šŸƒAmanda22Janeā¤

Ghost Writer
2016-12-25 21:53:14 (UTC)

It's Boxing Day Monday : About Christmas ...

Saturday afternoon, (Christmas Eve), I showered and packed my bags. As I was carrying everything across the huge front lawn, I suddenly remembered to check my bags for a hoodie that I was giving to my neice. So down went the bags, out came everythng -no hoodie. I run back to the bach to have another look for the hoodie, and there it is, folded neatly under a shelf. Re-packed my bags on the lawn, and made a slow and careful walk to the main road shopping strip to wait for my bus. I get there early and over time realise the bus is late and there is no update for delay on the coachline website. There are other delays but not this line. An hour late and I'm on the bus. It's Christmas, this is to be expected. Also there's no wi-fi active on the bus. When I reach the first city, there's another wait so the driver can have a break. The buses are full, drivers are stressed, so I talk with some very interesting New Zealand travel companions. When I make it to my final destination, we are only an hour behind schedule.
The brother-in-law collects me in a new car. He's smacked up his little green one with all the kids in it but no-one was hurt, and no-one was worried. So a new car he has with a bluetooth sound system - yay.
We get up to where our family land and very old house is and it's absolutely freezing. Flamin' freezing. Our family home is in a high altitude place with a very, very distant view of the coastal city and ocean beyond the horizon of shelter belt trees.
I'm sleeping in a pup tent outside the house with a sister and her husband in another tent behind me. I put my stuff in there and go into the house. It's a hive of Christmas Day preparations and activity. But first another sister, who has travelled home from Bali with her son, gives me a meal. She has made dinner for everyone. It is a brown lentil stew served with red wine vinegar and very nice. Everyone can only have a small portion because the main focus is on the Christmas lunch the next day and readying the house for that. Everyone is there except for one other sister and her family. They are coming Christmas Day afternoon.
This is the first time in over a decade that our entire six siblings and their families have come together. Not all of the siblings' children can make it.
Our family home is thirty-six years old and things are in bad need of repair and renovation. Money is limited.
My daughter worked hard for the several years she and her family were living there, to gather materials together for renovations.
Christmas eve, as a family, is spent doing some last minute things. Large expensive floor tiles are laid in the kitchen. They are a muted dove grey-blue in colour. I keep walking on the freshly laid ones accidentally, and keep getting told off! An immaculate job done by a brother. It's the best floor covering in the kitchen we have ever had. Thankyou daughter for providing them.
Pots of water are boiled on the gas burner for dishes and bathing - there is no hot water system active. The cold water has to be coaxed along the pipes by constantly restarting a half-working pressure pump. A team effort by the nephews to keep this routine up.
I intentionally showered before I left because I had foreseen the challenges that lay ahead once I set foot on the property, and I opted to not use hot water while I was there to bathe with.

Iron-framed chairs with fabric seats are being reupholstered to go around the Christmas table. The chair seats are turned into a deep wine-and-chocolate striped upholstery velour, which is striking, considering they were a soiled, cream coloured canvas before. And now they match the black iron-work frames. An immaculate job done by a sister, who has a degree in clothing design, but instead is an information systems manager.
All the furniture in the lounge (except the very old Yamaha piano) and practically antique entertainment cabinet, is moved out under the stars and covered with a tarpaulin for the night. A group effort involving much bossing, humoured cajoling an the odd frustrated name-calling or put-down. (Honestly. I don't know where they find the time or energy under stress to even include this. Sigh.) Yes, I'm surrounded by more stressed people. I can feel God's peaceful presence appear and it never leaves. It gets me through this and I am grateful.
The deck has been renovated with the broken wood strips removed and replaced with identical ones. An impossibly beautiful job done by another brother. Immaculate and quite superb.
There is a huge square of carpet with finished edging to be laid early Sunday morning before we go to church. I'm curious to know what the colour is, but my question about the colour is either not heard or ignored, so I stop asking.
The tile-laying brother is also a chef, and he and the upholstery queen sister are bearing the most stress this particular Christmas eve. They're also being the most bossy and grumpy too, I might add...
So tile-master-come-chef is in and out of the house preparing the fire for the hangi which is to be lit at 05:00 a.m. precisely, so the stones will be hot enough for the pit by 08:00 a.m. He has also gathered scarce firewood, looked over the sacks, built the fire ready to light at five a.m. on the dot, and cleaned the wire basket to pop the food in Christmas Day. Yes. We're having a hangi meal for our Christmas lunch, which is to be all cooked and plated on the side-board and benches by one o'clock SHARP. Tile-master-come-chef is also ex-army, which makes him anally pedantic about time! There must be a certain amount of regimentality interpolated into the Christmas furore because to his way of thinking, we are all just too damn slow for his liking..

