MY CHRISTMAS ANGEL SINGS
I’m not in the
mood for Christmas this year. It just seems like an awful lot of fuss and work
to go through again. A big Christmas
holiday every other year seems like a more reasonable option to me. I usually
love Christmas; the lights, the presents, Santa, the way it turns Quality
Street in a legitimate household food-item. It’s just that this year it just
feels like an awful lot of work for what is essentially, one day bookmarked by
consumer excess and a roast dinner. O.M.G! Did I really just say that? Have I really
turned into Bah Humbug Christmas killjoy? This holiday exhaustion is down to
the fact that I have been working really, really hard since September. I was
hoping nay expecting to get the edits
done on my new book, The Dress, before the holidays, but now it looks like it
is going to drag on into the New Year. This means that I don’t have that
wonderful sense of completion I usually enjoy at the years end and it is making
me really grumpy. As the lights have
gone up in Killala and reminders to order my Christmas Turkey from Noelly the
butcher come through on Facebook, I am watching my book deadline move further
away. I want to lock myself in my shed and get this book to bed, but instead I
have to organize buying gifts and worry about how to cook my
brussel-sprouts. Christmas, frankly, is
getting in the way of my life. I was not able to get parking in Ballina this
week and there was a queue at the Bank link a mile long. In my stressed state I
have decided to half-do the whole thing. Usually I turn my home into a veritable
forest grotto. This year I have stuck some fairy lights on the banisters. I
told my husband to grab the first four bags from the top of the attic stairs
(the attic is filled to bursting with festive decorations) and I would pot luck
whatever was in them around the house provided it didn’t take more than an
hour. Other time and energy saving
measures include sending no cards, (not even e-mail ones), joint
mother/mother-in-law gifts and, most shockingly, ready made desserts from Lidl.
Christmas is far from cancelled, we still have a tree and Santa will be coming
but Mummy is not driving the whole business as full-throttle as she usually
does. Mummy is too busy working.
Christmas has been
hanging over me like the Sword old Damocles since early November and this week
it slammed down on my head when searching online for a pair of Stompeez
(branded, expensive, slippers that are this years Xmas ‘it’ thing for the under
tens) and discovered, to our horror that its too late to order online.
Most definitely
not on my list of ‘things-to-do’ is attend ‘events’. However my favorite young
woman, Caoimhe Reilly was doing a solo at the Gortnor Abbey Carol Concert in
Crossmolina. It being her leaving cert year and with her not being my actual daughter (sadly – a mere family
friend/stunt-daughter who comes on loan courtesy of her real mother, Fiona), I
decided it might be the last time I’d get to see her over the holidays. So, I
braved it.
Infuriatingly, I
arrived almost an hour early, so found myself sitting in the car fidgeting
restlessly listening to Newstalk when I could have been in my den moving words
around a page.
Eventually, I
followed the crowd in and got a good seat, near the front. The convent chapel
was glittering with fairy lights and candles, with a silhouette scene of the
three wise men projected behind the altar.
As the students
started to sing, I could feel myself gradually let go and get into the spirit
of the music. Oh Come All Ye Faithful etc. It’s Christmas. Get over it.
Then my young
friend got up on the altar to sing Oh Holy Night. It’s a tough one at the best
of times and her mum had told me she’d had a sore throat all week. Suddenly, I felt nervous for her. Lovely, tall,
pretty Caoimhe, her huge eyes pleading up to the choir balcony behind me
watching for her cues. She seemed so
vulnerable in that moment to me, to so personify the beauty and spirit and hope
of Christ’s both that I closed my eyes and listened to every note, willing her
to make them. She hit each one and then, at the very end went for the achingly high
slammer and nailed it. I let out a sob and only then realized that I had been
crying since she started singing.
With my heart open,
I finally allowed Christmas to make its entrance.