Christmas traditions hit hard
Christmas has always been my favourite time of year, steeped in traditions that feel as warm and familiar as a favourite blanket - my own traditions, especially.
Every December, an advent calendar marked the countdown to the big day—a ritual that my mum lovingly upheld year after year. I’ll never forget the year I turned 19 when she decided, quite out of the blue, that I was ‘too old' for one. That didn’t go over quietly.
After a spirited (and slightly dramatic on my part) debate, it was agreed that age didn’t matter—I was still her child, and the advent calendar tradition continued without pause until the year she passed.
These days, Mr T has taken over the mantle, and this year, I’ve been spoiled rotten. Alongside the beautiful Lindt calendar he got me, his son gifted me a Kinder one, and I treated myself to the Rituals advent calendar. Three little doors to open every morning—it feels like the festive season is truly here!
Another tradition I hold dear is decorating the Christmas tree on 6 December, always accompanied by cheesy Christmas carols or an over-the-top Christmas movie, and a glass (or two) of good wine. The tree is sacred—no one else is allowed to touch it. Each year, I search for the perfect new ornament to add to my collection, a tradition that keeps my tree ever-changing yet rooted in memories.
Two decorations are particularly close to my heart: a handmade photo ornament of my mum from my friend Agnes, always placed at eye level so I can feel her presence as I pass by, and a delicate paper ornament from Michael Wall of Salvagem, gifted to me years ago.
Naturally, they fit perfectly into my carefully curated gold colour theme (yes, my tree has a colour theme!).
When I think back to Christmases past, the memories flood in with a mix of laughter and longing. Growing up in Berlin, Christmas Eve dinner was always Frankfurter sausages with potato salad—a tradition passed down through generations of many families in Berlin.
My mum had her twist, though: finely chopped apples in the salad, it is so tasty that I still prepare my salad this way. And then there was the Bunter Teller—a ‘colourful plate’ (literal translation) of sweets that every child looked forward to.
My dad’s plate overflowed with nuts (the constant crack of the nutcracker was a soundtrack to our Christmas), while my brother’s was piled high with Kinder chocolate.
Mine, however, was a bit of a mystery. My mum, for reasons unknown, was convinced I loved marzipan. Spoiler: I didn’t.
Yet year after year, I was gifted an astonishing array of marzipan creations—spud-like marzipan potatoes, loaves of marzipan bread covered in dark chocolate, Mozart balls with nougat centres and again covered in dark chocolate, and my one weakness, Dominos (they are decadent cubes of marzipan, jelly, and biscuit again covered in dark chocolate).
I never had the heart to tell her otherwise, so I endured my marzipan monopoly while my brothers steadfastly refused any trade for their Kinder chocolate.
Funny thing is, I’d give anything for one of those marzipan-filled plates now from my mum. Isn’t it strange how the things we once rolled our eyes at end up becoming the memories we treasure most?