three weeks and two days

I wrote last week “it’s not about presents.”   So what is it about ?    Mannie is a devout Christian and his Christmas is shaped by observance of

the Christian calendar.  His choice, dear man, good luck.

Wal’s Christmas is shaped by his not liking it, his partner loving it (for some questionable reasons) and the desire to give other people something they like even when he really doesn’t care for it.

My Christmas is  quiet – a quiet full of sounds I might miss in day to day: it’s about unscented candles, small pleasures and passionate gratitude – this year heightened by knowing how ill/or troubled other people are.  

The driver who came to collect me  for Moorfields ( OK so far) had a voice and a grin and came from the Ivory Coast

25 years ago.  I exclaimed without thinking “Cote d’Ivoire !” and he was so excited that I might speak even some French that he talked in both languages, all the way to the hospital.   It was wonderful, he spoke in French till I said something in English and then we went back to English, before he went into French again. The implied compliment of this is heady.

In the hospital, I saw a tall pretty woman with a walking stick decorated with flowers. 

  And when we saw each other again in the second waiting room – it’s staged into three – I told her, my friend had  a stick like that, she called |Maude.  “Why Maude ?” she asked.  So I explained it was really “merde” but she didn’t want to upset anybody, hence Maude, and I talked a little about her.  And she burst into tears.  I got up immediately and went to hold her hands .   She said  turning her head from me” I’m sorry, it’s just that people expect you to be well.  That’s what they want to hear and I know there is something wrong with my feet and my legs and it’s painful.  But they just want me to be all right.” 

So I said that my dear friend facing cerebral lupus told me that she spent a lot of time making other people feel better about her illness.  And I held her hands (I had noticed her feet and legs) and I made her promise to find somebody  to talk to about her pain – an old friend, the local vicar, her doctor – but not to just leave it, never mind what anybody else said.   I was called to the next bit and she promised.

On the strength of persuading  another to do it now, I took a deep breath and asked  my favourite shop assistant in Waterstones (we have had various private conversations) if she would like to come for tea or coffee

and she was delighted.   Then I got cold feet 24 hours later and went in to say “You didn’t think I was bothering you ?  That’s not what I meant …”  And she beamed and said “I’ll be in touch after New Year. Roll on 2025.”

Talking to Sim in Waitrose about books, a voice at my elbow asked about something I had said  which is how I met Mo – neither of these are real names.   Mo used to be a copywriter, she’s seriously interested in books, we took up floor space for some 15/20 minutes, I wrote things down and she asked questions.  We met twice  more round the fitments, till we were laughing.  “I am not pursuing you !” I protested.  “Nor me  !” she said laughing.  “I hope I haven’t bothered you…”

Her husband died  eight weeks ago.  I kissed her cheek and gave her my email.  She wrote yesterday.  Another date for  the New Year.

While yesterday, trying to get out of the West End of London, brought to standstill by demonstration,  I met a Neapolitan born psychotherapist, working at the University of Norwich

this is the cathedral

and we sat on a wall, she for whatever reason, me to rest the aged knees – and talked.  She told me she didn’t live in London but  comes up and would  be in touch.

So my Christmas  run up is so far  about going to the Selvedge Christmas Fair, a thing of wonder and colour (one of my  “observances”) and finding another door to open to communication.  And another.   And another.