SO HOW did you “get over the Christmas?” Does anyone use that expression anymore? I hope so because “getting over the Christmas” just about sums it up, especially if you are a woman, wife and mother. Now calm down, I know there are men out there who do all the Christmas shopping and cooking, I just don’t know any of them but maybe I move in the wrong circles.
“Getting over the Christmas” puts me in mind of a large hill, a kind of festive Croagh Patrick, which looms into view in early December. It prompts thoughts of never-ending present buying and the annual discussion of who is going where for Christmas dinner. The climb to the top usually ends around the same time as the smell of melting plastic permeates the consciousness of a delighted relative, who roars “Ha, you’ve burnt the pudding to the saucepan again”.
Along with needing to cook three puddings in order to guarantee the consumption of one, I am also useless at present buying.
Too often I have witnessed the rictus smiles on the faces of my children as they unwrap another eminently practical but utterly boring present. So this year I decided to ask my children to give me some idea of what they would like. My 13-year-old gave me that special withering look only a teenager can produce and announced she would give me some suggestions but she definitely did not want knickers and socks.
“What, but you always need knickers and socks”.
“Exactly”, came the reply, “they are part of our requirements as your children. We shouldn’t be getting them as presents.”
Christmas Eve usually means hours on one’s feet peeling potatoes and scraping vegetables, making trifle and steaming the Christmas pudding. Then it’s time for Mass, which at least provides the opportunity to sit down for a bit, as you concentrate on not hearing the priest make his annual smart remark about how many parishioners seem to crawl out of the woodwork only on Christmas Eve (or words to that effect).
Don’t get me wrong, I quite like Christmas. I just think I am not very good at it. I have a dream into which I retreat often. In my dream we pack up the car with wine, food, books and music and drive to some cosy cottage, perhaps in the Connemara Gaeltacht where we would hole up for the holiday. We would walk on deserted windswept beaches and spend the evenings reading by a huge open fire and chatting. It would be quiet and harmonious and perfect. And I wouldn’t burn a pudding.
This year, with our eldest enjoying the sunshine and abundant work opportunities of Australia, we knew Christmas would be very different. But as I tried to imagine Christmas without her, I realised her absence afforded us the opportunity to make new traditions, to make a new Christmas.
We toyed with the idea of renting that cosy cottage of my dreams but that wasn’t possible. Instead we attempted to recreate some of the elements at home. Christmas Day was going to be just us and now we are only four. Less preparation meant that on Christmas Eve we could do whatever we liked.
The second big change was not going to Mass. Finally, at almost 50 years of age, I have decided I am no longer going to be a second class citizen in my church and neither are my daughters. The message that Jesus brought with him 2,000 years ago has very little to do with the Catholic Church with their power, wealth and ridiculous notions about love and sex.
So on Christmas Eve we had our beach walk and although it wasn’t quite deserted it was certainly windswept. We skimmed stones, threw sticks for the dog and dodged the incoming tide at the water’s edge. Just as we got to the northern end of the beach, three dolphins appeared. We stood mesmerised for almost an hour, thrilled and exhilarated by this unexpected piece of magic. I knew then that God was happy enough with our choice of spirituality.
On the way back we stopped by the church in which we were married, visited the crib, lit candles for those we love and we miss and gave thanks for all the blessings in our lives. By mid-afternoon we were home by the fire.
Christmas Day brought a tear or two as we spoke to our missing child who was having a barbecue on a rooftop in a Perth suburb. But all in all our Christmas was as close as possible to my cosy cottage as we could manage with the added bonus of being surrounded by all our pets (my four cats would be a worry if we took off for Christmas – no cat should be alone for Christmas). And yes I moulded one pudding bowl to the saucepan as usual.
Once we “got over the Christmas” we were ready to party. Family arrived the day after St Stephen’s Day and normal service resumed.
But there will definitely be some things from this new Christmas that we will retain next year. I will certainly have a word with the dolphins. But then again next year will be amazing anyway as I am sure we will be welcoming home our eldest, even if just for a holiday. I can’t wait.