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December 24 can be the easiest day of the year. Or it might be the busiest. It all depends on how well you prepared. For many people all they have to do is take a bath and wait patiently for the clock to turn six. Or else, you might wake up late, storm out to find a store that is still open so that you can buy wrapping paper and cards, maybe even some gifts. Those are hastily packed, usually without scotch tape or ribbons, and then the rush starts from house to house to deliver the packages.
This year I belonged to the first group. Now you might think that this is merely an attempt to tell you that I took a bath, but I must assure you that this is not really so unique that it deserves to be told on the World Wide Web. No, all I am saying is that I was well prepared. I did go out after noon and delivered some packages to family and friends. Not because I could not have done so earlier, in fact I had met most of them the night before. I wanted to do it this way, because this is how I have always done it. At each place I stopped for a while, had some cookies and would have had some coffee as well, if I still drank it. This year all the people I visited seemed to be well prepared and relaxed.
The last place I visited was at my aunt’s. This time I had no choice but to drink the coffee, because you never say no to your aunt, at least I would not dare. She asked me what I had brought her and I told her that it was a book about a well know politician from the beginning of the 20th century. She replied that she didn’t think much of him and I agreed, as of course I should. However, I pointed out, the book might still be interesting description of events and not necessarily in favor of the guy. She concurred, but told me she was going to her daughter for the Christmas celebration and the book was too heavy to carry. Naturally, I went along with this good idea.
My sons, on the other hand, did not have such a relaxed afternoon. My older son holds a masters degree in engineering and plays Santa Clause on Christmas. He actually has an ad in the papers, rent a Santa, and he goes with his friends, or colleagues, to parties on Christmas. They go, dressed in red suits, and deliver packages, dance around Christmas trees and sing. He never does any of these things at our house, but then I don’t pay him.
The younger son woke up at three o’clock in the afternoon and immediately told his mother that he had a million things to do and would need all sorts of supplies, plus a car to deliver his very, very late Christmas cards and gifts. Somehow this all worked out and he too was back in time for the celebrations.
In good years we go to church at six o’clock on December 24th. It is the only day of the year that the churches are full here in Iceland. Naturally, we are very late for church, being a busy family, probably the busiest family since we always arrive last and sit at the very back. This is good, because sometimes my sons start laughing at the silliest of times. Church is not normally a place where you have much of an urge to laugh, but they will find some line in the psalms and point at it. Even though I am the responsible father, even I can see that by itself the line is absurd, but you could never tell by looking at me. My face is like cut in stone and I try to give them the icy look teachers used to be so good at. Sometimes I take no chances and just sit between them.
The ceremony is standard. The choir sings and often the congregation sings along, since it is Christmas and we know the words to some Christmas psalms. After the priest has read the oft told story from Bethlehem, he will tell us that at Christmas we should not forget out smallest brothers and my sons will start pointing at one another and smile. Then we will hear that Christmas is not really about exchanging gifts but preserving the child within us. One son will whisper something and the other one will be close to bursting out laughing and I have to resort to my famous, once a year, wrist squeezing. Finally, the choir starts singing Silent Night. Just so that you don’t think we are singing in English, we sing Heims um ból, an Icelandic psalm about Christmas to the tune of Stille Nact, heilige Nacht, written by Franz Xavier Gruber in 1855. The Icelandic psalm was written by Sveinbjörn Egilsson in 1849 and later people found that they fit like hand and glove.
The choir and congregation have finished, the pastor rushes out and stands by the door to wish everyone Merry Christmas. This time the last shall be last and we have to wait for everyone else to go out. This goes very slowly because some people want to say something more to the priest than just Gledileg jól. Quietly, I promise myself that next year we shall arrive earlier, knowing full well that it will not be so.
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