How Was it for You?

Well, it's over for another year, that Christmas nightmare.

There are some people, we are told, for whom Christmas is 'a difficult time'.  I have to admit it, I'm one of them.  That expression is usually trotted out by people who are in a position to help and, to be fair to them, often do so to great effect.  This description of 'Christmas being a difficult time' has a variety of meanings, of course, depending upon the individuals.  Since I can only comment in depth on my own situation, I've been reflecting just what kind of help I do and don't appreciate.

One of the frustrations of living alone is food.  Fortunately supermarkets provide a wide range of 'meals for one', so there is no excuse for going hungry.  However, apart from a certain sameness of such a diet, there is also the question of additives and all the suspicion that surrounds them.  Since I finally retired, I have ensured that at least some of my meals are prepared at home, although the health benefits of home-cooking are undermined by the conflict between having the same meal three or four times in a week and the waste resulting from not using fresh ingredients before they are not longer fresh.  Of course some dishes can be made in 'serves four' mode and then frozen, and indeed I do this, but freezer capacity is limited, especially in a small flat.

So, when it comes to a traditional Christmas dinner, I very much appreciate the invitation to eat with others at this time of year.  It's something that is provided from time to time by churches as part of their service to the community.  Those with the ability - some of whom are themselves alone - join forces to use the church's kitchen facilities to benefit a broader gathering, with the cost partly borne by those attending who can afford it and the balance underwritten by the church.  Sometimes it has been my good fortune to attend such a meal; on other occasions a variety of church families have offered me a place at their table and I suppose that, one way or the other, I've dined alone at Christmas less than half of the time.

Christmas is a time for giving, of course.  Its whole purpose, after all, is the commemoration of the gift of a baby to be 'God with us' here on earth.  In human terms, presents - in their being bought, prepared, wrapped, given and received - represent an important part of the overall Christmas experience, and a not insignificant contribution to the economy!  This is particularly frustrating for me, partly from a lack of resources, and partly from a limit to the number of worthy recipients.

There is particular disappointment in going round the shops, seeing something really delightful and then having that enjoyment 'balloon' immediately popped by the pin of realising that there is no one in my life for whom to buy it.  I favour 'alternative' gifts, where a sum of money is given to a charity in return for a label announcing the purpose for which it will be spent, the label - in the form of a greetings card - then being sent or given to a friend or family member in lieu of a tangible present.

Often the solution to a problem brings with it another difficulty.  The domestic resolution to the matter of the festive meal means that the 'lonely one' is injected into a family atmosphere that isn't his own.  Family presents are exchanged. 'This one is from Aunt Harriet'; 'Here's one from cousin Peter' ... the excitement rises; then out of nowhere - or so it seems - 'and here's one for you'. A present is provided for the invited one; so that he should not feel left out, but at the same time a reminder of all that sets him apart.

Does this mean that I don't appreciate a meal in someone else's home?  Certainly not!  Such pleasures are most welcome; it's just that they're not the comprehensive solution to a problem for which such a solution probably doesn't exist.

Now that their own family commitments have been discharged, I'm spending a few days with my cousin and her husband.  Naturally the whole business of being away from home requires one to behave in ways of normality that are not part of one's solo domestic lifestyle.  One of the less expected of these manifested itself at the breakfast table.  My normal habit at home is to make my breakfast in the kitchen and then transport it to the table.  In my kitchen I butter my toast on the flat surface of the worktop; at the breakfast table I faced this task upon a plate, the raised rim of which hinders the even approach of knife blade to bread.

The experience brings bonuses as well.  I don't have to worry about food, and instead have the delight of communal wiping up.  I'm also planning a variety in worship this weekend.  Rather than attend a local church, I shall take a bus into Nottingham and, for the first time in many years attend a Quaker meeting.  For a couple of years in Norfolk, it was my habit to go the the village Church and the Meeting House alternately and the discipline of silence is a dimension of worship I miss.

For the present, the greatest 'problem' is knowing what day of the week it is.  I think we are all in need of a good strong Monday to sort us out ... is that one I see just around the corner?