Christmas Eve

I've had a busy day today, preparing for tomorrow's Christmas dinner with my sister Maureen and her roommate Ann. I'm cooking the dinner at their house and spent today making stuffing, sweet potato pie (couldn't find canned pumpkin so had to improvise) and preparing vegetables, as well as wrapping my tiny stash of gifts. Most of my gifts are homemade, which is something I generally prefer to do, but decided would be a prudent move this year in my efforts to make up for being unemployed a month longer than I'd planned or expected.

My tiny living room and dining room are lit by candles and I've decorated a minuscule fake tree (shiny copper to appeal to my magpie tendencies) with white lights and burgundy organza ribbon with red beads, topped with a handmade copper star I found at the Christmas market in Princes Street gardens a few days ago. It all looks lovely and festive and the cats haven't interfered with it so everything's intact. I've taken pictures to post later.

One of the Christmas gifts I've made for my sister is a collection of music on a CD and, as I was listening to it a couple of hours ago, I began thinking of my kids this Christmas Eve and feeling a bit melancholy because I miss them so. Christmas has always been very family-oriented for us and I'm certainly feeling their absence keenly tonight.

Anticipating this despondency as far back as last spring, I took pre-emptive measures by inviting myself down to Plymouth where my niece, Lesley (Maureen's daughter), lives with her husband, Tony and their two kids. Tony's family are from Malta and I spent a delightful few days with them last year, when I cooked dinner at Lesley and Tony's house for a variety of Maltesers. They're lovely people, very warm and typically Mediterranean in their love of food and drink and family gatherings and I had a fantastic time.

My plan for this Christmas, therefore, was to distract myself from the absence of my own kids by having lots of fun with the mad Maltese people and, in return for Lesley and Tony's hospitality, I offered to cook Christmas dinner, which I always love to do for a big crowd. Lesley ended up with 19 dinner guests on her list and made extravagant promises to half the population of Plymouth of a lavish Canadian-style Christmas feast splendidly prepared by her Aunty Jax. I was so looking forward to this and began planning everything, right down to the floral arrangements we'd make for the table.

Well - obviously, it's not going to happen. Ann, Maureen's roommate (who's been around long enough to become a member of the family and is like a sister to Lesley) can't get time off over Christmas. Maureen didn't want to leave Ann behind and I wanted to spend my first Christmas in the UK with Maureen. So there was disappointment all around that it wouldn't be a crazy Maltese celebration and Lesley had to explain to all her invitees that the Canadian feast was cancelled.

So here I am on Christmas Eve, feeling a bit teary and torturing myself by listening to a new Sarah McLachlan Christmas song (Wintersong, on the album of the same name) which Meredith sent me. It's about missing someone close at Christmas and makes me think about how much I miss my lovely kids, as well as my dead mother and sisters, so I've tormented myself listening to it every morning and getting all misty-eyed, which is very inconvenient when you're in a hurry to get your make-up on and trying not to miss the bus. Meredith, as mad in the heid as her mother, also listens to it over and over, making herself cry for me. She said she cried so hard the other night while listening to it that she was all snottery for an hour afterwards. Now that's some serious sobbing. Amazing what music can do.

For a person who rarely has reason to cry, I've certainly had more than my usual share of weepy episodes this year, starting with the sudden death of my brother-in-law last Christmas day, the emotional upheaval of leaving my safe, comfortable life to come here, followed by my mother-in-law's death shortly after my arrival here, and a couple of bad weeks in October when things were looking a bit grim job-wise and the staff of British Telecom were collectively inciting me to commit A Violent Act.

These are rather maudlin subjects for a time of celebration, I know, but this is just me being self-indulgent and remembering my family, past and present. Tomorrow is Christmas, with presents to open, sharing Christmas dinner with my sister for the first time in 34 years, talking to my kids on the phone and having a laugh, and watching old corny Christmas movies.

I've stopped listening to sad music now and have switched to happy, traditional folk arrangements by Steeleye Span, doing songs with enchanting names like "Thomas the Rhymer". I'm off to have a wee cup of tea and read a trashy true-crime book about the I-5 Killer. That should dry up any residual tears.

Merry Christmas everyone!