Chapter 117 : Christmas Day

Christmas Day arrives bringing perfect weather. Our house wakens from the peace and quiet sensing an approaching hoard.    

My grandchildren arrive and see a Christmas tree surrounded by presents and unwrap their smiles. The presents irresistibly attract them. They pick them up, feel them, smell them and rattle them until told, “Leave them alone.”

We all gather in the lounge room, surrounding the tree. Bruce and Gertrude are anointed. They pick up presents; read the name and then give the presents out.  

I watch the reactions. I focus on the presents that I have wrapped. I hope I get asked to explain a present.

The kids unwrap their presents and occasionally say the right thing which is, “Just what I always wanted.”

We sit and nibble on mince pies and short bread holding a pile of new batteries. The new batteries find a purpose and a pile of used wrapping paper becomes bigger than the original pile of presents.

Behind us our table is adorned with a table cloth, cutlery, napkins, glasses and bonbons. It awaits food and people.

The hifi plays Christmas carols.

Smells emanate from the kitchen predicting roast meat and vegetables, gravy and stuffing. One of my daughters is given the job of filling everybody’s glass with something to drink. To be given that job suggests you know all about drinks. I’m not sure if this is a job to aspire towards.  

Desert consists of pavlova with fresh berries, cream and brandy butter.

After eating I follow in the tradition. I say, “I’ve over eaten,” then lie down and snooze.

I dream about the Christmas tradition of gluttony. This tradition began in days when food was never excess or convenient. Special occasions were special because you saved up food and put aside food and looking forward to eating and feasting upon unusual and special foods. 

Today we live in a different society.  For most of us food is never dreamed of or difficult to get. Our problem is excess food and over eating. Not empty cupboards and longed for food.

During the lunch I heard people talk about calories, diets, cholesterol, carbohydrates, fats, gluten and organic. Nobody celebrated when seeing lashings of food. Nobody ate ravishingly.

Most of the talk was about a year ending, a year beginning or holidays.

Gertrude tells me what class she has just finished. How good it feels to finish grade 4 and to go to grade 5. Her mother tells me she has had her last day of work. She is now on holidays which she well and truly earned and deserves.

I am mute. I can’t say I have finished one year and earned my break. Being retired there is no finish line. It goes on and on and on. Never changing or graduating, progressing or moving up. I can’t review my year and proclaim that next year will be better.

Bruce tells me what class he will be in next year. Which room he will be in. Who his teacher will be and what friends will be in his class. He is getting older and bigger.

When I was younger Christmas Day was a day of religious celebration. We went to church and celebrated spiritually. Today some people still see Christmas as a religious celebration.

For our family, in 2018, it is not a day for religious celebration. But it is special day. It is a day for celebrating family, friends and community. 

If I gaze at all my previous Christmas days they have varied. There were days when friends and the local community took the place of a distant family. Days I spent with other strays or orphans.

Today I spare a moment thinking about such people. People who for various reasons find themselves alone or lonely on Christmas day.   And there are people in Hobart behaving like Christ. They are inviting orphans to their homes for lunch or working at community lunches. There are people who see Christmas as a time to celebrate in our community with our community.

Chapter 116 : Night on the Green

Night on the Green is Newtown Primary School’s end of year concert.  We are greeted by a lone piper playing Christmas carols on his bag pipe. We are witnessing the birth of a new tradition. This year the concert features some of my grandchildren. While I wait for their appearance on stage I lie back on the grass, close my eyes and hop into my Tardis and fly back to when my children attended this very same school.

All the retired people are lounging in deck chairs. Their active turtle eyes beneath a carapace of blankets. Their grandchildren furnished them with food and drinks on paper plates and in paper cups.

The children play on the swings and make occasional visits to their grandparents. Just to make sure they have enough food and water and are not running around sniffing each other’s bottoms.

I hop back in my Tardis to 2018 and emerge lying on a blanket. One of my grandkids asks me if I want any food or water as she heads towards the BBQ. Has anything changed in the last 25 years?

