Santa

I'm set and ready and resigned. It'll be some other day, some other someone. Right now, pushing it is useless, and I don't even feel like pushing it anyway. Because all this time I've put my strength into someone else, and right now on Christmas Eve I'm putting it into my own self, which may be getting older and nuttier. I still think angels are cute when all my boys think they're psychos dressed in white, wings and tinsel for a couple of hours. I know that I provide them with a whole lot of entertainment when they're all waiting for my word 'cute' and for the little silent tear that inevitably will make its way into my very well plastered laughter lines. I still dream of a White Christmas, I still think Santa doesn't forget the important ones, although judging by his age he might very well have dementia now. But who am I to judge Santa. He must have been one hell of a good looking man when he was younger. And I like older men anyway, but perhaps not as old as Santa although Cialis would help him no end. Maybe Santa has been OD-ing on Cialis that's why he's still so perky at such an unearthly hour. And maybe he carries a sackful of our baggage to help us. Santa must be a very good man. Cialis doesn't make a man, it makes us, us girl's lives that much better. Oh and he must have so much experience too. He's also probably been a peeping-tom without wanting to be. Who knows how many chimneys he's gone down, only to find that he'd better tread quietly because some people might find Christmas Eve an exciting time to copulate. So he's probably been there, done that and seen it all. I wonder if Santa has got rid of his eyeglasses yet, I'd put him in immediately for corrective laser eye surgery with compliments if he hasn't. I mean Santa is a good excuse in himself to skip all the queue in Arani Issa. And since Santa is a good man, then he deserves it.

Toothpaste and toothbrush

I feel like getting into bed and taking whatever it is out on my feather duvet. That way I won't get hurt, nor will anybody else. But I won't get into bed, and I won't be pulling my duvet over my face, even thought it's a lovely thing to do at the right time. It's Christmas Eve and I at least have to put right to a wrong. I am so fed up with the lies, excuses, tall stories, short stories, one act plays, 20 minute movie clips. Because that is exactly what I have been told by the oh so royal authorities. Couldn't they at least have come clean and said the truth? Not edge us on, not promised so many things and delivered none. No, worse, they have concocted this really foul minestrone of one lie which is not linked to another, of one lie which is put down by another. The people of the lie are not very easy to detect, especially when they're demurely working in an office. But one lie is all that is needed. Because someone who lies through his/her teeth generally has been using the wrong band of Colgate toothpaste, as well as the wrong brand of Oral B toothbrush, and they haven't been flossing properly either. It's like one small snowball gathering momentum to being one gigantic, dangerous avalanche. Now I understand the power of the Titanic movie which had me sleeping soundly after the first hour. I must have missed plenty of it. And this was supposed to be the sea craft which knew no boundaries. But I was awake when the same sea craft was going under, and I was awake to watch the captain go down with his ship. Because he was not a person of the lie. Some things are not what they were. We are short of real men and women today. Perhaps because we're so busy, perhaps we have such tight schedules. It doesn't matter which brand of toothpaste we use, nor which toothbrush. But perhaps we'd best start flossing immediately so then the lies could completely and easily come out from the start. That would save a lot of work, hope and heartache.

Fear???

