I do.
Already it seems an age ago. Christmas Day, that is. New Year has come and we are already into 2016. Those heady days leading up to Christmas and the day itself seem quite some time ago.
But for me Christmas 2015 will always be remembered as a personal monumental victory.
Boxing Day this year saw TradeMe flooded with thousands of new items for sale that were the result of unwanted Christmas gifts.
Those socks that mother gave to her grown up son were not deemed desirable enough by the recipient which resulted in a buy-now price of $5 for the set of six. The buy-now price would have made son $5 richer and mother none-the wiser. And when she asks son about them a few months down the track he can tell her he had to throw them out last week because he’d loved them so much that he literally wore them out. She will feel good and he will not feel the least bit guilty about the lie. He will never remember what he spent the $5 he got for them on, but he will know whatever it was was better than having to wear those unwanted socks. He’ll buy his own socks when he deems it time to buy new socks and hope like heck that mother will, for one year in her life, buy him something useful next Christmas, for Christ’s sake.
Ungrateful nerd.
I checked out Trade Me yesterday and folk are getting good bargains in purchasing unwanted Christmas presents; there was even a dog kennel up for sale that was an unwanted Christmas present.
Who buys someone a dog kennel for Christmas?
And if they did, how come it was unwanted? One of many great Christmas mysteries.
Not for me though, putting gifts on Trade Me and profiting from the generosity of festive giving from others. I do have an emotional conscience and could never do that. Well, not the day after, maybe.
Mind you, one has to receive something that can be on sold before we could even go there. This Christmas there seemed to be a distinctive theme in the form of gifts that I personally received. Despite being a firm 'No Presents' person there seemed an abundance of receiving on my part this Christmas.
Most with a consumable theme. A theme that makes on selling not quite a viable option and besides, one has to not like the gift they receive before contemplating opening up the Trade Me website. I confess, that overall, I quite like the gifts I received, be they gifts that do not fit in with the life I am want to lead. Like health, fitness and wholesomeness.
At least, I think that’s the life I think I lead. But when looking at the loot around my Christmas tree on the Sunday post Christmas I did stand back, look hard and ponder what messages I seem to be sending to those around me.
What and why is it that giving me something highly yummy, yet health-wise inappropriate, is the way to Verna’s heart?
Considering my 'no presents’ stance it seems the message has been totally ignored. Or is it that folk consider giving consumable gifts is not really a gift but a gesture of giving that will be highly acceptable to one who says “no” to spending on material objects.
When at home post my Christmas morning and brunch, before flying out to Wellington to spend Christmas afternoon with my sister-whanau with Big Son – I momentarily pondered on the parcels and boxes I just placed next to others that were already under the Christmas tree. And thought, “Imm, the no presents policy isn’t working, but actually, this year I’m don't mind in the least.”
Even though I had not yet opened many of the gifts it was visibly obvious there was a definite theme in the giving. I am a sentimental person and I do not like to quickly open gifts, I like to wait until I am relaxed and have the time to thoroughly revel in whatever it is in that lovingly wrapped parcel or basket and take in all the kindness that would have gone into the giver’s thoughts and festive giving intentions.
That’s a lovely way to ponder over and appreciate a gift, the giver and the giving.
One of the gifts under the tree had been opened, earlier that morning, at our post-Christmas-morning-swim-or-run-or walk. It was a classic gift which was personally handed over by a warm, sweet one for whom I have a very fond affection. The affection has nothing to do with her annual challenge of stirring up the best batch of Russian Fudge the world has to offer, not at all. It so happens she’s become rather good at it, making Russian Fudge that is, and by good chance I have been the recipient of a box of Russian Fudge these past Christmas days. Of which I have been doubly touched as there is a definite Tony-Verna connection to my receiving the fudge. Only, this year, instead of the box resembling the size of a small lunchbox, this box was bigger than the largest ice cream container you can purchase. I excitedly lifted the lid. Not only did the box contain her lovingly homemade Russian Fudge but helping fill the large, festive container was some genuine Kiwi straight forward chocolate fudge that sends any adult instantly into childhood nostalgia.
And nothing tastes sweeter than childhood nostalgia.
It would seem my delight in receiving the Russian sugar treat was very apparent once the huge container was opened for a few days later I was presented with another fine two piece sample of the product by one of this year’s impish Ironman athletes who, later in the day, added a further couple of pieces delicately wrapped and as she handed it to me she had that look on the face that said “Enjoy, cause now I’ll have something on you when you next growl at me about something nutritional” This Athlete-in-Training had already presented to me on Christmas morning a neatly wrapped box of treats, all covered in my favourite diary milk chocolate. One million calories in one box. Was this a challenge back to her coach? A challenge of self-control with favoured forms of confectionery?
It is post New Year now, so OK, I am now several grams heavier than I was on Christmas Day, perhaps even some kilograms heavier; but only due to the giving of friends whose love and thoughtfulness I greatly appreciate. I have loved every nibble, every sip. Thank you.
