Grandmothers at Christmas.lil

Gob smacked!   I saw Frankie armed with some marigolds ferociously attacking a miscreant pot.   A more handsome, lithe young man would be hard to find than my grandchild number 8 (I think).   Last time I saw him he had hair down to his chin and was shapeless looking,  like the Giles cartoon character of Grandma, but then that ages me doesn’t it.

Grandma comes for Christmas. How should the family respond?  Oh God! no swearing, excess drinking is out, lay off sexual innuendo and remember the old goat farts like a steam train so don’t ask who made that disgusting smell.   It’s not as if the presents are worth it, socks to a man.

We really should start an alternative Christmas with the ox, chickens and donkeys peering into a coffin where the old girl lies.  A celebration of grandmas to venerate and love. Would life be better without grandmas? Just think, Liberation, no thank you letters, all those notions of family bonds exploded and DIY morality rules OK.   Is this freedom?  No, we matriarchs have our uses.   We are the lime that keeps the stone in place, we are the reason for not going to war, first with our siblings, later with those we deem beyond redemption.

Grandmothers are a little like religion, we are all taught to respect them, we then reject them in our youth till finally we find ourselves lumbered with them and their values that they stuffed us with like we are some cultural foie gras goose.   I rather like the idea of being fodder for a foie gras goose.

But back to Christmas, the girls were beautiful and strong, like exocets waiting to be unleashed. Luci with her foal at foot, exhausted from four months of carrying Malachi everywhere, Malachi (My great grandson) exhausted from never having a good cry followed by a better sleep. (We used to put them down). There was Sara like some policeman on traffic control insisting we turned left, stopped, reversed or turned right as she directed, while Ali smiled enigmatically and wandered round in vast floppy pyjamas.   I’ve missed out Callum, partly because I can never decide how to spell his name and partly because he is so nice my jaundist pen can’t think of anything to say about such a lovely person.  I hope my poor benighted daughter-in-law, doesn’t do the hoovering, IT CAN WAIT. Bugger the dust, let the love and glory of your big, generous, beautiful family be your focus.   As for the master of the house, my eldest son, he’s as soppy as they come, goo goo gooing over his grandson, determined that all the traditions of Christmas are observed including the Boxing Day meet.

Grandma, loved it, them and all the trimmings.   I loved my photos, bars of soap. coffee peculator, my mosquito net ( I go travelling in the spring to Uzbekistan) and too many chocolates.   I love my family and their generosity inviting me for Christmas.   May they love and live in anticipation for whatever events may come their way during the next years   God bless LIL

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