Christmas, 1990, or something like that:
My two sisters and I tackle the washing-up as their husbands sit in the next room, watching a James Bond movie.
This was a time when we could catch up - it was the last family Christmas that I attended since the death of our parents, and we enjoy the mundane work, which - as mentioned in the previous post - allows us to concentrate on the more serious matters of life.
Sister number one places the dirty plates on my right; I am in the centre at the sink, washing them; sister number two picks them up from the drainer to my left, dries them and puts them on the table, ready to be put away until next year.
We talk. We talk some more. Time flies and my hands begin to resemble the scrotum of an old man who has been drowned and undiscovered for about a week, until our conversation begins to run out of steam - out of topics.
It has been a long while since we all talked like this, but when I check my watch I see I have been washing up plates for six for around two hours, and although the time has flown past, something is not quite right.
I look over my shoulder to confirm my suspicions: Sister one picks up the plates and puts them to my right; I pick them up, wash them and put them to my left; sister number two dries them, puts them on the table; sister number one picks them up again and places them to my right for me to wash all over again.
Sister number one had the cleanest set of crockery in the street - if not the country - that blessed and sanctified night.
a christmas fairy tale
ReplyDeleteJust as you congratulated me on being the first to quote seasons of mist and yellow fruitfulness, may I be the one to congratulate you as the first to put a santa on your blog!
ReplyDeleteI cannot get a picture of you with your sisters at all. Should there be one? I love the idea that you were talking so much that you lost track of what had been washed and what hadn't - lovely story Tom.
Loved that story Tom. I can just picture those plates going round.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Weaver, but I have already done a Christmas post - and there are plenty more to come! I may do a count-down in fact, like an Advent calendar.
ReplyDeleteThis might seem very strange to you, Moll et al, but the older I get (the more senile) the more notice I take of Christmas - despite all the rants I have which appear to be anti-Church. I really don't mind pastiche either, despite all the other rants about authenticity.
I am now - I have decided - old enough to politely ignore the Christian hi-jacking of the Pagan winter celebrations, and I generously welcome all branches and off-shoots of the Christian world back into the warmth and hospitality of the Tom Stephenson World of Christmas. (A bit like the Grundy World of Christmas).
I can't wait.
A great story Tom. I do love the description of your dish pan hands. I might have to use it. And Season's Greetings! xx
ReplyDeleteThere are two mundane activities that I associate with Christmas. How to peel a potato so that the skin remains in one piece (a game invented to involve children in housework), and the official, professional, text-book, method of drying plates.
ReplyDeleteShame it's been so long since you all got together. As an 'only child' I'd have loved to have had two sisters.
ReplyDeleteI missed out on a rare family get-together just recently, Chris. I always seem to back out at the last minute. When our parents were alive, there was one horrendous Christmas when the whole thing turned into a horrendous argument, and both sisters and mother told me that was the LAST one they were celebrating together, and I said me too. I was the only one to keep my word, but it took them about 10 years to believe me.
ReplyDeleteLook on the bright side - You wouldn't be the spoilt brat you are now if you had sisters.
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ReplyDeleteThe dishes are usually my Christmas highlight too. Sounds mundane but just gorgeously familial. I've always though it must have something to do with water, the emotion element.
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