The Trees We Put Up Early

Last night London Sister sent us a picture of her seven-foot tree. She’s early this year. It’s not even mid-December, yet there it was, beautifully decorated, tastefully lit, standing proud in her high-ceilinged living room. This will be a poignant Christmas for her, her first without Jonny.

It reminded me of last year when Elle put her big tree up in November. Robin was in the last days of his life then, although I’m not sure she fully realised it. Maybe, somewhere in her mind, she sensed that if she waited until December, he’d never see it. Or perhaps she felt that if she didn’t put it up right then, she’d never have the heart to do it at all.

I’ve been watching the weather forecast all day. Storm Bram is in full swing, and if it doesn’t blow the polytunnel away, I’ll bring our own tree in tomorrow. We used to wait until Christmas Eve, but storms and years and losses have made me a little more positive about celebrating the season. After all, who knows how many more there will be, or how long we’ll have with each other?

And truth be told, the tree helps, a lovely corner of brightness when the days are short and the nights too long. So I’ll wrestle ours indoors tomorrow, if Bram allows. I feel the need of its cheer.

At least until January, when it’s back to the polytunnel with it.

A picture from the olden days, maybe around 40 years ago. It was the first one I turned up when I searched for 'Christmas Tree' on my EHD. Just as well it did as it's Katy's birthday today. My best Christmas present back in 1978. Happy Birthday Katkin!

And We Never Went Near The Christmas Market

 It’s not that I dislike Christmas shopping - for what could be nicer than giving someone a gift that pleases them. No, that’s the part I love. What I struggle with is finding the right thing, because it’s awful to imagine the recipient opening a present that sparks little joy.

Then there’s the pressure. Every year, once Christmas is over, I resolve to start putting presents away from January onward. This rarely happens – and when it does, I find myself staring at the item I bought months before, that thing that has languished in a paper bag, in the depths of my wardrobe, wondering why on earth did I ever thought it would suit anyone, let alone the person I bought it for.

And then there are the crowds. Each year, as I brave the shops, I remember that Christmas Eve, so many years ago, when in a thronging Dunnes Store, I literally sat down and wept. On the floor of Dunnes Store. Thankfully, everyone passing by pretended not to notice.

So, when my eldest grandchild messaged to ask if we could go to Belfast together to shop for her Christmas gifts from Bert and me – just as we did last year, I was, at first, slightly dismayed. She must have enjoyed it to want to do it againbut it wasn’t as enjoyable for me. I remembered being exhausted and a little bit cranky. But then I thought about it. She’s sixteen now, and won’t always want to spend a day shopping with an ageing grandparent. And if she thinks I’m able for it, if she believes in me, then perhaps it’s time I started believing in myself, too.

I got myself into the right frame of mind. Laid down only one ground rule, which was lots of sit downs and coffee breaks for me. I actually found myself looking forward to the outing.

And it was worth looking forward to.

Despite the train being jam-packed full of eager shoppers. Martha got on at Ballymena and had to stand most of the way to Belfast. She was unable to make her way to my carriage so we met for the first time at Grand Central.

Despite me needing lots of loo breaks. For it was a cold day. Martha was very understanding.

Despite getting swarmed by eleven year old girls beside the cosmetics in Primark. I was standing in a dangerous place. The panic attack only lasted a few minutes after I dashed outside.

Despite Martha finding it impossible to decide between two cardis in Urban Outfitters. That was my favourite shop of all as I had a sofa to sit on and lots of interesting people to watch.

I was easily the oldest customer in OU that day. 

Afterwards, I was so pleased that I had managed to go shopping in Belfast, on a Saturday, braving all the crowded shops and managed to stay chilled. Except for when I was in Primark, of course. I’d say that as Christmas shopping experiences go it was actually enjoyable. I’m already looking forward to next year. If I’m spared.

Christmas Is Coming

 Are you feeling Christmassy yet? I can’t say I am. Not properly. But this year, instead of brushing the thought aside the way I usually do, I find myself letting it linger. After all, this will be my seventy-third Christmas on this earth. It has never been my favourite season, but there’s no point in pretending it isn’t going to happen. My stock of Christmases is not what it was. I might as well make peace with it all and enjoy what I can.

I’ve more or less chosen a tree - either a very small one or a medium-sized one. Maybe both if Zoë doesn’t want them. They are standing potted in the polytunnel, so I haven’t far to go. I’ve already bought a few presents, and I know where the wrapping paper is tucked away. Christmas dinner is sorted too: free-range turkey again. It might be the last one for a while as the local supplier is threatening to quit the turkey game.