It does make me wonder though, how would I feel should someone hand me a carrot and packet of dry rice crackers Christmas day? Whilst it could be out of concern and caring for my health would I not take that as an insult to my friendship? Immm…. Interesting thing to ponder. And certainly one I do not wish to be challenged with. So no rice crackers and carrots next year please.
But wait, there’s more.
Also sitting under the tree was another semi-giant receptacle and within that is a giant homemade, handmade Christmas Fruit Cake. I would like to report that it sat there untouched for one to share with others at a post-Christmas get together; but no, within days of it appearing there was a large corner chunk massacred out with something resembling a chopping axe for want of anything that could cut through a cake so large. Once done the large, corner slice was quickly devoured. It was post eleven in the evening when this urge to slice the cake occurred and nowt was going to stop the sudden need to taste the product. It was yum. Better than ever. Better than all those other birthday and Christmas fruit cakes the maker has ever made this past decade or more. It was yet another nostalgia trip down memory lane as the baker of such cakes initially began bringing them around to the home for my darling husband who always delighted in any cake or fuss made for or over him. Fortunately for me, since Tony’s departure I have been the receiver of the annual Christmas Cake at Jesmond Terrace. How lucky and glad I am to now be the receiver of the lovingly made gift.
However this same friend, when presenting me with the cake on Christmas Day, had earlier in the day handed me a small parcel that has since revealed to contain those almond nuts which are covered in rich, dark chocolate.
That box sits beside me now and there are only two of those chocolate coated nuts remaining. Now where would the rest have gone?
This same friend also has a reputation among our athletic lot for her adroitness at baking Christmas mince pies and shortbread. Of which I have also been the recipient of in proceeding days. They sit in the cupboard opposite me, minus one or two.
Her friend, and mine, added to that nutritional loot by presenting me with one particular Licorice Allsort when visiting her home for a post Christmas Christmas dinner. On leaving her home that evening she added to the one Allsort with yet another. Both have long since disappeared from my inventory.
Opposite where I sit in my holiday chalet is the fridge which contains two bottles of wine, both given to me as Christmas gifts from friends or athletes (athletes are now also known as friends, as once they join the Verna team they become friends). Arrived home from a busy day out before Christmas Day and sitting at the door was an unsigned gift basket. There was no note or card to explain for whom the basket of goodies were intended, nor a note to say who it was from. However the contents made it quite clear the basket was not for any of the other three who live in the premises as none of the three would imbibe in anything remotely like the goodies which the basket held. A bottle of pinot, a bottle of sparkling feijoa wine, various up market munchies that may easily be disguised as healthy for athletes and would be most useful on a five hour bike ride when the body seeks sugar, sugar and sugar. Tucked in among the abundance of glorious treats was the big clue as to the origins of the deliverers of the basket, one well wrapped orange swim cap. The cap, the colour and The Bros insignia let me instantly know where this glorious basket collection had come from. The worrying factor was yet again this was a kind gift from athletes to their coach – yet the gifts for here were yet again down the theme of hedonism as opposed to health. What is this message I am receiving?
I am not complaining. These are all treats and treats I would never buy myself due mostly to the pockets growing deeper as life necessitates so therefore I have received gleeful treats that would otherwise not be in my home.
Nor shall I complain about the mellow Pinot Noir I supped over my supper last night that was hand delivered to me by an Ironman-in-training-lycra-clad cyclist pre our last four hour ride on Sunday and with which was a tin of genuine Walkers shortbread. Clearly she had picked that Pinot and shortbread was yet another weakness of mine but was somewhat amused at yet another mischievous glint in the eye as it was handed to her coach. I thoughtfully pack both gifts into the care before travelling the roads to Paihia to help me through these tortuous days of relaxation in the glorious Bay of Islands, as the rain continues to pour. I shall think of her each sip, each bite, warmly.
I arrived here yesterday and purposely brought with me as many foods from the house as possible in the surety that spending dollars at the local supermarket would be extravagant – thereby the more I brought from home the more thrifty I would be. So as I carefully placed the Pinot Noir next to the bottle of Syrah I looked at the Syrah and warmly grinned. It was personally delivered as a gift and was specifically chosen as we had enjoyed imbibing in one a few months earlier and he remembered my purring hum as I had salivated at each sip. How kind that was that he remembered, how kind that, like all the others, he took the time and genuinely gave as an acknowledgement of friendship.
It reminded me how rich I am with friends.
So into the cupboard the wine were placed, alongside the heart shaped luxury chocolates given to me by one Lisa-Anna-Georgina, alongside the scorched almonds, alongside the blocks of English Rhubarb & Orange & Geranium chocolates favourite bro-&-sister-in-law sent from the UK.
I stood back and pondered on one of the seven deadly sins, the one of gluttony. For the cupboard was the epitome of gluttony.
However one of the other sins is to love thy neighbour and whilst none of the goods in the cupboard came from the neighbour, I’m sure Mose’s was referring to all those who live around us when he carved in the word ‘neighbour’ into his slab of rock. And I love all those who filled my cupboard with their warmth of giving.
I returned to continue unpacking the car with the necessary groceries of life for this next week.
