Marianne Talbot with her mother I intend to have been a one-woman production line of festive truffles, mince pies, brandy butter and other goodies, all beautifully wrapped in shiny paper (also bought in the January sales) and dispensed with serene smiles.
My tree will be up and decorated in plenty of time, surrounded by parcels properly labelled and chosen with the recipient especially in mind.
And every year the ghastly truth: I cannot get my act together.
My tree is up (that's not bad is it?). But every post brings an avalanche of cards, serving only to remind me that I haven't even bought mine. As for having typed my addresses into Outlook…no chance!
And this year, without mum, I thought it would all be so easy.
Mum's nursing home has been ready for Christmas for weeks. There is a multi-coloured tree in every sitting room, cards galore and carols blaring from every speaker. Mum even said 'Happy Christmas' to me yesterday. The noticeboards are full of events to which relatives are warmly invited, and on Christmas Day there will be the full works.
I shan't be going to lunch itself. I shall be with the friends with whom I always spend Christmas. But I am going to just about everything else, starting tonight when a group of carol singers from a local school is coming.
It's good, of course, that local schools and organisations remember people like mum at Christmas, though I wish they'd remember them at other times too. The home does its best – generally pretty good - to ensure that residents are kept active and happy, but inevitably they spend a lot of time sitting and staring.
If local schools and churches were each to put on some form of entertainment for one of the local nursing/residential homes once a month, that would go a long way towards making such homes a part of the local community, instead of apart from the local community. The Brownies, Cubs, Scouts and Guides could get involved too. It would be good for everyone.
I would organise it myself, but the belief I have time to do this is precisely the sort of belief I need to drop. Sometimes I even think - ludicrously - that the whole point of Christmas is to puncture my fond belief that I can do everything.
Imperfection has its consolations of course…if I were perfect I wouldn't have any friends to whom to send cards.