There will be one change, though, and it’s a big one. This will be a teetotal Christmas. I don’t think I’ve written anything about it, but I stopped drinking alcohol at the tail end of January and simply never started again. So here I am, approaching December with a clear head, or as clear as it ever gets, wondering what the season will feel like without the whisky and wine. I think it will be good.

The Visitors Book Revisited

So how was our Christmas? It was quiet, but it wasn't always so. Here are a couple of festive blog posts from the Nelly's Garden's earliest days. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder how I ever had time to blog with a full-time job and a hectic social life. What it was to be young - only a mere stripling in my early fifties.

My favourite Christmas picture. Lovely Holly no longer with us.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

The Visitor's Book

As I cannot be arsed to think up a new post I have decided to post some seasonal extracts from the pages of Nellybert’s Visitor’s Book.

…. We arrived on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately (once again) Bert went to the wrong airport. How was I supposed to know that Belfast City is the one in Belfast? Anyway Ma should have done her research properly. Everybody knows that flights from Norfolk come into the wee airport…

…. It wasn’t too awful a visit. As usual there were way too many scary aunts around. I just hid behind piles of cushions and dogs. Nelly gave me a very strange present….

…. The night I stayed there were so many people there I only got a sofa. It was my birthday too! That panelling in Nelly’s shower room is fabuloso. My projectile vomiting wiped off a treat…

…. If I weren’t an animal-loving vegetarian I’d shoot that fucking cat. Pissed all over me just as I was getting off to sleep….

…I toddled over for the New Year’s Eve party and had just the one drink. Nelly said it was a triple brandy or something like that. Very nice. But you should have seen those young ones. Bottle after bottle of stuff they were drinking. I never seen anything like it. Mind you I would have liked to try that red stuff the weans were at. Hardy Breezer they said it was called. Nelly had that oul camera out. She knows I hate getting my picture took….

…Nelly and me made pizza and salads then I played a game were all the dogs were sharks. They needed new shark names so Rosie was Peter, Scruff was Trevor and Paddy was Paul. Mammy had to chase me all round the house to try and get me to go to bed at half-twelve. Nelly tried to help her but Mammy dunted her out of the road…

…Nelly and me went for a walk and talked about life and stuff and I was telling her all about being a first-year at Slemish and about all my teachers and friends and stuff. Nelly started girning later about how we all get crumbs in the butter and spread it all over the surfaces. She kept getting me to make her coffee.

NB: Other visitors included Zoe, Dave, Jean, Jonny, Tricia, Brendan, Sadie, Naoise, Mel, PP, Jenny, Marty, Jazzer, Barbara, Martina, Ian, Lee, Martina, Caoimhe, Penny, Scruff, Macy and last, but not least, Gracie.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

The Visitor's Book 2006

Here are some of the comments left in Nellybert’s Visitor’s Book over the holiday period.

…. Nelly said it was Christmas Dinner but it wisnae! It wis beef and ye haftae hae fowl for Christmas Dinner! Nelly was that cheeky when I said – she said it was a dinner and it was Christmas and I was tae come ower before it got cowl and to tell you the truth she trailt me ower aginst my will. And her oul puddin’ was rotten too, it was as bitter as gall…

…. I always spend my New Year’s birthday at Nellybert’s and you’d think I’d get a bed by now but it was still the bloody sofa.

…. Nelly forgot to make the vegetarian gravy so I had to make do with cheese sauce which was exceptionally good. She did make me a special stuffing and it was yum-yum but there was something about it…you’d nearly have thought…but surely not? Nelly wouldn’t do that…would she?….

…It was great at Nelly’s. You should have seen all the toys Bert got from Santa. He got a rocking horse and a crane and he let me play with them. He wouldn’t let me play with his guns and he’s got three and they’re real ones too. Then Nelly showed me Harry de Cat’s grave and it’s got tiles on top. Nelly says that’s to stop Mr Fox digging him up which wouldn’t be very nice because he’s a skellington now. Nelly and me went for a really long walk in Portglenone Forest then she wouldn’t let me go to the shop for sweets because her exhaust fell off…

…Martina and me showed Nelly our Bebo pages and Nelly told Mum that I said I was 16 on mine and that Martina had a photo on hers with a Benson in her mouth. She’s a tout. You couldn’t tell her anything.

