Ho ho ho hokohoko hunt

Christmas is almost upon us, the bank balance looks like its losing weight by the second and the icing on the Christmas cake has melted in the heat. I had one more stocking to paint and have managed to smear red and green paint all over myself and an errant unwrapped gift or two. Christmas dramas abound. We went to Carols in the Park on Saturday and it was kind of Christmasy. But also not really like I remember Christmases from my past. They handed out sausages and caramelized onions on slices of white bread. American brownies instead of Christmas cake … and there was not a sight nor sound of a nativity scene. Lots of Jingle bells and Rudolph and even a Santa kissing Momma, I wanted more, I tell you ….more! I was like an urchin in a poorhouse with my hand out begging for just something else to fill me up. Our town has a large star shining on the highest hill in town, a street filled with green and red sparkling lights and even glittery trees in front of every shop, and we all know about the hat-less sheep. But the spirit was lacking. So when some friends from Church suggested we go on a hokohoko hunt for the perfect Christmas outfit .. I was all in. (Hokohoko is Maori for Second Hand clothing shop.) Nothing over $3 and certainly nothing new, although I did see a nice handbag that was still sporting its shop tag, it was grey and well, grey is just not a Christmas colour. I got into my hokohoko hunting mode and within seconds I had snagged four tops that fitted nicely and were in suitably bright colours. Which is not a mean feat. Second hand clothes in my size are far and few between. I know this doesn't exactly shout Christmas spirit, but to spend time with some lovely ladies and do something silly was perfect for me. We finished off with juice and a shared slice of some gooey caramel slice at the Gas and Gobble (cafe connected to the service station) No fancy restaurant for us hokohoko ladies, all low priced and budget to the max. Our pocket books did not even feel the pinch.

I had no sooner walked in the door to show my hubby my bargains, when he tells me that we are making up some hampers of food for people in need. Oh okay, something simple to finish off the day. Well, no, it was not something simple. Firstly there were huge mounds of food that had to be lugged from cars to Church halls .. then sorted into 8 piles. I am pretty organized usually, so I put one of each thing onto 8 designated piles … and then the boxes continued to come in .. and continued .. and soon the tables were too small. My piles of neatly stacked cans were teetering precariously with a jam jar and two bottles of peanut butter balanced right on the top. And then …..... drum roll please …... someone lost a margarine tub. My husband is an organizer type personality. In all the years we have been married he has never … and I mean never … been happy with my packing of shelves. And yes, I am neat if I want to be .. but anyhow I know when he gets that look in his eye that it is just easier to unpack everything and start again. (At home I just leave him to it and don't even bother trying .. out with the magazine and feet up until he announces it is all perfect. 44 years of marriage has taught me the perfect coping mechanism. Smile and say 'Very nice Sweetheart.” and then later just change it all around to suit myself.} The margarine had to be found. It would be of vital importance to some family on Christmas morning with nothing to smear on their toast. Well I suppose you could just have peanut butter, but no, marge oh marge where art thou? The great margarine hunt had all of us standing at attention next to our assigned banana boxes and Barry yelling out “Three tins of fruit salad. Three tins of baked beans. Two dozen eggs … etc” until finally the margarine was found lurking in the bottom of a box covered with a layer of sweeties. Oh I do love my husband very much. But a few of the ladies were quite shocked at seeing Mr Organizer. Up until this point in time they had only seen Mr Gentleman or sometimes Mr Kindness. But Mr Boss had always been hidden .. until now. He did ameliorate his bossiness by saying to me “Your box was really well packed Pat.” Aaah there you go. What more can I ask for? High praise indeed.

We attended the Christmas luncheon for my aqua-jogging class. Usually we all take a small gift and throw it into a pile, to be retrieved later in the festivities. But this time Lillian said we were not to bother with gifts, large or small. When we arrived she told us that she would be giving us gifts that had been destined for the women's prison. But sadly when the charities who donated them for the prisoners had done the shopping, they had not been thinking like a prisoner. They bought things like wool (can be used as a garotte) knitting needles (what should I say about that .. sharp, dangerous and prohibited) And some lovely little embossing sheets made from hardened plastic … perfect for carving into a handy knife or two. And finally the cross stitched craft thingies … including needles with the cross stitch cotton. Now, I know my husband used to work with criminals so I am familiar with what is allowed and not allowed into a prison … but I must say that the ladies from aqua-jogging just loved the little presents. Perfect for the sixty plus age group, with no criminal or violent proclivities. Well maybe they do, but I doubt it. We can be a bit competitive, but I have never seen them being combative even in the thick of things. Yes, folks, we might be old, but we are not dead yet and we do give our workouts all that we have physically. But no fisticuffs or even nasty words. Just all good fun. Will look forward to see what the ladies make with the goodies over the holidays. No garrottes or shiffs is my guess.

So its ho ho ho and off to the shops we go. I have stocked up on bubbly grape juice, fruit mince tarts and even some ham. Its beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Just “Snoopy's Christmas” to play once or twice and I will be a happy little elf. Maybe that Christmas spirit is there after all, just well hidden under all the rushing around.