Horatio was always a ratbag.
From the day that I met him when he was just 9 days old, he showed himself to be strong willed and independent. Although he was the runt of a litter of six pups, he was the first one to open his eyes and the first one to wander away from his Mum.
Quite a few times in our lives together, he pissed me off.
I once caught him urinating against some brand new curtains that I had just finished hanging, and he seriously just looked at me as he finished. He looked me right in the eye as he just kept pissing.
Bloody little shit!
And I could never leave any food within his reach. He once pulled a just opened camembert off my coffee table and ate the whole thing.
Bloody little shit!
Last Christmas was very difficult. Just tough. I had few pleasures to enjoy.
But Christmas time does present itself with lots of treats and has so many edible joys. Food that we only have at Christmas and therefore savour. Like lemon tarts from Bakers Delight.
So last Christmas I splurged on a box of six of these delicious little morsels. However, when I got home I was busting to go to the toilet, so I dumped all my shopping bags – including the one with the box of lemon tarts – on the floor by the back door, and dashed to the dunny.
When I came out I forgot about the groceries and went to another task, something not important but it was enough to distract me from the food by the back door.
And you can totally guess what happened can’t you? Horatio dragged the whole box of tarts out to the back lawn and destroyed two of them before I discovered him. In fact he was onto his third!
Bloody little shit!
So today, when I bought my first lemon tart for the 2014 Christmas season, I thought of my little monster. Gone from me just over six months ago.
Today is also exactly six months since I made the decision to kill my beloved Jack. Exactly six months ago. Today.
And I still miss him so utterly.
But today is about lemon tarts.
Lemon tarts and Horatio.
My own bloody little shit!
Every year since 1990, around this time, I can start to expect a phone call . . . . from me Mum.
You see, it’s about this time of year that she starts thinking about Christmas.
And how she’s going to spend it.
In 1989, my Mum decided that she needed to be ‘selfish’ as per the instructions from her psychiatrist, and she told her three daughters on Christmas Eve that she would be going somewhere by herself for Christmas Day. Then she got in her car and drove away.
Two years ago, 2012, I was looking forward to a quiet Christmas with my Boys.
Crayfish, pavlova & champagne + a long walk on the beach.
God – I was SO looking forward to it.
Then on December 19th, I got a call from my Mum telling me that had been told by her (new) psychiatrist that she shouldn’t spend Christmas alone, and that she (my Mum) has suggested to her psych that she spend it in Busso with me, which of course the psych thought was a great idea. So five days before Christmas my Mum rocked up at my place with her cat and moved into my bedroom and my bed, and I slept on a mattress on the floor in my dining room.
For eight weeks.
So, it’s coming to that time of year again. When my Mum will be thinking about how she will spend her Christmas. But this year, she has her boyfriend/partner and his kids and grandkids. My Mum loves playing Happy Families with them all. They all think she is wonderful. They feel bad for her that none of her children (the alive ones) have anything to do with her. Because she’s such a loving and generous person. Always offering her time and assistance to others. Always there when you need her. Warmly welcoming and farewelling, with a hug and a kiss.
And so she will call me (the second call this year).
And she will ask me to come and spend Christmas with her.
But I would rather have bamboo skewers shoved under my fingernails.
Until only two years ago,
I was the “Essence of Christmas”.
I could not have been more exuberant about it,
if I was five years old!
I loved the smells, sounds, colours and lights.
Then shit happened,
I can’t even muster enough energy to care.
I actually hope
that this will change one day.
Although this photo is 5 years old,
it still cracks me up.
What are you doing?
Really superbly actually.
I’m more than a little surprised, as it could all be such a disaster.
You know – surviving the whole ‘Christmas’ thing on my own.
For the first time in more than two years,
sadly not an exaggeration,
I reclined on my back verandah
(on an old cane lounge)
drank a cold drink,
snoozed a little with my boys,
and flicked through some home porn (magazines).
Jesus, it was awesome!
I’m doing my best to just ride this current wave of *asthma*
– all encompassing as it is –
and come out the other side a sane (ish) person.
Merry Christmas, y’all.
I downloaded this song tonight.
I don’t know why,
but it brings back desperately lonely,
yet ultimately hopeful feelings
from my teenage years.
When I dreamed of ‘escaping’ from my miserable life
(god, how naive!)
Still love the song though!
I am no martyr,
but I have to admit that I feel like I am sacrifising a great deal of happiness this year.
Just having my Mum with me is tough,
but doing it at Christmas
I know that sounds so terribly awful,
however I am using all my energy to remain positive and supportive
and that leaves no energy for cheerfulness.
I wish it did.
I use to love Christmas.