Tag: christmas

25. Well, what CAN you get the man you’re about to split up with for Christmas?

We’ve are currently in the stage where everything we say to each other comes with a bucket load of things unsaid. ‘I’m just going to see Tony’ seems to have become ‘I need to be out of the house and I don’t know when I’ll be back’; ‘Do we have any sellotape?’ has the silent reply of “why the hell don’t you know where things are, seeing as you’ve lived here for 12 years and you haven’t left yet!”

Christmas heightens all of it. Like a game of whack-a-mole, you don’t know what problem or sensitive issue is going to rear it’s ugly head next. Sometimes it’s not what you say, it’s what you do. And on Christmas Day is can also be what you give.

I thought – (spoiler alert – wrongly, as it turned out) that something useful, practical, that he would really need in the flat would be a good idea. Not exactly a housewarming present, but that sort of thing. I didn’t want to give anything really personal, I didn’t want to work out what jumper would suit him, what music he likes, a book I know he’d enjoy. That felt all a bit painful. So I bought a new whistling kettle.

Well, what CAN you get the man you’re about to split up with for Christmas?

He’ll need a kettle. He liked a whistling one we used to have. There’s nothing lonelier than using a saucepan to make your tea when you move.

But I judged it wrong. He felt like I was reminding him that he’s leaving. He felt shoved out, like I was rubbing it in. So, it’s not so much the thought that counts, but who’s having the thought. And what were they thinking? And Oh, so many things to think about.

And that’s how much of our Christmas day went – both of us judging things a bit wrong.

Today, I want all trace of Christmas gone. I’ve left the tree up, but all the cards have been recycled, the crap from the crackers has been binned, decorations are all boxed up and it almost looks back to normal. Whatever that means.

But I can’t say it’s been a joy. It’ll feel better when I can do a charity-shop run to get rid of the horrid jacket he bought me!

 

 

 

24. What the hell can a good goodbye fill you with?with? 

I have a very dear friend who can’t do goodbye’s. Really can’t. She turns in to a wobbly mess if there’s a goodbye buildup. I understand how she feels. Hellos are so much more fun. They don’t come with a feeling of loss or dread. A good hello fills your heart. What the hell can a good goodbye fill you with? 

The Goodbye I cannot bring myself to say is on the horizon. Getting ever nearer and bigger and heavier. Looming, like a big rain cloud.

It’s not been an unpleasant time in the flat in spite of it’s ever increasing presence. We found a new thing to watch together for now (My Brilliant Friend, a wonderful adaptation of the Elena Ferrante novel – if you must know) which, after blog #3 is a welcome surprise. There’s the buildup to Christmas – it’s tomorrow! – so that keeps things busy, making sure we have the day prepared. There’s the fact that he brought home a Christmas tree last week which, though small, is now fully bedecked with silver beads and white lights. (The Christmas tree is often an issue as I love them and he and the surprisingly humbug daughter don’t. So getting one for me this year meant a lot.) There are presents under the tree all wrapped and labelled. From me to him and him to me.  We made no lists this year. Gave no hints or suggestions. So who knows if they’ll be liked or wanted.

But the Goodbye is still sitting about. And in order to say it without saying it I have written him a letter. I’m not sure it’s helped me and I have not idea how he will feel about it. But it feels like the right thing to do. Because I do wish him well. I do hope he’ll be happy. I do hope he finds what he’s looking for. I just find it hard to say to his face at the moment. I think Goodbye and I cry. And, quite frankly I’d like to look relatively ok for at least one day. Especially Christmas day.

So whatever else a good Goodbye might look like, mine looks like some words.

And here’s to a good Christmas.

 

21. It’s all I can do to put the Christmas cards on the mantlepiece.

There’s a big ‘6’ in the window made out of fairy lights and wire. Our little Brixton Street has an Advent Window thing we do in December. People get a number between 1 and 24 and on that corresponding date we decorate one window with that number so all the neighbours can see. It’s quite fun walking around each day to find the next one. They’re all different, and all lovely. Behind many of the decorated windows the signs of Christmas are starting to show, some have trees decorated, some have wreaths on the front doors.

It’s all I can do to put the Christmas cards on the mantlepiece.

I like Christmas, but he never has, not really. It has aways been me to do the decorating of the tree, the fairy lights around the bannister. I’ve planned stockings, advent calendars, and Christmas cards. And I used to love it.

Can’t say that the build up to Christmas is exactly an exciting one this year.

I can’t help but look back at the festive times I’ve had before him, before our family, when it was just me. The gatherings of friends, all of us avoiding and escaping the ‘Christmas at home’ gloom, so sharing the time in hilarity and chaos that only a bunch of good mates with no pressure to get it right can have. I think of our early years together when we first had our daughter and the magic the a small human can add to the day, how every new fascination with baubles, lights and wrapping paper is the simplest of joys.

We have a few of us for Christmas this, the last, time – if nothing else a respite for the daughter. (There are pros and cons of being an only child and I’ve always felt Christmas was one of the lesser joys if not surrounded by cousins or friends.) There should be lively chat, some laughs, certainly lots of food. It’ll keep things busy and bustling along with all the to-dos of the day. Who does what, chopping and preparing, fitting in a dog walk, the timing of sprouts versus the perfect roasties.

So this will be our last one together. Well, as a couple. No doubt there will be others shared. But our future will be filled with an invite for Christmas, as a guest not a partner. That is a very strange thought to pull out of a cracker.