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It is the time of year for Christmas Revelry. If you want to.

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.

alone-006

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

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147 responses to “It is the time of year for Christmas Revelry. If you want to.”

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  3. I’m thinking that Sheila needs a big red ribbon around her neck with a beautiful big bow. She probably wouldn’t go for that….how about a nice bow on her stall door then.

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  6. Loveliest post yet, Celi. . No surprise The Fellowship are kindred spirits. Family gatherings make me tremble inside. I love being with family members alone over coffee or whatever, but my nervous system cannot tolerate the noise and chaos–and shallowness. The grins and false hilarity–of which I am majorly guilty.
    I wish you a profoundly peaceful and happy Christmas. Cecilia, know you have enriched the lives of so many of us. You cannot imagine what joy this blog brings me. I love you and all your critters.

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    • We love you too darling girl, and quite by chance your tree is right outside my window.. and in fact the strongest of that bunch.. so i chat with you more often than you read.. take good care this christmas. c

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  7. Was not coming on for a few days, but . . . this beautiful honesty from so many readers has touched my soul, most of all John’s words about inner peace. ‘Tis the middle of Christmas Day here ~ have ‘fulfilled my obligations’ since Christmas Eve is our big ‘celebration’, have seen those I had to, said words expected . . . now I am off for a long walk listening for birdsong: yes, totally by choice, and yes, full of inner peace! Blessings with you, magical Celi . . .

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  10. Christmas in the barn. Isn’t that where it all began, amongst the straw and the warm heaving presence of the animals? A perfect place to give birth to peace.
    I’m briefly back in town after joining the family for Xmas lunch, then I’m back to the beach for a week of mainly solitude. After the jollity of Xmas lunch a cloak of sadness descended over me, and I found I was missing my mum and dad. So I read your post with sympathetics eyes and ears. Thank you for your beautiful writing. You always reach into the hidden corners.

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  11. Loved your words. I am alone and I love being alone. My two grown children do not understand me. Christmas went South for me many about 15 years ago. My children have been on their own for a number of years. It is another day for me and actually it is quite peaceful. Just me and my animals and taking care of them fills my day/s. Thanks for a great post. I clicked on the link supplied by Lori to find you.
    ~yvonne

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    • yvonne you are in good company, there are many of us out there with children far away and misunderstandings understood… i always ate good food by myself on christmas day, I hope you do too!!

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      • Thanks for the reply Cecilia. It is the Christmas thing that my kiddos do not understand. They would like it to be as it was when they were still living at home. In later years it became too much work and really I’ve become fond of solitude since retiring as RN. I will eat good as well since it is a must for me to maintain my health. Take care.

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  12. Dear Celi, beautiful post…. I almost felt homesick as you described your late night rounds in the barn…
    Yes, I long for a peaceful Christmas on my own…. but as long as the grandchildren are here, I feel it isn’t Christmas for them if Grannie isn’t there. I did the Christmas dinner this year so that my exhausted family didn’t have to worry, and I felt such joy as I heard my lanky six foot three grandsons of 22 and 20, debating which dish they loved the most, saving their appetite all day for my feast, and then revelling in two different puddings, including the chocolate mousse they’ve loved since they were little. So it’s the grandchildren who chain me to Christmas!

    I loved every-one’s response to your beautiful words… what a glorious community you’ve created… so much love to you from this end of the world XXXX

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  15. Do you know that the animals can talk on Christmas Eve? Yes… they all converse with each other and talk about the world, their lives, their families and their hopes and dreams. When we lived on a farm we had an intercom system that played into our bedroom so I could hear the goats if they went into labor and needed help. I always thought I’d turn it on on Christmas Eve so that I could hear what my critter family really thought. But…. you know what? I valued their privacy too much… as I value my own….. and I never did. I still wonder sometimes what they said…..

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    • Oh I have to respond to this . What a charming person you must must be to respect your animals’ privacy. I love it!
      Equus.

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