There was this young woman who was living with her partner and she decided that for their first Christmas together, she wanted to cook Christmas dinner the way her mother taught her. Partner, delighted, sat back and let her do the work and off she set, delighted with herself.
There’s a lot of talk of tradition at Christmas isn’t there?
The food, the shopping, the gifts, the visiting, the dreaded relatives…
But despite tradition, things always change. Usually without our consent. And some of those changes can be so jarring.
A friend recently asked me if I’d write a piece about loss and bereavement for Christmas. And something weird happened to me when he said it. I felt a block. I reflected on it on and off the past few weeks, wondering had my brain actually finally been emptied of words? Or worse, was it broken? Why wasn’t I flinging open my laptop to release the flow of unedited thoughts as I normally do?
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There’s a slurry pit. And woweee it stinks!
But y’know the way we get used to smells eventually…
You’re there, in the pit, with your family let’s say. You’re all in there together, up to your necks. You’ve tilted your head up and back to make sure you can breathe. It means you can’t see straight ahead but at least you can breathe. It’s getting tiring though, and your neck hurts. You can’t fully relax – if you do you might get lots of shit thrown at you. Worst case scenario you might drown. At the very least it might just get in your face and up your nose – ya, no, messy, not worth it.
Continue readingSo you stay still. You don’t make waves.