Ok so what do I do? I need a lawyer, a notary, a doctor, a shrink. And a TV station with balls. I think that should be enough. The sorry thing is that I have all five. But I still will not take the plunge. It's probably something like being the accused when you're totally innocent. You know you're at peace and you have nothing to hide, but still, you never know where it could go. I feel as if I am playing some people-Scrabble, and I wish it were that simple. Because no matter who my opponent is, I always in at Scrabble. It's a tradition, my tradition, and I cannot even start to think what it would be like had I to lose. Because I am a bad loser, terribly bad. But this is not a game, certainly not a game where I am lost for words. I could talk, talk, talk till New Year's Day and still have yet more words. I also have a fighting spirit in me somewhere, it's still dormant, but one of these days it'll become active with a vengeance. Being big just means you have more space where to hide the fighting spirit. It doesn't mean it's not there, I've just learnt to put it on hold. And it's been on hold for a long long time. But somehow I'm convinced that it still isn't the right way to go. Did I ever have angry parents? No, certainly not. Do I have an angry brother? Not at all. And is my other half an angry beast? Oh hell no. My boys are not angry boys. But what happens to me also happens to them and vice versa. And lawyers and marketeers seem to like driving a point home. I, on the other hand, just take it out on my blog, or on some cigar. But I have had enough of being told about professionals. Professionals this, professionals that. Me too then, I'm also a professional. We still eat through our mouths, and we still do our business in the smallest room in the house. Same as the poor hawker who is selling peanuts at Valletta's City Gate in the cold. But a scientific professional saying that I instill fear??? Pardon? No little person has ever been scared of me, not ever. I may be a tinge too soft, but no I am so sure I do not instill fear, definitely not in any little person. What a flipping lie. And what would science have to do with fear anyhow? Oh this is such one big scam. Because if I had my way, then someone else's job would be lost wouldn't it? So why not just say the truth instead of trying to find diverse untruths. I may be big, but somehow (and I have no idea how), it doesn't scare little people away. I am not threat to them. I may be though, for someone else who is so not little either.

Two + One

It is finally Christmas Eve and I think I have a cold! But the cold has got to wait, I'm not missing out because of a cold. I've just managed to get up from my afternoon deep sleep/coma, and I'm ready to go. I actually wasn't sure whether this was the eve or the actual day; such was the coma I was in. I've also woken up to a beauty of a Christmas card, which is nice, except that that is the only thing I've forgotten to get for the Mister. He'll survive, and presents are due later on, so hopefully it'll make up for it. And now that it is finally Christmas Eve, I'm not so sure I want it to be. Because Christmas Eve is the time when angels descend from the heavens above, and I know it won't happen. Firstly because all the angels in the heavens are already booked, secondly because after all my imagination is said and done, I know that in reality there will be no angel. Not now, and if my guess is correct, not ever. Perhaps I have to try harder in this barren state of mine. And perhaps that Maltese angels are placed into care, all of them. Now I understand, not the "Thank you for your understanding". That I will never understand. But I understand why my peers have resorted to Cambodia, Romania, and Russia. I never really gave it serious thought, I always thought it might be due to the fact that they wanted an angel with a new slate as a baby. A new or an old slate never bothered me, it seems that the bureaucratic, royal, knowing-it-all, never-giving-anybody-else-a-chance authorities know a hell of a lot. What would otherwise be amusing is the fact that what one authority says, another authority doesn't say. Better still, the authorities concerned could actually master-class Parliament. It's exactly like dealing with the government and its shadow ministers. One authority is in direct opposition to another, yet they proclaim to be working together. And I am tempted to just look the other way and say... whatever. I have done enough, bf has done much more. There is one way I could get everybody to start pulling their socks, one way which will guarantee me success. If I were playing a board game, then I'd win hands down. But it is not a silly laminated board in question, but a human boy. And it would be nice to throw all evidence in some snooty face, but where would that get me. Sure, it would make me so smug and satisfied, but there still is another human being in question. So I guess I'll have to go solo. Well solo isn't really the way to go where the increase-and-multiply is concerned. But there's two of us already... and three won't be a crowd.

