There was one thing I loved about her more than anything. It was her ability to show me the way when my life was going down the gurgler.
So many times I had found myself in the gutter of life only to find her reaching out to me, offering me succour in the most trying of times.
I was blind in not realising her love was unconditional.
The beauty I saw and believed beyond my reach, was awaiting the day I saw her as she was, not as I perceived.
Thankfully I woke up one day and saw the light.
Christmas day is over down under
Gifts wrapped, unwrapped
Ogled over, gratitude expressed.
Children came and went,
More tomorrow
Gifts beyond expectation.
Love and family
Sharing a meal,
Salads, meats, deserts,
All home cooked,
All lovingly prepared.
Around a huge table
I marvel at
The wonder of togetherness.
All sated,
The babies, cute and loveable
Entertaining us to the last.
Playing with the new
Reading from old
Trusted texts,
Watching in delight as a new child
Experiences the yellow dot book.
Tired children taken home,
My house restored
We are happy
Christmas celebrated to plan.
Rejoicing in the company of family.
My son, Lucas made a delicious pear and walnut salad for dinner tonight. Plus homemade dressing! Yummo.
When I was a kid, so many years ago, I would wake up on Christmas morning full of expectation and excitement.
Christmas for us meant an early morning, the discovery of what Santa had left, and generally a play day, trying out our new stuff, and for us in those days, helping mum and dad prepare for your annual holiday, which began for us on Boxing Day.
Christmas day was a special day. We would gather around the kitchen table at lunchtime and mum would have spent the morning in probably forty degree heat preparing the baked dinner of a leg of lamb with baked vegies. No matter what the weather and it was usually hot, in fact it was often what we called stinking hot, the baked dinner was the order of the day.
The real treat for us kids was a plastic tree mum would bring out and place on the table to which she attached jelly lollies but we were never allowed any until we had eaten our dinner. So we had to sit there, shovelling in our baked vegies, and we always had green beans, so our plate would be clean and then our opportunity to eat a lolly was given to us.
How they coped in the days where the oven was wood fired has me mystified.
I later years Christmas has changed for me. My own children have grown to adults and they have their own families as well.
We used to have Christmas Eve at the grandparents place, which always meant Christmas Eve Mass, then back to their place for dinner and some Christmas treats, and finally the trip home would be made. We lived about 30 k’s to the east of my In-laws and our trip always took us past a stop where you could see a red light glowing away to the right of us.
Invariably that was a sign that Santa was on the way. The kids would be so excited that he was coming that there would be urgent cries from them to hurry home as they wanted to be in bed before he got there. We used to exacerbate the story by telling them I could see the red light getting closer through my rear window mirror of the car.
It was the only night of the year where my children would jump out of the car, run into the house and be in bed within seconds of our arrival. The sheer thought of not being asleep when he called always guaranteed their being asleep within minutes of our arrival.
It was always a late night for us on Christmas Eve, as we used to have to wait for them to be asleep before filling their Christmas bags, being six of them it took a little while to fill them, sneak out with them, hoping none of them would be awake and leave them under the Christmas tree and then getting some shut eye ourselves.
One year Santa delivered a bike for one of the kids in a box!! For a non-mechanical person such as myself that was a task and a half, especially when I was sure I had put all the bits together only to find two pieces still on the floor. It was by now 3am. I had had enough. I have no idea still where they went and the bike never fell apart.
My kids were always told they couldn’t get up on Christmas morning if the sun wasn’t up. Being summer and day light saving here, it would be 5,30 – 6am before they could be heard running around excitedly showing off their Santa gifts.
One year to my horror my eldest daughter got up before any of the others and checked out everyone’s gifts and decided some of the other kids gifts were better than hers and so swopped them round. I had to say to her that I had been up earlier and noticed who got what from Santa and that she couldn’t help herself to the other kid’s gifts or swop them round.
Nowadays I spend my Christmas Day at home go in and have morning tea with my neighbour sit on his back veranda and watch the goings on in nature happening around us.
My kids who are married all have the demands of their respective husbands and wives families to address. This year my two sons, Jordan and Lucas will be with me on Christmas Day and that will be good.
That’s ok with me as I am happy to spend my morning taking it easy, relaxing and doing not much.
We will probably enjoy our ham sandwich as is our fare now days for Christmas lunch, much the horror of others and I’m sure some of you.
The ham sandwich began some years ago when my dad and my sister were together for Christmas lunch and dad had not made any special preparations for his lunch and the only thing in the fridge was some ham. So they had a ham sandwich and when I brought dad home one Christmas from the nursing home he wanted a ham sandwich. So that’s what we have.
