It’s going to be a Covid Christmas for me…

Ah sure, isn’t that a fine excuse to take it easy and keep on writing? My memoir, in its first absolute shitty draft, is ready for editing. I read somewhere that we should celebrate the vomit version. It is the very evidence we have of the work that’ll get done to polish it up, and wipe off the grizzly bits. Just like cleaning the Christmas turkey – there’s a visual for you. My memoir is in the dirty oul feathery turkey stage, and the giblets are coming out!

On this, my fourth day of Christmas Covid, I started feeling better. In a way, I felt like that Lucozade kid from the commercial in the 80’s. I’d had a stiff swig from that glorious bright orange bottle, and within seconds, a burst of energy oozed through my veins, causing involuntary twitching throughout my entire body. Without delay I began jumping up and down on the bed. Poor Annabelle. She really does think I’ve lost the plot. It all ended badly of course, as my second jump resulted in a swift knock of my head into our newly installed lampshade.

That Lucozade advertisement has a lot to answer for. If you know, you know.

It was a glorious morning in Malahide today. The partial view from our apartment is always so inviting as the calmness of the sea offers us a sneak peek into what’s around the corner. So, we bundled ourselves up in our newly purchased Christmas jumpers. Pulled on some Santa socks and our jackets, masked up and off we set into the 11 degrees balmy weather.

“How do you feel”, I asked Annabelle, fixing her hat down over her ears.

“Great!” she said pulling the hat off.

“Me too”, I said, grabbing the recycling to take with us.

The recycling, which consisted of old Christmas Crackers, paper hats, and left-over Avoca cartons. You see, this Christmas, we had planned a nice gathering of our friends on Friday night. We’d ordered enough food for 12 people, boxes of Christmas crackers, and copious amounts of wine and prosecco. The food was delivered on Thursday, about an hour after we both tested positive for our friend, Covid.

So, after turning on the heat, the kettle, and our senses of humour, we divided up all the food, and divvied them into Tupperware containers for freezing. We sat down with a cup of tea, pulled a Christmas cracker, read aloud the terrible jokes, donned the thin paper hats, and began texting our friends with the news that all party arrangements were off.

“Still, we’ll have enough food to keep us going”, I said

“There’s only so much Chicken Broccoli Bake one can eat”, she said.

“There are people starving in the world”, I said.

“But this carrot-cake is to die for. It’s absolutely massive”, Annabelle continued, throwing back a Sudafed and paracetamol.

“Its going to be a fantastic Christmas”, I assured her.

We left the house just after 11am, breathed in the fresh air as much as our blocked nostrils allowed, walked towards the VERY high tide on this Christmas Eve morning, and took a few photos. We walked on in silence, slowly, slowly, getting a bit slower, but admiring the view and agreed that if we made it to the Grand Hotel, we’d stop and turn around.

“This Covid, eh”, I gasped.

“You can say that again”, Annabelle took a deep breath.

“Will we turn back?” I laughed

“I think we should. If we go any further, we’ll never make it home”.

By 11:15 am we were home. We moseyed back at a snail’s pace, feeling like a couple of old ladies. Giggling like a couple of kids. It was wonderful. Here we were thinking we were feeling better. It really does take a lot out of you, and is to be respected.

While it’s sad that we can’t be with family and friends this year, we are going to take the opportunity to relax. An opportunity that many would love in fact! I think of all the people who might be working in retail during this busy season, or the people who might be preparing dinner for large families, slaving away in the kitchen for hours, only to have their delicious feasts devoured in less than ten minutes. Or people who have work deadlines to meet in the midst of it all, or who are trying their best to get home for Christmas only to be stranded at an airport after their flights were cancelled. And some people are celebrating their first Christmas without a loved one. This, can be the hardest thing to do.

When my dad died in 2008, I never thought I’d enjoy Christmas again. He is a fixture in my memories of childhood Christmases. He’d always bring us to Brown Thomas on Christmas Eve to buy my mother a present, that my brother and I got to pick out. Mam would stay at home and prepare everything for the next day, ensuring our good clothes would be ready for midnight mass that evening. And down the stairs would come Dad in his brightly coloured Christmas tie. It was the one day of the year he wore a festive tie. He loved it. I still see that quiet grin on his face, as he’d smile proudly showing it off.

I dreamt about him last night, wearing his Rudolph tie. I woke up feeling a wonderful peace inside. This morning, standing at the patio door, I gazed out on the sea, noticing the blue sky above, and wished my dad Merry Christmas. I talk to him a lot.

It took years for me to celebrate this time of year without him. But time does heal, and even though I don’t believe in an afterlife, I’m convinced he’s around most of the time. It’s a comfort I choose to indulge in whenever I need it.

Annabelle and I are lucky. Here we two are, huddled up in a warm apartment, with an abundance of food (and prosecco). Sure, we have snot. And a lot of it. And sure, our bodies are aching and we ask each other if this is what it feels like to be 85. But we have movies, and music, and warmth. And we have each other. One of my friends texted me the other day from a dinner party we were supposed to be at and said “Jaysus Orla, I remember a time when you’d love to be saying you’re holed up in an apartment in Malahide with some gorgeous bird!” She has a point.

I’ll leave you here with that old saying I always use. It’s timeless, and for many, this may be your last Christmas with a loved one. SO: 

Enjoy yourselves, it’s later than you think.

Merry Christmas everyone. Thank you for indulging in my drivel all year long. Thank you for telling me that you could relate to my stories. Thank you for joining me in a moment of laughter once in a while. I’m grateful for each and every one of you. May 2023 be your best year yet.