A couple of days before Christmas I
was bemused that my wife couldn't remember that we'd arranged to go to our
daughter's for Christmas lunch. Each trip to the supermarket we bought another
ham, more bread, extra sausages, and additional mince pies. Assured that her
very own case of Alzheimer's disease had set in, but not wanting to mention her
obvious loss of memory, I kept quiet.
I became even more worried when a day or two before my mother arrived
from interstate, the purchase of a new Christmas tree and decoration was
discussed. Wasn't it my wife, who when we first met reluctantly purchased a
small tree sparsely festooned plastic ornaments to pacify my pleas to decorate
the lounge room.
About six months ago our daughter had discussed her mother's lack of
ability to remember what she'd told her a few days before, it was worrying her,
and would I talk to my wife about it. Great, I can hardly remember what colour
socks I have on today and now she wants me to go where no sane man would willingly
go. To speak about subjects my generation consider taboo. There might be
something in all of this dementia stuff though so I'll soon be taking the test
myself. I reckon it's the easiest way out, and if the report is positive I have
a good reason for everything I forget to do.
Back to our provisioning for Christmas. We were to meet with friends for
a dinner and Christmas get together, tell some lies, discuss our families and
be home before eleven. It used to be before dawn but now we fall asleep after a
feed, so eleven is curfew. Our task was to supply a dessert and fruit salad was
the sweet of choice. A syrupy sweet perfume filled the kitchen as a trolley
load of fruit was diced sliced sugared, and drenched to perfection.
'Are you sure we are going to need all of that tonight?' I asked trying
not to sound too concerned about an obvious over catering situation.
'We can always have the leftovers for breakfast, and besides I will put
some in the fridge to have later. And your Mum's here, she likes fruit.'
A confident wave to shoo me out of the kitchen indicated it was time for
me to do something somewhere. I left and only came back into the kitchen in
time to see the last utensil go into the draw and the tea-towel being hung in
the rack as the last of the water gurgled as it drained from the sink. Perfect
timing I thought.
Our phone rang early next morning, the grandchildren would be staying
home today. Their father having strayed next door early the previous afternoon
had been invited to pass an expert opinion on the quality and taste of the
neighbour's Christmas home brew. Apparently a difficult task, and the afternoon
and much of the evening was lost. She would leave the kids with him while she
had her hair done, part punishment, part opportunity.
I'd been looking forward to the grand-kids coming, after all it was
Christmas Eve and they’d be full of questions. I'd found a new red-back spider residing behind the shed
to show them, a couple of sunflowers were poking their
shoots up and they could also keep my Mum occupied for an hour or two. All of
my boxes were ticked yesterday, but now my plans were screwed. I'd have to find
something else to do and I'd promised to leave the computer alone over
Christmas. So dragging my bottom lip I mooched about the garden, kicking the
occasional stone off the lawn and pulling a few weeds. I even opened the
caravan sat at the table and dreamed of a campsite overlooking a creek filled
with fish, yeah that would be good.
Maybe next Christmas.
I felt a couple of arms close around
me, warm in their embrace and my wife’s kiss on my cheek as I turned the key in
the lock. My dreams would remain inside the van for another time. I know my
kids would go la la la la la la, but to my wife I said. 'No point in feeling
frisky Mum's still here.' She just shook her head and laughed.
We picked a miniature weed or two from the garden that had been well
weeded a week ago. Boredom had morphed into apathy and I'd lost a bit of
enthusiasm for Christmas, a call to my daughter working interstate went to
message. My son phoned to confirm a postal address. Both calls had been short
and sharp, I knew they would call Christmas night when they had more time. Oh
well I could catch up with a mate later in the day that would lift my spirits,
but then nah that wouldn't work. Mum would wonder why I'd snuck out without
her. After all she was only here for ten days surely her only son could
entertain her for ten days.
A four wheel drive rolled into the drive way and wanting to know how
sick my son in law was I was keen for our daughter to spill the goss. The woman
riding in the passenger seat looked familiar but I didn't recognise her at
first. Thinking it must have been a friend from the school run, there were kids
in the back but the tinted windows hid their faces.
'G'day there.'
I recognised the voice immediately and the face I knew, but my mind was still
confused. The time and place was all wrong. My eldest daughter and her family
had come for Christmas. Those melancholy thoughts of earlier in the day
immediately fled and Christmas cheer filled our home for the next three
days. I'm not sure what happened over Christmas other than my family had been
able to keep a secret to surprise me for over six months. Time to talk
disappeared among laughter, food, movies and the Boxing Day Test. Too soon it
was time to get everyone to the airport and send them home.
With them gone, the house is much quieter and I'm waiting for my wife to
return from her shift at work. And yet every room is full of joyous memory
moments that will last until we meet again next Christmas. Today I'm back to
writing again and have a million anecdotes and stories from the last few days
to draw on over the next twelve months.
To the secret keepers, many thanks
for a very merry and surprising Christmas, you blew my socks off.