My Christmas happens on Christmas afternoon evening. My kids and their families will come around, my brother as well and his family and we will eat whatever is left over, drink whatever is left to drink and always enjoy each other’s company. With grandkids Christmas has a new dimension, as they are little now and for some it doesn’t mean anything but for the older ones it’s a new level of excitement for me.
Meals as far as I’m concerned are always cold ones, it’s far too hot and often the humidity is high as well so it’s uncomfortable enough without turning on the oven. Thank goodness for air con. How did we ever cope without it?
So that in a nutshell is my Christmas, quiet and peaceful usually, with a lovely gathering on Christmas night. My eldest son will be around on Boxing Day, as he doesn’t arrive here until Christmas night after travelling back from New Guinea where he works.
Though this year I expect there will be the occasional blogger to chat with as those of you behind us in time will not quite be there for our Christmas Day.
Below are some views to give you some idea of the light-hearted way we view Christmas:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVzCET7Xah4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OnJ8jsw4BSo
Today is Christmas Day in my part of the world so to all of you who read this blog, who like my work and make the loveliest comments, I thank you. I have made some wonderful friends in blog land; I hope we continue into 2014
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL.
Michael
It is Christmas
The holiest of nights.
When long ago
A child was born
Whose words changed our world.
Now on this the night before
Christmas
Children excitedly prepare.
‘Bed before he comes,’ parents say,
‘He wont stop if he sees you awake.’
Hurriedly they are ready for bed
Last minute arrangements
To make Santa feel welcome,
Christmas cake, milk in a glass,
All left out to welcome him in.
Then off to bed, soon sound asleep
Parents wait before looking in
On sleeping children
Dreaming of the tree, and their stockings full.
From the earliest light there is noise,
Squeals and cries of joy
As discoveries are made.
After we open and rejoice
Exchange and express our thanks,
We take a moment to remember why,
We celebrate this very day.
I looked out on Christmas morning
A lone kangaroo chewed grass in my front yard
Looking nonchalantly about
Not a care in the world.
In my room my Christmas stocking was still empty,
Yet again the man in red had bypassed me
Left me to wonder at the meaning of Christmas
When even a simple card was too much to expect.
So I wandered out into my living room
A room in which only living occurred
Never joy as that would be too much to expect
The left over scraps of dinner last night staring at me.
Another Christmas day, another day, same shit
Once they came to visit, sat around drank tea
But now they don’t, now it is just me
I have forgone my friends for this solitude.
Never bothers me most of the time
But today I do feel it, the house empty
My heart needing some connection with the outside
Anything to break this overriding silence.
I long to hear a knock on my door
A neighbour wanting to borrow sugar
A past friend with a bottle to share
My heart leaps at the sound of a car door.
But I settle when I know it’s not for me
My neighbours are popular folk,
Comings and goings at all hours
My front gate rusts from inactivity.
My lunch, I treat myself to a ham sandwich
Good ham not that thin sliced crap
Fresh bread, butter, a smear of mustard
A meal fit for a king on Christmas day.
As I settle down for an afternoon nap
My front gate squeaks its usual unwelcome….
Could it be…?
I wrote this thinking about Rarasuar’s blog calling for people to support the C4C cause – Company for Christmas.
http://rarasaur.wordpress.com/2013/12/21/come-on-baby-spend-christmas-with-me/
No it is not about me and yes the ham sandwich I have mentioned before, but this Christmas I will have two of my sons with me sharing our ham sandwich!!
Photo: Freedigitalphotos.net
Dear Readers, If you are wanting to catch up on the previous parts to this story here are the links:
https://summerstommy.com/2013/12/21/story-4-christmas-part-1/
https://summerstommy.com/2013/12/22/story-4-christmas-part-2/
I must have walked for hours, the rain never seemed to let up, my arm was aching like I’d never felt pain before and all the while I kept thinking there will be no help as no one knows where I am, save telling Maria that I was taking Taylor’s Mountain Road.
As the night was getting worse and my condition also was suffering I decide to rest for a while as I figured it was going to be easier to make it home if I rested and conserved my energy. Thankfully I found a spot out of the rain and lay down. I shut my eyes and when I opened them I could see the dawn beginning. I awoke stiff and sore from sleeping up against the rock face.
My left arm was by now paining me a great deal but I thought if I worried about that I would never get back.
I still had a fair way to go to reach Alcock’s Bridge. With no food, my phone had disappeared with the car, no way to call for help, my only recourse was to keep walking in the hope that help might come my way or I made it to the bridge.