Smoke wafts from the gas BBQ selling traditional Australian street food. The smoke is followed by the smell of sausages.  The smell triggers a queue.

The Aussie BBQ gives away veggie burgers, chicken or beef sausages and sliced bread. Served with a squirt of happiness and tomato sauce or BBQ sauce. Water is also given away in plastic bottles.

One day these children will travel the world and someone somewhere will say, “What’s your national food?”

Hopefully these kids will remember the camaraderie of Night on the Green and say, “Sausage and tomato sauce in sliced bread is one of our national foods.”

An adult at the microphone and one controlling the cables begin to waken the stage from its noiseless slumber. Each class gathers beside the stage then forms into rows and gets shepherded onto the stage. Each class is inclusive. Everybody in every class is on stage.

Looking at the kids I see a variety of clothes, reindeer antlers, Santa hats, numerous hairstyles and every possible physique.  I see good and bad singers, talented and dyslexic sportspeople, and every conceivable religion.  Everybody on stage sings and sways together.  The older classes remind me that children grow and change. They become louder, more unified and sing louder.

I see my grandkids looking for us. They curiously peer around eager to release a wave. We wave back at them. After their song they run back to us. And the one who enjoyed it the most is Kay who goes to Crèche. Next year she will go to this school. She stares open eyed at her future and loves the look of it.

The music from each class, the school band and the choir drifts away with the smoke from the BBQ. It dissipates between the trees and the empty school buildings. Each class sings a different festive song. A modern Australian Christmas carol. The songs feature kangas, koalas, playing cricket, beaches and the heat.  Baby Jesus and the manger has gone. Though presents and Christmas trees still remain. Most of the songs have actions. Waving of arms, swaying and sometimes a story is acted out.

Some of the families have bought hampers of food. Everybody seems to nibble on something better than what I have.

A phalanx of paparazzi parents forms in front of the stage. Photographing and videoing their children.   In order to record their children for different places and different times.

Between songs we lie back and don’t do the normal Hobart thing. We don’t talk about the weather. Because it’s perfect. Warm with no breeze. Harmless clouds hiding the mountain.

The concert finishes. Hopefully one day all the kids will remember this night. The way everybody was included. The way everybody sang. The way their grandparents turned up and listened and were a part of their schooling. They way they were a vital part of their lives. More than just pet dogs.

Chapter 115 : One day I will be admitted to the Royal Hobart Hospital

One day in the future I will be admitted to the Royal Hobart Hospital.  

Initially I will be given all necessary emergency care. Efficiently and effectively.

The Royal will then treat the disease. They will identify the aetiology and remove the aetiological agent and prevent its recurrence.  They will then spend as much time and energy preventing recurrence of the disease as on managing the emergency presentation. I will be discharged with a list of instructions. Unlike many businesses the staff abhor repeat customers.

The staff will be neat, tidy and have pride in their work. They will be unhappy when I relapse and discuss my health over a cup of tea. 

I will receive good care. The staff will know what they are doing. They will be aware of the state of the art in their area and ways of compiling a good result working within the limits they have.

Everybody will receive the same treatment. With no preference for or against anybody.

The staff will work with other departments to manage and treat me. The staff I encounter will see other staff as helping them. To see other staff as an indispensable aid.

I don’t expect the staff to be perfect. I don’t expect them to all work hard, conscientiously and compassionately every minute of every day. I expect the staff, like all humans, will vary. And each individual staff to vary. To have good days and days when they are tired, irritable and ignorant.

I expect to pay for the services. Either indirectly via general revenue or directly when I receive the service. I expect people, not as fortunate as me, to not pay directly. To receive the service cheaper.  I expect experts to work out the way various services are paid for. The mix between user pays and general revenue.

I expect politicians to use me or fellow patients for political points. I welcome stories in the media about the Health System. It is called living in a democracy. Living where people are free to use the media to try and improve their lot. Much preferable to the alternative.

I don’t look forward to my time in the Royal. But every time I see the outside of the Royal it reassures me. I am grateful I live in Tasmania in 2018.