…The dinner was very nice but I swear to God you could not move through that house without bumping into some sort of an animal. Zoë had her wee dog Gracie out with her and though it’s a lovely looking wee thing, and there they were all oohing and aahing about how cute and sweet it was to see her playing with the new kitten, I saw the dirty looks that wee brute was giving that kitten when it thought no one was watching. I’d not like to leave them on their own for too long…

This year our visitors were Zoë, Dave, Hannah, Jamie, Eamon, Mel, PP, Jenny, Marty, Jazzer, Swisser, Martina, Erin, Ben, John, Buffy, Dirt Bird, Pearlie and Gracie. Ganching sent her apologies and some rather nice presents.

Oh Christmas Tree!

My oldest daughter called round the other day and I was telling her, what with one thing and another, I wasn't feeling the festive season this year. And I confessed that I wished I'd sorted out a Christmas tree because that would have cheered me up. After all, Lorraine, despite Robin being so ill, made the effort to dress a tree for the sake of their grandchildren.

Zoe said, 

Surely after that storm there will be something  in the wood that you could bring in for a Christmas tree.

Storm Darragh did bring down scores of trees in our wood. The Scots pines were hit hard and a young oak grove also sucuumbed to the wind. But most of the casualties were firs.

Zoe and her dog Posie headed out to scout for a suitable evergreen. I imagined she'd find the tippy-top of some brute of a fir tree that Bert would have to take the chainsaw to. But no. She returned with the news that they'd found a perfect tree, a little fir that she'd planted that was ripped right out of the ground by the winds. She'd marked it with a silky scarf and after she left Bert went out to bring it in. It was potted up and brought in to the house. After what it had been through (Zoe grew it from a seed) I didn't want to put it in any of the living rooms. Far too warm for it with the wood-burners. So I settled it in a cool corner of the kitchen. I hope the tree enjoys a few days there and in the meantime will be cheering me up no end. I don't even mind that it looks a little lopsided. Bert potted it that way.

I expect this little tree will be at Zoe's house next year. After all, she did grow it from a seed.

 

New Year's Eve

 

Wow! New Year’s Eve already. Where did this last week go?

New tradition. I opened my presents on Christmas Eve as I knew I was going to be either awfully busy or perhaps incapacitated on the actual day.

Christmas Day. Just Nellybert, Howard and the five dogs.

I managed to cook a turkey to perfection and made some excellent gravy. We had chocolate Pavlova with cherries and blackberries for dessert and, of course, too much wine.

After dinner we sat down to watch Nick Cave and Nat King Cole on YouTube. Howard left at dark to see to his chickens and Bert and I settled down to a couple of episodes of Fargo. We are all caught up now and now have to wait for the weekly dole out.

I fed nine on Boxing Day. We three, four Haribos Swisser and son. There was only one extra dog, Rex, who was so chilled you’d hardly know he was there.

It was a busy day as I had desserts to complete and vegetable dishes to prepare. And… new gravy to make. Secret ingredient – remains of old gravy. Gravy was going to be important as the roast chicken dinner I’d made for the Haribos a few weeks earlier had insufficient gravy and this was very disappointing. They were fighting over the last teaspoonful. Not Zoe, of course, as she was reared on disappointing dinners. However, her stoicism must be wearing off for she was quite miffed to find a plain, day-before Brussels sprout on her plate. I did serve sprouts, sliced, braised with carrots and seasoned with soy sauce and they were good. Even Hannah enjoyed them not realising that she was eating the much-maligned and hateful sprout.

For dessert I served a citrussy, almondy Italian cake (Papa Haribo’s favourite), a baked cheesecake, a trifle and the leftover Pavlova. When the food settled we played charades which was a lot of fun.

The day after Boxing Day was a Wednesday. Ben and Sara called and that is all I remember about that. We watched another episode of Fargo. Bert is obsessed with The League of Gentlemen and is working his way through all the series. He finds it unsettling and scary.

Thursday we had Lulu to stay as her people are going to Glasgow for Hogmanay.

Friday evening brought the young Haribos straight off the train from Derry.

Saturday the young ones and Lulu Netflixed and chilled (in bed) for most of the day. After I’d left them home and had a bit of supper we watched Saltburn. There were bits were I had to cover my eyes. Unsettling. A bit scary.