I get through whatever it is I am given to do as well as help out with the furniture moving - only the heavier items like the piano. Fashion designer-upholstery queen suggests we start on the kumara and pumpkin for the hangi basket.
Now. My bus dropped me off at 09:20 p.m. this same evening, I didn't set foot in the house till close to ten and it is near midnight when this suggestion is made. Also, I am accustomed to chef's ways and tell her that the ex-army-come-chef brother is NOT going to like that idea of veges sitting in water overnight : they're best left to be prepared on the same day. She disagrees. I walk away mumbling something incoherent so she goes and finds out what is to be done with the veges. Half an hour later, when I'm up to my NOW stressed eyeballs with other stuff, she announces that the veges are to be done in the morning. (WHAT did I just finish fucking telling her!) Miss Bali has wandered about for most of the evening amongst the fiery hive of activity giving a running CRITIQUE of all the work being carried out to date! And not a very pleasant critique either I might add. I do believe she cooked the dinner and that was it! Plus she seemed to possess UNLIMITED energy which was expended on her son to berate his every move and action.
"Miss Bali!" I wanted to growl, "will you just shut-up and leave your beautiful son alone!!?" ...."In fact Miss Bali, shut-up period!"
ISN'T CHRISTMAS WITH THE FAMILY SO MUCH FUN?

I feel embarrassed at this stage to continue my narrative. It's a study of human behaviour and resulting reportage that I as a recovering individual feel loathe to put my words to.

Oh Father In Thy Perfect Heaven. I need a drink to write the rest, so that's precisely what I'm going to do -go for a walk and buy a bottle of vino. I bought a Scratchie this morning (it's Wednesday 28th December) and won some money...I shall return. It's 15:26 as I end writing...

16:48 as I begin writing again. Miss Bali gave me two crystal wine goblets from her crystal glass collection.
(She is using her visit back in the country to clean out her storage unit that she's been paying rent on for 4 years. It's a symbolic way of saying that her retirement, at a younger age than most, overseas, is permanent.)
I'm christening one of the crystal wine goblets as I write. After that, I intend to give them to my landlord B. He brought me over a Christmas card and some chocolate on Christmas eve as I was preparing to leave. That was an emotional gesture for me and humbling.

Went for another walk up to the tiny shopping strip to buy a roll of toilet paper, cash in my Scratchie - won ten dollars! Bought a bottle of Shiraz (30% extra) with my prize money. Stopped in at the book exchange to let A. know I would be by in the morning to pick up the final two novels in The Maximum Ride series for the granddaughter. She'll be pleased that she will now be the proud and happy owner of seven books in James Patterson's series.
On the way to the bottle store, I encountered the police cruising past. They were going to the residential address just behind the liquor outlet. There was a minor disturbance there as I discovered walking past the address after I had finished at the bottle store. (Us NZ'ers call liquor outlets bottle stores.) Watched them take a lady away with them and she was very upset and drunk. My heart went out to her and I was close to tears. Most drunk people cops round up have serious underlying issues. I wonder if the police could do with an independent support person to help with these cases? I'll volunteer...in time, who knows?

Now where was I? Oh yes. The family.

