Is the Christmas glass half full?

It would be fairly obvious to those who really know me that the past few weeks have taken me through yet another phase of post-Tony grief.  The onset of Christmas has loomed over me since early October when someone casually asked me what I was doing for Christmas.

I remember being taken totally aback by the question.  After all, it was only early October and any thoughts of Christmas weren’t even in the hazy horizon of my mind.  I was still dealing with mid-winter past and the first year of the birthday seasons spent without my darling man.  So to be asked what I was doing at Christmas hit me totally unexpectedly.  Why would I be thinking about Christmas in early October, for goodness sake! 

Besides, we’d never had to prethink our Christmases for the past 20 years of Christmas.  Christmas has always been Christmas.  That is, we had done the same thing every Christmas for the almost past 20 years – being together, Tony and I, and doing what we had always done – to us every Christmas was the same old, same old. 

And what was that?  

It was taking ourselves down to the Waitemata Harbour early on a Christmas day, going for a long swim out to Bean Rock lighthouse, climbing up it and viewing the land from that unique position and height, then swimming back to shore.  The first year we did it there was just 3 of us.  Tony, myself and an old (not in years old in those days) Ironman friend of Tony’s, Bayden Pascoe.  On arriving back on shore and drying ourselves off we would then find some place open where we could get a coffee and something to eat before heading home for the rest of the day.  

Finding somewhere to coffee and eat on Christmas morning some twenty years ago was not that easy.  Cafes as of today’s café generation weren’t around in Auckland those days.  The first coffee we had was in the little brick building on Quay Street, adjacent to the Ferry Building – the  one that is now the ferry ticket building.  It was literally the only café open early Christmas morning.  We drank bad coffee out of plastic cups and had toast and jam off plastic plates and cutlery.  Twenty years ago that was probably almost twee.

The first year we did this was because it was the first year that neither of us had anyone at home for us to share our Christmas with.  Tony’s sons had gone to live with their mother and neither of my two were living in Auckland or likely to be thus being now bereft of kiddies to enjoy our Christmas with we decided to make our own entertainment to pass the traditionally child focused Christmas morning.

What happened in the proceeding years was that the Christmas morning swim became an annual institution with various friends and acquaintances who were strong swimmers deciding that an early morning Christmas Day swim was just the biscuit to begin their own festive day before heading to the in or out laws.  We have some lovely photos of those groups of swim friends who joined us for those swims – how life has changed and moved forward as many of those in the photographs have had their lives changed over the years and either no longer swim, or have since married/remarried and/or got their own children; or no longer triathlon or swim, or no longer live.  They are other stories for another time.

After the Christmas brunch or breakfast Tony and I would head home for the rest of the day where we would cook a turkey throughout the afternoon whilst friends and family would call and pop in for a summer drink and nibble or two.  Very often we would invite my step-mother over either for a nibble or the full meal, whichever suited her, and we’d have a most relaxed and enjoyable day either being by ourselves or enjoying the various and many pop-ins that may happen upon us.  No pressure, no stress (except that we never did get the turkey cooked to perfection – it was always either underdone or overdone – but we didn’t care – that was of no significance) and pure pleasure of being together.

So when in early October someone asked me what I was doing for Christmas my instant reaction was of surprise at the question then a vague rote response of, “I guess I’ll be doing the same as usual,” without embellishing on whatever ‘usual’ was.

But the question then hung gloomily on my mind for the ensuing weeks.  And more gloomily as the weeks passed for not only has Tony gone from my life for Christmas, but earlier this month my much loved step-mother unexpectedly passed away. Two enormous voids in the annual Christmas cheer.

Come late November the whole thought of Christmas had already become one of dismal reminders of Christmas’s past.  This time last year.  This time the year before.  This time 5 years ago, 7 years ago, 15 years ago.  Every reflected Christmas only reminded me of the Christmas to come.  I have not been looking forward to Christmas.  Then with Fay passing away early December the massive despondency of Christmas to come only became deeper and deeper.

Try as I might, the joy of Christmas’s past only made the thought of Christmas future one of melancholy  and downheartedness.  I think I did my best to whack the self imposed, woebegone attitude out of me.  I went to Christmas carol singing, I purchased Christmas cards with the good intentions of writing in them and posting them.  I purchased annual calendars to post to overseas friends and relatives.  I even took the cards and calendars with me to my house-cat-sitting role in Whangamata to make the most of the self time to get these supposedly pleasant tasks done.  I put my name down to attend a Christmas breakfast at the gym, another with friends for a lunch – I even prepaid for both.  I bought myself a Christmas dress.  But I never opened the packets of Christmas cards, nor the calendars to send; I never attended the breakfast, or the lunch and the Christmas dress remained on the hanger in the wardrobe. 

And Christmas loomed closer.