Today, Sunday, New Year’s Eve has been quiet. Except for Lulu, upstairs yapping her head off because nobody will keep her company in bed. She was in heaven yesterday with Martha and Evie. Hannah is working and Woody still hasn’t worked out how to use the cat flap.

This is the first day it hasn’t been raining for ages. It is almost worrying.

Just now, out looking to see where Woody has got too. I see a flash of white in the hen run and wait for him. He spends a lot of time in there. I hear voices chattering on the road, in a language I don’t recognise and being nosey I wait to see who it is. Three young men walk past the end of the lane, each of them carrying bags of groceries. There are a lot of people from SE Asia staying around here. They looked like they might be planning a party. I do hope so. Somebody has to.

One of my Christmas presents was a collection of short films from Martha and Evie’s dad. The following pictures are screenshots from the films.

I

The Day Before Christmas Eve

I'll start with the night before the day before Christmas Eve when we had a visit from the smartest man I know. It is always good to see him and I always have considerations to lay before him. His main strengths are the management of domestic appliances, Irish politics and catering. He was here once when our cooker had stopped working and he just went into the kitchen and fixed it. Regarding Irish politics his most recent advice is to disengage from X/Twitter. Last night he gave me some great suggestions for good gravy and red cabbage. Sadly I don't totally remember the details except that both recipes involved the addition of port and I have two bottles of port - which is handy.

I seem to live in Tescos these days. Back again this morning (really early) and had some lovely interactions with staff and fellow shoppers. Lots of smiles and happy chats. I am so into Christmas this year mainly the goodwill to all men/people part. This is how I should spend the rest of my life. There was a really lovely conversation with a fellow oldie in the carpark about the craziness of Christmas food shopping. Her trolly, I couldn't help but notice, was full of bread. Then she told me, it was for the swans in Broughshane. How lovely. I asked her if the black swans were still around. They are. Thanks be. Then she started on a rant about the crows who were also after the swan's bread. I was slightly disappointed in her. But that's me - woke as fuck. The swans are lovely but I also love and admire those much maligned corvids.

  

Babies Aren't Fluffy

When does Christmas begin?  Some would say when the deckos and tree go up. In that case, there will be no Christmas at Nellybert's for there is no tree, no deckos. I excused myself because of Woody, the new kitten who is far more fun than Christmas trees and who would demolish a tree just as he is destroying my chilli plant by breaking its branches and batting all its baubles (ripening chillis) to the ground. He has yet to bite into one. 

Ben is very enamoured of Woody which is as it should be as it was him and his beloved who rescued the tiny kitty from the main street in Portglenone and brought him to us. He was cuddling Woody on Sunday, cradling the kitten like an infant, and Woody was loving it. I said,

Just think Ben. In a few years you might just be cuddling a real live baby.

He said,

I don't think so. Babies aren't as good as kittens. They're not fluffy.

Meanwhile, in homes from Dingle to Norfolk, people of all ages, kittenless people are putting up their Christmas trees and wreathes, real trees, vintage trees, arty trees, with hand-crafted ornaments, heirloom baubles, felted mice, stars, fairies, coloured lights, white lights and tinsel strands. I'm slightly envious. Next year, definitely next year - unless Ben and Sara find me another kitten.   

Trees and wreathes from the fam whatsapp. At least one of those trees was grown from seed by one of us. It wasn't me.

Christmas Without the Internet

This Christmas, apart from the usual things, I have spoken to at least fifteen different BT Call Centre Operatives. I have had one (useless) visit and then a broken appointment with an Openreach Engineer. Today I received a temporary hub and that will be that, until the next appointment with an engineer in five days' time.

Martha and Bert sorted the Christmas tree. We had a clump of Korean pines that had got too close together so Bert cut one down and used the top as our tree. Martha did the decos.

What Kept Me From Blogging

On the day before Christma Eve Bert and I took the girls on separate outings. Martha and I went for a hunt around the charity shops and to find a present for Hannah. Bert and Evie went for a walk to the waterfall on Essathohan Burn. That turned out rather a damp expedition and they went home early to light roaring fires and watch telly.

But there was no stopping Martha and Granny. As always we had our traditional short-lived falling out which always clears the air and establishes that I just have to accept that we will be going into at least twenty different shops. And that Martha will dance. She does that – just starts dancing in the middle of a shop or on the pavement. Wherever there she sees a space she fills it with dancing. I don’t mind. She’s rather good at it.

