Did you have a good Christmas?

It's back to work next week after 10 days "off". "Did you have a good Christmas?" folks will ask. What shall I reply? I think I'll go with "yes thanks, how about you?" rather than the longer version. In truth I kind of went away for Christmas. I was here for small person and ooh'd and ahh'd in all of the right places.  Husband spent hours roasting a turkey, I spent hours making mince pies from scratch...including the mince meat.  Weeks of watching Tudor Monastery Farm had me convinced that chucking fruit and booze in a bowl was all that was needed. The rum and brandy helped them taste right.  Santa came a left lots of lovely gifts. Small person was very happy if a little over wrought by the build up and excitement.  On a bedroom time out by 9 am cooling off from a tantrum.  And through it all I was unwell.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were extremely stressful. Work stress, awake at 4 am and down to the sofa to fall asleep in front of the TV. Then stomach flu that became head flu which for the last 10 days has meant back pain.  Two physio massages and my back and neck hurt a lot.  A routine trip to Toronto for a mammogram, just because I'm at the age when you have those. Then a call back Christmas Eve for another mammogram and an ultrasound.  The nurse telling me that that is not unusual to be called back, as they have no previous records for me, but it got me thinking...and feeling the fear.

Usually at Christmas I plan ahead - I like planning. I don't always follow my plans but I like the order that is created, all be it superficial, by making plans. Where shall we go on holiday this year? Should we get another car once our house is sold? Should I join weight watchers? What shall we do for husbands 50th birthday?  I am distracted this year by a huge self indulgence of feeling ill and worrying that I am ill'er, if that's a word.  I think that is a symptom of being stuck indoors in 12 days of Christmas limbo.

I sent small person to day camp yesterday as I had pre planned that, worried that he'd be stir crazy by now.  He's fine but I think I'm the stir crazy one. After a brisk ( not too brisk so as to fall over ) walk in the snow, to buy essentials I cleared the drive of snow.  I was ably assisted  by three small children from up the street who came with shovels. I paid them in candy.  It's the way we do things in this street.  Then I made a healthy lunch and settled down to watch Gone With The Wind. 3 hours later I remembered how it annoys me that he left her...great film though.  I cooked Chana Dal for my dinner...having made turkey stew for the guys.  It said add 7 chillies, so on the advice of the author to half the chillies, on seeing my pale Celtic skin, I added only three.  Who knew you were supposed to take the seeds out. That's one hot Chana Dal.

So today, it's me and small person, again no car and he's out up the street throwing snow around with his friends.  They'll play old school for 20 minutes then pile in and fight over the Xbox. They have a very loud and volatile relationship.... When 2 play it's okay, when 3 it gets loud, today it sounds like 5 have turned up out there.  There will be demands to "get off my property" from small person any time soon.

My plans? Tidy up a bit, take an ibuprofen, rest, cough. Drink lots of water. Maybe get the paints out...we shall see. No point worrying - worry has no value.  And when people ask "did you have a good Christmas?" I shall say yes.

Namaste

Dunkirk Spirit

We all stood at the bus stop this morning in a very mild December ( I'm still wearing my Birkenstocks, although I look like a nutter) and the kids were very excited. The big kids were off to the rink for skating - gotta love a country where PE is ice skating. The little kids were buzzing as today was the Christmas concert. No political correctness here - it's holiday season and we talk about Christmas. That's what I love about the bus line ( translate that as queue ) it's mini Canada to me.  I did a mental roll call of the parents...we have 2 white folks with studs and dreadlocks, a grandpa from Jamaica, Russians, Bhuddists, Catholics, Muslims, Protestants, a Pastor, and us. Not sure we fit in any of those boxes but I feel an affinity with each one of them.  It is such an eclectic mix.

Small person square danced to a Christmas song, wearing a tinsel elf hat.  The kid with autism wore noise dampening headphones, that I guess cut out the volume that bothers him, so he had a great time too. It's fabulous to me all of this "so what diversity". I'm the girl who grew up in the sixties and still remembers her gran saying " if you see a black man you make a wish for good luck". I don't think she was racist, simply that she was born in 1900 and society was very linear as folks had small worlds that they never left.

I may have blogged before about childhood, I can't recall, so apologies for repetition, but I am local to stories of the 2nd World War, of my dad arriving home as a small boy to find that the Gerry's had blown the door off; stories from Grandma about carrying cans of evaporated milk in a paper bag during rationing and the bottom dropping out just as a policeman walked by; my mum telling me that during the Cuban missile crisis they really did think they'd be dead within the week; being afraid to go up to London each year with school, for fear of Irish terrorists. Ironically they blew up a local bank, so there was no need to travel for terror. It came visiting. As I look back at the journey I have made I both cringe at the things that I used to think and say about others; and am proud at the progress I have made although there is still a way to go as I still have a concious bias against Yorkshireman.

Is there a point to this ramble? Well yes...as I sit here in my warm home in Canada I connect to the world via the web, via the BBC and via Facebook.  I see my awesome friend Pauline make twice weekly trips to Calais to distribute aid, feed hungry refugees and share hugs most likely with some of the poorest people on this planet. They have fled terror, travelled miles, trying to get to UK where they think life will be good. Sadly laws, red tape, lack of political will, nimbyism, racism, selfishness and ignorance have so far condemned these people to live on a rubbish dump in Calais and Dunkirk. They may never be allowed into Britain but ignoring them is not the answer. But it gets worse because the governments of France and UK have spent a fortune on security and preventative measures to stop these people from getting to a safe, warm home.  If they were dogs or horses the British would be lobbying Govt to do something now.

My head links their horror in Dunkirk to the horror of world war 2 in that place; links them living in French mud with the First World War trenches; links our fear of them being terrorists with my fear of the Irish when I was a kid; links my grans stories of milk during rationing with Pauline and her friends helping get cans of food to these people. That's almost funny- taking food to the cuisine capital of the world.  But it's not.

Maybe the links that I make in my head are just my over charged brain working overtime but to me ignoring or arguing about these folks is wrong on every level.  After a tough ( safe western tough ) few months at work I heard myself today telling some one that we have worked really well as a team, pulled together, that we have a "Dunkirk spirit"...and there it is again.  History is rewriting what it is to have a Dunkirk spirit...it should remain as a memory of strength and togetherness and must not be allowed to become " the ability to survive squalor in a muddy field, with PTSD, whilst folks sit indoors eating turkey 20 miles away".