Yes, the annual Christmas morning swim was still planned; I found this out because I read the notice that it was on in our OWR blog site a few weeks ago ….  And it seemed that the boys (Danny and Glenn) had presumed that Christmas was going to be the same old, same old as they had both informed me they had specifically requested the day off at their respective places of employment so would be here for Christmas day.

The only problem was, it would not be same old, same old.  This year there would be no Tony here.  Last year was certainly a different Christmas for us, but we still went to Mission Bay Christmas morning and we still had Christmas dinners at home with extended families and we still had Tony doing all that with us.  This year the void would be enormous. 

And Christmas loomed closer.

And then early last week, little by little, the Christmas foreboding began to lift.  It began when son Glenn proposed the idea that we have Christmas at their home, the home where he and partner, Yoli, little Anthony and big Uncle Danny live.  The very suggestion of not being here for Christmas surprisingly and instantly lifted so much of the pensiveness I had been harbouring about the actual day.  An immense sense of relief flooded over me.  I realised just how much I did not want Christmas to be same old same old.  It could never be that again.  I knew instantly that it was time to get rid of same old and begin same new.  I think I was openly grateful at the suggestion.  I hope I was. 

The next day a very warm friend handed me a small gift and handed the same gift to another friend.  It was handed to us in a most casual and busy moment and handed with a particular purpose.  But it was a gift, a Christmas gift and receiving it was both unexpected and accepted with a surprising pleasure at her thought of giving and her thought pattern of what the gift was.  There was a certain enchantment at being the recipient of the unheralded presentation.

I was touched.

The same day I was made to realise the fortune of having many warm friends.  After spending some time rubbing down a magnificent set of feminine legs the possessor of the legs handed me a gorgeously baked and wrapped mini-Christmas cake that I know was made with love and tender affection – even if it did take her days, maybe weeks, of soaking the fruits in the witchery of alcoholic liquids.  That little cake sits on my coffee table and will probably be maturing all the more for many weeks to come before I will have to make the fatal cut and enjoy each crumb of the love it was made with.  I have weeks of great anticipation of that enjoyment.

I was touched.

Two days later I had a visit from one of the athletes I had coached last summer for Ironman back in March this year.  He came bearing a gift.  I have no idea what the gift is as it sits still wrapped, under the Christmas tree in my lounge.  What it is does not matter – it was the thought that he had gone out of his way to visit and share some fond memories and thoughts of future that meant much to me.  For he had invested a lot of soul into his athletic achievement over the last summer and I had invested much of my own soul in wanting him to do well with his goal so we had a shared and mutual bond there that I guess we both recognised.  His visit was a reminder of how much we as individuals can impact on each other’s lives when working for a common goal.  

I was touched.

That night I had a Christmas concert to attend which I had already decided days earlier to renege attending.  Yet as the day progressed I pondered on my decision not to attend and pondered on the value of making myself jolly up and ensure I would not be the morose member of the group attending.  Somehow the decision change seemed easier to make and ‘jollying’ up did not take nearly as much energy as it usually does.

It was a lovely night. 

Made all the lovelier to arrive home to a virginally white bouquet of flowers sitting at my door to greet me.   Whether the virginal white was specifically ordered to reflect my nun-like state I have no idea, but the irony was enjoyed by the recipient.  And how lucky was I!  Thank you to the One-Day-Will-Be-A-Finely-Tuning-Athlete.  You lifted what gloom spirits that were encircling me to a more distant plane. 

And the weekend following became one of invaluable awareness and  gratitude that my life is not a case of a glass half full – but an overwhelming show of proof that my life is a situation of a glass overflowing.

Overflowing  in the form of people who do actually take that extra little time to think, do and demonstrate they care.  At a time when I have been deeply self absorbed with soul searching melancholy the actions of warm friends have lifted that melancholy away – like a puff of wind they have blown that gloomy atmosphere hanging over my head completely out of the window and made me ever so grateful that I have had some valuable people in my world.

Doors have been mended, unstartable lawn mower has been started, lawns have been mown, a fresh smelling pine Christmas tree has arrived, been installed and decorated by two delightful children.  Have meandered  happily to MOTAT and its Christmas night lights and activities with special friend and child, bike and car problems fixed, lovely phone calls have been made, visitors received, hidden gifts discovered in the house.  And even real bubbles flowed on Sunday night as a warm collection of warm friends sat in my lounge for a pre-Christmas concert drink and merriness and bubbles were had.  And my Christmas dress came out of the wardrobe and worn, to the compliments of many.

No such thing as a glass half full.  It’s overflowing.  Overflowing with bubbles of goodwill.

Tony will be smiling. Smiling more than ever that others have lifted the doldrums from his wife’s Christmas gloom.  He will be a very happy man. For the bondship of our friends and for his wife.

Bring on Christmas Day.