Christmas Eve, I cooked, baked and wrapped the last of the presents. I had gifted Bert a promise that I would not get cranky with him on the three Christmas Days and found that I was able to share a kitchen with him as we each baked a cake. He was making a London Cheesecake, How To Be A Domestic Goddess, p152 and I was doing Sicilian Orange and Almond Cake, Penny Stephens Italian p234. They both turned out well. We had Bert’s on Christmas Day and mine on Boxing Day.

Christmas Day was all about the trimmings. Sad (not sad) that I forgot to cook the Brussels sprouts. We had Hannah and Fergus with us and afterwards, we played a rude and politically incorrect card game which was a lot of fun.

More cooking on Boxing Day. I did chicken and ham and made a couple of trifles, one alcoholic and one for kids and drivers. It was a family night and after eating we played charades, Truth or Dare and other silly games. Although Blind Man’s Buff was forbidden on Health and Safety grounds. 

Day after Boxing Day. We’d nothing planned and were looking forward to some peace and quiet. Then we weren’t as the Banjos were coming. More food! Jazzer brought her famous red pepper soup and a pavlova. After we’d eaten we enjoyed an entertainment we devised which involved taking turns choosing music on YouTube. This kept us entertained for nearly four hours and the music chosen ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous or, to put it another way, from Prince to Willie Drennan.

Marty Banjo introduced me to an amazing artist who goes by the name of LP. Somehow I’d never heard of her and, going by her androgynous and very fetching appearance, I actually had to go online to check her pronouns.

To finish, a good Christmas holiday but I’m awfully glad it’s over. We couldn't finish the pavlova though so Bert did something illegal and gave it to Rusty and Lily. Sorry DAERA but it was CHRISTMAS! The pigs loved it.

Ownsome Lonesome

 

It's been a very family-orientated few days. Ganching was here Friday-Monday and Leitrim Sister Sunday-Tuesday and last night we had Martha, Evie and their parents for supper. All good. 

This morning Leitrim Sister and I went out for breakfast. Not too far as Cully has two cafes. We chose Toast and as we went in I asked LS,

Shall we have the full relish?

She knew what I meant. An Ulster Fry with additional toast. How could we not?

The previous morning we had hoped to go to Middletown for a slightly more sophisticated breakfast but it seems they take Mondays off so the Leitrim one, the London one and myself went to Cameron's coffee shop for scones and coffee and a nice view of Slemish. Afterwards, we had to say goodbye to Ganching as her mini-break was coming to an end and she was off to the airport. 

Today it was Leitrim Sister's turn to head back and I found myself home alone as Bert was off doing Christmas farming with Clint. It felt very odd. Also good. Just me and the dogs and the cats and the pigs and the hens. Tomorrow I will get back to fretting about Christmas. Just 12 days to the best day of the year - the day after Christmas. Can't wait.

Doing Christmas

I didn't make such a great fist of Christmas this year, no Christmas cake, no tree, no fairy lights, no three desserts. No shops.

The no shops shopping was the good part. I did Christmas present shopping online and it was OK except for around five of my gifts not arriving on time. And that was despite being ordered weeks in advance. It's a hard thing to admit but Amazon, no matter how wrong the company seems, is at least reliable. Note to self - more forward planning for 2021.

When it came down to it I missed not having a tree. 

Bert volunteered to be with his elderly Aunt on Christmas Day so I spent a good part of that day on my own. There was a family Zoom call planned for the morning which featured Martha and Evie, James and Emily showing us all their presents. I missed half of it due to connection problems and lack of forward planning and had a jolly good cry about it. Then of course, I had to cry about how sad Christmas is when we think of all the people (and dogs) that aren't with us any more then had to give myself a shake remembering that I have family members missing a child who, had she lived, would still be young enough to believe in Father Christmas. 

Boxing Day was better. Lockdown began but we did have Martha and Evie and their parents around. More Christmas food and then a round of Blind Man's Buff, Chinese Whispers and Charades. Is it just me, or are  Blind Man's Buff and Chinese Whispers maybe not terribly PC? If not, I've yet to receive the memo and anyway now that we are (apparently) no longer sophisticated Europeans these things don't matter. Who knows. Anyway - it was great fun and we laughed a lot which was heartening.

Bert spent today with Aunt Lizzie, I footered about doing little bits and pieces which included graping silage to cattle, a first for me. It is great to still be having new experiences in one's late sixties. I also watched the first episode of Bridgerton and cracked open a bottle of Malbec while it was still light outside.

