Merry Christmas!
There's nothing I can say about 2020 that's not been said with more eloquence, style or wit by others so I won't even try. It's been... unusual.
Celebrating Christmas with just the five of us used to be a rare treat. Grandparents want to see grandkids and vice versa, cousins want to play, so that inevitably meant packing up and heading to North Wales of a good chunk of the holidays - pet care permitting. I used to fantasise about being Just Us - no packing, no complicated cat/hen/rodent/lizard rota with local friends, no fitting in with blended or distant family and their work/custody/travel commitments in a scheduling challenge that would stump lesser souls. The years we were home were fun, partly for the novelty, but mostly Christmas is Family.
Mum was very very into Christmas. In some ways, the rest of us were drawn along in her wake - she was the mover and shaker, the one around whom we'd orbit. It's our second Christmas without her; it's far more bearable this time but I still feel her absence sharply at the oddest moments. Memories crash through.
Christmas 1981: I was 12 years old. I'd loved ballet since lessons age 3 - and was a spectacularly incompetent participant of lessons for many years - but had never been to see one live. The National Ballet of Canada was celebrating its 30th Anniversary with a tour of The Nutcracker nationally so Mum bought tickets for the two of us at Hamilton Place (now First Ontario Concert Hall).
First of all we went to The Sirloin Cellar in downtown Hamilton. This was possibly the most grown up I felt until I was around 25. First you descended the pokey staircase to enter the dark restaurant. As you entered it was a dim room dominated by dark wood and old photographs of Hamilton. To the left was that most macabre of restaurant trends, the aquarium. The twisted swine thought actively choosing which lobster to have boiled alive for your dinner would be fun is surely in one of the more baroque circles of hell. "You look nice, I'll have you murdered." It was a grisly fascination.
The thing that I most loved about the Sirloin Cellar was the starter - Swedish meatballs. A good 15 years before IKEA's ubiquity, these glorious creations were served above a sort of fondue arangement with a small flame to keep them warm. Sharing a dish with Mum as we discussed main course choices was brilliant. Just us women out on the town.
A short stroll away was Hamilton Place; a rather unusual looking brick and concrete structure that I knew more for the annual Lionel Blair Panto (yes, really! He spent every panto season in Hamilton Ontario) than the arts. We were in the First Balcony, only a couple of rows back - a wonderful view.
Now there's something you need to know about Mum - she took her disaster films VERY seriously. After Jaws she wouldn't go more than knee deep in the ocean for years. After Towering Inferno she took the location of Fire Escapes extremely seriously.
We took our seats and Mum started. "Jackie, I want you to listen carefully;: if there is a fire you need to know how to get out. Look here - how many rows of seats to the front of the balcony?" "Three, Mum." "That's right. So if there's a fire you go forward THREE rows and climber the barrier. Smoke rises so there might not be a clear view up here, which is why it's important to know the count." "But Mum..." "No, listen, this is important. You climb over the barrier. See how it lines up with the aisle below? You wait until you can see it's clear and you drop. then make your way down the slope to that Fire Escape." "Yeah, but Mum..." "NO, Jackie, Listen to me. How many rows? "Three." "And then what?" "Climb over, wait for a gap, drop, head down the slope to the Fire Escape, but I could..." "No, just make sure you remember. Panic is as dangerous as smoke. You've got it?" "Yes Mum." "OK. What was it you wanted to say?" "Mum, there's a Fire Escape at the end of this row."
38 years. We teased Mum about that at ever theatre visity for thirty eight years. She took it in good heart, but I never see a theatre Fire Door without thinking of it.
The ballet was pretty much the most brilliant thing I'd ever experienced. I thought my heart would burst with joy - the music, the dancing, it was beyond my wildest dreams.
The Nutcracker's Russian dance - the Trepak - is well known, but not to 12 year old me. I'd never heard or seen anything like it. Mum had to put a hand on my knee as it was positively bouncing. The dancers leapt impossible heights, did the splits midair - all perfectly normal choreography in the crowdpleasing juggernaut the Nutcracker remains. But for a first time viewer? My world expanded that day. I didn't know bodies could do that, and that such exhuberance was possible.
When the music came onto the playlist in the kitchen on Christmas Eve, I was straight back there. Feeling like a Grown Up, out with my Mum as a co-participant and not a little kid, had laughed long and hard about what would become a family joke, and so swept up by the glory of the ballet I thought I'd burst with joy.
And I miss my Mum.
I'm lucky to have such strong and wonderful memories. I'm lucky she showed me my favourite thing - and Ballet Weekend is always one of my annual highlights. I'm glad that for many years I could invite her here to Leeds to watch Northern Ballet's Christmas production, sometimes with her grandchildren too.
NB - There's a link from that day and place to this day and place: a young second soloist of that production, David Nixon, has been the Creative Director of Northern Ballet since 2001. Check out the smart/casual vibe!
The other strong memory that hit me was this afternoon.
We'd quite regularly go on holiday with our kids and my parents to Doña Lola, between Malaga and Marbella. My brother and his girls would come too. It wasn't always easy - a large group with different interests, food preferences and ideas of how to have fun. Mark and I like restaurtants and galleries, Mark hates beaches, I love swimming in the sea and hate pools. The younger kids all love the pool and endless ice creams, eldest like pools or video games and quiet, Neil likes games and home food but thinks cities are boring, Dad's mobility was reducing thanks to his arthritis. You can't please everyone. Sometimes it would be frustrating, sometimes harmonious. Families - love them, but also argue with them like a teenager.
However, there was one perfect time every day. As the sun would dip low, Mum and I would carry a pair of chairs, a pair of glasses and an ice cold bottle of white wine down to the ocean's edge and we'd watch the sun set together. Best bit of my holidays in Spain by far. When the low sun hits my face I thinbk of those warm seashore moments.
Today Christmas dawned clear and mild. After so much rain it was a gloriously sunny day. I thought it would be foolish to miss it all so as Mark chatted with his parents I popped out to enjoy the last 10 minutes of winter sunshine. It's Christmas, so obviously Tim Minchin's beautiful White Wine In The Sun was a perfect accompaniment. "My brothers, my sisters, my gran and my mum..."
Idiot.
That was it - floored because I really do miss my Mum. And drinking white wine with her as the sun set over the Mediterranean really was one of our happiest rituals. I honestly hadn't thought about it; I felt blindsided.
Christmas is Family. I'm lucky to have mine, even if I can't see some of them right now. I hope you are with yours, and that you are all as well and safe as you can be.
Take care.
J
PS - my full name is Jacqueline. My family called me Jac, and Jackie was for teachers or being told off. You know, like when I'm not paying enough attention to a fire briefing. I've been Jay for 30 years because it suits me better,
