argue?
But somewhere in between the colours and the decorating, there's another sign that Christmas is coming.
We wait for the Piet-my-vrou.
The first time we hear that familiar call, the oven starts calling too.
Because that's when it's time to bake my grandmother's famous Christmas cake.
The brandy is bought. The ingredients come out. And then the annual debate begins:
Do we add the chocolate pieces this year or not?
Some traditions are sacred.
Others are apparently open to negotiation. 😂
And perhaps that's Christmas for us in a nutshell — a little bit inherited, a little bit reinvented.
There are the things we wouldn't dream of changing, like Grandma's Christmas cake. And then there are the things I apparently feel perfectly entitled to change every twelve months — like the entire colour scheme.
Once the colours are decided, the ideas start multiplying.
And, inevitably, I send Francette a message.
“Hi, are you busy?”
It sounds innocent enough.
It rarely is.
What follows is usually a rather enthusiastic series of messages back and forth. An idea gets added. Another gets changed. Something completely unrelated sneaks into the conversation. And somewhere along the way, what started as one small thought has become an entire plan.
Those four words probably deserve their own warning label at The Blue Basset.
Because one colour becomes a bauble. One bauble becomes a collection. A Christmas table somehow leads to seven reindeer with names, personalities and very definite ideas about what they're wearing to dinner.
And before we know it, we're debating whether Mr Fancy Pants is sufficiently overdressed and trying to find something suitable for The Underdressed.
This wasn't in the Christmas plan.
But then again, the best bits rarely are.
And this is usually where Francette takes over.
I may arrive with the colour scheme, a table setting in my head and far too many messages, but she is the one who has to work out what on earth to do with all of it.
There are sketches. Colours get mixed. Ideas get changed. Something that looked wonderful in my head occasionally turns out to be considerably less wonderful in real life.
Back to the messages.
“What if we tried…”
And off we go again.
Somewhere between my ideas and Francette’s paintbrush, A Brush With Christmas takes shape.
This year, Christmas didn't stop at the baubles either.
Oh dear... then there were Oh Deer!
Seven rather opinionated Christmas dinner guests who somehow acquired names, personalities and wardrobes along the way.
There’s Lady in Red, who certainly didn’t come to blend in. Mr Mistletoe, who knows exactly why he’s standing there. Miss Plum brings the drama, Goldilocks likes everything just right, Officer Blue is precisely on time, and Mr Fancy Pants is — naturally — overdressed.
And then there’s The Underdressed.
Still deciding what to wear.
I feel we all know someone like that.
The funny thing is, when I look at everything together, it makes perfect sense to me. The plum, the greens, the pinks. Grandma’s Christmas cake. The first call of the Piet-my-vrou. A table slowly coming together. Francette with a paintbrush. Me with another idea.
None of it was really planned as one big Christmas collection.
It simply followed.
Perhaps that’s why I love Christmas as much as I do. There are traditions we carry with us year after year, and there’s always room to make it look — and feel — a little different.
The cake stays.
The brandy stays.
The colour scheme?
Well, Christmas can decide that again next year.
Who am I to argue?
The Sister-in-Law