(By the way, I was two months clean and sober today before I took my first swallow of wine. There are many more sober days ahead...)

CHRISTMAS EVE : (continued)

After one thirty a.m. I'd had enough and politely and quietly excused myself to the refuge and solitude of my tent.
Now. Regarding my bedding. My ex-army brother gave me his snow sleeping bag, however, it's a cheap one.
"Ten degrees." He said to Mrs. Upholsterer. "That sleeping bag will do you in near freezing conditions." That sister bluntly told him that it was freezing outside and she had another sleeping bag for me, which she already had in her hands and walked past him outside to my tent with it. I was grateful to her sticking up for me and needed both sleeping bags as it turned out.
I left the house mumbling g'nite and that I'd set my alarm to wake up at five thirty the next morning.
Looking up into the heavens as I traversed the lawn, I saw the most incredible sight. An entire Milky Way galaxy was sitting in the heavens in plain view surrounded by stars upon stars : Orion's Pot, Northern Star, Bear constellations, Southern star and peripheries. Amazing feeling gazing at them.
I unzipped the sleeping bags and laid them flat over the airbed, then put my jacket on top. The cold came underneath the airbed as I soon discovered, so I used thick clothing to cover the mattress and was fast asleep in moments...

CHRISTMAS DAY.

I didn't wake up until 07:30 a.m. My alarm didn't go off which I found highly unusual after checking it! Wierd. I slept in by two hours! The stress and guilt hit me as I walked across the front lawn to the house.
Things were well under way. People were tired and stressed. Nobody had eaten breakfast. The veges were peeled, I noticed when I glanced at them and the meat had all defrosted.
Bitch Upholsterer sister gave me a dirty, hard look when I announced the fact that I had slept in (thanks be to the meds), and she said coldly to me.
"Your brother needs help with the hangi basket." I noticed several family members were working on getting the huge piece of carpet rolled out. This included having to thoroughly clean the concrete floor first.
I rush outside to find the ex-army brother, and he's got the fire going and has a handful of freshly cut taro leaves to line the hangi basket. He walks past me and hands me the knife. "Cut heaps more," he orders. I think most people are a little pissed off with me for sleeping through the early morning preparations.
I work quickly to cut as many taro leaves as I can without stabbing myself on the blackberry thorns which have entwined themselves around the taro plant. I love cooked taro leaf. It's a delicious delicacy and makes a wonderful lining for a hangi basket. Some people use cabbage leaves which is just as nice.
I quicken my pace to catch up with everyone else. Taro leaves are thoroughly washed. Ex-army brother has used his taro leaves to line the bottom of the hangi basket and already has placed the food in very neatly.
There are chickens, a large piece of pork, two rolls of goat weighing about a kilo each, peeled and unpeeled kumara pieces, pumpkin peeled and cut into serving portions, scrubbed potatoes and two foil-wrapped parcels of fragrant stuffing. I notice that there's no steam pudding in the basket (which is poured onto a thick cotton square and tied into a round bundle by gathering the edges and tying the neck with string. I do not comment on the pudding's absence in the basket as I'm pretty sure that was one of my jobs to do.
Next I have to cover the food over with taro leaves, so the entire circumference of food is wrapped in them. Hands suddenly appear out of nowhere to help me. I wish they wouldn't, this is my favourite job. Well, the joy was shared, the other hands liked doing this too. It's a tradition for me to carry the basket too, and the helping hands stood back as the chef appeared back around the corner and announced that it was time to carry the kai basket to the hole. I took one side by the handle and chef-ex-army brother took the other handle. It's Maori tradition that men carry the kai basket to the hole. Not so in our family, we've broken away from tradition. The oldest female sibling always carries it to hole, which is me, but I do not have anything to do with getting it out. As long as I carry the basket one way.
