Written December 25, 2020.
I had been so nervous, just as if I was new at it, the householder confecting Christmas in isolation. I’d never thought of it before K, but there’s an obligation on householders to create a Merry Christmas. It all rests on somebody. The others contribute, but someone has to make it happen. Merry Christmases don’t happen by themselves.They are created, and usually by one member of the household, its manager, its arranger, the centre of operations, however reluctant that manager might be to be a manager, as I always was. Until the presence of K.
But it worked! Christmas was a happy day. In fact, one of the happiest. It was the company, the food, and of course, the creek.
The food: GG cooked a pork roast with bits of crackling; I made an intensely delicious GF gravy right in the pan as I had been taught way back when I was 17, being a cook at an old ladies’ home of 70 old ladies even though I didn’t know how to cook; and the Christmas caked I baked was loved by everyone, even though it was a compromise of no dried fruit except dates, helped by lots of grated carrots, coconut flour and almond flour, to fit in with K’s needs.
The company: so amiable, no tension, no scarcely concealed crankiness. Aided by bon-bons, chosen by K (at Berowra Post Office!) for the promise on the box of silly hats and sillier knock knock jokes. We spent the lunch reading them out and trying to guess the answers. Much praise for the guesser, who was usually Dee but sometimes GG. Tripi stole the scene, outperformed the jokes, just by being present. No tension, no arguments, no tears, just an amiable gathering of people who liked each other. My friend had told me she was preparing a little talk to her family about Christmas being a time of healing. I thought I should, but didn’t. Yet, without profound thing happening, any trying, just good will between us all, it was a healing time.
We faced the creek. And you know about the creek.The creek made it possible.