We sit across the table from each other
You are drawing in your sketchbook: cute and scary beasts, drafted in red pencil and outlined in thin black ink. I don’t know how you do it
and you don’t know how I do what I’m doing, which is crocheting a cotton top (in deepest winter, but I like to be prepared)
We watch the first two Lord Of The Rings movies, loosely committing to put the third one on after Christmas (all the while knowing we probably won’t because who cares by then)
(Sorry, Frodo and Sam)
We have too many hobbies and not enough time
Powered by our fingertips, Mario and Toad jump for coins and meet their ends over and over
I read walkthroughs on my phone
I read that Christmas has been cancelled in Bethlehem,
that yet another refugee camp has been bombed,
that yet more people have been killed -
I have a quick cry in the shower on Christmas Eve morning
We wait until the last minute before leaving to give Bella her catnip toy, fresh from the pet store
Christmas Eve in Sweden: rice porridge and kids’ TV while the sky’s still dark;
a beautiful drive up the winding forest road (no wildlife sightings, though);
a feast at my in-laws; I want to undo the fly on my jeans and let my full, lucky belly hang out
In the evening, we dole out the presents and I try to save as much of the wrapping as I can
Christmas Day makes me want to keep at least some traditions alive: (virgin) Buck’s Fizz in the morning; I cry so many tears as The Snowman takes flight – more when he melts later on.
I spend time with my faraway family on WhatsApp
It’s like Christmas Eve and Boxing Day all in one
I spend all day in new pyjamas, changing back into them after I’ve washed
Meanwhile, the people of Gaza are being starved to death and we are all running out of ways to say this
And the people of my home can’t afford food or heat and their health system is being collapsed and it all feels very Victorian and we are all running out of ways to say that, too, with the ballot offering little solution
We light the fourth and final advent candle.
I’m not religious at all and the commercialisation and pressure of Christmas make me feel quite deeply uncomfortable,
but I enjoy the tree in the corner and the stars in the windows, the baked goods and the endless flow of Julmust (fuck Coca Cola)
And I enjoy, and am so very grateful for, these hours we spend at the table, in our warm, safe home.
Thank you so much for reading Home Comforts this year. I hope you’ll continue to follow along in 2024 for more personal and critical writing exploring the comforts – and discomforts – that make home, home.