Christmas Eve

It's Christmas Eve, 10am and I am tracking Santa with NORAD. Mr M has gone out to do a few last minute errands, like go to the market for the special bacon we like and then to COSTCO for coffee and mushrooms.

I am on my own and as much as I love my husband I do still need some time to myself. I love my home when it is quiet. One of the reasons we bought this house was the atmosphere it has. The first time we came in through the front door it felt peaceful. We live on a main road into the city centre so there is traffic most of the day, unless it is snowing, but even before we had double glazing the house is peaceful. It's not just us that feel it. All the friends who have come to visit tell us that it is such a relaxed house, so peaceful. We like that.

This kind of set me thinking about other places I have lived and whether they were peaceful too, and I think there was only one other place that has the same feeling and that was the Mill. It also set me thinking about other Christmas Eves and wondering why this one feels so different.

Perhaps because it is the first one where I really feel I don't have to worry about my children. They are all finally where they want to be. Each one has said things this year that show they are making long term plans, something they haven't really done before. Perhaps it's just because I have a genuine Italian Pannetonne in my pantry and I intend eating it. Perhaps it's because this year Mr M and I have kind of decided that we don't need to give presents to each other to show how much we care, that it is sufficient for us to sit together on the sofa and hold hands while we talk. We know how much we care for each other and there isn't a gift on this earth that he could give me that would get anywhere near expressing how much I am loved. We tend to buy things we need when we need them so, this year we are content.

You see, that's it! I have just realised as I am writing that the difference is contentment. I am content, Mr M is content, we don't need anything else to make Christmas complete.

So I wish everyone who reads this a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I could write it in Welsh but that would just be showing off as I don't speak the language even though I am Welsh

Christmas Club story 4

My first husband left us in the September. We were all living with my parents in an old water Mill but even the idyllic surroundings couldn't prevent the marriage from falling apart. Any way he had packed his bags and after waiting for the children to come home from school he announced "Your mother has something to tell you" and left.
We had a roof over our heads and my mother would not let us go short of food but it was still going to be a Christmas without their dad and the youngest was already convinced that it was all his fault and if he had been a good boy daddy would still be with us. In November after having no contact I was summoned to court so that he could demand access. I don't have to say that I told the court that he could see the children whenever he wanted to, he could have them every weekend if they wanted to go and he could ring them every night as long as it was before they went to bed. He was setting me up you see because then he demanded that they go to him for Christmas. I said yes IF THEY WANT TO. and suggested that there should be a witness present when they were asked, just to make sure that I didn't unfairly influence them.
The court appointed a Guardian ad Litem to oversee this most difficult situation and a date was arranged. The day arrived and we went to the offices where he was to ask them to go and stay with him - I am sure that he had been promising them all sorts of things during his saturdays with them - He asked them if they would like to go and stay with him for Christmas and before the youngest could say anything my daughter asked "Where will we sleep?" "At Nanny and Bampi's house, with me" he replied. "How long do we have to stay?" she asked. "You'll come on Christmas Eve and stay until Boxing day" "Oh, no," she said, sounding quite relieved "We can't, we have to be in church for Choir on Christmas Eve and on Boxing Day we go to the Village hall for the party." She looked thoughtfully at her father and I suddenly realised that she had planned all this "Dad, why don't you just bring our presents to the mill on Christmas morning and then we can see you and we can still have our dinner with Granddad and Granny." The boys nodded their heads in agreement. The G.a.L was satisfied so that's what happened.
My father did make the children invite their father to eat Christmas dinner with us but he refused. "It's alright," he said, "I have my sandwiches."
My daughter refers to this as her father's martyrdom period and often reminds us all that you can't be a martyr without an audience.
I owe that Christmas to a 12 year old girl who knew how to manipulate her father - and I occasionally remind her of it. She insists that she didn't plan it at all and then she always smiles that smile - G*D! I love my daughter!