Next year (if I'm spared) I'm Really Doing Christmas, fruit cake, plastic Santas, tinsel and everything. 

Lockdown Christmas Dec 18

One of the more interesting things about social media is how it gives one an insight into how other people are coping in the run-up to Christmas. There are pictures of decorated trees on Instagram, family WhatsApp photos of adorable five-year-olds in nativity plays, videos of folk in their reindeer antlers and hideous Christmas jumpers and exciting blogs about London flat dwellers having been delivered fourteen-foot trees when they'd only ordered a four foot bush.

This year is a Christmas like no other with most of the world coping with a pandemic and some of our governments coping rather badly. And here, in the British Isles everyone intelligent one of us, no matter what size our island, has the added concern of what is going to happen after Brexit. 

Still. Christmas. I'd promised myself that this year I would not add to my anxieties by leaving everything to the last minute and that I would shop online. It was all going rather well. Except for one order, something Christmassy ordered from a company advertising on Facebook. There was nothing to indicate that the items were coming from Berlin and it was two weeks before I heard a peep. A few more anxious days followed then joy, I got a notification that my parcel had arrived at Princess Royal DC. I had no idea what or where Princess Royal DC was but I suspected it might be a boat. Turns out it is a distribution centre in London. Six days later my parcel is still there and it contains items meant for nine different family members.

This place is massive. It is also 17 mins by postman's van from London Sister and just under an hour from Ganching.

Now Bert has taken to watching the news and bounces in to tell me snippets he thinks might be of interest, like,

Stanley McConaghy* was on the news again, tonight!

And,

Looks like BT42 (our postcode) is the most coviddy** hole in Northern Ireland!

And,

You're never going to get that parcel before Christmas. Just seen a report of the distribution centres in London. Mountains of parcels. They can't cope.

*A dog.

**Stricken with coronavirus

Lockdown Christmas Dec 5

 

Christmas progress has been slow. Since my last posting my only tick-off the list has been wrapping and posting the Kerry presents, the purchase of three rolls of Christmas wrapping paper and ordering another half-dozen bottles of red wine. Does it count that I remembered A Lidl Christmas pudding at the back of the larder? From 2019 but I'm sure it will be fine.

Other than that it has been an uneventful week. Cold and dank weather too, which has played on my sore knees. I did get the appointment for the X-Ray which will be the day before Christmas Eve. There was a time when I'd have considered this timing to be inconvenient, there being so much to do in the days before Christmas. But not this year. This year the run up to the holiday will be quiet. There will be no visiting and no shopping. It will be wonderful.

Bert and I had this conversation this morning,

Bert, I read on Twitter that Trump has raised millions of dollars since losing the election.

How'd he do that?

Asking his supporters to help fund the campaign to challenge the results.

Millions of dollars you say?

Supposedly. Think of it this way. If every single person who voted for him sent ten dollars, he'd have over740 million dollars.

Then how much would he get if all the people who voted for him and whose votes weren't counted sent him ten dollars?

Probably around zero dollars.

Lockdown Christmas Dec 1

Full disclosure. I've already bought most of my Christmas presents and some have even been delivered thanks (or no thanks) to Amazon who signed me up to Prime without my knowledge. I cancelled it after the presents were delivered and I think that cost me an extra £7. As the presents were heavily discounted I'm not too worried about that.

Also, I've already had the Christmas beverages delivered, although I might have taken a teeny dip into that. It's the stress y'know. A friend of ours had the same delivery around the same time and the delivery man joshed him about the amount. Our friend explained,

It's for a Christmas party.

(This was before parties were verboten.)

The delivery man joked,

Ha! I'll be back again before Christmas.

And he was. The very next day.

But back to Day 1, or the day before Day 1. I had an amazing day yesterday. My knees (after the usual morning stiffness) were easy and I felt full of energy. Bert and I cleaned the hen house and considering that two weeks ago I was considering giving up chicken keeping due to being unable to care for them properly, this was very cheering. I actually managed more than 10,000 steps for the first time in three weeks.

I paid for that today. Very low energy. Finished reading Carol Shields Unless and watched Steve McQueen's Mangrove Nine and mainly lolled around. I did tend to my chickens and, as a treat, let them run around the yard where they scattered in all directions. When I counted them in tonight three were missing. It was a foggy, foxy sort of day. Hopefully, the three that are gone were oldies. My two favourites are still there and, of course, the two roosters.

