By Stamatina Notaras
Come Christmas time, there are parties-a-plenty. From friendsmas to out-of-office celebrations to family gatherings and more, we’re spoilt for choice at the most wonderful time of the year. Lucky for me, I was able to nab myself a seat, for the second year in a row, at dare I say, the party of the year.
On my way to Hellenic RSL sub-branch Christmas party, I was looking forward to seeing familiar faces. As I walked in, I was, of course, greeted with the warm hospitality I know so very well. I was fattened up with a plate upon arrival, (after two “oh no, that’s okay’s” – I should know better by now), and embraced with open arms and a seat at the table.
The comforting sounds of clattering cutlery, laughter, and conversations between friends, while the bouzouki was played in the background, told me once again all I needed to know about this beautiful community that I am gratefully a token member of.
Since the year before, each member had lived another year of birthdays, welcomed grandchildren (or great-grandchildren), celebrated anniversaries, and experienced loves, losses, and everything in between. While much of their lives involves giving, sacrificing, and caring for others, inevitably placing themselves last in the pecking order, the Christmas Party was their day.
They donned their best dresses and suits to share a meal with friends, chatter amongst themselves, and do nothing all evening but eat, drink, and dance. And eat, drink, and dance they did.
If I were to capture the essence of the room, it might be that of a taverna filled with locals on a cobblestone street in Greece – Mythos being passed around, and teasing exchanged amongst old friends.
I sipped red wine out of a flute and tucked into my Greek function staples of lamb with potatoes, roast vegetables, and oh-so-fluffy rice, greeted by smiles, and good conversation. Once digested, it wasn’t long before I was pulled onto the dance floor, holding hands with the women beside me as we leapt into traditional Greek dance. See, where Greek school seemed to fail me (or perhaps I failed it), Greek dancing never has.
After a few rounds of the Zorba, Kalamatiano, and Tsifteteli, there was only one announcement that could get everyone back to their seats and off the dance floor for a brief hiatus – raffle time. I was given the very important role of picking the winning raffle ticket out of a hat, a responsibility I take very seriously. Then came auction time. The only way to describe it was every man for themselves. Friends outbidding friends for Christmas hampers filled with goodies, and bids rising by the second for their favourite bottle of grappa. It was a sight for sore eyes and had me on the edge of my seat from start to finish.
Walking into this function room on a little street of South Melbourne felt like a shot of espresso and welcome burst of sun on a cloudy day. It filled me with warmth, joy, boundless energy, and food. And I truly believe that’s what life’s about.
