For many, many years I spent Christmas Day alone. Quite happily. I counted to thirteen Christmas mornings waking up in an empty house then I stopped counting. My children always spent Christmas with their beloved Grandmother my ex husbands mother. This was our tradition – a good one too. And I had a project every Christmas Day, usually in my darkroom. Then I ate my dinner and watched movies that I had rented from the video store down the road. And that was my lovely Christmas day.
And slowly my Christmas spirit leached out, a tiny bit at a time, it lay about on the floor for a while creeping out with a sly dry ‘what about me’ sigh every year but eventually I brushed its desiccated body up with my special brush and shovel and stored it in one of those secret boxes in my mind. The little jewelled boxes where you store such things so they don’t overwhelm you. You have them still, the secrets, but they are in box with a lid. And a clasp. With a key that you turn.
And now, older, I am here with my new American family.( I have been here 7 years now). And the hooplah aimed at Christmas is fierce with its bright-eyed heat seeking gaiety. And I still feel a certain dread at the unrelenting march of days towards Christmas Day and all its expectations. I kind of liked knowing that I would not have to perform at Christmas. That it was the one day in a year that I was guaranteed a free afternoon. When the roads were quiet in the morning. When I could eat my dinner (steak, mashed potatoes, lots of gravy, salad and a bottle of cold white wine) sitting cross legged on the couch, slung about any which way I wanted, watching Breakfast at Tiffanys knowing the phone would not ring.
They call me The Grinch here and I am afraid that the oozy, earthy moist (sorry Roger) smell that has appeared in the basement is The Ghost of Christmas past and all my Christmas parables will get mixed up and take over the washing machine and teach me a thing or two about Leaching.
I know this is a selfish admission but as I went about the barn with my torch last night, not speaking so as not to create Awakenings, (though Sheila always knows I am there and grunts gently: close the door you are letting in the draft then fix my blankie) I was checking lights and waters and slumbers before the final doors were shut for the night, and as I latched the reluctant latch, perched on the frozen ground, my torch under my arm so I could use both hands, I thought that I would rather spend Christmas in the barn. (After I have given everyone their presents.)
I know we are not meant to say such things aloud so I am going to whisper them onto this page.
We must smile and cook and eat and have a lovely meal and thank you ever so much for the gifts. And we Will smile and cook and eat the lovely meal and then wash up all the dishes and put them back in the cupboards shiny and warm from the hot water with our dishpan hands but there is always an element of aloneness in these movements that is OK. Taking this day to work quietly in the kitchen is OK without giving in to the party police, or the ardent Christmas Carolers. Bless them. I love those people who have that wonderful gift of loving everything about Christmas. Because I struggle with it.
All I ask is that you will understand us, those ones who are alone or wish to be alone and who will lie to our friends (sorry Donna) so that we can be alone – on Christmas Day. We are perfectly fine. Don’t worry.
You see, some of us might discover sadness in the oven with the ham, the flip side of gaiety be it forced, bottle shaped or otherwise shuffles about in the basket of fresh steaming rolls, the rising descant in melody under the melody of clinking crockery that comes from missing your own people on Christmas day muddles about in your salad. The ones who came before and left before too. You miss them. So do I. The little box in your mind where you have stashed your longing for the lost ones, or the far away ones, or the faded ones creaks and rocks its moorings, that bulging little box with the curved lid that you have to sit on to snap the latches closed heaves up into your throat. Days like Christmas Day tug at the locks and handles of the box. Fingers scratching with tips of wet green nails. There is a wobble in the hinges of my steadfastness, my determination – on Christmas day. It is easier to manage without the morphine of merriment.
This is why it is OK to want to be alone on Christmas Day. And it is even more OK to be happy whilst being alone on Christmas Day.
And I bet I am not alone in this feeling.
You all have a lovely day. This is Christmas Eve in America. And for my darlings in Melbourne, Sydney, The Outback (yes that is you cousin Maria), Hawke’s Bay, Mahia, Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch. Merry Christmas.
Love your friend on the farmy,
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
147 responses to “It is the time of year for Christmas Revelry. If you want to.”
My dear, you have so eloquently expressed what I dare not say aloud myself. For to express would dim the glee and merriment of the ones I love still hear. But the holidays bring a sadness to me that is so deep it is a struggle to hold at bay.
