University lectures officially finished today…and I am embracing three weeks of final exams and pencil chewing ahead of me. But before I dive into my books without a life boat or compas for safe return, I thought it was only right I got a little seasonal. No, it’s not that time of month…I mean that time of year.
I love the Christmas season and it starts for me when I feel the smell of oranges and clementines. Yesterday Mom went shopping and brought home a basket full of oranges and so Christmas season started this year on a Monday, around tea time.
The reason I love this smell so much goes all the way back to East Germany. No, it was not a country known for its unlimited growth of various citrus fruits. I am not sure what we were known for, if anything…maybe communism and a passion for unfortunate haircuts.
East Germany was rather poor, from hindsight of course. As a kid I didn’t think I lacked anything, simply because I did not have a frame of reference to anything else but the neighbours kids, who wore the same kind of boots and Auntie Agnes did cut their hair too.
Christmas was special even back then. I always knew the Season approached when an envelop with a fancy stamp arrived. In that rather unassuming envelope was a white sheet of paper; on it was a date, some other numbers and little tickets, usually green. The date mentioned when a special delivery would arrive to our local store and the green tickets (special Christmas food stamps) showed how much had been alotted to our particular family that year.
Christmas was all about that day. The entire village would get ready early in the morning and stand in line of the still closed store. Konsum, we used to call it. The doors opened and people moved along; nobody skipping in line, we are German after all. When our family got to the front, my Mom used to give our green stamps to the lady at the counter. She would turn around and I’d see the world’s most beautiful thing: the pile of oranges. So many of them and the lady would count the appropriate amount into my Mom’s bag. I always counted feverishly with her, hoping she’d make a mistake in our favor. Never happened and to this day I can still count all the way up to 5 without much effort.
Usually there was one orange per person. The centerpiece of the Christmas table. I used to roll mine over my arms because I loved how they felt and smelled. And when I finally had eaten mine, I put the rind on top of the massive stone-oven and a smell would fill the air of the room that today has come to mean that the Season is upon me! That, and the darn Coca Cola song of wanting to buy the world a coat…
So what triggers your senses, what is an absolute must for you to feel Christmassy or just how much of a Grinch are you? Anything goes…share!
~Penguin Out!