I set off and as the day progressed I could feel myself getting weaker. I think there was a degree of shock that my body had absorbed in the accident and so it was coming to the fore now as I felt more and more nauseous the further I went.
There were more frequent stops, more times sleep overcame me, more times I craved an end to this and wanted so much to be in Maria’s arms. That was my single motivation to continue on. I wanted to get home; I wanted to be with Maria, I wanted to be home for Christmas.
My steps became shorter, and at times I knew I was getting delirious I was so hungry, thankfully there was plenty of water about to drink as I’m sure I would never have made it otherwise
At the end of the second day I was still not to Alcock’s Bridge, but I knew I was close to it, I could hear the roar of water from the river. I decide to make one last effort for the day to reach the bridge.
As the sun was just about the disappear and the darkness descend I saw the bridge, it was still above the water level but the river was very high, not far below the decking and making a deafening raw as it surged its way downstream.
I remember sitting on the bridge knowing I was within striking distance of home. From the bridge to home was only thirty minutes in the car, on foot it would be at the most a couple of hours.
Right now I needed sleep, how my body craved it, and so I sat there, my head against the side of the bridge, my arm now a dull ache, useless in many ways, as I still had to carry its weight around with me.
When I awoke the pain in my arm was worse than ever before. I sensed it might be getting septic and so the urgency to strive for home grew greater.
I knew the road was about fifteen Kilometers to home but in a straight line it would be shorter. When you are beginning to think you wont make it you clutch at whatever straws you can to achieve your goal.
It would mean transversing the fields, the scrub was thick, and there were even a few little creeks that would be running a banker by now. Was it worth it I asked myself?
Another part of me said no, don’t be an idiot there is a better chance of you getting home by staying on the road. And you may be picked up that may, though I knew very few people ever traveled on this road.
So I decided to trudge it out. Those last k’s were so difficult. My burning desire to get home to Maria for Christmas is what drove me.
As I approached the last couple of kilometers I became so tired, so weary I just wanted to curl up on the side of the road and let sleep overtake me but I feared not waking as I knew I was so hungry and so fatigued.
Then I had this sense of a presence with me. A voice kept saying, ‘Keep going, keep going, you are nearly home, keep going, it’s just a little further’.
Those last few painful k’s and all the while in my mind, which was a haze of thought at the time, was this voice urging me on, keeping me upright and headed for home. It was like there was someone with me, someone who knew it was important for me to keep going and put aside my own pain and discomfort.
Somehow I stayed upright, I staggered on until I stood on the top of the rise above the house.
I couldn’t believe I had made it.
I remember what seemed an eternity to get down the drive and to the house..
In the yard I saw the police car. Our local policemen was a wonderful man named Brian, during his time in the area he and I had become good friends and I remember seeing him, see me from the veranda and him running full pelt towards me, and then I collapsed into his arms.
He held me like no man has ever held me, I looked at him and there were tears running down his face, I suddenly knew, I knew inside, that he wasn’t crying for me.
************************
Maria had been frantic about me not getting home. She had gone out in her vehicle determined to find me, but she made one mistake. She tried to cross the causeway, and she got caught in the current, it picked the car up and carried it away.
Her mum had called our place and received no answer and then had called Brian. While I was struggling to get home he was looking for her and found her. She had gone.
**************************
Christmas has been sad for you dad.
For some years they were unbearable. But your Nanna would say to me, that little girl deserves a Christmas like every other child.
Every Christmas has been great with you dad. This house is surrounded with mum’s image, you have always told me about her.
Thank you Charl.
Why wasn’t I with Mum?
Maria had asked Nanna to care for you so she and I could have a night together.
It was Mum who helped you home wasn’t it?
I am certain of it.
I’m so pleased you tell me this story each Christmas Dad; it’s part of my Christmas.
I look forward to it now. I’d be disappointed if you stopped asking.
At this stage of the story it had become Charl’s practice to snuggle further into me. She gripped my arm, her head firmly against my shoulder.
You miss her dad don’t you?
Everyday.
To talk about holidays past brings with it so many memories of family trips to the Central Coast of New South Wales, where as a kid we went as a family every year.
It was a week away from the humdrum of our everyday lives, a break from the endless cricket matches we played in the back yard.
It was also an opportunity for us to experience coastal living, the coolness of the afternoon sea breeze, which sadly never seemed to make its way to out place but stopped about ten miles from the coast, tough when we lived twenty.