Polar Express

For those of you out there who have never heard of this movie title..... I'd better keep what I think to myself. For those of you who have heard but never watched... I'd better keep what I think to myself even more. And for those of you who have heard, watched, listened and walked out of the cinema unchanged, then really, stop reading here because nothing I say will ever change your heart. And for the very few, perhaps just one too, who have heard, watched, seen, listened, come out a changed man, and even perhaps given their two Euro cents' worth of their opinion to the nation, well I hope what I say holds water if nothing else. I'd like my opinion to hold a Christmas pudding instead of water, but water is so calorie-free, you've just got to love it. Because yes, I've been there, for a good five years which I call my five years of being a hermit, I coveted movies as if they were all I had. And perhaps they were all I had as company. I've gone through some really handicapped movies. But one movie which changed me faster then any of the protagonists on Arani Issa (trid tara biex temmen SIC!) was in fact, Polar Express. In my humble, very own words, because I am no movie critic, this animated movie is as good for adults as it is for children. If you enjoy this one, then you will live forever young, if you don't, then please book yourself a one way ticket to Tagikistan. Polar Express is what appeals to the young in any adult. And the little boy who gets to go on a fantastic train ride to meet Father Christmas remains etched in my brain, ever since 2004. I would have watched this movie anyway, because I was on a five-year movie-watching spree at the time, but what drew me more curiously to it was its director Robert Zemeckis who had already directed movies which had stuck to me like a clam; Back to the Future, Forrest Gump, and What Lies beneath, three movies as diverse as anything can get. And while Forrest will somehow always have all my admiration, Polar Express comes in as a very close second. Even more moving are the soundtracks of all four movies, with Polar Express' "When Christmas Comes To Town" summing it all in a nutshell. Because if you can still see with the same magical innocence known to children, then the magic is all yours, at your feet. Only then can anybody start to understand the magic that lies behind all the hope which little people hang on. And if anybody understands that, then suddenly life becomes a magical train ride, not without hiccups, train tickets are sometimes lost, but replaced through the magic of faith.

The Blank Wall

I'm here again, after doing the very last and final errands for Christmas. I'm still on a Christmas high, and I don't have much time. It will be up by tomorrow, what a pity, we should have a whole Christmas week were nobody is on holiday except for me, so that I can avail myself of each and every opportune shopping type of activity. This Christmas makes me do strange things. Otherwise how on earth would I have been at my nail technician at half seven in the morning? I cannot even open my eyes at that time of the day on a usual day. The things we do for beauty. Hair is of course done, because Nigel is always at hand, bless bless bless that brother in law of mine. I just love being around when people call him incessantly pleading for a blow dry and he says he's not working, when he's actually just let his good old hairdryer down two seconds before. That is when being the only girl around my boys is very healthy. Because they think I'm some dolly they want to dress up. Nigel takes care of the hair, twin takes care of the jewellery, bf takes care of everything else, making appointments with my beautician, my nail technician and such as not putting the wrong gift tag with the wrong present. Oh I so like those boys. Everything's ready, I've wrapped everything up, and probably gone through two kilometres of Christmassy wrapping paper. Perhaps more, I didn't count. Now all I have to do is sleep right through the afternoon and wake up by six so it will be already dark. I don't think I'll be getting much sleep on Christmas Eve anyway, and I really would hate to sleep right through it. But there are people who will possibly sleep right through it because they just have their normal blank wall to stare at. And that makes me sad because I don't know where they are. If I did, well at least they would have me to stare at, and I'm sure my boys would join in. You do not realise how good Christmas is, even with an unbooked breakfast somewhere, until you put yourself into other people's shoes, that is, and this is going to sound morbid especially on Christmas Eve, if they have any feet left to put shoes into. I know this is terrible, but it's the truth. And as much as I have my little people very close to heart, well the older people get their fair share of sadness. And perhaps in twenty years' time it will be me staring at the blank old wall, me owning 500+ pairs of shoes and me with no feet to put them in. And it's not just the feet. It's also everything else. One-act plays acted out during school Christmas concerts sometimes have a poor woman with kids who are suddenly helped out by some rich man with a golden heart. And the audience applauds. But what is drama on stage could very well be the real thing happening next door. If only we could all take a paintbrush, some watercolours, and paint the blank old wall. Then it'd suddenly come to life, especially for those who have stared at it blankly for the whole year. We could very well be looking at ourselves in the future....