Not Santa.

On the night Santa was supposed to come down the chimney, a rat came up the wall.

Ruth has told all our friends the parents were up at 3 am because they wanted their presents early.

That is a lie, her father had already opened the family Christmas present the day before.

On a normal socks-and-tie Christmas, Ian is very restrained. This year however, we had rolled six individual presents into one family present ~ a 32 inch LCD screen, (bought on Sale.) He had been keen all week to crack open the big flat box behind the couch. But unaided by any other family member I had successfully opposed this violation. Successful that is, until December the 24^th   when Ian whipped the screen out of the box during a wife-hanging-out-the-washing moment. When I discovered him standing among cardboard, polystyrene and plastic wrap like a naughty boy, he was totally unrepentant, He further fell by watching another present on the first present. So it was not presents (Ian had opened most of them) but the rat that got us up.

For a week I had noticed a peculiar smell in the pantry. After much detective sniffing, searching and cleaning I still couldn’t find the source of the smell. The day before Ian violated the box we found the problem; a hole in the floor behind a shelving unit and signs of a rat tunneling into the wall. We removed all food, sprinkled poison around and pushed back the shelves.

In the darkest part of the night I lay in a bed horribly close to the pantry wall and listened to hideous squeaking and thumping noises. I awoke Big Game-Hunter-of-Large-Screens to deal with the crisis. But like all the cats I have owned, he was useless. He cowered low in the bed and pretended he couldn’t hear anything, (a practice he perfected when the kids were bawling babies.) I had a distressing night visualizing a poisoned rat dying in agony.

The next morning I got Number-One-Son to investigate behind the shelves. I had expected to have to pay him a hefty bribe to look. But I erred judging the male psyche by the female mind. He was KEEN and no payment was necessary Furthermore he would use the vacuum cleaner and suck all 152 babies out of the gigantic nest in the wall. (The nest and babies had increased exponentially in my mind during the night.) It was an anticlimax to discover no rat and no babies.

We put all the tins and bottles back in the pantry but kept out all soft packaged food.

At 3 am the next morning, I heard loud un-Santa noises again. This time it was not a dying rat in my mind but a vigorous healthy animal .and the hole in the wall was increasing to cavernous proportions. The mighty screen hunter emboldened by the previous afternoon’s success, not only heard the noise, but baited a trap with peanut butter by the light of the open fridge.

We lay in bed stiffly waiting for the action.

At 4 am we heard the trap go off, followed by some alarming thumping noises. Ian disappeared and I cowered as much bigger noises shook the house.

At 4.15 am He returned triumphant with a dead rat, broken broom and a shattered trap.

At 4.30 he covered the hole in the floor with the top of a baked bean can and nailed it down.

 At 5 am I snuggled peacefully back into bed and cuddled my man. He was better than a cat after all.

I thought about all those wee hour Christmases I’ve endured from my kids (including the midnight feast in the ceiling one.) It was very satisfying to overhear them complaining bitterly of the parents who wrecked their sleep by noisily waiting for Santa.

A White Christmas?

It is mid December and I am afraid we might be going to get the Southern Hemisphere White Christmas none of us have been dreaming of.

It has been raining for a week and our cottage perched on the ridge of Mount Tiger is enveloped in white mist rising from the valley below.

At first, I was worried the dirty grey clouds gathering might bypass my garden. Now I am thinking they are like visitors who have out stayed their welcome.

I have smelly damp washing stacking up in piles, my drier is broken, mud is being trekked inside and my garden is in danger of going moldy with blight.

It is getting depressing.

The chickens are depressed.

They started off scratching jauntily in the rain looking for floating worms. After a prolonged soaking an interesting change occurred in their appearance. Half of them developed shrunken heads and enlarged Elizabethan collars, while the other half sported bushy Punk-Rocker hair styles and skinny necks.  

 Normally at 6 30am they are lined up by the gate demanding their breakfast, but none of them got out of bed this morning.

Even the neighbors’ water tank got depressed with the excessive water. It had a nervous brake-down and collapsed with a sonic boom and a 3o,ooo liter tsunami that hurled tree roots and debris down the hillside.

It is now the eighth day of rain and no sign of let up.

In spite of rising cabin fever and a few spots of frayed temper,  

(noticeably mine), we are trying to keep up the Christmas spirit.

 During a drought of half an hour, the kids managed to fell and dry (I’m not sure how), a small Pine tree. It is stuffed in the corner awaiting lights and surrounded by presents shrouded in ingenious home-made wrapping paper. I particularly like the blue Telecom paper bag salvaged from the dustbin and gussied up with a large red fabric bow.

There is a glaring, white, damp light penetrating the window. John is busy trying to draw a mud snowman and Paul is composing a song about dreaming of a brown Christmas.

At least it is warm and I don’t have to water my fruit trees.

Personally, I ‘m dreaming of a bright green Christmas;

Regardless of your Hemisphere and the colour of your Christmas, the Hamilton’s of a Patch of Heaven hope you have a blessed one.    

Wrestling with Hitler.

Those of you who know me will realize it is a BIG thing to see words penned by me on the computer.

The computer and I have a toxic relationship.

I would rather have nothing to do with him at all.

However, (in spite of appearances) I do live in the 21^st century , so cheered on by my kids but with rubber heel marks, I am slightly entering the electronic world.

Last week I learnt how to turn on the computer, find my own emails and turn off the computer. It was a major milestone and a big strain. In the previous system the kids pulled up my emails and sent them off. During the gap between these two activities I and the computer wrestled. I find him rude and obnoxious the way he constantly buts in with unwanted suggestions and comments in large boxes all over my work. Each one of these invasive boxes provoke noisy outbursts of frustration from my innermost depths and someone kindly comes running to rescue me.

After one such explosion Ruth said

“Mum I think you need to bond with the computer. I think you need to name it.”

So now I am typing on Hitler.

We still do not get along.

 He is still popping up obnoxious boxes.

I am still yelling for the kids in frustration.

I have a long way to go to win this war but ( oh the power of it) I know how to shut him down!

WIND UNDER MY WINGS.

Crafts have been on the back burner lately.

 I’ve been in the garden big time- digging, weeding and landscaping.

 

  So it was a particular treat to be invited on a special Christmas mystery crawl of cafés, restaurants and shops with ‘atmosphere’ with four lovely crafty ladies.

I put on a dress, new beaded top I had never worn before, make-up and pearls. I even remembered to take off my gumboots (Something I nearly didn’t the other day I went to town) and put on high heels. I felt elegant without my customary baggy jeans and hole in the elbow gardening jumper.

The day was filled with lots of laughter, yummy food and warm emotions. Suzanne who organized it, loaded the time with gifts, chocolate, patchwork, antiques and picturesque coastal views. It was so refreshing I almost forgot that I had a sixteen year old son in my life.

I had started the day wondering if I was wasting my time with all this endless kitset and pattern making- this compulsive drive to make struggling little businesses. This need to dream up imaginary quilt classes and doll retreats.

In the morning I was ,

A shop with no customers,

A teacher with no students,

A writer with no readers,

A speaker with no audience,

A dreamer with an ailing dream.

In the evening I was,

A shop with 4 customers,

A teacher with 4 students,  

A writer with 4 readers,

A speaker with 4 listeners,

A dreamer with lots of ideas and the world as a possibility.

Friends who believe in you give you a gift of wind under your wings and encourage growth better than compost on roses.

Thank you my friends.