The place we stayed at was called The Entrance, cleverly named, as it was the entrance to huge lake system. But it provided us with memorable holidays, hours spent in our old rowing boat out on the water trying to catch the elusive fish that we were told inhabited the waters we were fishing in. The story of the day dad caught twenty fish, only to discover the bag he had slung over the side of the boast had a hole in it and when he pulled it in there were three fish only in there. He joked that he had caught them six times; they kept swimming out of the bag and jumping back on his hook.
There were evenings when dad would take us prawning on the edge of the lake. For some reason dad was of the belief that prawns ran in huge packs and that you would be scooping them up into the bucket we took by the pound load. He was acutely embarrassed by us kids yelling to each other, “There’s one, there’s one.’ Needless to say we caught barely any, as we didn’t a great net to trawl with and to make it worse a man came along and said to dad, ‘You better not be standing in the water too long mate, you might get pelican itch.’ I didn’t know my father could move so fast as he did that night, out of the water in one movement and into the back end of our boat.
There were times when we were allowed to explore for ourselves the shallows and in amongst the sea grasses that covered vast areas of the lake much of it close to the shore, it was here that I first saw my first sea horse. What amazing creatures they are, so delicate, and fluid in their movements. I never tired of watching them as they glided effortlessly among the sea grass, constantly on the look out for what ever it was they ate.
At night we played cards, at least the adults did, my parents and Dad’s two sisters who would holiday with us. If one of us was lucky we would be invited to play, but woe betide you if you didn’t play correctly or as they would say dared to play ‘unorthodoxically’.
We had no TV and usually on Boxing Day in those days there was a Test Match Cricket game to listen to on the radio or Australia was involved in the Davis Cup tennis, for we were the leading Tennis country in the world back then.
No matter where we might be there was always the Sunday mass to be attended. So without fail, whatever was the earliest Mass on Sunday morning off we would go.
They were wonderful days in so many ways. The house we stayed in had a large picture window in the front of it and so we looked out over the Pacific Ocean and could observe the goings on everyday including the large groups of fishermen who would congregate on the beach chasing the whiting that swam about just off shore. Sometimes we would go down and join in, but we were careful not to get to the close to the more serious fishermen who were not averse to letting you know if you got in their way.
Of all forms of fishing, beach fishing was always my preferred form, I think because I saw it as an exciting way to spend the afternoon, with the surf rolling around your ankles and the prospect of landing a decent fish. Whiting always gave me a thrill in the snaring of them.
So for me the holidays of the past are the ones I most remember where as a kid there were endless days exploring and learning the craft of fishing and surfing, and how to prevent your body from being pounded by the surf into the sand.
Thankfully those holidays were always safe ones, save for my brother standing on a puffer fish one day, we heard him coming from a long way off as they can give you a terribly painful sting.
Oh the memories and the fun we had, the people we met each year, the places we went, the time we spent as a family, never to be forgotten.
We had holidays with no TV and thankfully mobile/cell phones were years away from getting into our lives.
How did you manage I hear you say???
Easy!!
Posted for: http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2013/12/22/prompt-35-holiday-stories/
There was only one hope I had with the causeway under water and basically closed.
There was another road, it was long way round but it meant driving up the side of Taylors Mountain then crossing Alcock’s Bridge. This bridge was unique in that it was built high above the water level and was often open even in the most treacherous of times.
I checked my fuel levels they would be ok, as I knew the road was usually at least an hour to navigate.
I rang Maria to tell her I was taking the long way round. She wasn’t happy about me being out on the roads as there had been reports of landslips and of trees over some roads.
I said not to worry as I knew the road and I would be careful.
The rain had stopped apart from a persistent misting enough to have to use the wipers.
About twenty kilometers along the road a sign pointed to Taylor’s Mountain Road.
From here on I know it would a dirt road. Added to that was the fact that it was beginning to rain again and so visibility was further reduced, which meant a slower trip.
As I navigated my way along to windy dirt road, I couldn’t help but notice that in places the side of the road had slipped away and in some places I slowed to a crawl to get by places where small rivers were now running, huge rocks had been exposed from the erosion by the rain, and each had to be negotiated over, around and in some cases across.
I must have been about half way along Taylor’s Mountain Road when I felt the car slide to the left, then before I could correct, I was slipping down the side of the mountain.
It is a helpless feeling to know you have no control and that if you didn’t stop soon the chances of you surviving would decrease by the second.
But stop I did, with a terrible jolt that momentarily stunned me. My seat belt had held me in place, but as the vehicle was stuck on the side of a steep slope, and was smashed in on the left side, I had to push hard against my door to open it. What made it hard I discovered was the pain in my left arm; I suddenly realized it was not cooperating with the right one.
