A pearler of a moment in time

OPINION: Somewhere it is written that it is better to give than receive. Is it? Is it, indeed? writes Patricia Soper in this week's And Another Thing.

Well, I have a bone or three to pick with those biblical scribes, coming as we are to the season of gifts, and I suggest that those among of us who extol the virtue of giving don't have grandchildren with diverse, eccentric tastes. Look, when I was young Christmas was about boxed handkerchiefs, lavender talcum powder and 5000-piece jigsaws that on completion (did anyone actually finish one?) revealed English cottages graced by wistful damsels who seemed to have an obsession with leaning over garden gates.

Without exception they were surrounded by non-stinky-looking geese. Fountain pens were also big on the wish-list (this is back in the time when people actually wrote things), and let's not forget the standard hand-knitted cardie from grandma – usually brown – that never wore out.

Christmas Day saw mum sweating it out in the kitchen while dad dug the first of the spuds and enjoyed a quiet beer in the shed. The kids podded the peas into aluminium bowls and somehow it was always sunny. Ah, the reassuring tedium of it all.

Choosing gifts these days (gosh, is my nostalgia showing?) has become ridiculously complicated. How can one be expected to wrap a sun-lounger or a carpet or an enormous barbecue? It's a far cry from a tin of talcum powder.

I have stopped giving anything vaguely technological because no matter how hard I try, I can't keep abreast with the add-ons and showing my ignorance is too, too humiliating.

Phones, for example, seem to have the ability to translate English to Swahili, and if they can't they very soon will. This brings me to a truly hilarious incident that took place a few days ago.

I happened to be chatting to my four-year-old granddaughter about Santa Claus when she announced that she had already written her letter to the fat jolly fellow (not her father) to request some very specific items. "Like what?" I asked, hoping for a steer. Subterfuge and animal cunning are essential at this time of year.

"An eel and a clock," she said. "Why a clock?" I said, ignoring the eel for a moment.

Seemingly she had been getting up at ungodly hours assuming it was time for breakfast.

"I don't know what time it is, nana. If I had a clock I could go back to sleep if it was too early to get up."

Yeah, right.

As for the eel, I haven't quite got to the bottom of that little pearler. I'll keep you informed.

» Athol-based Patricia Soper is a food and feature writer, columnist and retired public speaker.

- © Fairfax NZ News

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