One Arse Cheek on a Shared Piano Stool

Christmas is a time of…cheer, joy, warmth, laughter…fear?   The 25^th December can be a bit like an Escher drawing for me, I’m never sure if I’m going up or down, I just know I’m there.  From the end of November, and often earlier nowadays, the neighbourhood windows gradually start to trumpet the arrival of the special day until from about the middle of December onwards they are in full fanfare.   Every year I approach the day with uncertainty and trepidation, realising that if I’ve read the script correctly, I should be feeling the golden warmth of joy twinkling through my veins until it is revealed in my eyes and my smile to the other humans around me.  Recently however I’ve noticed that there is an elastic band of fear, tightening around my veins and blocking this feeling.  Fear of Christmas though?  How can that be?!!

My daughter is now in tasting distance of adulthood and on alternate years she spends Christmas with her dad and family, a situation that must be familiar to many.  It’s a situation that I’ve become accustomed to on many other days of the year so why is this one so different?  This day at the latter end of December is singular because it can feel like the whole world is pointing at it through adverts, social media, television programmes, merry songs…even jumpers and in the past I know I’ve done the same.  However, today I’m giving myself the permission to be honest on this page, allowing myself to admit that sometimes I don’t want to point at it, sometimes I want to be one of the wise monkeys covering my eyes and ears, sometimes I just want it just to be another day.

BUT, But…but as I was slapping the pavements with the worn rubber soles of my ageing trainers earlier I realised something; Christmas is just a moment, a moment that passes very quickly but equally a moment that remains with us when we need it.  And there are so many flashes of seasonal thrills, warmth and so many giggles that I can draw upon when I need it.  The year when I sneaked a peak at the obvious calendars my mum had wrapped for us as teenagers and I swapped the tag with my sister’s because I definitely didn’t want the Tears for Fears calendar; the year we heard a shocking thud upstairs to find that my brother in law had fallen face down off the bed because he’d indulged a little too much in the Christmas spirit (he was ok, just a bloodied nose and a bruised ego); the year it was me that went in every hour from 5am to check if my young daughter was ready to get up yet because I was more excited than her!

And then there are the memories of my southern grandparents’ house; I can walk around it now when I close my eyes, the mustard, spongy carpet, contrasting perfectly with the haphazard pile of presents, my excitement building as I squashed my toes into the soft pile of that carpet.  There is the memory of the wonderful adhoc scatter of chairs around the Christmas table when celebrating at home, grandparents, great uncle, neighbours, all at different levels, me either perching one arse cheek on a shared piano stool or elevated above everyone else on a kitchen stool; the laughter, mischief and seasonal excitement of my gorgeous northern nanna adding extra festive warmth to the room.

As I write these reminiscences on the page I can already feel the elastic band loosening providing room for the golden joy to start a slow trickle to my heart.  I gratefully know I will make more memories which I will be able to add to the Christmas moment archive ready to select the one or few next time I find myself walking down those Escher stairs.

If you are celebrating this season, I hope that you all have the Christmas that you want to have and I also wish a hopeful new year to you all too!