May you find a moment of quiet solitude and peace these next two days. Hugs and comfort.
This is true, this is why we cook eat and smile, because those ones wh olove christmas are treasures.. I hope you can find a few moments of quiet to regroup the sad feelings too.. they do need some managing at times.. c
There must be thousands of folk who think like you at Christmas. When the children are young they make the joy of Christmas togetherness bright and shiny. As you become ancient like me, too many people at a time can be too tiring. Tomorrow we shall have a lovely lunch with a delightful French family and their 5-yr-old daughter but know that we can leave at the right moment and spend the evening quietly at home watching Strictly Come Dancing and going to bed early, sober and contented.
Whatever Christmas brings to you and all the Farmy Fellowship, I hope it is what you wish for and enjoy.
Love,
ViV
Oh POO, you re hardly ancient, your christmas dinner sounds lovely.. and the aftermath of a warm drink and the tele.. ah.. peaceful.. merry christmas Viv, my darling friend..c
I understand.
Thought you might.. have a lovely day sabra, a day away from the number crunching at least.. c
Reblogged this on Later, Miss Slater and commented:
This is a beautiful, heartfelt post on a blog I follow daily. I don’t want
to forget it, so I’m reblogging. May you all spend Christmas in a way that gives you comfort and peace. I’m growing toward that goal a little more each year.
Barns are a perfect Christmas spot. The smell of hay and the animal’s music. Good things start there.
I like to be outside – the woods, the fields, the stars, but this hasn’t been possible for some time. Your post is wonderful. May your Christmas be real. Hugs and paws waving (and prayers for all the lost lambs)
I spend most of my time alone. So gathering days – like Christmas are difficult for me.
This Christmas especially so.
My sister’s health is failing now. This will be her last Christmas.
We will probably spend today pretending it isn’t so.
It is now 5:40am and I am already longing for today to be over.
I love this post Celi.
I hope you manage to find some quiet.
Have a lovely day.
sad sad about your sister, lordy but I know how you feel.. please do keep in touch.. I hope you have plenty of support.. sometimes it is more fun to pretend when everyone knows anyway.. c
[…] The Kitchen Garden […]
I really don’t know how to write…the ghosts of my parents and my grandparents always fill my house. Even my little pajamed self…hops up now and then remembering those glorious days long ago. I could never sleep in…my parents made me promise that I would NOT wake anyone up if I
got up before all of them…so I would sit and by the tree and then lay under the tree waiting for the family to appear. Sometimes I would fall asleep and they would find me, waiting silently for them.
Today I have all my children around me, but you know what? I still wait silently for my parents and grandparents to appear. I still wait.
Linda
http://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com
¸.•*¨*•♪♫♫♪Merry Christmas ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥
˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.★★.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜”
If you open your eyes just the teensiest of slits,and keep very very still, do you think you might see them.. I think you might.. love love linda.. love love
Thank you, Celi. As a child, we had a quiet Christmas on the farm. My parents stopped fighting with each other, they got the chores done early, and we had presents and dinner and milking at both ends of the day. It was a quiet, peaceful day at the end of a whole lot (oh, it seemed so many at the time!) parties and concerts.
I would prefer to spend Christmas alone. I did last year and it was really nice. I had an invitation to drive to the country and go to dinner – about 6 to 8 people. I have declined. I will feed a friend dinner at her house – she works Christmas day in the hospital. So I will have the day to myself.
I don’t have the box of memories and sadness around Christmas. My mother died 35 years ago; my father 5 years ago; I am an only child. For me, the perfect Christmas is a quiet, peaceful day.
I do hope you find time to spend a peaceful time in the barn with your friends tomorrow.
Leah
Dear Leah.. I love that you don’t have to sit on that box of sadness, mine is only little really, compared to others we are some of the luckiest people in the world.. have a wonderful day tomorrow.. c
A bushwalking torch will do a really good job for you as well. Really enjoy reading all the thoughts about being alone at this time of the year.