Christmas Club3

When my children were small we (my now ex husband, me and the three children) lived with them in an old water mill. It was three miles outside the village, nestled into a dip in the landscape so no views just the sound of the countryside. My daughter was six so that makes the boys four and three. She was a bit of an actor and was always making up shows and plays for us. He christmas production involved both her brothers - this was not a wise move as they giggled a lot and forgot their lines.
The plot was long and complicated and had the good and bad fairies - both played by the author - fighting for dominance over the elves (the boys, see I said it was not a wise thing) The performance began after we had all partaken of a pretty darned marvellous Christmas Dinner. The audience was me, my Mum and Dad, My Dad's sister Muriel, a Siamese cat called Penny who belonged to Aunty Mu and joined in with everything. The ex was "too busy" and took himself off to the kitchen where he could sup from his secret booze store (he hated that mum and dad didn't drink so didn't buy so anything he wanted to drink he had to get with his own money not theirs. Where was I? oh yes!
The audience were arranged by the director and told that they would be expected to join in. The show began and pretty soon one of the elves had been stolen from toyland by the bad fairy and the good fairy had to rescue him. The bad fairy was chasing the good fairy - this had to be seen to be believed as the director was playing both parts and at some point in the chase the Good fairy gave THE MAGIC RING to my Dad and asked him to "Keep this safe, kind man, I 'seech you"
I know, six years old and she had words like beseech in her vocabulary, spending so much time with her granny was obviously a good thing. Back to the plot.
Dad took the MAGIC RING and with sleight of hand appeared to swallow it. I did say that it was after a good lunch didn't I? and even though we never drank much my dad did like a glass of wine with his Christmas dinner. The good fairy was horrified "Oh Grandad," she wailed, "You've spoilt it now!
"Bernard!" said my Mum, "Behave yourself! " and then a little voice from the corner of the dining room (the bad fairy's domain) said
"I'll never get out of Toyland now!"
with all the sad resignation that a four year old can put into such a statement. The result was absolute hysteria. My Dad roared with laughter and if he laughed then everyone else just had to follow suit because he had an infectious laugh. My Mum hugged the good/bad fairy. the tiny elf that didn't get stolen joined in without the faintest idea what was funny (which made me laugh even more) Aunty Mu was wiping her eyes with her table napkin and the cat hid behind the door and peered, wide-eyed around the edge at all her humans who had gone mad.
We never did see the end of that play but it is one of the first things that is talked about when my children do the Do-you-remember-that-Christmas-when thing.
My youngest granddaughter will be six in February and she is just like her mother, she throws words like beseech and vulgarity into the conversation and they are always in context. We have a notebook where we write all the things she says so that we can always remember exactly what she says and one day I will put them together into an album for her.
Oh, and we never saw the MAGIC RING again!

Christmas Club Story two

When I was young, and I mean really young, still in single figures so we are looking at the 1950s here, I remember only cold. We lived in an old Nissen hut, the picture was taken when I was about three and you can see the corrugated steel wall of the hut. My Dad bought it right after WW2 and built it on the piece of land he had bought. we moved in there in 1947 just in time for the hardest winter on record. Well the following winters were pretty hard too. The walls of the hut were simply a double skin of steel with a 6inch gap between them. The only source of heat was the fireplace in the living room. The condensation hit the steel and froze so we had icicles hanging from the ceiling. I remember that we shut all the internal doors except the one between my parents bedroom and the living room and we all bundled into my parents feather bed so that we could put ALL the blankets on the top. The water pipes froze but my mother had filled every pot and pan so we could melt enough to have a warming drink.

I remember that the Christmas tree had real candles on it and I had a train-set as my present.

So the next time someone talks about the good old days, remind them that most people in the 1950s were just getting used to indoor plumbing and the majority still regarded a bathroom as a luxury. No-one had central heating unless they were rich and very few had a car. Yes I look back with fondness to a simpler time but would I go back? not on your nelly!

Christmas Club story

Sian has a Christmas Club
http://fromhighinthesky.blogspot.com/2010/11/christmas-club-2-my-inner-elf.html

She asks for Christmas stories so here's one

Christmas 1980 was different for me and my three children. We had been living with my parentsfor eight years, together with my first husband and then I divorced him for reasons that are irrelevant to this tale. In August 1980 I met Mr M, in October I asked my children what they wanted for Christmas and they said they wanted Mr M to live with us. My father threw a hissy fit and refused to let him through the door so we found an expensive house to rent and the children and I moved out. So we had no money because what we didn't spend on rent we spent on the fuel to get Mr M to work and back.
We asked the children whether they wanted a present or a Christmas dinner because we couldn't afford both. They said they would have a dinner because their father would give them lots of presents.
On Christmas Eve they all went to bed quite late because they had helped to prepare vegetables and make mincepies and do all the things they hadn't been able to do before. Mr M suddenly put on his coat and gave me mine to put on. "Come on" he whispered "this is what my Dad always did"
We went out into the garden very quietly and hid behind a big bush, and from his pocket he produced a string of jingle bells which he shook vigerously. The curtains on the boys' bedroom window shook slightly. Mr M shook the bells again and two little faces appeared.
"I don't care what your name is!" Mr M bellowed "You can't park those reindeer on my roof!"
The curtain dropped, we scurried inside, throwing our coats at the coathooks and kicking off our shoes. We sat ourselves in our chairs as we heard footsteps on the stairs. I carried on with my crocheting and Mr M pretended to be asleep as a little head came around the door.
Nothing was said to us but as they went back upstairs the youngest one asked his brother "How did he do that? How can he be outside shouting and inside asleep?"
If he reads this blog he'll find out won't he?

Moving day dawns

The weather has been miserable here for the last few days. Foggy, raining and a frost on a couple of mornings. All this is because this week mt youngest son and his partner and family are moving to a new house. New for them, not new built. It is really nice in a quiet location, with what seem to be good neighbours and none of the parking wars that they had in their old house. They have a drive where they can park both cars, the children can still go to the same school and they are much closer to their grandmother so she can collect them from school and take them to their own home to wait for mum rather than have to take them to her house and sometimes keep them until the next day because mum and dad were both working until way past their bedtime.