My sole contribution to Christmas prep was fetching the festive wrapping paper from the attic.

And posting this picture. Holly de Cat when she was a little'un. It's my most 'borrowed' photograph on the internet.

Christmas Eve

It's seven o'clock and I've had four hours sleep. Awakened by Roy barking to be let out. I'm not pleased. I look outside, then I go outside to look at the sky. Sun's not up, the moon is waning gibbous but so bright. There is a passenger jet blinking past and Venus is dazzling in the east. I think it's Venus. I decide to have coffee and keep and blog Christmas Eve even though I've already got plenty to do. Who hasn't?

Who hasn't? Well - Bertram for a start but he'll find something useful to be getting on with as the day progresses. Just like yesterday when he took over my kitchen to melt beeswax, something I think could have been postponed until the festivities are done.

Blog excerpt from ten years ago.

And on the home front, Bert has embarked on his traditional Christmas preparations. This always involves a large, messy and thoroughly non-urgent task that he has been putting off for at least three years. I think it was last year he decided to demolish the turf shed and this year he’s building (from scratch) a sliding door between the scullery and the hall. The house is knee deep in sawdust and I’m terrified the kitten is going to decapitate itself on Bert’s Makita.

Two minutes past eight. The eastern sky is brightening and I'm off back to bed with another coffee. I won't stay long.

Just long enough to read another few pages of Fire and Fury. I've got to the bit where Bannon's still in the West Wing but teetering.

By nine o'clock I had the Heavenly Chocolate Pudding on the hob. It's Evie's favourite. Bert is still in bed but awake. I asked him, ever so nicely, not to embark upon any project that encroaches upon the domestic sphere. He promised he wouldn't. Actually, he said he might stay in bed all day. Surely in jest?

Twenty-five past ten. I'm tired. Hens fed and watered and a Christmas gift from one of the red girls. A big brown egg. They've all been off the lay for weeks except for the white one and she lays out. Her current nest is underneath the palm tree which is very inconvenient as collection entails having to kneel in the earth and stretch in to lift them.

Eleven forty-five. Managed to get Bert (he did get up) and Vancouver Brother out of the house for an hour or two and am eating a favourite breakfast of toast, strong cheese and my own chilli jam. I have produced a giant bowl of breadcrumbs for the turkey stuffing. I still haven't laid eyes on the bird.

A quarter to two and the boys are back after breakfasting at Grafters. I've had a shower, read a bit of my book, took some photographs with my new (to me) camera, cleaned out the fire and peeled a dozen onions. I am at present drinking a cup of peppermint tea and feel very tired.

Much more practice needed with this camera

Three hours later. Nearly 5 o'clock and I have a new lease of life. Trifle started - the fruity, cakey alcoholic bit and with the help of Vancouver Brother vegetables and meat prepped for tonight's supper. Melanie has just arrived bearing gifts. I got two geranium Rozanne. Apparently I said on this very blog that I wanted those. Who needs letters to Father Christmas? I just tell the blog and I get everything I want. Martha, Evie and their parents will be here any moment. Aha! That's them now. It will be a few hours before I return to blogging.

A quarter past seven. Listening to Dixieflyer (our brother-in-law) on Mad Wasp Radio. We've eaten, exchanged presents and said goodnight to two extremely excited young women. Supper was good, sausages, mash, veggies followed by my choc pud, Bert's ganache and vanilla ice cream. Banjo Man has been and gone and I'm not the slightest bit tired.

Great-Uncle Eamon and the noisiest girls in the world.

Nearly half-eight. I've had a glass of wine, courtesy of The Bun, and a little doze so now it's time to load the dishwasher and make the turkey stuffing. Bert has offered to chop onions and grate carrots. The turkey has been weighed. It's a big one and will need the most of five hours in the oven .

Half-past nine. Eamon and I finished making the stuffing, Bert cleaned up and we completed another stage of the sherry trifle. The men are cooking the ham and no doubt they'll eat a whack of it after I go to bed. But that's OK. They're good fellows, they deserve it.

Wishing everyone who visits the Garden a peaceful Christmas.

And hit publish.

Monstera Deliciosa (Tales From A Room)

I look back at this picture taken Christmas 1976 ( I was 23) and it brings back so many memories. That dress. Floral, bought from the Go Gay Boutique (yes, really!) in Lower Mill Street, Ballymena. It was floor length, fashionable then and showed a lot of cleavage which I was shy about hence the long fringed shawl. Silly to be shy, for I had a most magnificent bust. But unlike maxi-dresses and fringed shawls,  bosoms were not so fashionable back in the mid-seventies.