We carry the food basket over to the hangi pit. Brother has already removed the stones from the fire which has burned in the pit for several hours. He has taken the top layer of red hot ashes off the fire and replaced the stones in the pit. The pit is dug into the ground soil and is a neat cube. Those stones were red hot and now they have slightly cooled or else the food will burn. River stones are traditionally used in hangi-making and our firewood consisted of manuka logs from the orchard, untreated pine and macrocarpa off-cuts and gorse logs. This is a chef dealing with the hangi. Hessian sacking - I got help with carrying the last load of water - are soaked in cold rainwater from the storage tanks and after the basket is lowered onto the stones with a satisfying low sizzle, the sacks are spread over the top of the basket of food. Now here's where the process gets interesting. This stage of burying the food over hot stones must br performed very quickly so as not to lose valuable heat. I am accustomed to the first layer of sacking being draped around the kai basket snugly to trap in maximum smoke flavour. Ex-army-chef brother didn't do this to my surprise, because he didn't want to burn the edges of the sacking, as he'd borrowed them and stones from his friend. He placed all the sacking flush with the ground we were standing on! It IS possible to wrap a basket without burning the sacking. He was tired so I didn't interfere. Next the shovels were sought out, and a generous mound of earth is piled onto the wet hessian sacks, carefully watching for escaping steam. Once there is no more steam escaping, the hangi is considered well insulated and left to cook for several hours.
Then it was time to get bathed and ready for our Christmas Sabbath hour at church. Pots of steaming water for bathing were constantly coming and going from the bathroom. (The bathroom has also been renovated in tile and wood too. The best I've ever seen the bathroom look!) Chef brother did that. Another impressive transformation.
By the way, as soon as that brother was suited up in his Sunday best, he took off without the other five of us who were going to church too. Might I also add that he had the largest vehicle and us five had to squash into the brother-in-law's little car. Friendly reminder : he's ex-army and we're all too flippin' slow for his liking. He does not like being late for anything.
While the rest of us nanna-paced individuals were bathing and getting dressed, there was a delightful distraction of activity going on outside, which some of us couldn't resist going to watch. Upholsterer sister got mad at us and said we were going to be really late for church. The older brother - a bee-keeper and his newly-wed wife were suiting up in beekeeper suits to attend to their hives! We raced out with our phones to get pictures. That brother was lighting a smoke flare with a blow torch - he only uses natural fabric for the flare, not chemically impregnated flare bombs - which he handed to his wife, who did the rest of the work. Poor thing was stressed and nervous because she's not used to nosy audience such as us. Miss Bali was getting in the way of her work trying to get the best photos. Boy she annoys me. Then my brother decide to put himself in the photos when I pull out my phone to snap off a few. He's photo shy so that was a miracle.
I don't mind bees. If they sting me it's healthy for my immune system. Ironically, bee-keeper-brother is allergic to beestings, so his wife does the hands-on maintenance and he guides her through it. He loves his bees very much, and his wife loves him. Good arrangement.
I'm the only one of seven siblings who has never married...
We pile into the car shortly after Miss Bali has asked for the hundreth time for an iron to freshen her blouse. She could've worn one of her other several options, but no, we must choose THE MOST difficult and FUSSY thing to wear to church!
On the way down to church in the car, there is much guilty conversation about being late. We've missed the passing of the sacrament, which the younger nephew keeps repeatedly pointing out to his mother and anyone that will listen to him. There's also a pessimistic vein of vocal thought from the backseat sister Miss Bali as to why we should bother attending at all given we've missed half an hour, and that we will all stick out like a sore thumb waltzing in late.
By this time, my heart feels the need to put things on an even keel.
"It doesn't matter that we're late. The important thing is that we are still going to church and making an effort on such a special Christmas Sunday. Besides, we've been very busy in the short time since we've gotten home."
The conversation changes. By this time I'm focussed on Miss Upholsterer who is driving with her flamin' knees and putting her make-up on, vocalising all the while, that she hopes we do not pass a cop car. Is this situation worth me getting further stressed about? (I meant that rhetorically.) In reality it didn't work, I was somewhat worried anyway.

Need a break...





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