We decided that we would go to see his new place after we had been to the Dr for our flu jab. As I am a pensioner now and Mr M has diabetes we are both considered 'vulnerable' so we are offered the flu jab. I hate it because my arm always aches for days afterwards and I always have the "flu-like symptoms" that some people experience. This means a week of misery, BUT I had the flu once. The real flu, the one that grabs you by the chest and throws you down then sits on you until you are so weak you just give up. I was three weeks before I had the strength to walk the length of our house and it was a month before I could walk the 100 yards to the corner shop. When people say they had the flu and it lasted 24 hours I laugh because what they have had is a cold. Influenza is totally debilitating and I can see why so many people died from it in the early 20th century.

Anyhoooo, we went to see the new place and it is lovely. I suddenly realised that I had given quilts to the two oldest of my children but had never given one to my youngest so I corrected that today when I gave him two. I should also give quilts to the children but I haven't decided whether to make a couple more for them or to just give them two of the many I have left.

Of Taps and apple muffins and panic dances

You get those sort of days don't you? the ones where you just know that things are conspiring to annoy you. A day when staying in bed would have been a good idea except that so many things would not get done that you can't.

Today was one of those happy days. I had to get up because I take Little Miss to school when her Daddy is on morning shift. On the way to school she stepped into a puddle and splashed me. It was totally accidental because we were talking and we weren't looking where we walked. I came home and there were several things that had to be done before I could do what I wanted to do so I was pottering about. Mr M came downstairs and had his breakfast before going off to see his mum. She has dementia and is in a home now so he goes at least once a week to visit.

I decided to make some apple cake to use up some of the free apples we were given - the bag weighed about 10 pounds so there are a lot. I also made apple muffins. I made them using splenda instead of sugar - for diabetic eating doncha know.

I got them into the oven and then turned my attention to the bowl from the Kenwood, I turned on the hot tap ran sufficient water and turned the tap off - and that's when everything went to hell in a handbasket.

We have lever taps that just need to be pushed gently to turn them off. For weeks the hot tap has been turning itself back on again so we have been pushing it a little harder to turn it off. At one stage we were using an elastic band to hold the tap closed by looping the band oveer the lever onto the cold tap. This worked a treat but I said that we should get it fixed. Mr M muttered about it having to be a complete new tap and as it is a mixer tap it will be expensive.

Instead of stopping when I pushed it to where the limit should have been it just twizzled around (sorry to be so technical) and the tap kept right on running. I tried to fiddle with it, hoping that whatever should have stopped it would miraculously work and turn off the water, but no luck.

I ran around shrieking for a few seconds then remembered my mobile phone had Mr M's mobile in its phone book. I rang him and as soon as he answered a shrieked down the phone "The hot tap! It broke! I can't stop it running!"

He explained about the isolation valve under the sink so I grabbe the tool box and sprayed the contents over the floor in my hurry to get the screwdriver out. I still had Mr M on the phone at this point. I opened the cupboard and swept the contents of the shelf out and onto the floor.

It was dark in there.

I rushed down the ha..... I'll try that again. I struggled up off my knees and rushed down the hall to get the torch, came back to the kitchen got onto my one good knee switched on the torch and peered into the cupboard. Did I mention before that I wear varifocal lensed glasses? Well I do. I could now see the pipe where the valve was, I could see the valve. I could not clearly see the slot in the valve for the screwdriver because the angle of my head meant that I was looking through the top or distance part of the lens and I needed to look through the bottom or detail part. I put the torch onto the shelf, changed hands with the screwdriver, adjusted the phone that was wedged between ear and shoulder - this was part of the cause of the funny angle that I was looking from - moved my glasses so I could see the valve and the slot and realised that I now had to change hands with the screwdriver because the angle I was kneeling at meant that I couldn't stretch my left hand out that far.

All the time Mr M is listening and trying to be encouraging and calming.

I decide that trying to keep the phone under my ear is pointless so I tell him I will ring him back if I can't do it. He says he is coming home NOW and won't answer while driving. I sob but not until after I have disconnected. all the time the water is still running into the sink and down the drain and because money has been so tight lately I can only see the coins wasting away. I rearrange everything so that I am now holding the torch in the left hand and the screwdriver in the right. I adjust the glasses again, wrinkle my nose to try and keep them in place and I put the blade of the screwdriver into the slot and turn.

The water stops and starts again. I realise that it is a valve and therefore I should be turning it just until it is closed. It starts to drip hot water onto the shelf! I fling more stuff out of the cupboard until I find a container that will fit under the leaky valve, then I turn it gently until the water stops running into the sink.

I crawl into the breakfast room and drag myself up onto my feet and as I do Mr M arrives breathless and worried. I sob onto his shirt front and he lets me. He doesn't make me wait until he has checked that I have done everything right, he holds and comforts me until I am calm again and then asks if I am sure it is ok. And that's one of the reasons I love him. He trusts me.

So now we have no hot water in the kitchen sink and we have to live with it until we can afford to get it fixed. It has been a bit expensive this last month or two what with two 18th birthdays and a 21st today and a 16th next week and the car insurance.

So how was your day?