Who was the guy in the background? Somebody sleazy, masquerading as respectable. He sired a child back then that he ignores to this day. Shame on him. Nothing to do with me.

I remember that night so well because I was to meet a boy at that party. Someone I'd been seeing for a while, someone I thought I was in love with. Heck, I was in love with him in the way people are before they know what love is. He jilted me that night. Went off with someone else and broke my heart. I knew I'd been stood up when that picture was taken and I was pretending not to care.

The plant was a Swiss Cheese Plant, a Christmas gift from my friend Rosie. I had it for years.

Forty years later and a favourite haunt of mine is the Palm House in the Botanic Gardens in Belfast. There the Monstera Deliciosa plants are enormous. That picture only shows a few of the leaves at the base of the plant. That baby is more than ten foot tall. So I'm yearning to have one for myself. On my most recent visit to Ikea, I said to Zoe,

Should I?

And she says,

You should.

So I did.

Call back in several years when it's ten foot tall.

Looking Forward

It's two months today until one of my favourite days of the year, St Stephen's Day - the day Stupid Christmas is over. I can't wait.

Tomorrow I am going to Party in the Park, a mid-term break event aimed at small people. The weather is to be diabolical but children cannot be dissuaded, especially tough, outdoorsy types like Martha and Evie.

I need to save my energy for that. So no more blogging tonight.

The Day After St Stephen's Day

Apart from posting a few pictures on Flickr, I did not spend much time on social media sites over the holiday period. Reason being, I went to Instagram on Christmas morning to see if there were pictures of my grandchildren opening their presents. There were not but what was there in abundance were pictures of other peoples cosy, firelit, candle-glowing evergreen and berried interiors which threw me into a mild depression as I didn't even try the fairy lights until Christmas Eve and they didn't work so no tree! I missed it very much. So instead I continued with the uploading of archived photographs to Flickr. it was Cullybackey's turn and this was the picture I chose to show the world on Christmas morning.

An interior of a disused factory just outside the village. It could hardly be less hygge although Hannah did point out that the patch of mould in the far corner could definitely pass for a Christmas tree. Next year I'm buying new fairy lights and there will definitely be a tree!

So Christmas Day passed in a blur of cooking, eating and drinking. We watched one thing on television and it was a parcel of shite despite having Christmas trees galore, right way up, suspended from the ceiling, sideways etc. It's perfectly OK going mad on the festive greenery when there is an army of liveried servants to do one's bidding. That's right - I'm ashamed to admit we watched Victoria where Royal children went out in the snow with no hats when everyone knows that one wet flake would kill a child stone dead from consumption or a chill in Victorian times. In my defence, I will say that I kept dropping off to sleep during the turgid dreariness.

St Stephen's Day was much more relaxing but that's for another time. Except that my daughter very wisely pointed out that I might have started Christmas Day a little better if  I'd actually got in my vehicle and drove to town to see my actual flesh and blood grandchildren enjoying their presents instead of faffing around on Instagram and Facebook. Good point Zoe.

The Day Before Christmas Eve

Pulling into the Tesco carpark at a quarter to nine to buy the sort of things that cannot be found in Cullybackey. Things like almond flakes and mascarpone cheese and gin. I thought I'd be stealing a march on the day but the carpark was almost full to capacity. Inside was just as crammed. There were the usual desperate men looking as if they had been cast in the fiery bowels of hell and were being pitchforked by devil's imps. There were people who hadn't seen each other since last Christmas and were wishing each other season's cheer as they caught up with the gossip in the aisles. And there were people like me, organised people clutching long lists. There weren't many of us but we noticed each other. I was so prepared I even bought a copy of Amateur Gardening to amuse myself in the queue for the checkout. There were two free packets of seeds with that so essentially it was free if one didn't take into consideration that I didn't actually need another packet of mixed cornflower seed. The mixed woodland one will be useful especially as it features the sort of campanulas that used to grow in Currels Avenue.

When I got home I was rather pleased with myself. I had smiled at lots of people, had several chats with strangers and had managed not to kill the cat that ran out in front of my van on the Galgorm Road. Hannah was home just before me after completing a shift that began at four a.m. And Bert? Bert was just getting up. He must have heard me put the kettle on.