Celi, you see how many of us share your feelings. Some of my saddest Christmases have been in the midst of family–with my own children, when they were little, and their world and mine seemed to be falling apart around us. Some of my mixed feelings about Christmas stem, I think, from the fact that Christmases *were* magical when I was a child, and so my expectations always, always, even now, exceed my ability to “make” things as perfect as I imagine they used to be. And so, no matter how hard I try, I’m always a little disappointed, a little sad, even when we gather, as we will on the 26th, but without #2 son and his wife and little baby. I’ll be grateful for what is, though, and exhausted once it’s over, but as I wrote on the blog the other day, I’m going to keep saying to myself, treasure it. Treasure it. So whether you’re with John and some family or friends or in the barn with your lovely, sweet (well, most of the time!) animals, I hope you’ll treasure the moments, too.
Peace to you, my friend, and a little joy. I wish a clear night for you, with many, many bright stars.
we do treasure them too gerry, You and I are good at that.. or at the very least i am trying my best.. take care. c
We are kindred spirits, Celi. Once again you show us that we are not alone in our feelings. My little box is filled to overflowing and cannot stand any more emotions of pain and disappointments. I am not alone physically but rather emotionally. I sit in the corner of my mind, huddled up. Being alone does not mean being lonely, right? Lift a glass for all of us recluses tonight. Peace to you and the fellowship.
Being alone is certainly not lonely. One day I hope you can stretch out in your corner, kick out some space for yourself, stretch your legs and languish in the aloneness. Open the window into your corner. I wish this for you this christmas.. and my wishes are very powerful.. c
I’m with you all the way. My father died at Christmas thirty two years ago and it was surrounded by great stress for various reasons. Since then, Christmas had no appeal for me. Since my husband died fifteen years ago, I have spent most Christmas days alone, by choice. I hate all the unnecessary stress and hype all over one day. Now I plan my day well in advance and batten down the hatches and close out the world. It works for me.
May your heart be peaceful and the animals happy, this Christmastide. My wish for you is a healthy 2014 with no more falls. Stay healthy my friend.
Losing your Dad at christmas will certainly have scarred the holiday for you.. battening down the hatches and giving yourself a healing day is wise.. good..alone is good.. honestly it is good.. c
I say we cancel all this silly, unnecessary, christmas stuff…it’s like almost everyone has said before me…stressful, sometimes sad, unfilled unrealistic expectations, waay too commercial, wasteful for the planet, etc. etc….I think if there really is a christmas spirit then we should practice it all through the year and not just on one day…that’s what I think…but in the meantime Cinders…know that we all send you and each other love and good, good wishes for a peaceful, happy and fall free New Year!
xo~Chris
Have a glorious day chris my darling.. much love soming your way.. c
A beautiful post…though I am not totally alone tomorrow, I am not with MY family as I wish to be. I will as you said, stay away from that “box” I have so carefully tucked away. I will enjoy each moment as I would like, and let regrets take a holiday. Hugs…thank you!
Such good thinking Kim! wonderful.. have a gorgeous day!! c
I was always a free spirit and did as I pleased on Christmas, sometimes I just loaded my horse in the trailer and went on a long trail ride. Then, at 40, I got married and had a son. It was never a goal in my life, but I tried so hard to do the best job of being a wife and mother. I made cookies for days on end, decorated every inch of the house, produced a perfect holiday for the other two. Then when my son was about 15, there was a Christmas when there was nothing in my stocking. Absolutely freaking nothing…and I’m a person who is perfectly happy with an odd rock or piece of driftwood, I’ve never required expensive gifts. I just said, “I quit.” Some years I bake cookies and take them round to all the neighbors. Some years I do nothing. It all works.
It took me months to get over losing Rudy Patoodi, the peacock I had a few years ago. Now I miss yours. I’m glad Sheila has had a chance to be the star pig, she fills that role so well. I’m hoping all of you have as snug and warm a week as possible this time of year.
Such a strange thing, to have nothing from them at christmas, are you still married? Do you still have the horse.Can you pack him up and go for a ride this christmas, i really do hope so.. how strange that they forgot to say even a little thank you.. ps Love the name Rudy Patoodi.. c
Still have two horses, but they are ancient and I no longer ride. Don’t have the husband, he’s still a friend, I won’t turn loose of a friend. It was a good lesson for me. I learned at a young age not to expect a perfect life, and was always happy with that. But I thought it was my job to make life perfect for my family, when I finally had one, and it took a while to discover that, too, was not my job.
Rudy’s wife was Trudy. The only reason I’d ever consider moving from my old family home is if I could have a good place to keep peafowl.
It is wonderful to be a little older isn’t it Things start to make so much more sense.. c