I later discovered my ulna was smashed, how, I have no answer.
It took what felt like an eternity to get the door open, and then another eternity for me to prize myself out of the vehicle. As I fell to the ground beside the right front wheel I heard a groan from the vehicle as gravity ripped it from its holding place and my forty thousand dollar four wheel drive disappeared into the gloom.
I sat for a while determining where I thought I was. The road over Taylor’s Mountain I knew but not the territory. My best bet I thought was to get back onto the road and follow that. But I estimated I had about thirty kilometers still to go, just to get to Alcock’s Bridge.
I crawled up to the road, as the climb was steep and with only one arm in service it was a laborious effort to make it to the road, or what was left of it. Where there was once a road was huge gash in the road where at least half the road surface was now sitting somewhere at the bottom of the mountain along with my car.
My only option I knew was to walk. As it was dark and still raining visibility was poor and I hoped that I could make my way along the now treacherous road.
My one desire in doing this was to get home. It was Christmas and Maria and I had never missed a Christmas together. I was determined to make it time as well, come hell or literally high water.
Dear Readers if you have read Part 1 please note that I have made a small editorial decision in that story which will impact on the end of this tale. That being an extra phrase into the second last paragraph.
Tell me that story, the Christmas story, the one that enthralls me.
I had to laugh, for how many times had I told this story to her. Each year on Christmas Eve she would cuddle into my arms, rest her head on my shoulder and ask for this one story about us.
It had rained non-stop for five days.
All around the rivers were rising, the farms flooded,
People were beginning to worry and panic
It was Christmas in six days and what if the flood came on Christmas?
How was I to make it home?
Maria had called and told me the causeway was underwater and it would be too dangerous to make it through even in my four wheel drive
The treacherous nature of the old causeway made it impossible to negotiate in flood time.
The prospect of a Christmas away from Maria was too much to bear. I had been away on a business trip, the new wool was going to be our savior now that the price had been agreed on and we were so pleased the shearing had all been completed weeks before the rains set in.
Maria was the most perfect woman I had ever met. In talking about his trip I had suggested she come along with me, as she was always the best company and what man wouldn’t want his best mate along with him on any trip he took.
We had met in the final year of my Ag College course. She was a guest lecturer, her field was sheep husbandry.
I knew a lot about that stuff anyway and was distracted as she began, thinking of at least ten different things I would prefer to be doing at that precise moment.
It was her voice that attracted me. It wasn’t nasally like so many of the other lecturers at the College, it sounded educated, clear and concise. This woman, I thought knows what she is talking about.
I looked up to see her at the podium, and I fell for her there and then. I didn’t take any notes; rather my eyes were glued to the perfect woman in front of the class.
She can’t be any older than me I thought, and I determined there and then to try and attract her attention after the class.
At Ag College there are lots of people of all ages engaged in the Agriculture industry. Farmers go back there to re train, learn new techniques, refresh their skills and do course to gain accreditation to carry our procedures on their respective properties.
So it was not unusual for the lecturers to be much younger than the students.
Her name was Maria McRae and it turned out she was from Merriwa, at the top end of the valley. She had lived on a sheep and wheat property all her life and as she grew up the eldest of five girls. she was her dad’s ‘right hand’ man.
She was a strong looking woman but with the most cultured voice of any woman teacher I had come across.
Of course she had been told not to engage the students in anything but course work, and initially Maria was true to those instructions but as she later revealed to me, she too felt the attraction I felt.
To cut along story short we did go out, a lot, we did become firm friends, we did marry, we did go back to work on her family property, we did have a happy life, we did want family, a small girl came from that desire, we did become very engrossed in the business side of farming hence my visit overseas to negotiate the new price for out wool which was high grade merino.
And so this night of all nights there was an issue getting home.
I live in the distant south
A teacher, writer, father.
Now my teaching days are over
I will miss the banter, the exploration,
Young minds discovering new worlds
New shapes, new directions.
For me new discoveries are about to occur
Chances to travel, explore for myself
What lies beyond my boundaries.
Now my time is mine,
To venture into unknown worlds
To meet others who like me
Write for the fun and joy it brings.
Contacts established here and there
Rubbing shoulders, so to speak
With those my equal
Many my betters.
Sitting with them across a table
To share a meal, exchange ideas
How wonderful, exhilarating
To gauge the support
Encouragement of so many
I am blessed by the wealth of riches
Surrounding me.
Morpethroad 