Into the fridge with the Pinot Gris a Once Were Runner deemed I should enjoy over the break, alongside the aforementioned sparking Feijoa wine (in the hope favourite step-son-&-daughter-in-law could share with me, but alas the rain is hindering their northward progress) and the final layer of Russian & Chocolate Fudge (for I have relented and shared much of this treat) and decided that being a glutton on well considered gifts isn’t such a bad thing.
In to the bedroom when the carefully chosen and given body lotions and butters that loved ones purchased and the book which travelled the world for me to read.
Throughout my unpacking I was thoughtful and retrospective over the power of giving.
The joy the givers had when they knew I could never resist accepting their well chosen treats.
The fortune I have in the quality, quantity and affection of so many people around me.
The previous seven Christmas’s have not been ones to reflect on with such good sentiment. Christmas in 2007 was the Christmas Tony was diagnosed with his brain tumour. I cannot reflect back to this time without an enormous well of incredible emotional turmoil arising from deep within. With his life expectancy being only twelve weeks it meant that Christmas that year was horrendous. And each week following just as horrendous.
Yet fifty-one weeks passed and Christmas arrived again and we had our Tony with us, in apparent full health, yet there was no doubt that within me Christmas was still tinged with huge sadness in the belief this could really be the last Christmas I share with him.
Yet one year later we were blessed to have him with us to celebrate another year of life that no one, especially his neuro experts and surgeons would have expected him to see. It was wonderful to have him still with us and still fit, healthy and hearty at Christmas 2009. He had had many further brain surgery operations and undergone horrendous treatment during those years yet Christmas 2010 arrived and again we were blessed.
Christmas 2011 was yet another unique celebration as despite even more major surgery and minor strokes he was as jolly, and healthy, and fitter than any other his age. He was still doing Ironman events. There were some noted changes but Tony was still enjoying life fully and still able to continue with the activities he so loved. The long Ironman training days, our long bike rides, and swims and runs; enjoying our life, our holidays, our families – everything that living is became more and more personified and meaningful with each passing Christmas.
Until 2012. The year from hell. Christmas 2012. We knew it was to be his very last Christmas. Yet he had dumbfounded all those who had given him no chance five Christmas’s earlier. And he delighted in having special family around him at this celebration. Family from around the world. Despite all that he was going through I knew he was loving this particular Christmas, he had those he most loved all around.
March 2013 was the saddest year of the lives of many of those who were in Tony’s life. Tony passed away.
That next Christmas, the Christmas of 2013 was hell. But for the large circle of sincere family and friends I could very possibly have not made that Christmas. The months post Tony’s departure were unbearable. I tried so very hard to face life without my special man but could see little joy in the future without him. Anyone who knew us understood the unique bond we had and knew the void I faced without the whole purpose of my life with me. If not for mine and Tony’s family, if not for the genuine, caring and watchful friends, and little Anthony, the options of the future seemed to matter little to me. Underneath the surety, the jesting, the frivolity, the apparent strength was a deep, dense pit of grief and darkness that I did not want to step out of and contemplated going even further into.
I remember that Christmas without him very clearly. I remember having to draw so very strongly in seemingly looking forward to festivities, family and regular rituals but loathing, hating every moment; hating to have to pretend to be bright, positive and festive. Hating all the effort it took to make them feel I was handling life and my void without Tony. Hating to pretend to be strong and hating to talk about any future, hating to assure them that I was fine. Hating life. All I was wishing and wanting was to be with my special man. It was not the greatest of Christmas’s.
Last Christmas, Christmas 2014 was certainly quite lighter. I had spent some months during the year in the UK with family-in-law, family and friends and returned to New Zealand feeling I had climbed the hurdle of buried depression. It was the people that did it. Not myself. The people there and the people here. Being away had me realise all the more that other people are important in my life. Whether they want to be or not.
So Christmas 2014 was still tinged with great sadness without my Mr J, but there seemed to be an acceptance of the pain rather than fighting it.
This Christmas. Was altogether the best Christmas since 2007. It’s been a long time, but this Christmas I began to feel the joy once again. No longer did I weep at the hymns of traditional Christmas. No longer did I dread the energy it would take to enjoy it, for this time there was no need to dig for energy as the pleasures of the lead up to Christmas came naturally, without any pre-thought or prediction, it happened naturally. Each time I heard a Christmas carol I felt the almost childlike joy of anticipation of the arrival of Christmas.
The days before Christmas Day and Christmas Day itself was fun. Everyone, everywhere seemed to be happy. Even with all the manic busyness of folk in those proceeding days there was an atmosphere of happiness. Good people were doing good things and had good thoughts and good times. I was lucky, there was happiness all around. Especially on the 25th for on that one day everyone was happy. As was I.
For the first time in years I was happy to honestly feel the Christmas spirit.
Of course the added benefit was the joy of having lovely people around, some who proffered the chocolates, the fudges, the wines, but all of those who gifted time, laughter, happiness and a meaningfulness to just being.
Yes, I had to ride the ticking hands of time to get here. And no, it could not have been done without others who mattered and those who cared.
Gee.... Thanks .... all of you .... whoever and where ever you are.... thank you.
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