Tuesday, December 29, 2009

I Remember...

I remember when Postman Pat had no wife or child.  I remember being allowed an ice cream every day after school, and nobody worrying that it would make me fat.  I remember petrol being 80c/L.  I remember the Gateway Bridge toll being $2.  I remember a $2 toll being considered a rip-off.  I remember Paddle Pop and Billabong ice creams being 75c each.  I remember Magnum ice creams being really expensive at $2.50.  I remember "A Country Practice" the first time it was on, and I remember the first time my Daddy was at work for Christmas.
My family had always head a family Christmas party when I was little, Christmas was a big deal on both sides.  My Nana had come over from England as a litttle girl in 1925, and was still cooking a traditional hot Christmas dinner in 1991, til my mum (her daughter-in-law) explained to her, very gently, the insanity of her plan.  My Mum would always organise a Christmas lunch for whomever was available to come from both sides of the family (mostly my dad's family, because my mother's family in the local area was just her brothers and one of them had a wife.  Their parents had died before I was born).  My Nana would do Christmas dinner, mainly for her children and their sposes and her grand-children, but sometimes a spouse's brother or sister would be there, and Nana liked a big gathering, because it made her feel needed and gave her something to complain about.
In 1996, my Dad started work on an oil rig out in the desert.  He was working as the campie (camp attendant) which means he was essentially the "house keeper" for the camp where the drillers live.  Dad started work on the rig in August.  I was told he'd be away for three weeks, but then come home.  I presumed that after he went away for three weeks, he'd be home for good.  Imagine how I felt when, only one week later, he went away for another three weeks!? Christmas 1996 was my first Christmas without Daddy.  I was nine years old.  My Nana had stopped having her Christmas party about two years before, sighting "oldness", but Mum still had hers, even without Dad there.  I was excited that the party would go ahead, and extra excited because Mum said we would have a second Christmas with Dad when he came home.  It would have been OK, but at the "real" Christmas party, well-meaning friends and relations kept trying to comfort me.  My Aunty was the worst, my father's sister, whose husband had gotten Daddy the job in the first place.  Her husband was rostered off for Christmas, so I didn't want any comfort from her!
The next year Dad was working Christmas too, but Mum didn't have the Christmas party.  She told all the family they were welcome to come to our Christmas party when Dad got home, but none of them did.  I had my Christmas breakfast that year on December the 25th, and I opened half my presents, but Mum left all of hers for when Dad got home.
When I was fourteen years old, they started shutting down the rig at Chritstmas Time.  My Dad was home!  We'd moved from the Gold Coast to Maryborough by this time, so we had no family for a Christmas party, even if they chose to come along for the first time in five years.  I'd stopped caring about Christmas, and started being embarressed about how many presents I got each year.  Just.  Too.  Many.  Especially since I knew that, even with the rig job, my parents could not afford what they gave me.
It was nice to have Dad home for Christmas.
So now fast forward to the present day.  I've wanted nothing more than to move back to the Gold Coast since about a year after I left it.  This year, I make it back.  After some mental tossing and turning, a lot of re-shuffling and ridding myself of 80kg of ugly fat in just one day (for those of you who are slow, I dumped my boyfriend) I ended up living with my Uncle.  You can read about him if you search for the tag "potato".  It's actually not too bad, there.  So, anyway, my mother's other brother has kinda been kicked out by his current whatever-she-is, not because of anything he's done, but simply because she's crazy.  It's kind of OK, because he was going to come to Maryborough for Christmas with his sister, anyway.  He now lives in a tent in our yard until further notice.  I came up to Maryborough by train, and even though they've stopped closing the rigs for Christmas (because they are miserable arseholes) my Daddy came home a little after me. My uncle on the Gold Coast won't take the train, so got his brother to drive down and get him, all for the low, low price of double-the-cost-of-the-train.  We were together.  Not my whole family, but my immediate family and my mother's brothers, currently both wife-less.  Family Christmas was beautiful.  I'm going home in January, my uncle is already home, having again gotten his brother to drive him.  Dad's rostered off for a break, so I think I go home before he goes back to work.
A lot of shit went down this Christmas, and a lot of shit hit the fan, but over-all, this was the best Christmas I can remember.

Signed with love,
The Pretty Kitty.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

It's 74kg, you giant octopus arse..
Anyway, happy new year

KittenFlower said...

I feel if you're going to keep commenting on my blog, you should have the guts to sign it, butt-monkey. Also you're too skinny. Also Happy New Year to you, too. :-)