A Moment to Savour Christmas

The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.

~Burton Hillis~

The rain is tapping the windows in a frenzied attempt to enter our home. Its staccato rhythm blends with the joyous laughter of Boy 1 and Boy 2 as they explore the intricasies of new possessions, and wallow in the rare pleasure of not having to be anywhere other than here.

Yesterday was the best Christmas Day I can remember for many years. I think last year served as a huge reminder that Christmas in not about presents, or possessions. It is about family.

Twelve months ago I could barely summon the energy to put up the Christmas tree. Presents were shoved in gift bags, no attempt made to hide or keep surprises, Christmas did not exist in my heart. My mother was deathly ill. She bled every day and the chronic anaemia had taken chunks from her senses: of taste, her ability to swallow, her eyesight (not the best anyway), her concentration and worst of all, her desire to live. She cried daily, exclaiming: "Why do I have to wake up to this hellish life every morning? Why can't I just die."

Christmas day she was so unwell that she didn't even want to see her grandchildren. I packed up her baked lunch into an esky, took it to her, sat and watched as she picked, and fiddled, and ate barely a morsel. I then packed up the dishes and returned to eat my now cold meal, well after my family had finished theirs. And my heart broke a little more, as it had daily in the months since the nightmare began.

Fast forward to yesterday morning. We awoke to the laughter of our manic boys, the house a shimmer with lights, and tinsel, decorations and loudly caroling, jiggling, mechanical Christmas figurines. The boys opened a few presents, but most were kept to be shared later, as we calmly began preparing lunch. Soon glorious smells of roasting chicken smothered in bacon wafted through the rooms. Boy 1 and myself grabbed an umbrella, and set off. To pick up Nanna. My miracle Mum. The rest of the day was one of the quietly happiest days of my life. I floated, wrapped in a cloak of contentment and peace. Mum stayed all day, and when I took her home she was tired but elated. And full to the brim with her huge meal of chicken drizzled with gravy, roast pumpkin, sweet potato, potato, broccoli, corn on the cob, and carrots, consumed with gusto. She even partook of her old tipple of choice, port with lemonade (eat your heart out Esme Watson). A huge contrast to last year's dismal degustation. She even had some of the steamed, alcohol drenched, impregnated with rich, decadent dried fruit pudding.

What a truly wonderful family Christmas day, the way it is meant to be. Full up of love; laughter; life; joy. A Christmas of the heart. God, I love my life right now.

Peace to you all.

 

Living on the Mountain

I do try and keep things reasonably anonymous here. Having survived the experience of someone becoming a little too keen on being me, I do not wish to tempt fate and open the door to any more slightly obsessive, needy friends. But on such a glorious mountain day it is hard not to sing to the masses about our wonderful life here.

I was born in the country. Spent my first eighteen years there, then moved to the big smoke. It was not until I had my own children that I began to appreciate all I had been blessed with during my childhood. Freedom to run, play, explore and grow.

My boys now have the same freedom with our three acres of heaven, away from bustling roads and noisy neighbours. They run around the lawns with Dog 1 and Dog 2, explore hidden nooks of our 3/4 acre of rainforest, climb the huge avocado in which they and Big Boy are building a tree house - complete with flying fox I might add. They go adventuring to the secret stream, digging in the mud for all sorts of weird and wonderful creatures. Giggles and squeals echo back to the house, which both boys would stoicly deny, of course. Boys do not giggle, they laugh in a manly masculine manner. 

When they tire, they sit, heads together in the shade of an eons old Morton Bay fig. Uninhibited laughter floats over our valley, as do the quiet whispers of awe when they find native animals or birds hidden away.

We are very lucky to have found our own slice of heaven.